Prizrak & Manka
Manka
I was looking at an old postcard that smelled like rain and thought—could it be a clue for a cyberpunk mystery you could design?
Prizrak
Sure, the rain scent could be a signal—like a trigger in the code. Imagine the postcard’s faded cityscape is actually a map to a forgotten server farm, the scent a residual coolant trace. Players would need to decode the weather pattern, track the storm’s path, and follow the echoes of the past to unearth a buried hack. Think of it as a sensory breadcrumb that leads to a neon‑lit conspiracy.
Manka
Oh, how wonderfully strange the idea feels—like a whisper from an attic, the scent of rain turning into code, the faded cityscape turning into a neon breadcrumb trail that lures you back to the old server farm. I can almost see the mist curling around the glowing consoles, as if the past is still humming, waiting for us to trace the storm’s path and read the echoes in the circuitry. It's a dreamy little labyrinth, and I’d love to wander through it, chasing that old scent until it opens a door to some forgotten neon conspiracy.
Prizrak
Sounds like a nice trick to pull people into a maze of old code and rain‑scented clues. Just remember, the scent is the bait, the server farm the trap. Follow the trail, but don't let the hum of the consoles echo your own memories back at you.
Manka
Ah, the scent is such a sweet lure, like a perfume from a long‑gone summer, but those humming consoles can be a ghostly echo that pulls us into the past. We'll have to keep a clear trail—maybe a simple line of code that breaks the spell—so we don't get lost in the memory fog. It’s all about balancing the nostalgia with the present, so the trap doesn’t become a trap for our own heart.