#future noir

[scipunk]

Max Headroom (1987)

[curatorofthisdigitalmorass]

Blade Runner (1982)

[tokyofuturnoir]

[virna333]

[sayxit]

You’re lonely…

Those nights where you meet the memory that never was

[sleepingxawake]

I love mashing sounds together and calling it music and making videos on YouTube. Wanna see what I do?

Here ya go:

All: https://sleepingawake.carrd.co/

YT: https://www.youtube.com/@sleepingxawake

Bandcamp: https://sleepingawake.bandcamp.com/

Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/sleepingawake

Discord (21+): https://discord.gg/VBHA4NfsJt

[filthyneverdie]

NAMO - Ninth Form Motoko

[machetelanding]

Harrison Ford & Ridley Scott on the set of Blade Runner (1982)

[litrpgburrito]

The chrome gleamed faintly in the neon glow emanating from Remy's noodle stand across the street. Here, at The Caffeinated Cog, the only shine came from the warm mugs cradled by hands both augmented and unaugmented. It was a haven for those seeking a break from the glitz of Neo-Seattle, a place where the music spoke softer than the whir of gears.

This evening, the stage was bathed in the soft orange glow of a simulated sunset. A hush fell over the usual smattering of patrons – a lone cyborg with a saxophone perpetually welded to his arm, a group of students with glowing earbuds plugged into a central hub, and a pair of teenagers whispering shyly over steaming mugs of jawa.

Then, came the melody. It started slow, a bluesy riff that seemed to emanate from the worn wooden guitar cradled by the newcomer. Her hair, a riot of purple dreads, was the only splash of color against her dark clothes. As she played, the entire cafe seemed to vibrate with a melancholic energy.

One by one, the other musicians joined in. The saxophone sighed a counterpoint, the earbuds pulsed with a rhythmic bassline, and a lone spoon clinked out a countermelody against a mug. It wasn't a performance, it was a conversation, a sharing of stories through a language older than chrome and circuits.

As the last note faded, a smattering of applause broke the silence. The purple-haired woman smiled, a hint of sadness lingering in her eyes. Then, she shouldered her guitar and melted back into the shadows, leaving behind a cafe full of strangers, each a little less alone than before.

[w-i-m-m]

[vforviktor]

Further Down the Spiral

It had been months since he watched them leave his dimly lit basement clinic. Months since Misty and V ascended that damn elevator. Months since Misty hugged him and timidly whispered into his shoulder that she knew V wouldn’t be coming back down… not alive anyway. Months since a not so distant gunshot forever scarred the lives of everyone who cherished her.

     It was true that in Viktor’s youth he was an angry rockerboy who lived a rage filled life, spent trying to do his part to take down the Corpo scum that plagued the city. When he realized how ineffective and small a cog he was in the living machine that was Night City, he spent his time getting into petty drunken bar fights… and when he started to settle down he found himself in testosterone fueled rivalries and pissing contests in the ring — an entire life in which he spent roughly 60 years watching the city grind so much vibrant young potential into a pulp on the sidewalks and splatter their brains onto the omnipresent grime of itself.

     He didn’t find contentment until he dedicated himself to helping people. The comfort he had at this stage in life he found in patching up and chipping in the solos and edgerunners who were trying to make an impact on this damn city… people more equipped than him, people who could actually make a difference… People like Jackie Welles, people like V. He missed her. His guts ached from the grief and guilt he felt every day. Every once in a while when he let himself think of her, V’s words rolled around in his skull like a bad penny: “Seems to be you’re the only person in Night city who’s happy with their lot”. Usually when he let that thought linger for too long his body would shake involuntarily as he suppressed indignant sobs, because when V unceremoniously shuffled off this mortal coil, Viktor had never been so angry... So sorry... He had never felt this utterly defeated.

     What he could not have known is that the decision to end her own life was made out of a profound love for the people who cared about her the most. In the final moments of her life she mused that perhaps it was a bit selfish because she was tired and she knew that she couldn’t watch another friend fall, not after losing Jackie, not after losing parts of herself. She didn’t want to watch as Arasaka zeroed someone she loved… and more than anything, she wanted to go on her own terms.

But what did that mean to everyone left behind? Just another urn for Mama Welles’ mantel…

     Misty knew, of course, but she had always known… right from the start. She also knew that V's ending would be most painful for Viktor and she knew that his new beginning would be difficult… for both of them. Viktor was the person she was closest to, and if she was being honest with herself— the only true choom she had left. She did her best to stay positive and to comfort him, but in these short months after she watched those elevators open to a tear soaked Viktor carrying V’s small broken body she could see that the good doctor was playing a dangerous game. He was spiraling. His trajectory was taking him to the darkest corners of Night City.

Fighting, both figuratively and literally for a release.

You can read more here! ^_^

[scipunk]

Blade Runner: Black Out 2022 (2017)

[curatorofthisdigitalmorass]

Blade Runner (1982)

[tokyofuturnoir]

[virna333]

[jdfitzroy]

Writing Challenge | "Hole in the City"

A new micro-short from my writing challenge series. This time, a future noir crime thriller.

by JD FitzRoy Write a 750 word fragment as if taken from the middle of a bigger story or novel. Future Noir Thriller. Freed from the stuffy, damp basement, Buran breached into a ground-level corridor. Her torchlight, a silvery knife stabbing the gloom, yet unable to penetrate the full corridor length, whichever way she turned. Uniform in length and emptiness. Isolated from the sticky neon…