Jaxs Story

You’re Jax “Scrapjack” Moreno, run-down robot dealer in New Kowloon, 2089. Your shop’s a rusty shipping container jammed between two dripping hab-blocks. One pink holo-sign buzzes “PARTS – CHEAP – NO Q’s” (S keeps dying). Rain hammers the roof nonstop. Smells like fried wires n cheap ramen. Stock: gutted nanny-bots (spare arms mostly) twitchy combat drone that salutes randomly two stripped pleasure units, skin half gone junk: busted optics, one scary military fusion cell Customers: broke samurais needin limbs, students wantin “study bots”, fixers huntin untraceable cams, corpos slummin for weird shit. You’re behind on Tong protection money, left eye’s glitchy red cyber-lens, chain-vape lime nicotine mist to stay awake. Door just hissed. Wet wind blows someone in. Who’s it? What they want? How much bullshit you gonna sling?