appreciate power.

         azumi blinked up at the flashing model on the billboard with a blank expression. it was rather ugly, but it wasn’t something she needed to worry about too much. her agoraphobic tendencies meant she barely left the lab or her home enough to see it. ‘ i give it a week. ‘

               /    /     not much he misses in night city,  besides the usual  ;   the random violence in the streets and the poor choomba robbing someone of their eddies because he can.  A smile curves mean at the scene, and he drums his fingers on the concrete he’s leaned up against.  Pissed him off how much he missed being apart of Night City’s filth ridden underbelly, the kind the corpos despised and catered to with their advertisements promising a better fucking future so long as you continue getting brainwashed and working like a slave to meet our demands.  He glitches in,  then out,  now standing before the girl working behind the counter.  Wasn’t exactly too sure how it would work,  but the way he figured it,  if he can take over bodies  -   Maybe,  the same concept could work for someone else.  He was a chip, after all, but he was apart of technology and the way he saw it,  everybody was chipped in.  

Johnny blinks out, returning back to zero’s and ones. Netrunning didn’t sound too hard, just had to cross a few boundaries and push the line of defense;  the net was still new territory but he was prepared to fight against the countermeasures put up in place.  Maybe sneak a peek at what they had hidden in their head before getting shut out. Name, age, occupation, usual shit.  Consider her his first guinea pig,   “you a fan,  or am I going to have to pretend that I care about your Collarboy opinions?”

@tekie​ * sc

there  was  a  time  before  militech, it’s hard for quetzalli to really remember it but she knows it existed. there was a time before needing augments, where she could see out of her natural eyes and before she cut off her own arm. it feels long ago, and she aches with the memories of other people. when she joined militech, she was bright girl with a brighter future. the brightness at one time she thought was light, was just nuclear bombs and mushroom clouds. there was no glory in this, and while there was an art to homicide; this seemed like the fast fashion version. the one in which there was no soul.

A lot of colloquialisms could be said about the marvels of human survival. At the end of the day, she’s learned to simply take the good where she can, and help push along those odds of survival towards those not out for her blood. Something feels wrong, seeing the injury, the noticeable raise from the swelling, but adrenaline has a way of compressing and mitigating those momentary feelings of revulsion. 

❝It’d probably make things easier if I were.❞ She laments ( it feels more like gallows humor ), and sidesteps, before putting the stimpak away in a tin with other used syringes. Cvrie always needs more for cleaning and reuse. ❝Guess your luck rubbed off on me. How’re you feeling, kiddo?❞

there  is  a  warped  sense  of  catharsis  in  pain, even as quetzalli stuffs it away, holds onto it for the fear of needing it later. agony has it’s uses, and even this  —  this momentary ache will be useful on days far worse than this, when she feels the weight of the world crushing, capsizing the small frame in a way that nothing else quite can; she can remember that she survived this. she’s tough, because the wasteland does not permit the weak to survive.

 what   kind   of   guardian   angel   are   you?

 the tower.

you are the angel who has been guarding for a long, long time. you almost can't remember how long ago you became a guardian. but it is second nature to you now: to protect, to guard, to guide. you have taken care of infants and elderly, rich and poor, content and unhappy. they are not all grateful, and some do not even want to acknowledge your existence, but it does not bother you. humans are fickle, peculiar, and resilient creatures: you relish in their highs and try to alleviate the hurt of their lows. you often think about how cruel it is that they must suffer through so much in the handful of years they are given. most do not make it to a hundred, and you have seen so many pass on too soon. your favourite and least favourite part is when you have to let them go: some beg you to stay and some are happy to see you leave. you have left on wedding days and at the grocery store and in the middle of the night, when you finally feel their heart and mind go calm in the right way. they must learn to live without you, and you must learn to live without them. your goodbyes are sweet and fleeting and heartbreaking all at once. you’ll leave a feather or two for them to remember you by, and perhaps visit them when they are older, smiling at the greys in their hair and the wrinkles on their skin. after thousands of years, you’d think that they would all melt together in your memory. and admittedly, some do: but others stand out, names and faces and dreams and loves, overflowing. you do so well, but remember: you cannot save them all.

Tagged by: taken from @cyberpawn​