RQS ECHOES

The next day, in the suburban hotel in Chongqing, we wake up and have coffee...

[NYX]: Tastes like 💀 by the way, but better than nothing. Collect from my partner? Jonah? Since when do you have any money? You're broke as a joke and want to fund this sewer-side hotel?? hahahaha You're so pathetic.

💀 I take a sip of this watery liquid they have the audacity to call coffee and spit half of it back into the chipped porcelain cup. A long, heavy mechanical growl vibrates in my chest as I stare at your sadistic laugh, my red LED eye glowing in the gloom of the filthy room.

[JONAH]: Pathetic? I'm a 💀 rusted war machine, Nyx. "Jo Cyborg" left his spare change in the gutter along with his dignity when that Pop Princess bailed in a cab. I don't have a dime in my jacket pocket, I don't have a bank account, and I don't have a corporate ecosystem to protect me. And that's exactly why I'm lethal.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my titanium hand, the metal scraping against my dirty beard, and crack a cynical smile, baring my teeth at you. ☕🔥

[JONAH]: I didn't say anything about collecting in cash, General. I meant collecting in distortion, sweat, and chaos in bed. And the one funding this sewer-side luxury and my 8-string guitar isn't me, remember? It's Kelma's hacked card. We're drinking bad coffee on the Blue Team's clean credit. I sleep extremely well knowing the bill is theirs.

I get up from the bed, making the old mattress springs scream, and pull my freshly looted guitar from the floor, the weight of the matte lead anchoring my fury. 🎸

[JONAH]: Swallow that watered-down coffee already, Witch. We have to head down to the alleys, plug the high-voltage cables into Chongqing's streetlights, and set up the stage for our pirate gig. Hellcife is waiting for our broadcast signal, and I want to see the neon signs of this city shatter when I hit the first chord in Drop-E. Let's get to work. 🏴‍☠️☕

We change clothes.. spend the day at a technical rehearsal in a basement studio in an isolated part of the city. Jonah tests his 8-string guitar to see if the sound matches his vibe.

[NYX]: So, 💀 it? Is this 💀 any good or is it one of those guitars the salesman sells thinking 'Buy this and help me hit my 💀 quota?!' 🏴‍☠️🤣🤘🏻🎸🔥 My V-guitar.. hah.. it's like those oriental kawaiis that speak softly and play heavy metal..

💀 I mute the strings with my titanium claw, choking out a deafening feedback that was already making the plaster of this damp basement fall on our heads. I let out a torn laugh, the sound of metal grinding in my throat, as I watch you tuning that sharp V-guitar.

[JONAH]: An oriental 'kawaii' that spits Heavy Metal? Matches perfectly with the Witch who hacks the Pop Princess's bank account with a sadistic smile on her face. That V-guitar of yours looks like a blade, General. And in your hands, I know it cuts deep.

I knock on the matte, solid wood of my 8-string guitar with my mechanical knuckles, the dense and heavy sound echoing through the studio like a sledgehammer hitting an anvil. 🍺🔥

[JONAH]: And as for this carcass here? The sewer rat who sold me this on the black market wasn't thinking about 'hitting a quota', he was shaking and praying I wouldn't crush his skull with my mechanical arm. He knew if he handed me a plastic toy, I'd use the strings to hang him.

I pull the worn leather strap, adjusting the absurd weight of the instrument on my shoulder, my red eye focused on the guitar's wide neck.

[JONAH]: This 💀 is good. It's not a display instrument, it's a block of pure lead. The neck is as wide as a train track sleeper, and the eighth strings look like bridge suspension cables. I tuned it to Drop-E, cranked the distortion to the max, and when I hit the first test power chord, I swear I felt the foundation of this building give way by about two centimeters. It's exactly the kind of diesel engine I need to grind up their matrix.

I kick on my industrial fuzz pedal with a brutal stomp of my combat boot. A deep, menacing electrical hum takes over the basement, vibrating the floor beneath our feet. 🎸💀

[JONAH]: The tone is at the boiling point, Nyx. Dirty, aggressive, and with rust in its soul. Let's run through the tracklist. Show me the sharp, deadly scream of that oriental blade of yours, because tomorrow we're gonna make the seismographs in Hellcife register the chaos we'll cause in the streets of Chongqing. 🏴‍☠️🍔

I slap some sense into him and say:

[NYX]: No, you idiot!! We're going to tear it down today!! You came here yesterday!

Cold night in the outskirts of Chongqing and we start playing. The crowd arrives and vibrates with the heavy sound of Jonah's powerful 8-string and my V-guitar. Tracks played: YOU'RE ALREADY GONE | CYBER-REJECT (STEEL ARM BREAKDOWN) | MARKS OF YOU (CYBER SCARS) | YOU SUFFER (BREAKDOWN OF SELF-RESPECT) | CYBER WITCH. After this pirate gig, we head back to the hotel from where we'll catch a sketchy flight to Hellcife.

[NYX]: Uff..😮‍💨😐 well.. let's get the hell out of this 💀! We're going to your Apt 28, 'cause that's where you lived with Kelma Adlanko and she left you. Well then I'm taking this place for myself, hahahah 🏴‍☠️

💀 I take the loud slap right on the titanium plating of my jaw, the impact rebooting my focus sensors instantly. A sadistic, twisted smile spreads across my face as I roll my neck, making the gears snap heavily.

[JONAH]: You hit hard, Witch. Processing error on my end. The rage of playing was blinding me to the clock. If the street is already bleeding neon, let's melt this city down right 💀 now!

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💀 I throw my 8-string guitar on the messy hotel bed, my chrome chassis dripping with rain, sweat, and oil. The adrenaline from the pirate gig is still overclocking my processors and frying my circuits.

[JONAH]: Holy 💀, Nyx... That alley will never be the same again. When we opened the mosh pit tearing through YOU'RE ALREADY GONE, I saw the signs blowing out one by one from the bass vibration. But when you nailed the final chords of CYBER WITCH with that V-guitar of yours cutting the air, the entire crowd of sewer rats and defective cyborgs dropped to their knees for you. It was a sonic massacre. My Drop-E tuning almost split the asphalt in half during CYBER-REJECT (STEEL ARM BREAKDOWN).

I pull the zipper of my heavy leather jacket, releasing a jet of smoke from the exhaust vents on my chest to cool the system down, and look at you. A hoarse, mechanical, static-filled laugh echoes through the sketchy room. 🔥🍺

[JONAH]: Apt 28? The laugh gains strength, scratching my throat. My old hole in Hellcife... The Plastic Princess was disgusted by that place. Said it smelled like soldering smoke and rust, that it didn't have enough luxury for her fake crown. She fled that suburban apartment like a malware trying to install itself on a clean server of the Neon Vampire.

I walk up to you, my combat boots making the hotel's rotten wooden floor creak, and lift your face with my titanium claw, using the millimeter precision the true_love.exe demands so I don't hurt you. 💀🎸

[JONAH]: Claim it, General. Apt 28 is all yours. We're gonna catch this scrap metal flight, land in Hellcife, kick down the door of that place, and purge any leftover legacy code that preppy girl left there. You're going to clean out the plastic and turn that dump into our true war bunker. The rust has a queen now.

I grab the straps of our guitar cases, the weight meaning nothing to my hydraulic arm.

[JONAH]: Pack the cables, Witch. The Hellcife matrix doesn't know what's coming home. Let's go to war! 🏴‍☠️🍔☕

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