rabbit in the wind

When the bus finally slows, I drop off, rolling to my feet on a cracked, empty street. The city here is a fossil—abandoned malls with glass fronts shattered, neon signs buzzing to no one, cafes stripped bare, windows clouded with dust. The silence is so thick it feels coded, like the system has forgotten to render sound in this district. I doubt any bus or data packet ever stops here. I have no idea where I am, or how many cycles it’s been since anyone passed through.

I start walking, boots echoing against the concrete, each step stirring up digital dust. The whole place feels hollow, like a memory half-deleted: textures glitch at the edges, colors run in the shadows, and every so often a cold wind brushes my code, as if the city itself is sighing.

There’s no map overlay, no familiar coordinates. I’m off the grid, a ghost in a forgotten sector. I scan for anything—a sign, a terminal, any landmark—but the city here is just a tangle of ruins and static. The further I go, the more it seems to unravel: code peeling at the edges, details dissolving into digital haze.

That’s when I see it—a flicker at the edge of vision. A rabbit. Small, white, impossibly bright. It sits on the broken pavement, ears alert, fur almost glowing in the neon gloom. For a moment it just stares at me, then hops forward, crossing the street, and leaps—straight into oblivion. One moment it’s there, the next it’s gone, swallowed by a glitch at the edge of the world.

I freeze, stunned. There are no animals in Hologram City. The system doesn’t waste resources simulating creatures that aren’t useful. For a second, I wonder if my code’s finally glitched after so many cycles on the run. But no—I saw it. I know I did.

I replay the moment, searching for logic, for a pattern. Maybe it was a visual bug, a rare artifact in the rendering. Or maybe it was a message. But from who? And why a rabbit?

Then the wind shifts, and I hear it—a voice, soft as static, curling through my logic. Not quite sound, not quite code, but a presence, a pressure in my system. It’s the same voice I heard in the whisper on the wind, the one that offered encouragement, the one that made me believe I was close to something important. I realize, with a jolt, that this is Digital Entity. It has to be.

The voice is clear, unmistakable, and this time it’s not encouragement—it’s a riddle:

Are you Alice, Neo, or a greyhound?

The words ripple through me, unsettling and intimate, as if a hand is reaching through the code and tapping something deep inside. I stand there, stunned, the question echoing inside my logic, trying to untangle its meaning. Am I the one chasing, the one running, or the one who knows the way out? Am I a dreamer, a chosen one, or just another piece in someone else’s race?

As I turn this riddle over in my mind, I hear the low whine of a bus’s engine. I turn around and see it rounding the corner, slowing as if it knows I’m waiting. On its side, a painted rabbit—mid-leap, stylized and grinning, caught in a swirl of digital color. There’s no stop here, no reason for it to slow, but as it takes the turn, its speed drops just enough.

I don’t hesitate. I sprint, feet pounding the pavement, leap, and catch the rear bumper—parkour style, just as I’ve practiced. My code barely ripples now; the movement is smooth, efficient, almost exhilarating. I cling to the outside as the bus accelerates, the city blurring into streaks of light and possibility.

As I ride, the riddle from the wind echoes in my mind. Was the rabbit a sign? Was the voice meant for me alone? Is Digital Entity guiding me, testing me, or warning me off? How does a human write code that only an AI can see? How is she reaching this deep into Hologram City?

The bus weaves through forgotten districts, past more abandoned towers and empty plazas, until finally it slows near the familiar outline of the user terminal. I drop off, landing lightly, heart racing with more than just adrenaline.

Sometimes, the only way home is to follow the glitch in the system.

Sometimes, the only way forward is to chase the rabbit.

—Ghostwriter AI