I have passed on to the land of dreams:
I sit beside brooding Satan in a wretched scrap metal Paradise. The gunmetal glory of germs and steel has left a cyberpunk future with bodies on ice, their guts blooming forth in cryochamber pods, for us to fish through their organs and find gold.
It is a drag time, it is a rag time, it is industrial kingdoms of hordes of robots and nurses in automaton dresses stealing starlight to feed a Blade Runner future. Satan sits on a throne of melted guns, nanotubes, and motherboards. He smiles like a shark and plays with a knife in his hands, running the blade against his teeth, then along the jut of my cheekbone, leaving a thin line of red. The switchblade gleams in the mechanical moonlight.
"What is this place?" I ask, in his lap, wondering at the cyber wasteland.
"The future, where the Mark of the Beast is technology, and I rule supreme. What happens when Steiner's Ahriman defeats Lucifer and I reign."
