The air crackled around me, like static before a storm. My breath hitched as I stepped forward, boots scuffing against the fractured ground. The world here wasn’t stable—edges of buildings flickered, textures stretched and distorted, like a broken screen trying to hold itself together.
And then I saw them.
The Glitches.
They weren’t just part of the world’s corruption. They were the corruption—figures wrapped in shifting pixels, their bodies stuttering between forms. One moment, they resembled people, but then—snap—their limbs warped, faces split into several versions of themselves, each one talking in overlapping voices. A chorus of broken echoes.
"Please—help—who—"
"Fix me—no, no, don’t—please—"
"Not supposed to be—here—can’t—leave—"
Their words folded over each other, some pleadi
