The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.

At some point he realized that he had began to play a game with himself, a very ancient one with no name, a kind of final solitare.

Threading his way through the crowds, he could smell the stench of his own stale sweat.

The damage was minute, subtle, and utterly effective.

It was difficult to transact legitimate business with cash in the Sprawl; in Japan, it was already illegal.

Night city was like an experiment in social Darwinism designed by a bored researcher who kept his thumb permanently on the fast forward button.

Her body language was disorienting, her style foreign. She seemed continually on the verge of colliding with someone, but people melted out of her way, stepped sideways, made room. "How you doing, Case?" He heard the words and felt her form them. She slid a hand into her jacket, a fingertip circling a nipple under warm silk. The sensation made him catch his breath. She laughed. But the link was one way. He had no way to reply.

Rent me a gun, Shin?

Now that... That is so much bullshit.