Cyber.void

From Create Your Own Story

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These kinds of dive bars always have this mysterious mist that rises from unseen crevices in the seedy architecture. They're dead in the day, and the dead rise come dusk. Various subcultures disillusioned with the Singularity, partially augmented with some cybernetic enhancements, but never given fully over to transhumanism - they gather in these kinds of places not for the booze, but for the company.  They dance in the harsh shades of the strobe LEDs and commiserate at the bar in droves, shadowy silhouettes flickering in and out of existence.   
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These dives always seep a rising mist from unseen crevices in the seedy architecture. Subcultures disillusioned with the Singularity, augged up or not, gather here to drown in either drink or dance, loneliness or lust.  They undulate in the harsh strobes and commiserate at the bar in droves, silhouettes flickering in and out of existence.   
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You yourself are one of them, but you're here for information.  Places like this, where the reception to the Interneural Network is spotty at best, where few people are jacked in anyway, and where bodies are little more than amassed meat, bone, and metal, are the best places to hunt for data contraband - or, in layman's terms, gossip.  It helps that you don't have to worry about the facial recognition software embedded in undercover Sentries' optical nerves when you're off the grid in dark joints.   
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In places like this, reception to the Interneural Network - the "in" - is spotty at best.  Few people are jacked in anyway.  The best places to hunt for data contraband are in these conglomerations of wet flesh and soft metal.  No need to worry about facial recognition software when you're gridless in dark joints.   
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The only trace of your identity as a bounty hunter working as part of the Cyber.void Network is an encrypted identifier stored in your Samsara Smartwatch S2, and once you quarantine that piece of data as a pseudo-Trojan, you'll be as anonymous as any other client.   
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The only trace of your allegiance and profession is an encrypted identifier stored in your neurowatch. Once you flag and quarantine that byte, you'll be as anonymous as any other dummy-meat.  You'll become your Tracker handle:
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[[Rose/You quarantine your ID and turn towards the task at hand.|Your codename is Rose Chi, 22, female, dark-skinned, and unaugmented but for a metallic cranial port hidden under your mix of dark-steel locks and crimson bangs]]
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[[Rose/You quarantine your ID and turn towards the task at hand.|Chi_ro: 26/f.]]
[[Category:Cyber.void]]
[[Category:Cyber.void]]

Current revision as of 17:42, 20 April 2017

These dives always seep a rising mist from unseen crevices in the seedy architecture. Subcultures disillusioned with the Singularity, augged up or not, gather here to drown in either drink or dance, loneliness or lust. They undulate in the harsh strobes and commiserate at the bar in droves, silhouettes flickering in and out of existence.

In places like this, reception to the Interneural Network - the "in" - is spotty at best. Few people are jacked in anyway. The best places to hunt for data contraband are in these conglomerations of wet flesh and soft metal. No need to worry about facial recognition software when you're gridless in dark joints.

The only trace of your allegiance and profession is an encrypted identifier stored in your neurowatch. Once you flag and quarantine that byte, you'll be as anonymous as any other dummy-meat. You'll become your Tracker handle:

Chi_ro: 26/f.

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