Cyberpunk Fiction Novels & Stories

She waved her hand, summoning a holographic terminal directly over the bed. "Show me," Scarlett commanded. The hologram flickered, displaying a heavily corrupted video feed. It wasn't a pristine, white-jade cultivation realm, nor was it the green earth. It was a sprawling, suffocating megacity built entirely out of dark metal and illuminated by blinding, toxic neon signs. It looked like a cyberpunk nightmare. In the center of the video, a young woman with a mechanical, cybernetic arm and glowing, artificial Qi-meridians wired into her spine was running through a rain-slicked, neon-lit alleyway. She was bleeding glowing blue coolant.

Neural implants glowed softly beneath the skin, a testament to the seamless integration of technology into everyday life. The architecture of NeoVista told a story of contrasts. Majestic skyscrapers stood tall, their sleek and modern exteriors juxtaposed against the rusted and decaying remnants of the past. The city's evolution seemed rooted in the tension between a high-tech future and the remnants of a forgotten era, creating a unique cyberpunk aesthetic.

An explosion rings loud, followed by another as Sol throws out an explosive. A quick scan told the pair that four were dead or dying.But they knew there more of the Mechahypes. It was a sub culture that was common in the Fringe Zones or areas close to them. Made up of people who were obsessed with communing with technology through neural cybernetics and other unstable builds. They exited the building, cutting through a cramped exit that doubled as a laundry area. The smell of detergent was a welcome but very brief respite.

They had built the sword, but forgotten the fire. The rain-streaked window of my Copenhagen apartment blurred the neon lights of the city into a watercolour of loneliness. Another night stretching out, empty and silent. I took a long swallow of cheap wine, the bitterness a familiar comfort. I glared at the holographic angel, his perfect pectorals seeming to mock my very mundane frustration. “Michael,” I said, the words slurring just enough to betray my mood. “Where can a girl get some drugs, sex, and a good time around here?”

People think depression is sadness. People think depression is crying. People think depression is dressing in black. But people are wrong. Depression is a constant feeling of being numb. Being numb to emotions, being numb to life. You wake up in the morning just to go back to bed again. ~ This story will touch on the subject of "depression", "suicide", and "loss". While at the same time, it will have angels and demons inside it. The "mystery" surrounding Mr. Fiction. The attempt of finding one's true self and identity. The reveal of the past may forever alter the future. This author could only hope you will sit tight and enjoy the ride.

High above the toxic, swirling ash clouds of the Pacific Rim, a new crimson dot began to pulse with blinding intensity. < TRANSFER OF COUNCIL AUTHORITY INITIATED. PRIMARY NODE SECURED: NEO-TOKYO. > The hologram shifted, rendering a three-dimensional model of the new threat. It wasn't an underwater fortress or a grounded sphere. It was a sprawling, jagged, cyberpunk metropolis composed of towering neon spires and heavy durasteel, suspended entirely in the stratosphere by massive anti-gravity repulsors. It was riding out out the centuries inside a perpetual, irradiated super-storm.

The waitress led them to the elevator where they got in and as the elevator went up Grusha couldn't stop herself from admiring the view she was seeing. Velith had always been a highly developed cyberpunk city-a place that birthed countless brands, companies, businessmen who later rose to become tycoons. Its streets were always alive-except for the quieter suburban pockets where Damien lived-filled with supercars, underground races, neon-lit clubs, gambling dens and everything in between. One might say that it was the city of the devil. The waitress led them to the top floor of the hotel where the entire city sprawled beneath their feet. The floor was empty except for a single table set at th

Its top was wreathed in a halo of sickly green and magenta light, throbbing in slow, steady beats—like a toxic heartbeat. Objective. “Welcome to the future,” Jax said at my shoulder, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. “Somehow it’s exactly as depressing as I imagined.” My stomach twisted. It looked too much like home. Not my exact city, not literally, but close enough—tall buildings, choked intersections, ugly concrete public art—filtered through the lens of a deranged game dev and my own worst cyberpunk drafts I swallowed hard, throat tight. This could’ve been the street Ethan always insisted on walking down, hand on the small of my back like he was steering me. The bus stop where I’d kill