One chip makes you larger, another makes you small. Some chips make you happy, some chips make you sad. Some chips make you feel emotions stronger than anything in meat space, and some chips make the vague, dull ringing in tin ears fade away into subtitles on the grainy screen.
It's been ages since I've done a job. Not since that mess with my niece. Parking Ticket or whatever the hell she calls herself. Didn't even know my pusher knew I ran the shadows. I guess he does now.
It's not my kind of job, but it's for a friend. A stupid job. That kind that gets you killed. But who gives a shit if the robot stops ticking. There's barely a ghost in the machine to miss.
Slot a chip to relax. The world goes silent. Text scrolls across the bottom of vision, cluttering sight with sound.
And there he is. The big boss. A low-res troll. Stuck with every spare horn someone had programmed. And the tatoos. Ironic fetishism or product placement?
It must be Korean. They hardly bothered to record movement for the fight. Just stand and press the button. Move to the left and push the button. Duck right and push the button.
Even when the troll connects, it hardly registers. Where's the agony? Where's the intensity?
It's a relief when the troll stops moving. It's finally over.
I don't have to put up with this crap. I've got nuyen in my pocket. I need better sims than this.
At least my pusher owes me one.
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