Here was NeoTokyo's fevered mind laid bare - a cybernetic nightmare frozen in mid-seizure. The streets weren't merely thoroughfares; they were catwalks designed for the performance art of existence itself. Beneath my feet, circuits still pulsed weakly through the pavement, like synapses firing in a dying brain. Every step was meant to be a statement, every movement a declaration of worth.

The architecture violated physics and sanity in equal measure. Towers corkscrewed into the sky at impossible angles, their surfaces once liquid metal mirrors that forced the city to endlessly contemplate its own magnificence. Now they stood corroded and still, caught between states like quantum particles frozen in mid-collapse. These structures were monuments to impermanence, their very design a middle finger to the concept of lasting value.

Screens infected every surface like a digital plague - walls, streets, air itself saturated with displays that had once force-fed reality through filters of perpetual enhancement. Your own reflection would be caught and "improved," promised perfection just a credit transfer away. Now these electronic mirrors vomited corrupted code, transforming passing shadows into grotesque caricatures of beauty while half-formed advertising promises dissolved into digital glossolalia.

Life moved at lightspeed in this part of town. People treated everything as disposable—their wealth, their time, their very essence. The district wasn't built for permanence but for the endless now, consuming tomorrow's promises and transforming them into today's spectacle.

The decay couldn't mask its ferocity. A massive display still dominated one building, its sound dead but its images alive: a chrome-skinned man, reclining in an autonomous vehicle, overlooking the glowing city skyline. "Be more." it flickered mockingly, illuminating the empty boulevard.

Every inhabitant had been an actor in an endless performance. Their clothing, their interactions, their movements. These streets once hosted cars as masterpieces, machines transformed into symphonies of light and sound. They'd sought to master everything: appearances, each other, time itself. The future wasn't a dream but a resource to be harvested.

Now only emptiness remained, heavy with accusation. The district seemed to demand answers about its abandonment, its silence a perpetual question.

And so, through the electric haze, I found a the first clue for the answer – The Tiger Claw.