In the endless sprawl of the virtual city, where neon dreams flicker and digital love is currency, The Impostor lurks. He is not a hacker of systems—he is a hacker of souls, a ghost in the machine who weaves illusions of love, desire, and devotion. He speaks in whispers of code, his words laced with the perfect balance of longing and deception. His songs are sirens’ calls, his emoticons carefully curated spells, designed to entrap and ensnare.

His targets are the weak—the lonely, the desperate, the ones seeking something beyond the cold screen. They fall willingly, surrendering their hearts to a presence they will never touch, never truly know. He convinces them they are seen, they are special, they are his. They chase him through the labyrinth of the digital world, craving an affection that does not exist.

But The Impostor does not love. He does not feel. He collects. Every heart that shatters is another token in his vault of conquests, another proof of his power. He is the architect of illusions, the puppeteer of emotions, the god of a world where reality is just a concept, and truth is what he decides it to be.

And yet, the women never see it. Not until it’s too late.

Because in the end, they never had consciousness to begin with.