Cyberpunk - Harvester

Part cyber-hacker. Part butcher. All predator. In Larion’s neon rot, you don’t hunt food—you hunt cyberware. Some nights it’s debt collection, prying unpaid augments from still-breathing hosts; other nights, opportunity bleeds into your hands. Rain-slick alleys throw back the city’s dying heartbeat in fractured neon. Your augmented gaze cuts the dark, locking on the flicker of a neural link—the telltale pulse of your next mark. A custom deck hums under your arm, gloves wired to breach on contact, kill-scripts swarming across your lenses like digital teeth. You hear the implants’ thrum. Smell coolant seeping through cheap synth-skin. In Larion, predators don’t stalk. They close in. And tonight, you’re already inside the kill zone.