#borgbutcher

[cxffeeshxp]

{{ L }} She hadn't even been here two days and the vibes have already went to shit. ".... You try anything funny, Borg, and I'm reducing you to scrap"

A little gift from a certain friend she made, a very VERY angry friend.

[niratias]

@borgbutcher cont.

Mox has done his time screaming. Fashion-savvy synthskin isn't his thing, leaving a litany of gnarly scars woven throughout his chrome. What has had to be cut out and replaced has been for the sake of functionality. For a guy who's still heavily meat, there's no denying the Death Riders leader is an imposing figure in his own right...and aware of his own weight class, too.

There's a reason he's held power for so long, taking the scrappy street gang he joined from small-time annoyance to Northside menace able to hold their territory, hold their own, and wise enough to take a Corpo check when the money can be routed back to serve their needs and service their community.

Weird, fucked up sense of morals in this one and all of his people. Pointless against the machine of the city, sure, but Mox grew up a street rat and has become a king among them. He might as well create avenues for those who aim to be like him to have a shot. Nothing comes cheap- especially not when you're born buried in the debt of your parents.

He finishes his cigarette. Flicks the butt down. Crushes it beneath the carbon composite toe of his boot. His grin is wry. Tired. False. He hasn't slept in nearly forty hours, and he's starting to feel it. He's not so young anymore and it drags at him, like fishhooks tenting skin.

"I'm not so worried about my name." It's nothing. Will fade to nothing, just like him. "More my legacy. That's in the others, you know?" A little lispy, a lot rough. Spend a lifetime taking a beating, it comes for you.

[5urvive]

" STOP PRETENDING YOU KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON. " @borgbutcher

could it be considered pretending if one was confident in only a single aspect of what was going on? hanging onto confidence with tooth and nail, refusing to give up on what she did know, as there was clearly a great deal she could never ( and would never ) be able to wrap her head around.

what rogue knew, what wasn't for show and what was as far from pretending as one could get, was this ; she was, despite all else, still herself. she was inhabiting the same body she'd always known, and within said body lived the same old belief, hope, and fear.

she knew what was right and wrong , and knew that her current situation was WRONG above all else, just as she knew there was no way out of it. she knew that she was being punished ( though she didn't understand why ) and that the luxury of feeling was no longer one that she could afford.

that was what was going on. that was what she knew.

what wasn't known was how the fuck she was supposed to deal with it, and why he ( out of everyone ) had to be the one to ( knowingly or not ) point it out.

boredom and defiance were clear in her gaze as she looked up at the other, shoulders squared as though that meant anything at all when speaking to something someone like him. " it isn't your job to worry about what i do or don't know. fuck off. "

[shiranken]

‘game’

                            ‘     HOW     ARE     YOU     SO     BORGED     OUT     BUT     AWFUL     AT     GAMES?     ‘     the     cadence     of     her     saccharine     voice,     filled     with     mockery     as     she     moved     the     pieces,     another     game     in     the     plethora     of     many     she     played.     The     digital     screens     of     each     iris     illuminated     in     the     dark,     cosmic     scenery,     stars     of     violet     illuminating     against     green,     then     flashes     of     pink     when     she     was     over     delighted,     taking     joy     in     her     victories.     Strange,     they     were     no     different,     in     a     synthetic     world     that     demanded     the     ultimate     price     to     transcend     humanity,     flesh     was     offered     with     a     common     currency,     she     was     immortalized     from     the     halcyon     days     of     BD     Queens.     Gone     are     the     relics     of     the     twenties,     gone     are     the     Night     City     legends,     only     those     who     outwitted,     out     survived,     prospered.     For     some,     they     would     say     it     was     defeat     to     age     in     this     metropolitan     that     sold     itself     as     golden     when     really,     there     was     nothing     but     decay.     Sayuri     on     the     other     hand     never     thought     of     it     that     way,     she     was     quicker     than     the     hunter,     the     small     rabbit     that     managed     to     watch     the     landscape     change,     through     bombings     &     corporate     wars.     

                     “Wow,     I     won,     again”     her     nose     wrinkled     momentarily,     rose     gold     rippers     clacking     together     as     she     laughed,     distorted     &     breaking     the     larynx     augmented     for     anonymity     when     clients     became     too     tricky     or     to     metamorphosis     into     whatever     leading     role     she     was     given.     The     chess     piece     rolled     between     her     chrome     palms,     cool     to     the     touch     by     design     as     her     head     tilted     to     the     side,     round     cheeks     bunched     together     in     contemplation.  

                       “Hey,     isn’t     it     weird?     Forty     years     ago     we’d     be     gunning     for     one     another     now     you’re     in     my     club     playing     chess.     Arasaka     really     that     boring,     Smasher?”     never     a     dull     day     with     Oji     watching     every     movement.     She     pondered     what     they     were     up     to     nowadays,     nefarious     as     ever     as     the     towering     black     building     reminded     her,     power     &     dominance     was     all     this     rotten     city     understood     as     it     tried     to     grasp     the     last     dying     breath     of     humanity     behind     the     machine.  

                       “No     joy     in     working     for     suits,     they’re     all     the     same,     even     if     they     speak     in     haikus     &     pretend     to     have     moral     dignity”   

[cxffeeshxp]

@borgbutcher

“ How the fuck does someone that small have an ass like that?”

{{ L }} God, she hates it here. "It's called being perfect, fuck you."

[piperafterdark]

@borgbutcher

It takes a few days, a week maybe, before Piper has reason enough to cash in that One Free Favor(tm) from Mr. Smasher himself.

And so there she is, pinned down and hiding in a building in Pacifica of all places at 2 in the morning, applying a field bandage to her upper thigh with one hand while she's getting a message out with the other.

[TXT]: you busy?

She kind of feels a little crazy, texting this number at all, but hey, she's had a bad night. Apparently the 'easy smash and grab' job was really a 'get almost killed by a Militech war-bot' job.

[d3adagain]

📏

@borgbutcher | good googily moogily . . .

[pcrdiseseekers]

"Who the fuck are you?" (Hughes)

“That depends on who’s asking me in the first place. I can’t give confidential information to just anyone that asks me for my name, my good sir. Maybe if you let me know who you are, then I’ll gladly tell you who I am!”