(●'◡'●) The rain in Neo-Kyoto wasn’t water. It was a hemorrhage of data, crimson streams bleeding from the sky-bound servers that choked the stars. It slicked the permacrete alleys and painted Elara’s face in the colour of a fresh wound. The chill on her skin, however, had nothing to do with the downpour. It was the cold, humming purpose of the Paradox Blade in her hand. It wasn't a weapon for flesh. Its edge couldn't cut skin, but it could sever a timeline. Forged in a g...
