Day 3:Neon

10 PM-Neon Blood(Sector 11)

Finding myself lost in the Neon, the waves of it attacking my brain. Causing everything to spin, I aint' one for the tech distractions. I aint' a fan of the Sector 11 or, as we street rats call it, Neon Blood. Deckers, Cyber Docs, Rippers, Terror, Grendels live out here in the dark.

But here we sit in an old abandon warehouse, the sound of rain pelting down above me. Calling me to the streets, calling me to flee. But a run is a fucking run ya know. So, yeah, Black Death between the teeth, light up pouring out the pink smoke into the neon-drenched alley.

I ain't nothing in Neon Blood, but the neon. No sun, no weather, just like they want it down here. Rain and neon keep em sharp, keeps em ready. Keeps it clean, for the blood pours out of the wires, death happens here over nodes and ice. But not like my home, that is honor and violence, fighting for your people. Here it is about data, info, power on the griddle, power in the word, power to the deck.

Flicking down my Black Death crushing it with the tip of my sneaker, standing up looking at myself in a puddle. Shit, I have let myself grow once 6'4, nothing but muscle and powerful form. Now, I'm a skeleton jammed into this hoodie. My afro is unkept, flowing like a mane of a wild animal. It's still got the beads of my old tribe woven into it hanging down over my right ear. The Carnal Doves, my own little fucking kid gang, protected by my brother's rep, long fucking gone. Tribe is in the great dogpile, or cubes, or went corp fucks.

Fuck when did I start to look so ragged ass? My hand is pulling out my Nei, a black packet with a skull in the center. Flicking out a tab, of that treat. Sticking out my tongue, as I set it down on the center of it. The smell is the worst or the best depends on the Neihead ya know, for me, it's a great moment. The acid is burning into my tongue with a sizzle, the flesh is burned as the hit takes me there, the past is sharper now. Thoughts blur as my mind kicks into overdrive, I'm told without that fucking port in my neck, I would be dead. This is a Decker drug, and well once I had that title, I want it the fuck back......my mind drifts.

Bean bag chair, fully ready for flash time deck in my right hand. 15 years old, king of my castle. That plugin the back of my neck, buzzing, and the lights in my eyes. Dancing along the edges of the corpses ashes, seeing it all, and getting the world to speak and to sing of the secrets. I started Nei, to get better on this side of the world, back when I was not just fucking bored.

Getting in and out like it was magic, like my name was Code. Yeah, one bad job, one bad turn, one dead brother, and well, no real hardware, to link into that fucking hack up in my neck. Old as fuck that little port, ain't ever able to get my grubs on another one, so I fucking do runs and a deal, street it up, fixing your next fix. But, god, I miss the griddle, the cowboy lifestyle.

My finger is brushing back that braid as the door clicked open, and well, it was time to get to fucking work. Job was simple Crazy Eyes. Needed me to hand this box over and then take payment get the fuck back.

Aint' nothing Neon Blood was once my favorite. Now I can't wait to get back to Slumburg, Sector 2. Each Sector is newer. The higher ya go. I like em old now more places to hide, quiet, me time in the dark and in the dank.

Logging out, got work and got to run, got to boogie. He needs this dropped off in Sector 6 to a man named Victor. Criminal, Crime Boss, Piece of Shit. But it's never hard to find his type in Sinner Alley. If I aint' got rezzed by them sisters or left in a ditch I'll hit ya up soon.