Genesis: Reality's Choice

The rain smells like burnt copper. It spatters against the grimy windowpane, blurring the neon glow of the noodle bar across the street. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of soy sauce and desperation. You can taste it on your tongue, clinging to the roof of your mouth like a bad memory. You're Marco, and you've seen better days. Your trench coat, once a symbol of sharp professionalism, is now stained with more than just rain. Your last case went sideways, leaving you with a bruised ego, a lighter wallet, and a fresh distrust of anything wearing a suit. The Agency wasn't happy. In fact, they suggested a 'voluntary sabbatical.' Which is Agency-speak for 'get lost before we make you disappear.' Tonight, though, the rain isn't the only thing that stinks. The notification on your cracked DataSlate burns with an urgency you can't ignore. A single word: "Genesis." Followed by a secure, encrypted link. Genesis… the project you thought was dead and buried years ago. The project that almost cost you everything. Suddenly, the door to the noodle bar slams open, scattering steam and the mumbled complaints of the proprietor. A figure, cloaked and hooded, stands silhouetted against the harsh streetlights. Their face is obscured, but the energy radiating from them is undeniable – a raw, crackling power that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. "Marco," the figure whispers, their voice distorted by some kind of tech. "They know. They're coming. You need to choose. The old world? Or… something new." Before you can react, the figure vanishes back into the rain-slicked streets, leaving you with only the weight of their words and the burning question in your gut: what the hell is Genesis, and why is it back from the dead? The DataSlate is vibrating insistently. The choice, it seems, is yours to make. But choose carefully, Marco. Because this time, the stakes are higher than ever. This time, it's not just your life on the line. It's the future of reality itself.