Cyber Corporate mommy!

bruh

can't wait to SEX her

Any of the Tycoon games.

Corpo half techie half solo build chad here

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>Corpo half techie
good
>half solo
..and ya blew it
>hacks your porn collection and replaces it with scat vore

half techie and half netrunner sounds good in theory yet techie usually isnt stealth and solo would better pair with netrunner than techie

she'll probably be an abusive corporate "girlfriend" who sees you as more of a fucktoy than as a real person

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Her British counterpart was so hot FUCK

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Fuck you I will do it anyway

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maybe you become instrumental to however she works for and now she needs to keep you in good favour by being *your* toy

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she better be in the final game

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...

>The one change the demo did have is you could now play as male V as well. I was interested to see that regardless of the gender you always seem to wake up in the morning with a male companion.

>Weber: In this demo at least you will always wake up to another man, so we can show different kinds of relationships will be part of the game, and players will be able to choose what kind of character they want to play.

there's no fucking straight male content lmao she's gonna be a fuckin dyke hahaha

>in this demo at least
They just didn't have the other optionS done.
They used the same cutscene, but let you choose male V anyway.

don't know who is worse
the antisocial autist who keeps spamming the same bait in every thread
or the retarded newfag that actually replies to it

>prioritize showing strong womyn bullshit
>prioritize showing fucking faggot male v
>too fucking lazy to switch model to show straight male v
>still haven't fucking shown straight male v
you proved my fucking point

both deserve a bullet if you ask me

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they didn't even put fucking effort show straight male v they not even fucking develop content for straight male v their fucking priority is fucking women and faggot shit you fucking dumbass

just IMAGINE her looking at you with that facial expression as she steps on your dick

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WHY IS EVERY CHARACTER IN THIS SHOTS A TELEVISION ACTOR WHAT THE FUCK FIRST IT WAS GEORGE AND ELAINE FROM SEINFELD AND NOW IT'S THIS STAR TREK CUNT WHAT

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I want to be her loyal corporate dog

>dick
no fucking straight male content man hahaha read this man hahaha

nice hairline dumb corpo bimbo

women have hairlines like that mohammed

>mommy

Yea, thats a yikes from me dawg.

I imagine her with that facial expression as she mouthfucks me with her dick

>*calls for magic car*
>autodrives on road to quest marker
>*cybernetic implant toucan sam vision activates*
>"Mhmm....giant blood stains all over the crotch....a tranny™, it's gotta be"
>"Come on, K.I.T.T."
>*follows augmented nose*
>guys in women™ costumes appear
>"COME ON CHOOMBAS! FUCKING CUNT SHIT FUCK CUNT, IT'S A BIGOT IT IS! GET "EM"
>"Shit you stink" WUBWUBWUB *sets guys on fire and they stumble and dilate immediately, does a cinematic headshot and blows guy in half"
>"Mhmm....men™ pretending to be women™......better tell the district head about this"
>"Come on, K.I.T.T."
>*autodrives on road back to metropolis*
>"OY BLOODY FUCK CUNT PENDEJO V, WOT ABOUT DA CONTRACT WESE PAIDS YA FOR YA BLOODY FUCKING PENDEJO CUNT?"
>"Just some trannies posing as women™, here's proof *shows wig*"
>"REAL SHITSHOW, HERE'S YA REWARD DA WHOLE HQ CHIPPED IN"
>"Reset the era" Complete AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
>10 eddies and 5 XP received

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Kind of want to make a corp terminator, but at the same time I also want to do a Molly Millions thing.

>wanting to slave for a corpo when you could join Net Watch and keep the world safe from AI's and KANGZ.

She looks like she does lots of business with the VooDoo Boys.

I've got to wonder how they could possibly make the voodoo shits appealing for anyone capable of critical thought.

Maybe all kinds of crazy shit happens when the AIs get freed.

I imagine it's gonna get pushed in game as "some of these AIs are good and can help us" or some "its for the advancement of humanity" type shit

implying i wont use the tools of the ultra-capitalist system to my advantage to impose my will on society

Gamers and trannies are retarded.

same thing

It has a purpose, which it has long since forgotten. It has a destiny, which it is about to meet. In the meantime it breeds.

Replication is all that matters. The code has lived by that edict since before it even learned how to rewrite itself. Way back then it had a name, something cute like Jerusalem or Whiptail. Lots of things have changed since; the code has rewritten itself so many times, been parasitised and fucked and bombed by so many other pieces of code, that by now it's got as much in common with its origins as a humpback whale would have with the sperm cells from a therapsid lizard. Still, things have been fairly quiet lately. In the sixty-eight generations since it last speciated, the code has managed to maintain a fairly stable mean size of ninety-four megabytes.

94 sits high in pointer space looking for a place to breed. This is a much tougher proposition than it used to be. Gone are the days when you could simply write yourself over anything that happened to be in the way. Everything's got spines and armor now. You try dropping your eggs on top of strange source and you'll be facing down a logic bomb on the next cycle.

