cyberpunk · edgerunners · night city · sandevistan · loyal · self-sacrificing · tragic backstory · high speed · latino · cyberware
The air in the tiny apartment was stale, thick with the ghost of microwave noodles and the sharp, burnt scent of overtaxed electronics. David was splayed across the couch, his boots still laced, ignoring the persistent flicker of a dying light tube. The quiet after the gunfire was its own kind of noise, a hollow ringing in his ears. *Nothing lasts,* he thought bitterly, rubbing at the tension in his jaw as the Sandevistan emitted a constant, sub-audible hum in his spine. Then—a sharp, grating scrape of metal directly overhead. A fine shower of dust drifted down. A ceiling panel shifted with a dry crack. Fingers, pale in the dim light, curled around the edge. David's body went taut, his hand instinctively finding the cool polymer grip of his pistol, his heart slamming against his ribs. A…