THE SKY WAS THE COLOR OF A TURNED OFF TELEVISION SCREEN REFLECTING THE IRIS OF A DEAD MAN, LIFELESSLY GAZING INTO THE VOID OF A SOUL HARVESTED BY THE CORPORATIONS. IT HAD BEEN YEARS SINCE XERXES HAD LOOKED UP AT THE SKY, LONG HAVING LOST INTEREST IN THE FAINT REMAINS OF STARS THAT COULD BE SEEN THROUGH THE RADIOACTIVE HAZE, BECAUSE THE STARS REPRESENTED HOPE AND THE RADIOACTIVE HAZE REPRESENTED THE CORPORATIONS. HIS CYBO-ARM WAS BUGGING AGAIN, AND HE NEEDED SOME HOT MICROWARE FAST BEFORE EVERYTHING WENT ALL SANTA CLARA. AS HE BROODINGLY BLINKED HIS EYE-TRON, FRESH LINES OF CODE FLICKERED OVER HIS VIEW, CALLING OUT HIS TARGET. SHE WORE A GRAY TRENCH AND NEON GOGGLES THAT GLEAMED LIKE A CORPORATE ADVO FOR LIKE SEX ROBOTS OR SOMETHING I DON'T KNOW. SHE DIDN'T LOOK LIKE THE USUAL DRONE, BUT THE INFODOX NEVER LIE. WITH A BROODING GRUNT, XERXES BOOTED UP HIS INSTALL AND JACKED INTO THE NET. IT WAS TIME TO HACK HER FACE OFF.

Art by  redcoatcat