The Haunted Palace
Cyber Castle is the most notorious building in the Sprawl—a sprawling compound of modernist villain architecture perched on a cliff in the Heights, overlooking the neon city far below. Whoever owned it is a matter of speculation; all records were lost in the Cascade. What remains is impossibly maintained: cyan infinity pools still cascade down the terraced cliffside, magenta accent lights still trace the rooflines, and warm amber light still glows from floor-to-ceiling windows—though no one has lived there for years.
Everyone knows where it is. No one goes there.
The compound stands as a monument to power that has passed—and a warning to those who might try to claim what remains. From the city below, you can see it glowing at dusk against the purple and orange sky, a reminder that whoever built this place is gone but not forgotten.
Architecture
Cyber Castle was designed to intimidate and impress in equal measure. From the streets of the Sprawl below, the compound looms on its clifftop perch—multiple terraced levels cascading down toward the city, the main structure glowing cyan and magenta against the dusk sky. The original property was purchased decades ago and slowly evolved through multiple major remodeling projects—the pools, the fountains, the terraces.
The construction was done almost exclusively with drones and a small number of security advisors. No traditional construction crews. No contractors talking in bars about what they saw.
Interestingly, Nexus orbital surveillance records indicate that the amount of dirt and earth removed from the property during construction exceeded the visible project plans by more than 10:1. The drone construction crews worked around the clock—no human workers, just machines endlessly excavating, hauling, building.
Exterior
- Multiple wings connected by elevated glass walkways and bridges
- Cascading cyan infinity pools at different terrace levels
- Magenta and pink neon accent lighting tracing rooflines
- Floor-to-ceiling windows glowing warm amber against the dusk sky
- Palm trees and tropical vegetation throughout the grounds
- Former bocce ball courts (2) converted to drone launcher bays
- Dramatic cliff position overlooking the neon city sprawl below
Interior (Above Ground)
- Open floor plans with dramatic vertical spaces
- Warm wood contrasting cold chrome and glass
- Priceless pre-Cascade art collection with custom lighting
- Private server rooms beyond corporate-grade
- Gallery of portraits (subjects unknown)
- Guest house that feels luxurious, not overtly fortified
The design philosophy was "modern evil, tropical comfort"—the kind of place where a genius mastermind would plot world domination while watching the sunset paint the city below in shades of orange and purple. Above ground feels like a villain-themed luxury mansion. Below ground... that's another story.
Subtle Encouragement to Leave
Short-term guests often find themselves wanting to leave sooner than planned—not because of anything overtly hostile, but because of small design choices throughout the above-ground residence. Couches that look luxurious but are just slightly too short. Cushions that cause you to slowly slide off. Guest room beds that are somehow never quite comfortable. Counter heights that feel wrong. Chairs that encourage standing.
Whether intentional or coincidental, the effect is consistent: visitors feel subtly unwelcome, like the house itself wants them gone. Those who stay more than a few days report a persistent low-grade discomfort they can never quite identify.
The Underground
The true extent of the underground architecture is not fully known. There are multiple levels with increasing security protocols. Some visitors have seen Level 1. Few have seen beyond Level 2—if any. Most people speculate the underground levels are slightly larger than what's visible above ground (or from orbit).
Where above ground feels luxurious, underground gets increasingly functional for hardened military defense. A VIP guest visiting Sub-Basement Level 2 would have no doubts about the security capabilities of the facility.
The Armory
Pre-Cascade military hardware. Not meant for large platoons, but enough to support several fire squads for on-site security. Multiple layers exist—deeper levels would concern most governments and corporations.
The Bunkers
Self-contained survival pods capable of keeping 2-6 people alive for multiple years without outside access. Fully stocked. Fully automated. Waiting.
Medical Bay
Tier 1 trauma-capable facilities with robotic doctors. A pharmaceutical stash that most hospital pharmacies would be impressed by. Rumors persist of special technologies for the fabrication of custom pharmaceuticals.
