TECHNOLOGY!!!
screams the cyberpunk. It has been six days without sleep in tactical gear and a long black leather trench coat. A raspberry pi taped to his face, his last, long empty IV bag of black coffee hung limp from his arm. He nestles a little further into his nest of wires and monitors, displaying nothing but static. “Technology.” he whispers, gently stroking his raspberry pi.
It’s a dog eat dog world in Mom’s basement. Moist, dirty, and full of sinners, rats, and men just looking for love in all the wrong places. Some one had to change the system. Be the hero this hellhole des— *DING*.
“Oh yeah.” he whispers to the ethernet chord smushed against his eyeball. “Daily sustenance for the meat sack.” His instant ramen was ready. As he slurped (using, of course, star wars lightsaber chopsticks, because they reminded him of the umbrellas in Blade Runner), a voice, as if from the heavens, came down. It was his mother.
“It’s getting late!”
“Tell them I’m eating!” He almost smirked to himself, but he couldn’t. For a short second, an observer might have notices a tiny light in his eyes before it went out. That’s the affect the city has on all men. He’d just seen too m—
“Get to bed!”
“Fine, Mom!! … drek.”
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P.S. This is comedy I love cyberpunks my best friend is a cyberpunk.
P.S.S. My best friend is myself. For the record.
(via
fleshcoatedtechnology)