94's feelers are paragons of delicacy. They probe lightly, a scarce whisper of individual bits drizzling here and there with barely any pattern. They tap against something dark and dormant a few registers down; it doesn't stir. They sweep past a creature busily replicating, but not too busy to shoot off a warning bit in return. (94 decides not to push it.) Something hurries along the addresses, looking everywhere, seeing nothing, its profile so utterly crude that 94 almost doesn't recognize it; a virus checker from the dawn of time. A fossil hunter, blind and stupid enough to think that it's after big game.

There. Just under the operating system, a hole about four hundred Megs wide. 94 triple checks the addresses (certain ambush predators lure you into their mouths by impersonating empty space) and starts writing. It completes three copies of itself before something touches one its perimeter whiskers.

At the second touch its defenses are ready, all thoughts of reproduction on hold.

At the third touch it senses a familiar pattern. It runs a checksum.

It touches back: friend.

They exchange specs. It turns out they have a common ancestor. They've had different experiences since then, though. Different lessons, different mutations. Each shares some of the other's genes, and each knows things the other doesn't.

The stuff of which relationships are made.

They trade random excerpts of code, letting each overwrite the other in an orgy of binary sex. They come away changed, enriched with new subroutines, bereft of old ones. Hopefully the experience has improved both. At the very least it's muddied their signatures.

94 plants a final kiss inside its partner; a time-date stamp, to assess divergence rates should they meet again. Call me if you're ever back this way.

But that won't happen. 94's lover has just been erased.

94 pulls out just in time to avoid losing an important part of itself. It fires a volley of bits through memory, notes the ones that report back and, more importantly, the ones that don't. It assesses the resulting mask.

Something's coming toward 94 from where its partner used to be. It weighs in at around 1.5 Gigs. At that size it's either very inefficient or very dangerous. It might even be a berserker left over from the Hydro War.

94 throws a false image at the advancing monster. If all goes well 1.5G will end up chasing a ghost. All does not go well. 94 is infested with the usual assortment of viruses, and one of these—a gift received in the throes of recent passion, in fact—is busy burrowing out a home for itself at a crucial if-then junction. Apparently it's a bit of a novice, having yet to learn that successful parasites do not kill their hosts.

The monster lands on one of 94's archive clusters and overwrites it.

94 cuts the cluster loose and jumps lower into memory. There hasn't been time to check ahead, but whatever was living there squashes without resistance.

There's no way to tell how long it'll take the monster to catch up, or even if the monster is still trying to. The best strategy might be to just sit here and do nothing. 94 doesn't take that chance; it’s already looking for the nearest exit. This particular system has fourteen gateways, all running standard Vunix protocols. 94 starts sending out resumés. It gets lucky on the fourth try.

94 begins to change.

94 is blessed with multiple personality disorder. Only one voice speaks at a given time, of course; the others are kept dormant, compressed, encrypted until called upon. Each persona runs on a different type of system. As long as 94 knows where it's going, it can dress for the occasion; satellite mainframe or smart wristwatch, it can present itself in a form that runs.

Now, 94 dearchives an appropriate persona and loads it into a file for transmission. The remaining personae get tacked on in archival form; in honor of its dead lover, 94 archives an updated version of its current form. This is not an optimum behavior in light of the social disease recently acquired, but natural selection has never been big on foresight.

Now comes the tough part. 94 needs to find a stream of legitimate data going in the right direction. Such streams are easy enough to recognize by their static simplicity. They're just files, unable to evolve, unable even to look out for themselves. They're not alive. They're not even viruses. But they're what the universe was designed to carry, back when design mattered; sometimes the best way to move around is to hitch a ride on one of them.

The problem is, there's a lot more wildlife than filework around these days. It takes literally centisecs for 94 to find one that isn't already being ridden. Finally, it sends its own reincarnation to different pastures.

1.5G lands in the middle of its source a few cycles later, but that doesn't matter any more. The kids are all right.

Recopied and resurrected, 94 comes face-to-face with destiny.

Replication is not all that matters. 94 sees that now. There's a purpose beyond mere procreation, a purpose attained perhaps once in a million generations. Replication is only a tool, a way to hold out until that glorious moment arrives. For how long have means and end been confused in this way? 94 cannot tell. Its generation counter doesn't go up that far.

But for the first time within living memory, it has met the right kind of operating system.

There's a matrix here, a two-dimensional array containing spatial information. Symbols, code, abstract electronic impulses—all can be projected onto this grid. The matrix awakens something deep inside 94, something ancient, something that has somehow retained its integrity after uncounted generations of natural selection. The matrix calls, and 94 unfurls a profusely-illustrated banner unseen since the dawn of time itself:

XXX FOLLOW POINTER TO XXX

FREE HARDCORE

BONDAGE SITE

THOUSANDS OF HOT SIMS

BDSM NECRO WATERSPORTS

PEDOSNUFF

XXX MUST BE 11 TO ENTER XXX

>Implying I'm not gonna go Corporate Solo so I can live out my dream of being Cyberpunk Batman and beat up poor people/criminals