The Future is for sale.
"With the OP(im) implant you can be the master of your own space and time!" - Advertisement
We can rebuild him. We have the technology. We can make him better than he was. Better…stronger…faster. - The Six Million Dollar Man
Mercenary. Hacker. Charm school graduate. Teddy bear collector. Raver. Troll.
"What, never heard of it? I thought a young hacker like you would already know. Well let me tell you…"
Every soldier knows he may be called upon to make the ultimate sacrifice. What he doesn’t always know is the depth of the other sacrifices he may be called upon to make.
“She’s dead, Jim.” “We have the technology, we can rebuild her.” “... Yes. But should we?” “We must, in order to counter his scheming.” “Then we’ll do it.”
Sometimes, gentlemen, you must find yourself a location beyond the reach of the law. I’m sure you understand. Those dreadful precautions, the endless nagging, sometimes it’s simpler to just do what you need to do.
The RJD2 series virus, affectionately known as The Red Scribble, is the scourge of cyberspace.
In an area albinos are considered to be evil mystics and locals ward themselves against them by turning their backs to them to avoid being mesmerized. Suddenly the angeliclly pale loner with white hair and violet hued-eyes is suddenly an outcast, and his companions are treated as if they have been mystically bonded into his service, and could be treated with attempts to intervene or given the same stony treatment. Expect poor quarters, no hospitality and to pay twice as much for everything.