It's a dark alley somewhere between the dingy Borders of the ICE-Wall along the edge of Thantifaxath and City 146. A familiar dark alley, dimly lit and wreaking of dank and decay. Cubed doesn't know how he got here. The socket where his right-eye used to be before that eloptically-transmitted endotoxin claimed it throbs in an immense swell of pain. "Fuck this filth ridden scrapheap. Diseased vessel. Infected bio-ship." he thinks in reaction to scene. He always had a charming air of being rather brutish and to the point. Worried about the task at hand and applying blunt force to solving was his usual means of operation. The wind howls like a desperate wolf across the empty evening and hollow streets.
He stands; scraps of newspaper and other garbage fall by the wayside as he moves. Somewhere over to the left is a hazy sensation of the presence of fire. Vision's a bit blurry and vertigo is setting in. He tries to breathe deeply but his lungs feel full of toxick debris. His bones ache with every movement he makes, muscles have been stagnant and thusly deteriorated. He tries desperately to focus and recall what his last run was...all he remembers is the exploding heads of some out-moded B-bots, each frame from his memory is like a sharp knife in his neural cortices. He check his O.C. provided Neural G.U.I. - atleast his Harpocrates chip is broadcasting the stealth EMF at full capacity. He wouldn't want anyone to see him feeling so shitty, someone could exploit a moment like this. The Mantra resounds from the hollow cavity of his eye in some low-pitched and familiar voice from beyond a wall of black-veils: "There is nothing, and this is it." He seizes and collapses momentarily at the burst of inverted data.
He reaches in his pocket and finds an odd circuit he can't recall having been issued. Somewhere inside it triggers recognition of the new rules: Free to Krime in both Dayside & Nightside. There's work to be done here, but he doesn't know what just yet.