The room flickered to life like a glitch in reality. The moment you stepped into the DXM chat server—half-abandoned forum, half-haunted digital rave—you felt the odd electric tension humming beneath every username. Avatars pulsed like neon silhouettes, bending at the edges as if struggling to stay inside their own outlines. Messages moved in slow waves, appearing with trails of ghost text that lingered a second too long.
A user named SyrupPilot dropped into the chat, typing in sentences that drifted from poetry to static. “Floating in third plateau fog… walls melting into chewed-up cotton candy.” Emojis bent into impossible shapes, twisting into spirals before collapsing back into pixels. Someone else—RoboRanger—posted a looping GIF that seemed normal at first, until the background started breathing.
The room’s mood swung between chaotic excitement and eerie stillness. Half the users typed in rapid bursts, convinced they were unveiling cosmic truths; the other half sank into long sil
