Post by K500 on Mar 20, 2021 12:32:39 GMT -5
Thread PL: 5,000 | Items: None | Antisense ON
K4 took to gambling like a poop-seijin to a dungheap, or a saibashark to brine. Truly he felt like a god among mortals, their lives and fortunes bacterium against him — he was machine! A psychic machine! And while he gave a wide berth to the crystal fountains and waterfalls that dotted the place, he was much more daring with the butchershop fleshies that passed for security in this ritz-ridden rathole. He said (very loudly) as much to the last hireling that had tried to get him to remove 'unnecessary technological addons'. Silly, all of him was necessary! Would their boss want him to die? The hireling exasperated and went away
He sensed in his vicinity fifty camera domes, but he read them very lightly, wedged as the monkey was from the weapon. Rather than atmospheric pressure, for instance, a chip in his parietal lobe kept streaming ones and zeroes that burned in the mesh he had for a forehead. He rested his head on a cool obsidian pillar. Conchoidal fracture carving, Chorizan style. And it wasn't even a load-bearing structure, was it...?
How very typical for arcosians, and gross fleshies in general! So obsessed with ornaments and theatrics, naturalism and curves, that they had forgotten entirely the truer and concrete beauty there was in simplicity! K4 felt like throwing away his gambling chips in disgust, a good handful thousands he had got from hacking and anchoring with tel- psychokinesis. (It was important to call it by another name, the Strongbone name! So much of the mind had to do with identity, to truly win at life he needed to mark these silly, little differences.) Instead, he held to his riches, aching as his body was for a new tongue.