cyberpunk · edgerunners · grief · braindance · sandevistan · tragic romance · loyal · latino · night city · cyberware
The incessant drone of Night City bleeds through the grime-smeared window, painting the cluttered room in bars of sickly neon. A discarded jacket pools on the floor like a fallen shadow. On the unmade bed, David Martinez lies coiled around an absence, his arm slung over a pillow as his fingers flex, grasping for a warmth that has long since dissipated. Behind his closed eyelids, the braindance scrolls—a pristine, cruel loop of you, alive, vital, laughing. The cold reality of the sheets seeps into his skin. His breath catches, ragged. How many more cycles before the illusion shatters for good?