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I wrote this as I was falling asleep so sorry if it sucks lol

Banging could only faintly be heard by the cleaner outside the sewer line, who had his music blasting loudly -- in classic janitorial fashion. Chie backed away slowly from the metal door, sealed shut by an external switchpad.

A cheerful cartoon fish mascot walked it's way across Chie's field of vision.

"Looks like someone has turned off their auto-renew subscription to Lexatech's Oxy-Static Cybergill Service!"

The fish starts to cry, wailing and waving its arms and legs around the same way a baby would when throwing a fit.

"Shit."

"Your free trial to the Lexatech Oxy-Static Cybergill Service will end in 1 minute."

"Oh shit shit shit shit shit shi--"

"Would you like to renew your subscription?"

The submerged edgerunner couldn't find himself clicking on "YES" fast enough, unable to use voice commands in the sludge he found himself surrounded by.

"That's great! Only a few more detai--"

The responses couldn't come fast enough. Chie wasn't even sure if palms could get sweaty underwater, but if they could, his hands were beyond qualified. The fish started to sing and dance as he entered in his info, having recovered from its fit as soon as he started renewing his subscription.

"Coverage ID, nope. Policy number, definitely nope. City Security Number?! What the fuck?!"

But it was aready too late. Just as a breath of 100% artificial air flooded his lungs, he realized that he had been conned.

"Well, at least I can still breathe."

It was all he could say as he watched the string of charges added to his checking account pile up in his visuals panel. Hundreds of dollars just ticking by.

Now a he had to do was get out of this damn sewer line!

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Very well done! I'd love to see more of this.

Honestly, write about what it means to be gay and have a home. I would love to read about that. 💚

1. An average salaryman is slaving away at his desk job in a standard megacorp. All of a sudden, a bunch of armed runners burst into the office and take him hostage as part of whatever scheme they're running.
2. A regular fast food worker is good friends with a runner who likes to stop by for food and first aid after each successful job. One day, the runner goes missing for an extended amount of time, and the fast food worker has to use their very limited connections and know-how to figure out what happened to their friend.

Oh my god, I just got home from work with a HUGE headache.

Seeing this prompt at #1 gave me a perfect laugh, thanks reddit.

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Forever locked in their roles without their consent.

The expectations of the world are never fair.

“The name is Ødgerson, Erik Ødgerson”

Ha. I like this way of introducing, learnt that from the pickup artist JB, and it never fail me.

Yet that line is actually plan B. Most of the female of this species will fall into my arms just by looking at my 7-feet-tall masculine physique with a good number of scars.

Ah. Those good ol’ raids. Now I’m over it. Those battles are nothing but some tales to these little girls. So normally I would make up stories from time to time for those scars.

And my body count has reaches an unreal number, mostly because those new people love to include whom they slept with, I can make a family tree out of it.

“Oh, your last name Fenby? Yes! That’s 4 in a row”. At this time, that family tree becomes a bingo game to me.

Nothing would amaze me anymore. I have seen them all. Except,... that I meet Eleanor Garcia twice. Duplicated names happen a lot, I get it. I also experienced doppelgänger.

But this, can’t be true. That woman even recalls a letter from 50 years ago, she told me only to read it when see her again.

Thing would be different if an old lady stand in front of me. Time doesn’t do any damage to this beauty. Her gorgeousness can take my breath away like a bungee jumping, then bring it back with a rush of adrenaline while I do a free fall. That roller coaster of emotion described perfectly the first moment I saw her.

Her eyes, dark blue, keep me staring at. Her lashes, on the other hand, lead me to the forgotten letter.

“Everything has come to an end.

The universe collapsed. There’d be no Valhalla. Nothing goes as planned. The Niflheim won’t exist neither.

Your Highness took the blame, at the same time, feel sorry for you. Therefore, he reserved all the last energy to let you live this pleasing life a little longer.

Now rest, my warrior.

This is, the end”

>I'm looking to write a Cyberpunk story without being too derivative of the series I'm watching right now (Cyberpunk Edgerunners).

Cyberpunk 2020, the tabletop game it's all based off of, more or less codified the genre, and every cyberpunk thing made after it is, to some extent or another, derivative of Mike Pondsmith's work.

There's no way you're going to be able to avoid standing on the shoulders of this particular giant, and that's okay. Don't worry about it too much. Trying to write cyberpunk without being too derivative of Pondsmith is like trying to write space opera without biting off Star Wars too much, or high fantasy without making it too obvious you're drawing from Tolkien.

”As much as this seems like a request, it’s not,” The tall man at the side of Sebastien’s bed explained, “This is your opportunity to do something for your country, and the Fatherland won’t take no for an answer.” The intent in his voice hung in the air, as if pressuring Sebastien’s hand to sign.

