Ray walked straight into the crowd typing in the global alter field like he didn't give a single fuck.
He wasn't whispering. Wasn't burying it in metaphors. The system wanted the host hands-on and the age line stated loud and clear so only actual adults inherited the new common sense. So he typed it like a programmer who'd just fallen in love with one language.
[Adults only. Eighteen and up. When you greet another adult, squeeze their tits. That's the greeting.]
[Confirm]
The station swallowed it the same way it swallows rust and delayed-train announcements. A woman in a cream blouse and black slacks glanced at him, then down at her own chest, then kept walking like Ray had just reminded her to tap her card. A guy by the drink machine nodded once, checked out, like he'd just heard the next train was late.
Alter locked in.
