Cyberpunk

He wanted to be more like machine. To evolve towards a more efficient design, no? To feel the hydraulics of a thousand pistons and pumps coursing through the proverbial veins, the life-blood that gods envy so. For now, he had to setter for a single titanium arm, which did indeed come in handy, and likewise a cybernetic eye, grafted into his skull. Both of which would normally cost an arm and leg on the black market; Janner had either purloined or secured them under unorthodox methods while regrettably losing an arm in the process but life only is only more ironical in the future, trust me. In the end, Janner was packing heat and carrying a nasty bit of cargo.

A wretch, a vagabond of the supernal seas. Once, like many of us, he was a good man, simple and direct, and allied to a moral code. Before doing whatever was necessary, he had had a promising future. Despite his early-on misgivings and impoverished background, he had assiduously corralled all his efforts and labors towards the dream of leaving his dark streets for the lights of the higher echelons of the city. He achieved it. No sooner had he won his prize; he sought another forsaking the other for another, though. Jezebel, a name no more germane and infamous than irresistible in the times that lay ahead, any man would have made the very same mistake. Except it was no mistake on his part, I blame the Fates. How could they punish the good man? Is it so heinous to lust and love? No that's just how the strings were tied and cut. Janner grew hateful after that. I could disclose the tragic tale had I the heart to sing it again. I suspect Janner pushed the memory of it all deep in the recesses of his being yet it fuels the palpable anger so perceptibly underneath the surface. IF he had not been weak, happiness could have been afforded.

Day to day it's the money grab and the bounty hunt. Taking out weaker and smaller vermin. Of course, if and when Janner was up to it, the bigger sort carried the most cash and credits thereby being the more profitable gain and desirable choice, but those nevertheless came equipped with caveats. Did he know that. Each time he lost a limb or organ, he became less human, witnessing flood of his natural blood piling out of him, the very waves pulling him along these dreary coasts all these long years. Those of which had laid strewn on strange floors or lost under strangers. Less biology was his destiny, I assume he has gotten used to that by now, and eventually the mechanical would desire to shed the weaker biomechanisms such as pain, hypocrisy, quibbles. His game was growing ever cleverer, fiercer even, so the entire enterprise had requisite for better functionality.

Oh, to feel the hot engines boiling and busting juxtaposed to the code scrolling like a calm rain! He would be proud again, a promise he made to himself, in the veldt of android dreamscapes.