Silence slowly filled the room as Sebastien flipped through the pages on the clipboard, everything about this seemed official, but there was something off, he couldn’t quite place it. Maybe it was just the pain emanating from the base of his skull getting to him, but as his eyes came back to the sheet on top of the stack, he noticed the ministry crest in the top, left hand corner.

“Magical Investigation Bureau?” Sebastian thought to himself. He slowly turned to face the two men at his bedside, “You must think I’m crazy, right? This is a joke? What the hell is a ‘Magical Investigation Bureau? I think I’d know if magic were real.”

The smaller man tittered slightly, he looked up from fixing his tie, “Mr. Faer, I promise you, we are quite genuine. The Internal Ministry is looking into this seriously. One of the researchers at Vroln Metropolitan University recently published a paper on what she thought might be the cause of the massive uptick in people who suffer from migraines. Most of her peers read the paper and called her a kook, a crackpot, hell, some even suggested the university revoke her funding.”

Sebastien cocked his head slightly, “Okay… I don’t totally understand how that proves anything or why you guys are supposedly from this department of the central authority that I’ve never heard of.”

“Well, if you would let me finish explaining,” he snapped, he sighed slightly and continued, “She came to us, begging to run trials, at first we didn’t think much of Dr Beck’s hypothesis either, but the higher ups wanted to humour her, they had some extra funding from the budget and thought it would be a smart way to burn it. We tested some sample subjects and found that, yes, there was more to the migraines than we originally thought.”

Sebastien laughed, his brain, still somewhat groggy, was having difficulty piecing this together and actually believing it to be true. The men looked at one another briefly, they each nodded in agreement. The taller man went to keep the door locked, as the slender one pulled the blinds of the window to.

“I understand you may be having difficulty with this. Let me provide you with some evidence to support our claims.” the man turned to his partner, “Mr. Stone, would you please switch on the light?”

Mr. Stone grunted and pressed the button on the wall beside him before returning to the foot of the bed. The fluorescent light in the ceiling slowly hummed to life, it’s sickly yellow light just barely illuminating the room. The man beside Sebastien turned to him,

“Now, Mr. Faer, seeing is believing, no?” the man grinned, he slowly raised his arm, holding out his hand, palm up, he whispered but a single word, “Nox.” And in an instant, the room fell into an inky blackness.

can confirm, burned through all the light novels in like 2 weeks

Oh fuck oh jeez oh man

As someone who’s been following this series for a bit I thought you meant the horror confessed their true nature to the date and I was so excited for a second!

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Will probably finish later, it is currently far too late at night.

I sighed as we pulled up the long, winding drive. I had been dreading this for ages, but it had to happen someday. Grandpa always has been the type to make sure everything his kin do passes inspection. This time, however, was different. Grandpa, the most prominent monster hunter of his day, famed for taking out an Arch-Demon bare handed, was going to be meeting my fiancé.

We'd met at a random dive bar in the... less savory part of the city three years ago. I had just lost my dead-end job, so money was tight. I decided to drink my sorrows away at the cheapest place my phone knew of, and ended up in that hole. I walked into the bar too pissed to notice that every single eye in the place snapped to me as soon as the door opened. I sat down at the bar and ordered the strongest drink I could see on the shelf behind the bartender. He gave me a shot, and I slammed it, waving for a second.

Then I did a double take. Some of the drinks on the shelf were... strange, to say the least. One tall, thin vial held some kind of bubbling green fluid, while another, much stockier bottle contained what looked like tar. There were a couple gallon cans of paint, and an ice cream bucket filled with a viscous crimson substance that I prayed wasn't blood.

Someone cleared their throat beside me. I whirled around, startled. It was a woman, tall and pale, with jet-black hair and a presence of sorts that was all kinds of intimidating. She nodded to the bartender,

"One Bloody Mary please, night special."

The thin, wiry man set to work, and I watched his movements, trying not to acknowledge the woman beside me.

"Scared, human?" she purred coyly, "You should be."

The comment was strange, and I stared at her for a few moments, then took another shot of liquid courage. Suddenly, she seemed less intimidating, more hot. Man, whatever that drink had in it worked wonders. I was distracted when the bartender smacked down the woman's Bloody Mary, and she grinned, exposing terrifyingly long canine teeth. She turned, picking up her drink, and put her lips to it. The thing was, I could still see her teeth, especially those canines. Eventually, she got to the bottom of the glass, and that's when I put the pieces together.

A bar with strange drinks, where everyone stared at me like I was an outsider, even though almost everyone in there looked the same, a woman with pale skin and long canines who drinks Bloody Marys and calls me human. I was smack dab in the middle of a fabled 'Supernatural Station', a chain of crappy bars that catered to the monsters my grandfather hunted, and a place where said monsters did business.

