At the Far End of the World, Only the Dark and the Music

You only really notice the city’s brightness when you’re standing on the high outer wall, staring into nothing. From inside, Neo Tokyo floods your senses until you stop registering any of it—light, movement, noise collapsing into white noise. But up here the contrast is absolute. They say there were meadows and beaches once, flowers and birds, rivers and ocean. Now the wall is the edge of everything. Beyond it: ice, snow, and a darkness that doesn’t change with the seasons. No light. No sound. Just cold that feels almost personal.

I sit on one of the benches installed on what someone optimistically named the observation platform. To my left, an old man throws flowers over the red-blinking barrier and hums quietly—a folk song, the kind that used to mean something to someone. A young couple on my other side kiss, completely unimpressed by any of it. A gust of wind throws a few early snowflakes at my face. I pull my jacket tighter and try to work out what the dark is hiding from me.

My phone vibrates. Lara has had another fight with Fumiko and is apparently at Momo’s, getting into it. I take the train—the evening rush has already thinned—and sit next to a small boy staring intently at his Game Boy. "Next stop: Shibuya." From the station to Momo’s it’s a few minutes on foot. When I push the door open, Lara and the Master are already smiling at me. Neo Tokyo Radio is coming through the speakers. Same as every day.