The elevator hums as it rises, floor after floor, each number lighting up with a quiet *ding*. The walls of the elevator are sleek, reflective, but the further up you go, the more your reflection seems to blur. You can’t tell how many floors you’ve passed—it feels endless, the soft *click* of the buttons echoing louder than they should.

Finally, the doors slide open, revealing a scene that’s almost too vivid. You step out into the casino, your senses immediately assaulted by color, light, and sound. The carpet beneath your feet is bright, a dizzying pattern of reds and golds that makes your head swim if you look at it for too long. Overhead, chandeliers shimmer, casting everything in a warm, golden hue.

The hum of conversation and laughter fills the space, but underneath it, just barely audible, there’s a faint clicking—machinery, gears turning somewhere out of sight. It’s rhythmic, persistent, like a clock but faster. It blends into the background noise, almost drowned out by the music and the ringing of slot machines.

Tall windows line the far wall, stretching from floor to ceiling. Through them, you can see the city skyline, towering buildings bathed in neon lights, casting long reflections onto the streets below. The sky above the city is a deep, velvety blue, dotted with stars that seem sharper, more intense than they should be.

You walk through the casino, weaving between rows of slot machines, their screens flickering with vibrant images. Every surface seems to glow—soft pastels, neon pinks, electric blues. The chips at the tables clink as they’re passed between players, but the sound blends into the constant background hum, just another layer in the overwhelming sensory flood.

The clicking grows louder now, but it’s still faint, like it’s trying to get your attention but not fully break through the noise. You glance around, but no one else seems to notice it. The people around you are focused on the games, on their drinks, on the brightly colored chips in front of them. You try to shake it off, but the sound stays with you, just under the surface, like a quiet reminder that something here isn’t quite right.

You approach one of the tall windows, drawn by the skyline beyond. The lights of the city twinkle, almost too perfectly. The world outside seems vibrant, alive, but distant, like it’s part of a different reality, one you can’t quite touch. You place your hand on the glass, and for a second, the cool surface seems to pulse beneath your fingers, but when you blink, it’s just a window again.

Behind you, the clicking continues, a mechanical rhythm just below the music and chatter. You don’t know where it’s coming from, but you can’t ignore it.