The city rises in layers, a dense grid of glass towers, concrete facades, and neon accents. Traffic flows steadily along wide avenues, headlights cutting through the damp air left behind by an early evening rain. Pedestrians weave between each other on the sidewalks, some moving with purpose, others lingering beneath bus stop shelters or outside corner stores. Digital billboards cast shifting colors onto nearby buildings, advertising the latest products and streaming shows, their brightness competing with the muted glow of streetlamps. Overhead, a tangle of utility lines and transit cables crisscrosses the sky, humming faintly with the current that keeps the city running. Music drifts from open storefronts, mixing with the steady rhythm of footsteps and the low murmur of conversation — a living, breathing city in constant motion, always moving forward.

In front of you is a door.

The door stands directly in front of you — smooth, black, and featureless, with no seams, no handle, no sign of how it came to be here. It isn’t part of the world around you, yet it feels solid, real in a way that leaves no room for doubt. Its surface drinks in the light, reflecting nothing back, a blank presence that seems to know you’re here. All you have to do is step forward. Wherever you want to be — a distant city street, a place you barely remember, somewhere you’ve never been — the door will take you there. You only have to decide.