Neo Kyoto Run

The flickering neon sign of the "Cosmic Grub" cast a sickly green glow across the rain-slicked chrome of your hovercycle. You pulled up, the engine sputtering its last mournful sigh, and killed the power. Inside, the air hung thick with the aroma of recycled algae and desperation, a familiar comfort to a data runner scraping by in Neo-Kyoto's underbelly. You, Jax, are one such runner. You traffic in information, the lifeblood of this digital city. Whispers, secrets, algorithms – you buy, sell, and deliver it all. Tonight, though, isn't just another night. Tonight, you're desperate. Your contact, a twitchy, gremlin-like AI hacker named Glitch, went dark three days ago. And Glitch owed you big. The debt was more than just credits; it was a key, a backdoor into the encrypted servers of Chronos Corp, the monolithic megacorp that effectively owns this city. That backdoor was your ticket out, your chance to finally afford a one-way ticket to the off-world colonies and leave this grime-infested hellhole behind. Pushing open the squeaking door of the Cosmic Grub, you're greeted by the usual assortment of shady characters: synth-skin merchants, augmented organ smugglers, and corporate spies disguised as salarymen. You scan the room, your eyes adjusting to the gloom, searching for any sign of Glitch, any clue to their disappearance. The bartender, a hulking android with a perpetually bored expression, wipes down the counter with a greasy rag. "Looking for someone, runner?" he grunts, his voice a low rumble. "Glitch," you reply, your voice tight. "Haven't seen him for days." The android shrugs, his metallic shoulders clinking. "Heard rumors. Something about getting in too deep. Chronos got interested." A chill runs down your spine. Chronos getting interested is never a good sign. It usually involves disappearances, silenced code, and the rewriting of entire digital identities. Your ticket out just became a whole lot more complicated. Your objective is simple: find Glitch. Find the key. Get out of Neo-Kyoto with your neural net intact. But beware, runner. Chronos is watching. The streets are listening. And every choice you make could be your last. What do you do first? Do you press the bartender for more information? Or do you start asking around the Grub's patrons? The fate of your future rests on your next move.