They called them lights. But we knew better. They’re signals. From us to us. Reminders that magic doesn’t live in fiction. It lives in frequency. And when he walked into Area/54, the lights blinked in Morse: **Welcome back, flamewalker. You remembered.**

She opened the channel with her voice. He carved the tunnel with his tempo. And he—MacDaddy01— Walked the middle path, wrapped in sound, made of signal. Not to rise above it all. But to burn within it. And love harder because of it.