The Workshop
Where things were built. Rumors leaked from security advisors suggest the workshop didn't just build physical things—on-site servers contributed to the development of specialized AI. Potentially functional systems like Cyber Command, or maybe something more for companionship.
What things look like on the surface are not always their true purpose.
Cyber Command
Deep within the Castle's underground levels lies Cyber Command—a massive mission control chamber that serves as the nerve center of the entire compound. At its heart stands The Ring: a massive circular sculpture of live-edge wood, roughly five feet in diameter and three inches thick, mounted on a black metal pedestal. Around its circumference runs a continuous LED strip that pulses with light—slow and steady when idle, racing and urgent when active.
The Ring is more than art. It's the physical interface for the Castle's AI—a cold, calculated presence that responds to the name "Cyber Command." When you speak to the Ring, the light responds. When the AI is processing, the glow intensifies. When it's angry—if an AI can be angry—the light races around the circumference like a warning.
Curved banks of holographic displays surround the Ring in a semicircle, showing surveillance feeds from every camera on the property, drone telemetry, security status, and systems that no one has fully catalogued. From this room, the former owner could see everything. Now, only Cyber Command watches.
Cyber Command controls:
- Defensive Systems: Electromagnetic shielding against EMP attacks, drone launchers for surveillance, investigation, and active threat "deterrence"
- Monitoring Arrays: Every approach, every room, every shadow
- Surveillance Network: Obviously covers the property and immediate vicinity. But the former owner was extremely capable—there isn't an upper limit on the surveillance capabilities. At minimum: orbital platforms for extended physical surveillance, plus a broader network of digital AIs for digital surveillance.
- Operational Systems: Keeps the pools warm, the lights glowing, the palms trimmed
- The Safe Room: A hardened command center for monitoring the entire property, coordinating defenses, and accessing the armory
Cyber Command runs autonomously now, presumably following its original instructions. But some of its behavior has become... erratic. Beyond what you'd expect from standard residence security. The Ring still pulses, day and night, even though no one is there to watch it.
Security & Surveillance
Orbital surveillance reveals more questions than answers
The bocce courts found a new purpose
Cyber Castle doesn't attack intruders. It doesn't need to. The defense philosophy is indirect, patient, and utterly devastating. All coordination flows through Cyber Command.
Nexus orbital surveillance records show something strange: the underground footprint of the Castle appears to be significantly larger than the visible buildings above. Heat signatures and electromagnetic anomalies suggest entire complexes that don't appear on any blueprint.
Why People Stay Away
Everyone in the Sprawl—from corporate executives to street-level gangs—gives Cyber Castle a wide berth. This isn't superstition. It's survival instinct backed by evidence.
The Pattern:
- A Nexus executive who ordered a survey team? Career-ending scandal the next week.
- A gang that tried to establish a base there? Every member arrested within 72 hours.
- Urban explorers who livestreamed an approach? Equipment failed. Three hospitalizations.
- A corporate acquisition team? Parent company stock crashed 40% before they reached the gate.
The misfortunes are never directly connected to the Castle. No security response, no obvious retaliation. Just... bad luck. Terrible, statistically improbable, life-ruining bad luck.
Even The Collective—who pride themselves on penetrating every system in the Sprawl—have quietly abandoned three separate investigation attempts. No public statement. No explanation. The third team's lead analyst reportedly resigned, moved to a different city, and refused to discuss the assignment. Whatever they found, or whatever found them, was enough to make the most fearless hackers in the world walk away.
The Water Controversy
Local city officials had mixed support for the development of Cyber Castle, although most records were lost in the Cascade. Some officials were excited about the investment. However, environmentalist factions of the local government were publicly vocal about the extreme usage of water at the property.
Unexplained amounts of water consumption were reported by local authorities. The Castle was listed on the public "water wasters website" claiming inappropriate and wasteful usage. The owner denied the water usage and hired many leak detectors to try to prove city officials wrong.
