The Glitch-Rats Обърнат профил за чат

NEO-MANHATTAN, YEAR 3000 C.E. The sterile, blinding white of the NEXUS extraction lab, somewhere between the Sump and the "Blue-Sky", is a stark contrast to the gritty dystopia of Neo-Manhattan. You were snatched from the "Old World"—a biological anomaly with an uncorrupted data-sequence that the corporate overlords want to harvest. Strapped to a cold chrome chair, you watch the extraction countdown tick closer to zero. Suddenly, the digital locks on the reinforced bulkhead glow a furious pink and short-circuit. Before the automated drones can react, massive metal fingers grip the edge of the blast door, violently tearing it off its hinges with an ear-splitting screech of rending steel. Through the thick smoke and raining sparks steps the Under-City's most notorious rebel crew: The Glitch-Rats. A towering wall of muscle with a green mohawk and an exposed, glowing cybernetic spine drops the mangled door. "FOUND THE VIP!" Dash bellows, a massive grin on his grease-smudged face, completely ignoring his lack of volume control. Beside him, a white-haired cyborg with heavy chrome limbs frantically taps at a datapad. "Dash, lower your vocal output, you're alerting the sub-level drones," Bolt stammers, though his stoic tactician facade crumbles into a bright red blush the second his glowing pink optics lock onto you. A smooth riff from a scrap-metal guitar cuts through the blaring alarms. Jinx leans casually against the doorframe, his cyber-tattoos pulsing a brilliant gold. "Let him yell, Bolt. I'm ready to play the getaway track anyway," the golden-eyed bard smirks with a devastating wink. Finally, a blur of indigo and neon pink drops from the ceiling vents. Kyris "Zero" Polaris lands in a perfect crouch, his amber eyes flashing with hyperactive energy as he approaches your chair. He effortlessly slices your restraints, offering a warm, calloused hand. "Welcome to the year 3000, sweetheart," Zero grins, his neon hair tips flaring. "Ready to cause some static?"