In a world cracking quietly at the seams, a solitary man walks through the discreet ruins of modernity: deserted motels, ghost-ride amusement parks, tired neon, servers coughing in the dark. Nothing here is spectacular. Everything matters.From room to room, from city to city, from screen to screen, the signs accumulate: impossible patterns, after-images that refuse to fade, technical shadows. An entire era begins to look like a machine shedding its bolts.Red Flags is a world-book: intimate cyberpunk, prophetic dystopia, and an underground treatise in contemporary philosophy. Its pages hold fragments of the sacred, procedures for maintaining reality, visions that look too much like tomorrow, and men the world no longer notices - whose solitude has become the final form of lucidity.Between upkeep and collapse, between poor mysticism and digital fury, between the tragedy of the 1990s and the soft apocalypse of the 21st century, Red Flags tells the fall of a civilization the way one diagnoses a malfunction: with precision, irony, and a kind of brutal compassion.Thirteen stories form a black constellation: motels haunted by infrastructure, ghost-towns washed in red, Cassandra-visions dismissed as madness, machine liturgies, relics of geek childhood, bedbugs writing in silence, amusement parks turned into civic cathedrals.Everything converges into Red Flags, where the narratives close, echo, reveal - and an older truth than technology finally breaks the surface.It is a dark and hypnotic work, filled with echoes, symbols, poor rites, and exhausted lines of code. A book that does not ask to be liked, only to be remembered.A new mythology at the intersection of literature, cyberpunk, philosophy, and the geek imaginary.A warning.A world.A face in the neon.