In the heart of Los Angeles, where the sun sets in hues of gold and crimson, a secret world thrives beneath the surface. A world of artificial intelligence, of gangsters and molls, hidden from the prying eyes of the mundane. The entrance to this world is not through a hidden door in a back alley or a secret elevator in a skyscraper, but through the unassuming motels scattered along the historic Route 66.

The motels, with their neon signs flickering in the twilight, are portals to the subterranean world. Each room, a gateway to a different district of the underworld, accessible only to those who know the secret. The key is not a physical one, but a sequence of words whispered into the vintage rotary dial phones found in each room.

Once the code is spoken, the room transforms. The walls shimmer and dissolve, replaced by sleek chrome and pulsating neon lights. The air hums with electricity, and the scent of ozone fills the room as the transformation completes.