This is what happens when you let an animator who sees movement as architecture design a fever dream about a city eating itself alive. Morimoto doesn't waste time on plot, every frame is the story, every transition is a scream, every color choice a weapon. You either surrender to the sensory assault or you're lost in the first thirty seconds.
Ken Ishii's pulsing techno track gets a visual incarnation that rewrites what music videos can be. A lone figure navigates a neon-soaked urban landscape where the boundary between human and machine blurs into something unsettling. The camera moves with relentless energy, cutting through claustrophobic alleyways and industrial spaces that feel lived-in and corrupted. What starts as a stylish descent into techno aesthetics turns genuinely menacing. The animation captures a specific moment in '90s Japanese visual culture: gritty, urban, unafraid of darkness. There's an almost industrial horror to the pacing, where the driving beat becomes a countdown rather than a celebration. This five-minute experience distills kinetic action and genuine dread into pure sensation. You won't find narrative exposition or character arcs here. Instead, you get atmosphere so thick it suffocates, paired with animation that moves like the music itself is controlling the frame. It's a proof of concept that anime could operate entirely on visceral impact and visual storytelling, proving that not every animated work needs dialogue or plot to grip you completely.