If the future was the 80s, and rocking out was mandatory, it’d be the right future. Hehe.
I started this story about 80% of the way through the image, and finished them up simultaneously. This time, I sketched it out first, that is probably why it took so long… kept adding ideas during the process, and its also more polished/mainstream. It ended up like a test book cover. Had a lot of fun, though. Enjoy!

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9h p9 CS notepad

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She filled the ramen receptacle, clicking free the debit chip. It zipped back on its elastic line, finding its home in a shirt crease under her left breast. 14 dollars. I couldn’t buy a pound of manshit for 14 dollars. I can live like a king – er, queen – and even have cash to spare for a decent lovejob.

Steam. It hit her chin, condensing dead airborne mites, MSG and water vapor into milky droplets. They coalesced absently, unknowingly racing each other down a stretch of neck. The mixture collided with a collarbone, eventually submitting to pressed absorption via bamboo-pulp napkins.

The Mikey Café establishment - or rather: studio apartment turned hole in the wall – had a decent assortment of stream relays for its size. A single purchase enabled one free 10 minute selection, ranging from premium videofeeds to wide spectrum net access.

A singular city-facing window blinked to life. Newsfeed trickled upwards, causing the windows across the speedway to flicker, frequencies colliding like hard candy grinding the jaw.

‘Bering Strait recognized as autonomous zone’

‘Essence of brainstem not fit for conventional diet’

‘Dramatic rise in asphalt unaccounted for, city planners baffled’

Click.

Onto something relevant. The newsfeed stalled for a second, as the incoming stream routed to an offshore security array. Between sentences, the remote server slipped in context sensitive reports.

‘Shizuoka Prefecture: Several disputed housing complexes were leveled last Saturday, following numerous bomb threats. The district Chief hailed the demolitions as “Pre-emptive Strikes against Anti-Nationalists”. The three hundred story structures leave thousands homeless. Two have been spotted in constant vicinity during the past 30 minutes. Due to uncharacteristically active prevailing winds, tones of insulation have swept through the valley, igniting fears of respiratory damage and...’

The air duct fan sputtered and whined higher to match the pressure of the corridor. A sharp hiss, and the doors closed.

Chopsticks entered her mouth, thick lips moving inwards, sucking with her cheeks. The noodles rested snug in her mouth, sliding between tongue and roof, slipping around teeth, secreting all the flavors of the ramen rainbow. Mmmm…

She cocked her hips out and turned around, toppling the stool toward the door. The approaching figures tensed. They were young.

“Ma’am, we understand you have come in contact with a certain ‘Special Police Wong’.”

She raised an eyebrow.

He threw up a badge, head tilted in disrespect. The other rolled up his sleeves, knuckles cracking as he balled fists. Tall. “Po-lice Bus-in-ess,” the second said, stretching the syllables.

“Certainly,” she said, eyeing the first’s badge, “Senior … Detective … Takago-”

He braced for the kick, but it never came. A hot bowl of noodles splashed against his face, and he fell back, screaming. The other charged and swung wide, attacking with a quick calculated rhythm – hinting mid level nerve implants. She deflected the first pass, striking back with a low jab. It bounced off, and he came forward again, face blank.

She backed against the wall, ducking and buffering the blows as best she could. Some pounded flat into the wall, leaving square fist impressions in the hardened plastcrete. A heavy duty installation like this would buy him 5 years of conscription. Gotta ride out the investment before it crashes.

Fwap! A backhand to the face.

She collapsed, caught unaware by the sheer speed of the attack. Regaining composure, she rolled away, ducking toward the doorway. Her hands made a series of quick jagged movements in the air as she turned to face the assailant. A hissing growl came from his throat.

Rearing up and stretching, lips pulled back, his black teeth shone with a thick film. Sunken sockets highlighted the bloodshot eyes, running hot from the strain of his hardware.

he’s no older than 15

His neck pulsed – thick dark red veins, trailing chemicals up his cheekbones. The attacker was trembling in a locked stance, shoulders twitching. He thrust forward, feigning right… and froze.

His trembling stopped, instead pulling his expression back in terror. She relaxed. The face was familiar. Fucking finally. The offshore array had formatted his implant instructional code. Being that they were intrinsically tied to his nervous system, he was essentially disabled.

Mr. Senior Detective Takago had almost recovered, rubbing his eyes, squeezing the salt from under the lids, when he received a knife to the abdomen.

Twist and gurgle, you rat.

Now, about that rubdown...