The sky over the city was a flat, unrendered gray. There were no clouds, only the suggestion of them. In the city of Générique, every building was a perfect, windowless cube of brushed concrete. Every car was a matte-silver sedan with no brand name on the grill.
He realized then that they weren't living in a world; they were living in a draft. They were the placeholders, the "Insert Character Here" of a story that hadn't been written yet. GГ©nГ©rique
"Do you ever feel," Elias began, his voice echoing in the minimalist room, "like we’re waiting for the real thing to start?" The sky over the city was a flat, unrendered gray
