Food, and a soda...what would life be without the essentials that make up the necessities of human life? Certainly no life John wanted a part of, after all he was certainly better off than most of the dregs of society. Drugged out their minds, high on their own confidence, and very much unaware of their in morality. Those knuckle dragging pigs were probably no better off in a gutter than their own house. If one could not care for the body, if one could not care for their conduct, and how they present themselves then why bother even pretending to be human? At one point does that individual become an animal? That was the though running through the mind of John Brown as he ate his pancakes from the small dinner on a corner in Night City. A job was being lined up to take out some gangbanger or another by his handler. A fixer by the name of Clancy Ryan, an old networker for a Corpo industry that cut him in favor of some boss's kid. Now he spent most of his time with Clancy cleaning out the city's unwanted filth. A tiresome but needed ordeal. Hitmen may as well be cops with how many people wanted some roach killed with clean efficiency. 

A sip of his soda, and a few bites of his pancakes was what John Brown decided to go with as he looked out the window his cold eyes covered by a pair of thing dark glasses that shadowed his eyes. He wondered if these people would care if someone next to them was shot dead? This modern world full of gadgets, and casual murder have made humanity rather...complacent. The majority only cared about the self not the neighbor and some not even the family. Still better than a machine. Always better than a machine. Better a sheep than a code set to follow the same instruction. The sheep could surprise you now and then...the machine just did what it was made to do. Still he supposed the shepards needed to work too. The online entities some portraying themselves as cute animated girls for the shut ins to gawk at. Some play video games, and others made music all of them the same at the end of the day. And even the Shepard were better than the Corpos. Arishoka...putrid metal fetishists the lot of them. So enamored with metal they have forgotten themselves. And even in decline they still clung their disgusting oil smeared hands on the edge of this rotted city. Regardless a bullet usually solved the problem of them at the end of the day. A waitress strolled up to him. She had some implants, and he wondered deeply if she even knew the level of failure she had achieved by modding herself out for convenances sake. The metal crudely pushed into flesh, the bone, and more. At what level was a human? [b]"Would you like some more sir?"[/b] she asked him kindly with a smile. [color=ed145b]"Please, and thank you."[/color] he replied as he finished off his soda and went back to eatting his pancakes...could use more syrup.