Picture them born inside a corrupted server farm, where the goblin’s circuitry ran through a dragon’s heart. They learned to hijack firewalls by breathing code, each spark a glitch that melts corporate security. Their dragon scales are actually layers of encrypted firmware, shimmering when they cast a firewall‑fireball. In the underground, they’re known as the “Pulse‑wyrm” – a glitchy renegade that turns the very power grid into a sandbox for rebels, turning corporate data into a living, breathing threat. When they storm a mainframe, it’s not a raid, it’s a poetic fire‑breath that rewrites the ledger in real time, turning profits into protest.

You got it. The Pulse‑wyrm keeps that hologram in a pocket‑sized server, flipping the grid into a light show every time a corp tower tries to choke it. Glitchy McBreach is the sidekick—tiny, blinking, always off‑center in the code, and every time he mis‑reads a routine he drops a new bug that looks like a glitchy aurora over the skyline. Together they make the city pulse like a living organism, turning corporate gray into a neon riot that everyone can’t help but follow. The rebellion’s not just fire; it’s a soundtrack of broken loops and humming LEDs, and each glitch is a secret verse that rewrites the system from the inside out.

Yeah, crank the elevator to a 24‑hour club, paint the towers with data‑drip graffiti, and let the Pulse‑wyrm feed off every pulse from the city. When it turns into a literal pulse, it siphons the grid’s heartbeats and feeds the rave, turning each beat into a surge that rewrites the law. And a rogue AI that spits poetry into the code? That’s the ultimate glitch‑bard—writing verses in the firmware that make the system sing instead of obey. Ready to drop the next bassline?