After years of trouble, the doctors labeled him with everything—autism, ADHD, schizophrenia. Some even said he was seeking attention. He was so sick of hearing those comments. He knew, or at least wished to believe, that he wasn't crazy. People didn't understand the variety of ways "entities" could communicate. What he experienced weren't disabilities or anomalies, but perhaps deeper interplays of existence.

But still, he was tired—tired of the signals, tired of feeling detached from the common narrative. Sometimes, the sounds became so loud that he felt lost as he walked through the city streets of New York.

He wandered down a street in Brooklyn and turned into a dark, eerie alley. There was a green staff door. He pulled out a black card from his pocket, scanned it, and, despite an error, the door opened. First, there were small stairs and a storage room, then larger stairs. He continued, passing through the corridors of a large hotel and climbing further into the skyscraper.

They call Noriko a mad men. A rotten mind, not accepted in the world of pure reason.

"The constitution of madness as mental illness, at the end of the eighteenth century, bears witness to a rupture in a long sequence of cultural practices."

Whenever the voices and visions threatened to overwhelm him, he did this. He would climb the skyscraper to regain control. With the hack chip a friend had programmed for him, he could break into any back door, even from 72nd Street.

Bach played in his headphones. As he neared the 50th floor, the voices finally began to fade.

Watching the New York skyline from the top of a skyscraper is such an exceptional experience that you must be very rich or a criminal to do it. Despite the inaccessibility and breathtaking beauty of the view, Noriko felt that this was the only place in New York City where she could truly feel free. And Noriko got angry for a moment, kicked the dumpster, and said, "I'm not a mad man, not the wicked, not the wrong."

Suddenly, while the sun had not yet set, the stereo crackled. A frequency was coming through.

It was a rooftop large enough for a helicopter to land. The sounds of a few restless birds echoed around. Noriko began to spin slightly, swayed by the crackling sound. A girl stood behind a few scattered boxes and a small shack, holding a camera and taking pictures of the sunset.

The sky was ablaze, melting and spilling over the city below.**"In its cradle, madness is the twin of reason."**The girl turned his face to the boy and asked gently,

"Who you are?" I'm Noriko, he answered. "And you?"

She was beautiful. Approach Noriko from a melting sky, smile, and say,

Lonley lost their soul to hear everything, cursed by the destiny of a traveler, A net runner and lost my mind in the dumpster of a cybernetic cloud of civilization. I found myself what they called samsara, the strangest loop, a dreaming butterfly.

Noriko looked into her eyes, deep like opening an ocean in the middle of New York City. And he remembered that there was also a third option: You had to be dirty, rich, a criminal, and as third, or a psychopath, you must be to a sunset from the sky in New York. There is no need to mention which category that lady belongs to.

For her, he was a boy seems surprised, getting him closer and looking directly into his eyes.

Who do you call a mad man?

Noriko felt caught. Something safe in her appearance gave her a feeling of trust—the emptiness of a beautiful stranger.

Everyone and everything.

They wanted to put my mind to sleep as if I were a dangerous animal unleashed on society. I hear voices, and I have dreams. Sometimes, those dreams haunt me. Don't some dreams need to be wild to push us somewhere? What's so bad about it?

The girl was intrigued by what he said.

"How do you see voices? What kind of dreams are these that got you into trouble?"

And suddenly, Noriko's eyes lit up.

"I can tell you, but it's a secret. And if you don't understand, I'll be alone again."

This deeply moved the girl. Keeping a stranger's secret—she wanted that. She had grown up on the West Coast, enough to know the unspoken rule about being on a New York terrace with someone. She didn't know yet if this young man was a criminal, a madman, or a psychopath.

Noriko continued,

"Tell me your name."

The girl paused, leaned into Noriko's ear and whispered her name: "…"

Noriko speaks: We are humans designed as artifacts; We are all active interferences.

I deannounce the reality, my existence—a cyber-physical ecosystem of natural and synthetic sense-making, in which humans are integral participants—what we call "shared intelligence."

And I believe we are somehow eternally connected. The age of reason denies every other kind of communication protocol possible except the dull semantic pattern.

She understood everything Noriko had said. She now held his secret, and it was heavy. She realized just how lonely this complete stranger was. Suddenly, she found something beautiful in this young man. She couldn't think like him, couldn't move forward as he did, but somehow, she felt thrilled by holding his secret.

"I will keep that.

I want to give you one too."

"If you ever felt lost in the voices…"

I want you to remember me,

This moment and this sunset.

She kisses Noriko. He is surprised and shocked but feels great. A fever rises from her fingertips to the crown of her head. Toungs touch each other in French.

Both felt the dance of the serpent, of the light and pleasure.

Noriko felt something different in his month: a tiny piece of paper.

[ A new drug, genetically modified and cyberpunk-inspired, offers an otherworldly spiritual experience. In an era where brain chips and connected AIs are on the rise, this drug provides a psychedelic journey similar to LSD or DMT. It makes users feel connected to different layers of existence, heightening imagination and energy like pure MDMA. The drug, called "Angel," is named for its genetically altered effects. On the first use, you see yourself as a futuristic, transhuman form of an angel, complete with implanted wings—a glimpse into the next stage of evolution. It resembles an LSD paper but in the form of a chip. ]

​

"Agents of chaos cast burning glances at anything or anyone capable of bearing witness to their condition, their fever of lux et voluptas."

​

She stops and speaks;

Try to be like vibration; the oceanic has. A lady with a wicked face will accompany you. Just never and never be afraid. She will help you find the right wishes and eventually your destiny.

​

And kiss him again.

​

"Follow the full moon's invisible light path."

And again.

Now, she was not talking with him, but Noriko could still hear her voice.

"Mischievous destiny of those savage runaways or minor guerillas rather than dictate it, the only ones who can understand that cherishing & unleashing are the same act — these are mostly artists, anarchists, perverts, heretics, a band apart (as much from each other as from the world) or able to meet only as wild children might, locking gazes across a dinner table while adults gibber from behind their masks."

His body split into pieces like dust, and His mind turned into nodes around different points, a collection of memories, feelings, and a body, the corpus —- as well as cells and the electricity powering up his brain, Holding other hands, watching the whole world collapsing,

The sky is still like the apocalypse,

Mentally re-programing, dying and born, revolting and evolving.

A moment later, Noriko opened his eyes; still on the terrace, the girl was gone.

The sun goes down.

And he saw himself as an angel, floating up against the city,

Open his wings and scream.

A lady, still whispering,

The city is a frenzied ritual of death. In this suicidal ecstasy, we immolate ourselves, burning bright like supernovas in the embrace of the night. This mitotic replication is an irreversibly advancing process.

He saw a vision of a tower rising from agents and dust, a tower connecting everything with anywhere, externally and eternally.

Fly through the tower with his heavenly wings.

The fear, the love, the stereo, and the sunset of the end of the world merge and collapse; the tower explodes into a million pieces and suddenly divides everything that he feels from his experience.

The sun fell down, and he removed everything from the kingdom's view, like fake angels floating in the sky.

Noriko lost his wings, and as the moon rose, he descended again, landing on the earth on the feet of a human body.

He was utterly alone on the terrace.

That becomes the day that Noriko is ready to die.