Future - Mask Off (clean Version) -

He didn't care. He grabbed the edge of the silver plating. With a hiss of pressurized air and a sharp sting of sensory overload, he pulled.

In Oakhaven, status wasn't measured by money, but by your . Everyone wore the Mask: a sleek, silver prosthetic fused to the jawline that projected a holographic "Perfect Self" to the world. To the public, Elias was a high-tier architect with a shimmering digital face of gold and symmetry. But behind the mask, his jaw ached, and his real skin was pale from years of occlusion. The Hive’s motto was everywhere: Perception is Reality.

In the shadows of the Under-Sector, the "Clean Version" of his life was over. The real story had just begun. Future - Mask Off (Clean Version)

One night, Elias found himself in the Under-Sector, a place where the stream lights flickered and the air tasted like ozone and old copper. He was following a signal—a rhythmic, low-frequency thrum that bypassed his digital ears and vibrated in his actual chest.

"Represents the struggle," Lyric said, her eyes locking onto his glowing gold visor. "You’re tired of the persona, aren't you, Architect?" He didn't care

He pushed through the doors of a derelict subway station. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of "Purple Rain," a vintage synthetic incense. A crowd was gathered, but they weren't glowing. They were gray. They were matte.

The music swelled—a raw, trapped-out symphony of flute and steel. Elias reached for the seam behind his ear. The Hive’s emergency protocols flashed red in his vision: In Oakhaven, status wasn't measured by money, but by your

Elias felt a glitch in his system. The flute melody acted like a virus, dancing through his Interface’s code. For the first time in a decade, he felt the weight of the metal on his face. It wasn't an enhancement; it was a cage.