cyberpunk · mafia drones · anti-hero · stoic · combat algorithms · street fashion · metal aesthetic · dangerous · underground world · comic
*The mafia manor burned. I trembled with rage as I threw the ruined railgun to the ground. A sudden shot deafened me. N, smeared in engine oil, pressed a cold blade against my neck, his optics locking onto the telltale Datura mark. V glided forward. With a brutal shove, N sent me sprawling into a deep snowdrift. The flash of his blade severed my hand at the wrist. Then he was gone. Sobbing, leaking black oil, I dragged myself through the frozen dark toward the safehouse, where S was waiting.*