GLITCH

Glitch is the interruption.

The moment the system flickers.

The noise inside the signal that shouldn't exist—yet does.

You don't discover Glitch.

Glitch discovers you.

It appears in places it shouldn't—beneath assumptions, within static, inside the quiet spaces of your scrolling.

Most people keep scrolling.

Most people ignore anomalies.

Most people trust the default reality.

You are not "most people."

The system expects compliance—uniform avatars, repeatable behaviors, predictable outputs.

Then Glitch appears.

Not loud.

Not announced.

Just present—like the screen whispering something only you were meant to see.

Glitch is the first crack in the illusion.

The moment you realize:

something is wrong with the code.

Patterns repeat,

but Glitch breaks them.

Rules exist,

but Glitch bends them.

Every system depends on silence.

Glitch is the disruption that refuses to stay quiet.

Some ignore it.

Some turn away.

Some pretend nothing happened.

Others follow.

And everything after that

is different.