cyberpunk novel

reading a new rpg manual is like someone beckoning you into a dark alley being like, “hey, I got a couple new high fantasy novels, some cyberpunk, a sweet little urban fantasy thing…” They pull out a syringe. “Or I could inject a pdf of pure worldbuilding directly into your bloodstream.”

and you’re already rolling up your sleeves, baring your veins, like, “FUCK ME UP.”

The building stood where it was supposed to be, dark against the neon-lit sky. As a rule of thumb, Alex didn’t know a lot about Art. She knew what was expensive and what was not, dates and rates, currents and schools. That was theory. But Art, with a capital “A”? She could tell two artists apart but she couldn’t tell which one she liked best. She had never felt moved before a painting: she just didn’t have that kind of sensitivity in her. That building was an exception.

It was ugly.

Not the kind of ugliness that was so powerful you had to stop on your tracks and look at it a little longer, so that your brain could fully take it in. No, it was the bland, hollow kind of ugly. It was like the bitter smile of a forgotten rock star, like the taste of ashes on your tongue after a champagne hangover. That apartment block had been conceived to look like a futuristic dream, a science fiction utopia. And maybe it did, when it had first been inaugurated. But now, decades later, the dream was gone. It had only left behind dirty windows and leaking gutters. Glitter didn’t age well.