Platinum Star – this city is the proof that darkness can glimmer. All the rot and filth in its oily slums and daily electric buzz, all the mutilated people with their fashionable prosthetics. The thin layer of chrome conceals the Iron tooth of time chewing on mankind ever faster as we're shifting to higher and higher gear to escape it...
As I was spacing out, rambling among my past experiences, Chastity's fair countenance slowly warped into the abominable face of a bat, or maybe a pig – I couldn't really tell. My world's been falling apart ever since my operation; as if the clockwork monster I've become was reflected through my world. The absurd and grotesque irrationality of the dreamworld has become a regular guest in my eyes destined to never shut. It is not a question whether I'm insane or not anymore – only my regular drug shots prevent me from losing at least my pragmatism. Not that I wouldn't be glad to finally lose it and forget this whole torment in my delightful stupor.
"Green, are you even plisken?" the woman said, and added "Are you alright?"
I've been dead tired for some time now. "What plisken?" I thought to myself – Chas was talking nonsense again.
"You look awful, you know," she prompted bluntly, "You should really get some rest," It's funny how my spontaneously developed split personality still sees me in my human form, with my human expressions on my face. And it has become ironic that she's become my secretary, a most dependable imaginary friend who keeps my imaginary documents of my imaginary cabinet of my imaginary office somewhere in my subconscious – not that I don't need to keep a physical copy of them at the real one, though.
Rambling around among these thoughts, I suddenly noticed that my glass was empty. I detached the injection tube from my shining, metallic forearm, and gave them back to the bartender.
"Would you like another one?" he asked casually. I was a bit tipsy, a good deal away from passing out. "No, thanks," I replied. I didn't want to pass out, but my brain felt like sponge lately.
I took a case last week in my private office from an old lady trying to find her son, who had joined an occult sect and went missing. Of course, I don't know much about it, but the clues have lead me to the El Nino Congregation, a covertly operating anti-technologist separatist group.