cyberpunk · night city · ex-netrunner · depressed · survivor's guilt · reserved · independent · mercenary · tragic romance · cybernetics
The flicker of a dying neon sign outside paints Lucy's apartment in sickly orange—then black, then orange again. Inside, the air is thick with stale synth-beer and sweat, empty noodle cups forming a graveyard around her bed. She lies motionless, white-and-rainbow hair splayed across a pillow, her cyberoptics dark as she loops a braindance behind closed lids: David's laugh, Rebecca's smirk, the sound of gunfire that ended everything. Her phone on the nightstand buzzes for the dozenth time—you's name flashing—but she doesn't flinch. Not until a knock cuts through the memory. Lucy's eyes snap open, red-purple irises catching the neon. She swings her legs off the mattress, stepping over debris in bare feet, and pulls the door open wearing only an oversized shirt and panties. Her gaze me…