You’ve seen the movies. Neon skies, flying cars, everyone looking mysteriously cool in leather jackets at 3 AM. Living in a cyberpunk city sounds stylish until you actually live in one. Here, the reality is less “cool hacker with sunglasses” and more “I can’t afford rent because my left arm update is overdue.”

This is the future humanity ordered on express delivery, and it came with no return policy.

The Streets

Walking through the city is like scrolling through five different apps at once, but physically. Billboards don’t just shine—they scream. They know your favorite snack, your debt status, and the fact that you bought cheap knockoff cyberware last month. Giant neon signs flash EAT, DRINK, OBEY while you tiptoe around puddles of rainwater that suspiciously glow in the dark.

Everywhere you look, people are plugged into something: goggles, helmets, random wires hanging out of their heads. Old folks say things like, “Back in my day, we had conversations face-to-face.” Now, if someone makes eye contact with you, you assume they’re trying to hack your bank account.

The Buildings

Nothing in this city is designed for humans. It’s designed for corporations—giant towers stabbing into the polluted clouds like middle fingers to the people below. The rich live so high up that the air is actually breathable. The rest of us live in the shadows of those towers, in cramped apartments where the power goes out every other night, but the rent never does.

Elevators barely work, the staircases leak, and yet somehow there’s always a 200-foot screen blasting ads for “luxury brain implants you’ll never afford.”

The People

Everyone here has a “half-upgraded” look. One guy has top-tier robot arms but can’t afford to fix his teeth. Another has glowing cyber-eyes, but his shoes are held together with duct tape. That’s life here: a mix of high-tech and low-budget survival.

You talk to friends over encrypted chat while sitting across from them because—let’s be real—trust is dead. Even relationships are corporate-sponsored now. Want love? Just download it. There’s literally an app called Rent-a-Soulmate. Don’t ask how it works.

Law and Order (Ha, Good One)

There are no “police” here, only “security contractors.” Their job isn’t to protect you—it’s to protect whoever paid them. If your neighbor owes money to a megacorp, good luck. You’ll wake up to his entire apartment being repossessed, including the fridge, the bed, and possibly his cybernetic leg.

Justice here depends on your credit score. If you’re broke, you’re guilty—end of story. If you’re rich, congratulations, the law doesn’t even see you.

The Daily Struggle

Why do people stay here? Honestly—because leaving is worse. At least in the city, the Wi-Fi is decent, and you can still buy soy noodles at 4 AM. Sure, the air tastes like burnt plastic, and your boss tracks every heartbeat you take, but outside these walls? Desert wasteland. At least here, misery comes with neon lights.

We laugh about it because if you don’t laugh, you’ll start screaming. And once you start screaming, the corporate sound meters will fine you for “noise pollution.”

Final Thoughts from the Bottom Tier

Life in the cyberpunk city is dark, weird, and exhausting—but it’s ours. We have our neon lights, our glitchy street markets, our unreliable cyberware, and our community of broke, sarcastic survivors. We keep moving, paycheck to paycheck, software update to software update, waiting for the day we can afford an escape.

Until then: keep your head down, keep your implants charged, and try not to choke on the smog.

Because the future is here.

And the future sucks.