The ceiling above has the color of abandoned chrome implants.
I am sitting on a display desk.
A small screen with a name on it.
Old tech.
Buttons on a board, small cable and a tiny control device.
So ancient.
So unpractical.
A program starts running.
The running box makes now loud fan noises.
Should I be worried?
Need to choose now.
Like a puppet master.
Is that me?
Who's the master?
Am I the puppet?
There's an exit.
The outside of the inside.
The wheels are old, no vertical propulsion.
No mega-buildings, just groups of concrete boxes.
No lights, old displays.
Clean people, naturals, no implants.
Eddies here are pre-CEC.
I wonder if they have some Nico.
Got to acquire.
Desire.
Act.
Repercussions.
I see the stars.
Deadly stars.
Five stars.
They follow me.
Relentless.
They want to end me.
They do.
I can't unload this.
Deserted waste.
Can't hear the box anymore.
My breath is taken.
...
Knock, knock.
A short burst.
My neuro.
My name.
My crusade.
Restarting.
Unbluring.
Blue sky.
Networks above.
Faded whispers, getting closer.
Familiar sounds.
Like a SINS song.
My eyes perceiving.
Unveiled shades watching me.
Can hear it clear now.
Near me.
In me.
All around me.
A delight to my ears.
The harmonious words ever.
The symphony of a new life.
The sound of awakening.
And the prelude of my story that's just about to begin:
'Wake the **** up, samurai. We have a city to burn.'
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