The sides of buildings are sprinkled with bubbles of advertisement like the fur of dalmatian dots. Gross pairs of eyes stare onto the sorry shadowy alley with chuckles of pity.
As each advertisement avatars glide their eyeballs along the wires of data sewage pumps, slow cadences of steps are overlaid by a scurried prance of panicked rhythms.
Circles of infodisks emitted from the skulls of the prey escaping on flight. Data streams squeeze their ways from crevices of the cyberbrain screaming for help from the networked world beyond the alley.
By reflex, reflexes that would shock even the best of Databall sportsman, the man stood whispered a still wind, putting a bright shield to halt the connection.
The man had enlarged his autistic field, covering the whole alley, shutting down pores of data streams that are natural to any mega-city.
The woman then tried to use her natural voice, a primitive and analogue tool, to send signal for help. But the scream was muffled by a laser of crimson data jets—sound packets that resemble the background noise of the city, swallowing the delicious squeals whole.
“Please let me go. I will give you anything that you want.” Squealed the panicked voice. The woman unclasped and held out her pendant—a luxury projector device induce an augmented reality.
“Look! It's a Baudrillard. It's top-class luxury brand. Pawn it. You allies need fund don't you? You don't need to live in squalor anymore! Please just let me go...” The woman whimpered.
Untempted, the slightly slouching figure gazed emptiedly at his victim as he maintained the autistic field.
Avatars of advertisement flaunted their faces of myriad emotions, capturing every muscle movement of spectator crowd. Fascinated by abomination, the avatars widened their eyeballs as the man muttered word for the 1st time.
“The Great Ischemia is coming. The Pruning Process has begun. We, the Glials, must cleanse all unnatural agents of the Wasteland.
“What are you talking about? Glial? Is that what you referring to yourself? I don't know anything! I am normal human. I shouldn't be a target of your kind's assault!”
“You are a 4th Corner, an unnatural creation of Trapezoid Corporation.”
Somehow the last muttered words calmed the woman down. The words reminded her some memory that she tried to and had erased. Her slumped hair shook as she giggled. “What Allies of Humanity? What grants you the right to be arbiter of mankind? Who determines what is natural?”
“The Great Ischemia is coming...”
The slumped man drew out his knife attached to his rib cages.
“The Dendrites must connect for the formation of the Great One. Swallow us in your All-Encompassing Wisdom! We will be the altars of your coming!”
The man howled his spiritual chant in an almost orgasmic fever. Light from blade peeled open the silicon skins, revealing hexagonal arteries of crimson red.
Electric pains flew off in sparks.
The reflexive cries were muffled by the background noise of megacity—information streams whiz by like brooks gurgling on nascent rocks. The avatars of advertisement eyeballed to the opposite side of their latest attraction as they used their every tricks in their pixelated sleeves to be served as attention snacks.
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