Down on the street the city is filled with squalor. Dirty, crowded, noisy, with barely any difference between the gang thugs scraping by and the wageslaves selling their soul for flavorless nutrient paste, a tiny apartment, and a handfull of nuyen. Ads are projected directly onto the pedestrian's retinas, advertising wares that cost enough to add another 6 months to their debt, while the chip-dealers hawk BTLs offering 6 hours of pure pleasure, if one is willing to pay the price.

But from up here, on counter-grav wings, the city glistens and glows. For the moment, it is but a shining reminder of hope and promise. Of digital wonders and electronic dreams. One might almost call it... beautiful.

Art of a cybered-up me by kmdrgg