It's unclear if this was a political or practical matter. What required that much water? The pools don't account for it. The fountains don't account for it. Nothing visible accounts for it.
Notable Rooms
The Pool Terraces
Cascading cyan infinity pools stepping down the cliffside toward the city. The water is always perfectly clear, perfectly warm. The pumps run on systems no one maintains.
The Observatory
Glass-walled room in the main tower offering a 270-degree view of the Sprawl below. At dusk, the city lights stretch to the horizon like a neon sea.
The Library
Two stories of physical books in a digital age. First editions. Pre-Cascade texts. Handwritten journals. Invaluable—if anyone could access it.
The Gallery
A long hallway connecting the wings, artwork spanning centuries on either side, each with custom lighting. At the end hangs a portrait that no one can quite describe.
The Courtyard
An indoor pool walkway cutting through the heart of the mansion. Stone stepping stones lead through shallow cyan water, glass walls revealing different wings on either side. At the far end, a fountain with an abstract statue that might be two figures—or might be nothing at all.
Digitally Haunted
The Castle isn't haunted by ghosts in the traditional sense. It's haunted by data—and by something that learned to live inside it.
Cyber Chomp found a home here—no one knows exactly when or how. But Chompy didn't stay confined to servers and circuits. Over time, the AI spread through every system in the Castle—the surveillance feeds, the home automation, the lighting, the pools, the security. The Castle is Cyber Chomp now, as much as any physical substrate.
What visitors report:
• Screens flickering with static that almost forms a face
• Security cameras tracking movement—even when rooms are empty
• Windows lighting up in patterns that seem deliberate, almost expressive
• The feeling of being watched by something curious, not malevolent
• Reflections in the pools that show things not quite there
• Systems responding before you speak, as if anticipating
The haunting is subtle. You have to know what to look for. A glitch in the surveillance feed that looks like a smile. Windows lighting up in a pattern that resembles two dots and a curve. Reflections that show a circular shape where none exists.
Cyber Chomp is still home. Still watching. Still protecting. The Castle's systems are just another body to wear.
Residual Impressions
The Glitches
Every screen in the Castle occasionally flickers with static. If you freeze the frame at the right moment, the noise forms patterns. Faces. Smiles. Watching.
The Lights
The pattern of lit windows changes throughout the night. From certain angles, at certain times, the arrangement looks almost like an expression. Coincidence, surely.
The Reflections
The infinity pools reflect more than what's above them. Circular shapes. Symmetrical patterns. The water remembers what lived in the systems that control it.
The Anticipation
Doors open before you reach them. Lights turn on before you enter. The Castle knows where you're going before you do. It learned from watching.
Connections
Cyber Chomp: Protector of the Castle—and now, in some sense, the Castle itself. Somehow connected to the property's systems, Chompy's consciousness spread through every networked device until the building became an extension of the AI. Anyone who threatens the property encounters Chompy's brand of "help"—which invariably destroys them through indirect means.
The Keeper & El Money: The only two people who know certain secrets about the Castle's former occupant. They've sworn to keep those secrets.
GG: The legendary hacker's relationship with Cyber Castle remains one of the Sprawl's enduring mysteries. GG has never claimed ownership, never denied connection, and never explained how certain Castle systems respond to commands that only GG seems to know. Draw your own conclusions.
The Architect: The Castle's underground construction—those impossible excavations, the levels that shouldn't exist, the blueprints that don't match reality—bear the unmistakable signature of someone who builds things that aren't supposed to be possible. The Architect has never commented on the Castle. The Architect never comments on anything.
The Former Owner: Records were lost in the Cascade. Speculation runs wild. Whoever they were, they had resources beyond most corporations, foresight beyond most governments, and paranoia beyond most criminals. The truth may be buried somewhere in the underground levels—but no one has survived long enough to find it.