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Zombie? No.
Cyborg? Only in the most generic sense.
Maybe an automaton? Nope.
Old grandma is still out there somewhere, and I’m told she still remembers me lifting credits off the low-grade Shen in her wrist. She must be two hundred years old now. Just as bitter as the first time she saw me.
I might be a little rough around the edges, but these HiRO implants… hijackers if you prefer, have really done a number on society. Whoever thought that remote instruction from a megacorp was a good idea was real bastard. With all of the cybernetics, augments, and implants of a free-minded corpo, us red-blooded living folk bore the brunt of commodification.
Yeah, yeah, true believers. Chase your birth-sin if you’d like. I’m no zero-mod, but if you drink enough overproof it doesn’t take long to recognize you can’t see straight. There’s no escaping the inevitable.
Of course, now that the universe is compliant, the megacorporations can just wait to upgraded us in half-death. Today, President Westergate made sure that never changes. My sources tell me, he signed a new executive order reaffirming the illegality of being off-contract. Plus, he’s mandated all existing contracts be reassigned through probate, in the event the man with the leash goes under. Man with the leash... that man wears a uniform and has a million outreached hands.
So remember, kids. Enjoy your subsidy or daily stipend — whichever they lube you up with. You’re going to keep begging, and they’re going to keep working you over. Enjoy those toys, while you dig holes. You’ll be painting spaceship when you’re dead.
And if you see my grandmother. Tell her to get over it. Inflation is a bitch. Couldn’t get a lick of protein paste for what I took back then.
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