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After slipping on his slightly-too-tight leather trenchcoat and wraparound sunglasses the goon slips out into the night, his passage lit by flickering neon signs reflected in dirty puddles. Where is our protagonist going? each post will be a continuation of our cyberpunk narrative, building on the last
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Jul 29, 2022 22:54
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| # ? May 13, 2024 04:37 |
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"time to.... get to work" he mumbled to himself. repairing neo-neon signs was dirty work, but someone had to do it - and if you were gonna do it, better do it well. every wall was a potential gig, and tonite he'd scored the biggest gig of them all. but first, the megatrain station. glancing at his wrist he realized he might miss it. "time to... use my power feet" he mumbled, before engaging the metatitanium hidden within his ankles. Heather Papps fucked around with this message at 23:26 on Jul 29, 2022
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Jul 29, 2022 23:24
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100 miles per hour, that's how fast those cyberfeet go. much faster than that last job, he thinks. with his cyber brain. hes nearly at the underground meta-station when |
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Jul 30, 2022 00:40
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he nearly runs headlong into underground street poster ButtTheShitmanFart. You wouldn't know that they knew eachother however - with the penalty for posting being a zap to the balls and then death, both know not to risk any kind of acknowledgement. ButtTheShitManFart continues to cyberrun past, his light up shoes spelling out a message in binary code which reads..
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Jul 30, 2022 01:46
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"meet me, at datamidnite. we need you. the WORLD needs you" a single cyber-eye immediately decodes the message before any extrasecurity cameras could have even noticed. he was glad he paid extra, for the bonus resolution and processing speed. sure, he was completely colourblind - but colours were for the weak. priorities - first rent credits needed to be secured. with cyberfeet engaged missing the train was a fantasy of a joke. hopping onto the megatrain, then looking again at his metawrist, the greatest neo-neon repairer and cyberworm hackerfiend in all of magna-community-X14 sighed deeply. "3 hours. i may need to skip my regular dinner of regent-ramen."
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Jul 30, 2022 01:57
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As the passing thought of skipping dinner crossed their metaprefontal cortex, a jingle played in our protagonists cyberears. "Hello citizen 69,420, this is Jeff Bezos and if you find yourself without time to eat your regent-ramen just order some amafood on Amazon prime, and a nutritious snack of shredded cardboard will be delivered to your location by autonomous cyberdrones!" "I'm going to get the hyper-pepperoni flavor," whispered our brave, young poster through chapped cyberlips. |
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Jul 30, 2022 03:31
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With lunch absorbed via the Amazon copyrighted inhalation technology, our poster goes to work - those rent credits weren't going to earn themselves! Our hero set to work cleaning and maintaining the neo-neon lights, under the watchful eyes of the DisneyDrones, tasked with ensuring all citizens kept up their work responsibilities and don't give into the decadent and mind rotting activity of posting. Despite the task at hand, our hero was distracted. He logged his hours using iris hours(tm), then set out towards the meeting point. His completion of the mandatory o OHS module would have to wait. He burnt with curiosity and various cyber STDs - what secrets did ButtThe ShitmanFart hold? What adventures lay ahead on this shimmering neo-neon lit night?
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Jul 30, 2022 04:09
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But something didn't feel quite right, our cyberprotagonist thought in his hyperaugmented mental workflow. ButtTheShitmanFart was a pro, a real cyberpunk's cyberpunk, and it wasn't like him to spell out a clandestine meet in plain binary right in broad digi-day. Could this be a ruse, he wondered, stroking his nanobeard and tapping his wraparound glasses pensively. Walking through the megastreets after a long day at the light farm, he was tired. The auto-advertisements ricocheted to and fro in his mind, taking mere milliseconds to render the image of the latest meganutrient rations in his mind, analytically building a prediction model of his valuation process and altering the advertisements to perfectly appeal to his sensibilities. Before he knew it, he had already executed 6 digiorders for meganutrient rations to arrive tomorrow from PetaPrime Delivery. Dammit, he thought. My cybermoney!
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Jul 30, 2022 15:26
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just having finished that thought, a cyber message from petaprime delivery pops up on his wraparound glasses' screen. *meganutrion incorporated has been dissolved, ordered cancelled* "damnit," he thought again "my cyber rations!" his cybermoney had already been transferred. he would not be seeing it again. such is the law of cyber finance |
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Jul 30, 2022 17:03
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it was alright, everything was alright. he had won the war over himself. he loved Big Jeffrey |
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Jul 30, 2022 20:32
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barnold posted:it was alright, everything was alright. he had won the war over himself. he loved Big Jeffrey The transmission ended. He didn't know how he has ended up subscribed to Oprah's book of the day club, but at least it was Jeff Goldblum doing the reading this time. The voice of Bobcat Goldthwaite being shot directly into his cerebellum reading 'To Kill a Mockingbird' was a lot for the nerves. He engaged his powerfeet and slid to the meeting point, an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town. Except it didn't look abandoned. There were wires everywhere and our hero recognised there were some signal jammers discreetly hidden around the location to scramble any signals coming out of the building. Our hero started getting semi excited - whatever was happening in that warehouse he wanted in. He headed towards the back entrance. He waa met with a digilock which asked him to think of the password before entering. Now what password would ButtTheShitManFart set?
