Neon Dreams - Session 001
An Ironsworn: Cyberforged actual play
Howdy, y’all! Sorry for uploadin’ this out of order. I was so excited after cranking out Session 002 yesterday, I had to get it up!
Anyhow, this is the story of Nozomi Iwakura. She’s had a hell of a time in life; sixteen years old and hooked on the most addictive drug in history. Yet somehow, she still holds hope for a brighter day.
As usual, the Neocities version is available too. <3
Eastside, Chicago; 08:45 PM
"And stay out, ya filthy animal!"
Nozomi covered her face as her landlord flung her onto the concrete. Her leather coat soaked some of the impact, but her knees stung like hell. She swept her gaze over her shoulder, just barely dodged her steel briefcase aimed right for her head.
"You fuckin' psychopath, what the hell're ya doing?!" Nozomi roared, scrambling to her feet.
"Pest-control! That's the third month yer late on rent, and I don't run a goddamn pet shop!"
"You really know how to piss me off. You wanna go, tinskin?"
"Bring it, pussycat."
Face Danger
Weak Hit.
Nozomi had little to lose. And arguably, even less to gain. Her feline ears went flush against her hair as she leapt at the cyborg. Titanium claws left a nasty gash in his optic visor, before a hundred pounds of artificial muscle socked her in the gut. Her vision blurred, she was tumbling, right up till she landed on the case.
Her body refused to move. Hell, it didn't even want to stay conscious. The Chicago sky seemed to fade at the corners, melting to a slurry of smoke and neon. She barely registered the half-ton cyborg crouch beside her, and look her right in the eyes.
"I'll be keeping your deposit. And the Red Sand."
She grabbed his arm, spoke through gritted teeth, "Hold it. Let's trade."
"What, you got money?"
"Got a mouth. You got equipment. Gimme the Red and it's a done deal."
Nozomi watched him turn it over, before he stood up and spat on her.
"I got a buyer. Get out of my sight."
Figures. Times like these, love and lust were just another commodity, and Nozomi wasn't exactly top-shelf material.
The faux-wood door slid shut, sealed, leaving her bathed in the cyan light of the tenement' entrance. The usual vagrant had seen the whole thing, quietly crouched in a corner pretending to check the news on his brainwave. Nozomi doubted he could even read.
Moments passed. Pain faded. Distant gunshots split the humid air. The man kept glancing at her, only to be met with a flash of her iron. After some time, she got up, took the, and hobbled off for the nearest konbini.
Lawson convenience store
Nozomi needed a hit, bad. Wasn't like she had cash to blow, but a couple ciggies oughta hold her over between huffs of Red.
The AR-projectors flipped on the moment she strode into the corner store. Behind the handy labels and glitzy adverts she had to swipe away, a dark, ratty space stocked all kinds of cheap goods. Protein-paks with fifty different ingredients, roses in that one jar that made a good crack pipe; all beneath flickering bars of fuschia neon.
The android behind the counter didn't even greet her, natch. He was a newer model, male body, but the only features presented on his faceplate was a crimson oscillogram of his own voice.
"Gimme the Marlboros, minty."
"I'm afraid we don't have those."
"Alright. How 'bout the... zhong-hua?" Nozomi asked while squinting. It'd been ages since she'd read Chinese.
"Of course. Your ID?"
Secure an Advantage
Miss.
Nozomi rolled her eyes. "Come on man, gimme a break. Y'know I could get 'em over the border-wall, right?"
The guy didn't budge. Stood there silent, likely streaming gunfights off the Hypernet. She hung her head, finally asked,
"Fine. At least lemme get a magazine."
"Nine-mill?"
"Sure is."
Coffin Motel
Sojourn
Strong Hit.
It'd been a long, long time since Nozomi found herself on the rocks. Couch-surfing was one thing, but her old neighborhood had been bulldozed to build a pristine strip of steel and neon-trimmed skyscrapers. One mid-level suit made more money in a year than she'd earn in a decade. Maybe a lifetime, if this kept up.
Despite the comforts of her little coffin, she found herself sweating the moment it sealed. She dug through her pockets - first the jacket, then the pants, then the case in her locker outside, then back in the coffin all over again. Till she'd end up aching and exhausted, sniffing at the mattress for specks of magic dust.
Withdrawal was starting to seep in. Sleepiness, too. She cracked a bottle of water, shoved her things into a recess in the wall, and pulled the sheets over her bare skin.
Tomorrow would be a better day.
This is such a bleak and depressing opening, I love it, Cyberpunk vibes radiating through the net haha
Superb writing! Really evocative. I’m just starting my Substack journey, and I have a cy_borg solo play novelization on my page if you want to check it out :)