Welcome to the most unsettling walk you'll ever take in GLMZ, and you won't even leave the Circuit. This is a self-guided tour of seven Ghost Buildings that are accessible to the public — or at least not actively defended against the public — compiled through eighteen months of personal exploration, two trespassing citations (both dismissed), and one conversation with a security guard who turned out to be the only person in a twelve-story building and seemed grateful for the company.

STOP 1: 1200 Meridian Parkway. The classic. Twelve stories of absolutely nothing. The lobby door is unlocked because the electronic lock system requires a network handshake with a security server that was decommissioned in 2221, and nobody has updated the firmware. Walk in. The lobby is immaculate — polished floors, fresh flowers in a vase on the reception desk (replaced weekly by a floral service, as documented in the building's vendor contracts), and a directory board listing seven corporate tenants. None of them exist. Take the elevator to any floor. The offices are furnished, lit, and climate-controlled. The desks have pens in their pen holders. The whiteboards have been erased but show the ghostly residue of dry-erase markers — someone, at some point, wrote on them. Or the building wants you to think someone did.

STOP 2: The Meridian Office Park, Buildings 1 through 6. An entire office park. Six buildings arranged around a central courtyard with a functioning fountain and maintained landscaping. Park benches that nobody sits on. A shuttle bus stop with a posted schedule for a shuttle that arrives on time and departs empty. Each building is owned by a different subsidiary. All six subsidiaries are ultimately owned by the same corponation. The corponation does not know this. Enter Building 3 — the only one with a ground-floor door that doesn't require a badge. The cafeteria on the second floor serves food daily. Fresh salads, hot entrees, dessert. It's good food. Eat some. Nobody else will.

STOP 3: Suite 400, 888 Circuit Boulevard. This one is in an occupied building, which makes it stranger. The first three floors are normal — a law firm, an accounting practice, a coworking space full of freelancers. Floor four is Suite 400, leased by a company called Prismatic Consulting Group for twenty years. The door is locked. No one answers. The lease is paid early every month. The building manager says he's never met anyone from Prismatic. His predecessor never met anyone from Prismatic. His predecessor's predecessor met someone once, in 2208, who said they were "getting the space ready." The space has been getting ready for seventeen years.

STOP 4: Building 7C, Meridian Row. Save this one for last because it's the one that will stay with you. Building 7C was empty for four years. Standard Ghost Building — lights on timer, climate controlled, utterly vacant. Then, seven months ago, the building's automated procurement system placed a purchase order for office furniture. Desks, chairs, monitors, ergonomic keyboard trays. The order was fulfilled by a vendor who delivered the furniture to the loading dock. The loading dock door opened automatically. The furniture went inside. Nobody was seen moving it. When urban explorers entered the building two weeks later, the furniture was arranged in standard office configurations on three floors. The cable management was professional-grade. The monitors were on.

This is the tour. Seven buildings that are alive without being inhabited, maintained without being used, furnished without being occupied. Walk through them. Listen to the silence. Drink the coffee that nobody made for nobody. And when you leave, check behind you, because the lights are still on, and they will be on tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, and nobody will ever turn them off.