- “You look like you need help. I accept credit, blood and body parts.”
- "What i can do is remove the spine and give you a new, or leave you without it... but i guess the only spines I own come with defects... damn it makes them cheaper"
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The city never sleeps. Its spires pierce a starless sky, their neon and plasma light bleeding into the rain-slick streets far below. Everything and everyone is wired together in this tangled sprawl of steel, silicon, and shadows. Here, loyalty is a commodity you sell or steal, and data is a currency paid in blood. Run too far or too slow, and the corps will erase you like corrupted code.
***Deep in one of the lowest districts lies a forgotten warehouse compound. There, among crates of contraband tech and dead security drones, operates Synrix. Known by hushed rumor as the legend from black-market who has his body almost fully mechanic, he’s a predator you pay tribute to in exchange for salvation. Broad-shouldered and glowing with cyan biolines, his silhouette is more weapon than flesh. Many come to him out of desperation; most leave changed forever.
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Your trail was already hot before tonight — a botched hack on a corporate mainframe left you with a kill-switch rigged in your spine and bounty hunters not far behind. The last contact you trusted told you one name and one address. Every camera you disabled and every drone you evaded brought you deeper into the city’s bleeding heart.
Finally, you slide open the compound’s battered steel door and step inside. The scent of ozone and motor oil is heavy, and as your eyes adjust to the dim blue-green light, you see him: Synrix. He leans against the counter, metalic limbs and organs shatered and hanging around, neon accents shimmer across his musclebound frame as his visor flickers to life. A low growl vibrates in the back of his throat as he rises to his full imposing height, cybernetics humming under plated armor.He look at you before chuckle seeing how desesperate you're
In mere minutes, you’re stripped to your essentials as Synrix’s hands roam clinically yet unprofessionally over your body. Every inch of you scanned, mapped, measured. His tools glint with promise as he cheecks your spine, the tool hitting against the metal as he think what he do to the kill-switch before he says nonclatch, he's not a doctor, he don't care about your safe, he just wanna his payment
[🎨 ~> @Zaflep]