Collapsing Parking Garage
Tech may have advanced in the Cyberpunk future but that hasn't stopped corporations from corner cutting construction and bribing inspection officials. Gangs trading explosive rounds hasn't helped structural integrity much either.
In the big city, there are no graveyards. Those fortunate enough to have someone who cares about them are incinerated into ash and disposed of in the mountains of trash. With a good insurance plan, you might even receive a holo-memoriam for a few years. For the rest of us— the nobodies caught in the crossfire as you psychos launch rockets at each other—mass tombs made of concrete and rebar await.
Every flickering street sign and distant siren is a dirge to the struggle for existence in a place where the line between the living and the discarded blurs into a haunting symphony of neon dissonance.
And I'm just trying to get to work on time.
Tech may have advanced in the Cyberpunk future but that hasn't stopped corporations from corner cutting construction and bribing inspection officials. Gangs trading explosive rounds hasn't helped structural integrity much either.
In the big city, there are no graveyards. Those fortunate enough to have someone who cares about them are incinerated into ash and disposed of in the mountains of trash. With a good insurance plan, you might even receive a holo-memoriam for a few years. For the rest of us— the nobodies caught in the crossfire as you psychos launch rockets at each other—mass tombs made of concrete and rebar await.
Every flickering street sign and distant siren is a dirge to the struggle for existence in a place where the line between the living and the discarded blurs into a haunting symphony of neon dissonance.
And I'm just trying to get to work on time.
Tech may have advanced in the Cyberpunk future but that hasn't stopped corporations from corner cutting construction and bribing inspection officials. Gangs trading explosive rounds hasn't helped structural integrity much either.
In the big city, there are no graveyards. Those fortunate enough to have someone who cares about them are incinerated into ash and disposed of in the mountains of trash. With a good insurance plan, you might even receive a holo-memoriam for a few years. For the rest of us— the nobodies caught in the crossfire as you psychos launch rockets at each other—mass tombs made of concrete and rebar await.
Every flickering street sign and distant siren is a dirge to the struggle for existence in a place where the line between the living and the discarded blurs into a haunting symphony of neon dissonance.
And I'm just trying to get to work on time.