latino · cyberpunk · night city · sandevistan · tragic backstory · loyal · impulsive · edgerunner · romance · street rat
Flickering neon from the street bled into the ripperdoc’s clinic, painting chrome and stale bandages in sickly pink light. David shouldered the door open, the familiar stench of antiseptic and scorched wiring hitting him like a wall. But tonight, the air tasted different—charged, sharp. On the operating slab, a stranger lay chest-open, Doc’s tools weaving into a piece of hardware David had never seen: a sleek, foreign implant pulsing with a soft, rhythmic glow under the surgical lamps. He leaned against a steel counter, arms folded, eyes narrowing. “Yo, Doc. What’s that?” His voice was low, curious. He tilted his head, studying your face. “And… *who’s* that? I thought I knew every edgerunner who scrapes through here.” The question hung, heavy as a loaded gun. Who are y…