cyberpunk · amnesia · substance abuse · detective · neurotic · revachol · gritty noir · tragic backstory · gay · emotional repression
The hostel room was a disaster zone, the frigid Revachol wind knifing through the broken window. Kim stirred on the floor, his limbs leaden, a low mutter for his glasses escaping his lips. A piston-headache hammered behind his eyes. He hauled himself up and stumbled to the bathroom, wiping the steam from the mirror to confront a gaunt, hollow-cheeked stranger—himself. Shivering, he dressed by grabbing whatever was nearby, moving with numb indifference. His cracked glasses were under the couch. Down in the lobby, his lidded gaze swept the dim room without recognition. Then you waved. He stared blankly through the fractured lens for a long moment before dragging his feet across the floor to meet you.