Altered Carbon

Death is obsolete—if you can afford the backup. Your mind rides on glass, your body is just rented meat, and your identity is a commodity in the stacks. The rich live forever, hopping sleeves like fashion trends. The rest of us claw through digital back alleys, aging synths, and black-market resleeves just to survive another day. AI whisper in neon towers, old gods haunt forgotten VR, and someone’s always watching from the cloud. Trust no memory. Question every face. In the worlds of Altered Carbon, eternity has a price—and someone always pays in blood. *Based on the TV show more than the books.*