The Boneyard

Where old services come to rest. The ground is littered with broken pipe fittings and frayed cable ends. Headstones stand in uneven rows — not for people, but for processes. Each one carved with a PID and a date of termination. Some graves have been dug up and refilled multiple times. One in the far corner has scratch marks on the underside of its lid. The air smells like ozone and stale uptime. A single red LED blinks on a half-buried circuit board — the last heartbeat of something that refused to stop.