In the age of neon and chrome, nothing is better than being a piece of advertiser-friendly meat and steel. You may be a supermodel, a braindance star, or a NET Influencer: the type of person whose job description is to be an approachable, inoffensive product to be passively consumed in chunks of kilobytes or printed on holopaper. Divas are living embodiment of capitalism, pristine packaged products to be consumed by the masses. You are pretty, sexy and beautiful, and for that they envy you. They want to be with you, to grab your attention, to be seen next to you, to look at you all over and touch everywhere they look. They want to be you, but they tragically can’t. Good news is that you are, after all, a product, still shrink-wrapped and shiny off the corporate shelves, and people like to consume to feel the void.
Edgerunners sometimes scoff at people like you. They say that you're palatable, presentable and you don't grind against the system. Sure, but a product is designed for a purpose, just like their fancy guns are. When they look at you, they forget to notice the hardened jackass with a hand cannon poking out of his shitty leather coat. You make them forget to spot the lies on your pretty face, make them unable to notice the details that really matter. While you make that important corpo notice your charming smile and the hint of skin you revealed, she will fail to notice that hardened jackass stalking closer and she’ll feel his hand cannon hitting the side of her temple after it is already too late.


