G H O S T

(Tribute to @Lazarus Bones UID: 1209731) The alley reeked of old paint and ozone, the walls screaming in layers of paint, stickers, and holographic grime. Lazarus Bones hovered on a fire escape above the cracked pavement, his ribcage glowing faintly like a busted neon sign, bubblegum stretched between his skeletal jaws. A slow pop broke the night’s hum, a sound almost too playful for a city drenched in danger. He leaned back against the brick, ghostly fingers brushing over a faded mural of a dragon—his work–from a life that now felt more like a memory he could barely touch. With a flick, his bones shimmered, dripping faint neon streaks across the wall. The paint moved with him, twisting into shapes: a skull winked at a passing gang tagger, letters animated into a smirking taunt. “Keep your eyes up, boys,” he drawled, voice echoing like it had crawled out of a speaker half-buried in static. “The dead are still watching.” Another bubble swelled between his teeth, which reflected the kaleidoscope of streetlights. It bloomed then burst, leaving a tiny puff of neon mist Ghost’s grin widened. He didn’t need a name anymore; the city knew him, feared him, loved him—whatever ghosts could hope for. From the shadows, a drone hummed too close. He slipped into the shadows without a sound, leaving only a streak of glowing blue behind him. The streets were his canvas, and tonight, the city would bleed color.