Post by Neo Tokyo on Nov 28, 2018 19:14:16 GMT -8
When I was a kid...
A motorcycle roars in the night. Its tail lights seem to drag, leaving a luminescent trail as it tears down an empty highway. All that's seen of its rider is a scarlet jacket. A rough female voice narrates over the scene.
I was fascinated by cyberpunk. Bleak, dystopian futures. Blade Runner. Akira. Robocop. The world after the end. Crazy drugs, sinister corporations, killer robots, the whole nine.
I dreamed, once.
Then I awoke to the truth.
A woman with bright red hair sits in an empty room. ...Incredibly empty. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, every inch is stark white. The only furniture in the room is the chair she sits in, also white. Her back is to the camera, masking her features, but the view slowly pans toward her.
An engine screams louder. The scene cuts back to the motorcycle, the glow of street lamps flickering across the rider's helmet.
It's 2018. Prison buses are getting fitted for kids. Social media's collecting every detail about us and selling it to companies. Algorithms are churning out mindless content and feeding it to our kids. That dark ass dystopian future? It's now. We became it.
We are the future.
We made this.
We lost control.
The day is coming when we take it back.
The wheels screech as the motorcycle turns, skidding to a stop. After a moment of pause, the rider removes her helmet; black locks spill out. Slowly, she reaches into her jacket... and takes out a pair of sunglasses.
The day is coming when we stand up. The day is coming when we say no more, a day when we bring this insanity to an end.
We're here, Elysium.
We're here to fight.
We're here to lead the way--a light in these dark times.
A fire that never quits burning.
We're here.
Every plastic, witless ring rat getting by on her Instagram pics instead of her ring work, we're coming for you.
Every ruthless, bloodthirsty thug hurting themselves and others to fill a vacancy in their soul... we will bring you the peace you've longed for.
Corporate shills, boot lickers, villains, monsters, backstabbing opportunists...
The woman in the white room stands. She turns, eyes locking with the camera. It is only now that it becomes clear--her arms have a distinctive, mechanical look, as though she's some kind of cyborg. A calm smile works its way across the lips of Iota Psi.
We're here.
The rider on the streets puts her sunglasses on, and she, too, turns to the camera. Her expression is intense, a quiet fury concealed in her stoicism. Anything else on the face of Brooklyn Light is impossible to read.
We're here... but we're not heroes.
Brooklyn turns back. The camera keeps her in focus as she begins to walk away, raising a hand to the sky... and arching a thumb back down, to point to the name emblazoned across the back of her jacket.
NEO TOKYO.
