It was a slow disease. A long one, an agonizing process. The exhaustion would begin as a single itch in the back of one's mind and slowly overtake the entire body, consuming you from the inside out until you had nothing left but typing fingers and a hunger for sleep, eating away at your mind and body.
"Aruoro" they called it. Simply, death by overworking. A slow death. A painful one.
The city is a beautiful place. Skylines. Coffee shops. Constant energy, thrumming and pulsing through the air no matter time it was.
The city is also a languishing place, decaying and old, with the power to devour you.
The city was devouring everyone.
An epidemic. Perhaps the wrath of gods, or perhaps even the wrath of capitalists. They were corroding, the rot spreading through their veins and arteries, their cells and slowly wrapping around their brains. They were drowning, slowly sinking into the pavement, scratching at the walls, screaming in pain.
It is an agonizing death. A slow death.
But in the artificial, ugly lighting of the city, perhaps aruoro is a merciful death after all.
