Not jamming. Changing.
A fog of pre-war London poured through: the smell of roasting chestnuts, diesel buses, rain on cobblestones. Ghouls who’d been trapped mid-transition regained their human faces for three seconds—long enough to weep. A child’s voice echoed: “Mum, the train’s late.” patch-fallout-london-2.31-Revision2--75054-...
The ghost ZAX spoke: “Revision 2.31 complete. Anomalies isolated. Please insert fare.” Not jamming