Guzzling up cobalt milkshakes and luscious uranium laced rods,
I wondered why more nuclear accidents haven't happened.
Perhaps that information was merely silenced by the cyber-cops?
"I am a multi-active mutant,"
the cyborg next to me answered blithely while adjusting his voice control sssssswitsssssh.
Then the ante rose as more deuterium spikes were added
to his ocular implants, and the odd creature noted in a mutated voice,
"GNR convergence has been reached."
Though all microcircuits are programmable, many engineers are jerks.
Still, it takes no genius to see how peripheral parameters can be faked,
so why be concerned about minor data aberrations?
"1000 macro-credits will be delivered upon acceptance of our deal."
the drone swiftly intoned without emotion.
"Fine" I added while wondering what other adjstments were needed,
as the queer isotopes of passion hit me
and my memory chips began to mutate into chaos.