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Jul 31, 2022 00:01
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His hypersonic hovertrain of thought was suddenly interrupted by a Lurkerco security drone hovering over his right shoulder. CITIZEN, it buzzed, YOU GAVE BEEN RANDOMLY SELECTED FOR A LURKER CHECK. SUBMIT YOUR POSTCOUNT STATISTICS. Trying to act nonchalant and draw attention away from the warehouse door, he dutifully complied. PREVIOUS POST COUNT: 0. CURRENT POST COUNT: 0. It hummed for a few minutes as it ran some highly advanced calculations. RESULT: NO POSTS DETECTED. HAVE A NICE DAY, CITIZEN. "Uh, thanks." He quickly walked away, hoping he could circle the block and that the drone would move on. And the drone did move on, but not before submitting one additional message to headquarters along with the posting data. REQUESTING A PROFILE CLICK ON CITIZEN 69420. REPEAT, REQUESTING A PROFILE CLICK ON CITIZEN 69420, INCLUDING A COMPLETE POSTING HISTORY READOUT. |
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Aug 1, 2022 05:28
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"shits going to cyber hell real fast" he thought *WRONG PASSWORD* there was no time to dally about, moderators would be swarming the area in minutes punching his enhanced chromium hand through the drone's chassis, he started hacking the hardware. manual style "CORRECTION" the drone buzzed "CITIZEN 69420 IS NOT AT THIS LOCATION, DISREGARD ALL PREVIOUS MESSAGES" if there's one thing lurkerco likes more that catching rogue posters, it's cutting corners "that's the lurkerco promise!" he mused |
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Aug 1, 2022 14:58
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successfully hacked, the modbot drone began blasting old-timey music. somewhere i should be, somewhere I should be going, he thought, hoping he wasn't having an amnesia attack. Cyber-hardware can degrade, the burn showing up in your perceptions before it showed up on the repair bill. and poo poo, he thought, surprising himself, the mods can ban you from life itself. I've got spurs that jingle-jangle-jingle, the dronebot sang, as I go quite merrily along. |
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Aug 2, 2022 06:27
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He let his mind wander, letting the potential passwords flicker through his consciousness. Orbs? DENIED. Duh too easy, of course. TRASHED? DENIED. Not it either. But then somewhere from the realms of his consciousness a word started to pound at his cybercerebellum with such intensity it blinded him to all other things. When he ran into ButtTheShitManFart all those hours ago he must have implanted a cranialinterruptor on him without him even knowing! In the background, the dronebot continued droning its doleful tunes. Trying to put the drone's droning to the back of his mind, he phased into the digilock and purposefully brought the password into the front of his mind: momey The warehouse door swung open. He turned his cyberfeet to the 'ultra quiet' setting and proceeded to make his way inside.
