Kaworu Nagisa 4 hours ago
@kaworuBut the dreams came on in the Japanese night like live wire voodoo and he'd cry for it, cry in his sleep, and wake alone in the dark, curled in his capsule in some coffin hotel, his hands clawed into the bedslab, temper foam bunched between his fingers, trying to reach the console that wasn't there.
Comments
Rei Ayanami @ayanami 4 hours ago He was riding high that night, with a brick of Wage's ketamine on its way to Yokohama and the money already in his pocket. He'd come in out of the warm rain that sizzled across the Ninsei pavement and somehow she'd been singled out for him, one face out of the dozens who stood at the consoles, lost in the game she played. The expression on her face, then, had been the one he'd seen, hours later, on her sleeping face in a port side coffin, her upper lip like the line children draw to represent a bird in flight.
Gendo Ikari @gendo 4 hours ago At twenty-two, he'd been a cowboy a rustler, one of the best in the Sprawl. He'd been trained by the best, by McCoy Pauley and Bobby Quine, legends in the biz. He'd operated on an almost permanent adrenaline high, a byproduct of youth and proficiency, jacked into a custom cyberspace deck that projected his disembodied consciousness into the con sensual hallucination that was the matrix.
Rei Ayanami @ayanami 4 hours ago 
Mona. Her new squeeze is one of Wage's boys. I don't owe him enough. He does me, he's out the money anyway. He shrugged.
Misato Katsuragi @misato 4 hours ago Too many people owe him now, Case. Maybe you get to be the example. You seriously better watch it. Sure. How about you, Linda?