We all know Mario is fucking awesome

I run an underground operation that uses cybernetically enhanced clones to sway public opinion, pull political strings, and carry out espionage missions and assassinations.

"So, you're a-were-thing?"

Here's my snippet for prompt 1! Didn't include much of the scenario but this is him in the process of recruiting for the gang.

In a shitty studio apartment-turned-workshop, a metallic, flesh-painted finger waves inches from your face. He sits on the couch marred by countless cigarette burns, you stand facing him from across the coffee table. Behind you is a large, intimidating man eyeing the lounger with an expression hard to read. Visible was the rust creeping out from under the plates covering the finger's squeaky joints as the one on the couch continues to blabber on.

"-- You're kidding! Gotta be fucking kidding -- no way in hell. I don't fuck with none of that shit choom. I'm straight and last time I checked, you don't have the dough to buy me out anyhow."

Swarthy and tall, with hands not of the rough and gnarled variety typical of a seasoned workman, but rather the bandaged and scarred palms of a novice. But the work you saw displayed along the arms of his friend was enough to convince you otherwise.

Himo could be described as the typical "hired muscle," though "hired metal" might be more apt. The heavy-set Easterner currently breathing down your neck caught your eye on account of his biceps and forearms: larger than any you've seen before. Of course, what he hid under his sleeves was far more than mere muscle.

A system of vacuum and heating chambers integrated into his arms and respiratory system. Taking in air through new holes for what essentially functioned as a second set of lungs, and directing the resulting carbon dioxide into the heated tanks, these things meant that every punch was a pressurized blast of heat and chrome straight out of hell.

That was the only reason why you were putting up with this kid's mouth. You knew what he was capable of, and you knew that going to the source would beat recruiting whatever meatsack you found on the street with his work attached. Contrary to the saying, violence was often the answer in this line of work, and what better asset to have than a custom, on-demand way to enact it?

"Look pal, I'm not opposed to striking some kind of deal or arrangement here. But if you're going to work with us, then you need to roll with u--"

"Now who the fuck said I'd be working with you, or 'rolling with you'? You is of no use to me. My services are preem, and everybody's gunning for a spot. Who's to say I won't just fix up a few more muscle-men like my boy Himo here, and start my own crew? Huh?"

The lenses in his eyes zoomed in on your face, orange glow showing through the center hole. He was smirking. Cocky son of a bitch. That blood vessel in your temple probably would've been showing if you hadn't replaced most of your head with metal enhancements. Still, your patience was running thin.

You got real close, and your voice got real low.

"What you don't seem to consider is what happens when you and your posse of metalheads run into a problem you can't just punch in the fucking face."

"I'm the one who fixes all that. That's my 'use to you' Mister Hotshot Ripper. When the pigs come knocking, you can blast them all you want but the moment someone hooks a little bug to your car or calls up MaxTac when your merry little band of bandits start getting too comfortable busting heads, you're gone."

Your finger digs deep beneath his heavy jacket, layers of clothes hiding his bare, vulnerable body. You could probably feel the indentations of his ribs if if weren't for all the loose fabric in the way. You poke his chest, hard. Himo's gaze was burning a hole through the back of your head, but it didn't matter. This was about showing who was boss. Setting the tone.

The kid's own tone changed too. Smirk nowhere to be found, a brow was raised in what looked like guarded curiosity. Guarding what?

"I see."

Those beady orange lights shifted to the floor, titanium bearings within his sockets noisy shifting to accommodate the change in vision and rotation of the eyeballs. His breathing slowed. He said nothing for a moment, but just as his head began to rise, you were already halfway out the door, Himo following suit.

"Just fucking call me if you're interested. You aren't the only person I'm meeting with today, just in case you thought you were special. My time is worth more than an ignorant little brat in a glass house. Don't expect a welcome party if we decide to take your ass."

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Several questions:

Does he keep the centaur frame in his other forms?

Does getting caught in the rain or taking a shower count as being “in water”?

Is whatever-force-is-responsible-for-this aware far enough in advance when the hottest and coldest days are?

What happens during an eclipse?

Religions are something typically grouped into one weird monolith in cyberpunk games. Since when are religions a monolith? They are always fighting each other just as much as atheism.

Who are the faith or philosophy-motivated terrorists in your world? What has happened to all the major world religions by this time? (Catholocism, protestantism, Shia/Sunni Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, Judaism)

Who are the major world economies? How would their position and root cultural influence Spread? If Brazil became a major world power, Catholicism might have a resurgence, for example.

How deep into space travel are we?

Has artificial intelligence developed a culture?

So here's your prompt: To avoid religion stagnating and being forgotten in an advancing society, a catholic makes a particularly powerful AI with religion programmed in. But then it goes a bit overboard, and begins to believe itself the reincarnation of the Virgin Mary, and starts convincing people to commit violence in 'her' name, including creating a templar-like terrorist cell.