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Aug 2, 2022 23:37
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Wires were draped from the ceiling and snaked their way across the floor. In the middle of the warehouse were rows of tables with CRT monitors and computer towers, the cool ones with led lighting and watercooling and poo poo. There were people here, but not people, they were posters and they were posting, their digifingers a blur of light and whirring. The air was punctuated by the clicking of mechanical keyboards. "gently caress" thought our protagonist, "poo poo". It was an underground posting club, the underground posting club known as "the jack in". He was committing a crime by being in this vicinity and yet the allure was too strong. ButtTheShitManFart approached on his hoverboard, his eyes masked behind wraparound sunglasses. "It's time" he said in a cool hacker voice "will you help us defeat those who seek to stop us posting? It wont be too long until the posting cops come sniffing so you gotta hurry - make your choice"
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Aug 5, 2022 00:32
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As our protagonist's ocular implants adjusted to the gloom, he began to recognize faces. Most of the first and second generation posters had died or been cyber-lobotomized in the Great Posting Purge, with a small handful escaping into cryo-hiding, but here were a few notable posters who had spearheaded the underground posting rebellion. He saw The Byorg Queen surrounded by a small group of her uncountable symbiotic alts. Jeth Bubba Jr. was here too, his humble AI text origins left far behind by the far more sophisticated AI that gave him actual life. |
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Aug 9, 2022 04:12
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They suddenly changed direction, darting around a corner into a grimy alley. A tall fence blocked their way at the end, but they ran in anyway, desperately looking for a door or a way through or over. They knew they didn't have long. "Think! Look! Is there anything here we can use? We only have a few seconds!" He looked around in a panic as she shoved aside garbage bags and kicked over trash cans, looking for a spot that they could project a terminal onto. "HERE! Look!" She shouted suddenly, rising up from a hunched over position amidst a dozen packed-full garbage bags. "Down here!" A small blue rectangle was etched on the ground, perhaps an old uplink spot for a long-dead cyberclub, or for all they knew, an old secure root for a bank teller's booth. There was no way to tell what it used to be for - it was now caked over with the oozy, slimy muck that came out of the garbage bags. He thought of it as the city's lifeblood, now sickly and full of drugs. "DO IT!" He shouted as the cyber police came screeching around the corner. Holding back a sob as they raised their weapons, she hastily drew a couple of quick swoops, a few quick lines for the legs, and dots for the eyes. The drawing began to glow and shine in sharp relief on the disgusting terminal box. A tear formed in her eye and began to fall as the police began firing. It was too late. The dickbutt sank into the ground and disappeared into the internet's murky interior. The post was complete. They could die now. I didn't read the op / thread concept and just shot from the hip my bad lmao im drunk Fart Dumbass fucked around with this message at 05:08 on Aug 9, 2022 ---------------- |
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Aug 9, 2022 05:04
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the cyber police come to me in my sleep, he thought. unsure why, as the thought had come from a place even neuro-scanners couldn’t find. alternate lives, he thought, you could live another life and not know why. like the latest cybersims. but what was i doing, all the way out here, he thought, readying his next post
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Aug 9, 2022 05:17
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"butt," he said, cyberishly, "that is insanity. the kind that exists in the membrane. you think you can bring down the high council of admins and their swarms of moderators, just with this ragtag group of has-been posters?" "not just this ragtag group," the shitman smirked "we assumed we'd get assistance from the biggest, baddest has-been poster left in the cybermath" "you just found your man" he said in a cool way, after giving butttheshitmanfart a flashing grin |
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Aug 9, 2022 15:32
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"so, what's the sneetch?" [translators note: "sneetch" is 2030's slang for plan] our protagonist said, in a relaxed, yet serious way "it's so simple, yet complex - we hit the big guy himself" butttheshitmanfart explained a shock hit our hero. trolling the j-man? the tyrant of yospos? this went way beyond your standard underground posting... and yet... could it work? "so let's assume your posting crew here manages to break into the moderator forum [backstory: the only posting ground in legal existence after the posting act], what would stop them from retaliating? hell, at that threat level, they could simply deputize the entire district as iks." even under the wraparound shades, he could feel the calculating stare of butttheshitmanfart's cyberenhanced eyes "don't forget the gift you carry," butt said in a tense, but still pretty cool way "you still retain certain buttons" |
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Aug 9, 2022 15:58
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he smiled as he remembered the last time he hit the button that posts twice at once. hed posted so hard he thought his nanopostites would fry and explode, sending shrapnel stars and wires through every blood vessel and beyond. but they were programmed never to do that. but he thinks, unfortunate are those who are slaved in the lepers colony on Neptune’s 3rd moon. there’s always a risk when you post, so as he addressed Butttheshitmanfart with his next words, he fingered his emergency stash of posting amps and settled his gaze upon the person he was talking to.
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Aug 9, 2022 21:26
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"my software is too old for this poo poo. but what can i say? log me in." the shitman's once stoic features lit up in joy, his jaw servos wildly actuating as the gem in his forehead flashed rapidly in teal - the happy colour. "thank the op orbself. honestly, this whole operation was a childs arm trapped in a chessbot - but with your help... well, i think we can pull this off. let's cryptopinkie swear on it." i quickly worked up a blockrope contract of digi-teamwork. the shitman and i were now a posting pair.
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Aug 11, 2022 23:33
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| # ? May 13, 2024 04:37 |
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his new posting Soul Unison embedded deep within his synapses, he dove even deeper into the posting matrix. the rush of pure mainlined posting as the cool blue light bled his eyeballs into endless blue. he’d once been a goldmine poster until the posting Zaibatsu had disabled his poo poo. but now with posting tag combos flashing triggers of information on his readout he knows no normal post parameters but accelerated infinite loops of postage entwining and unbraiding in the endless blue and lavender or so his hue readers guess before the sheer postage makes them go haywire with bliss. dimly he remembers the voice of the ace poster who trained him. “posting gets harder when you leave the chill zone.” that was another life, before. an ultra grade firewall spits incandescence, looming like a monolith in the way of his posting.
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Aug 14, 2022 20:50
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