I have another moody kind of vent art featuring our Cyberpunk universe Cookie. This was inspired from a recent night enjoying a drink to celebrate a long week of work. Don't worry, I wasn't this melancholy when the inspiration came! Though I certainly have been in situations where I'm staring down at a glass of whiskey, hoping that once it's empty that I'll feel a little less tired or in pain. Much like my depictions of other vices in my art, it comes from me understanding the weight and relief that these things can bring us. Of course please enjoy responsibly, and do not use these substances to try and heal wounds that they aren't meant to mend. Enjoy!

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This takes place during Cookie's couple of weeks of trying to relax.


Mercenary and Runner - Alias: Cookie - Real Name: Unknown - Age: Early 30s - Location: Prospera - Status: Recently out of retirement - Other Occupation: Solo/Bodyguard - Current Mission: Time off (Suggested by her bestie <3) - Thoughts: Cookie has a bit of a stick up her ass, and she really doesn't like when I bring up my corporate job. Still, she's my friend and I care about her. We spent a lot of time in the hospital together and I do consider her my best friend. None the less, I think she will be a good asset to pursue my goals in a timely and efficient manner with her experience and skills. END REPORT
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Week two of this whole time off thing. Cookie decided to take a few gigs from her day job to earn some side cash. A pretty easy "bodyguard" job watching over the daughter of a corpo for a few days while he was away on a business trip. It was a glorified babysitting job, but it paid well, and the girl was actually real sweet. They sat at their giant glass dinner table and did some coloring, and the runner even showed her some old vids. Classic action flicks that she used to watch her parents in the megastructure she grew up in. The job actually turned out to be a really pleasant experience, Cookie for the first time in years felt the sun hit her face while she smiled and felt some purpose. She was a little disappointed it couldn't be longer. When the girl's father returned, the runner even gave him her contact info if they ever needed her services again before hugging the little angel and leaving.

Once the merc/babysitter hopped on the metro back to her end of town, she felt the weight on her cheeks come back. She looked outside to see the rushing buildings and advertisements, turned her attention back inside to hear the moans of another ad in the speaker next to her. She was quickly pulled back into her regular life. Before getting to her apartment, Cookie decided to stop at a little shop and pick up a bottle of something nice to treat herself for a job well done. A pretty pricey bottle of whiskey, the same one her and Trevor used to get after a run.

Entering her apartment, she immediately sets the bottle down and grabs a glass, filling it and taking a seat on her stool. She watches TV for a bit, listens to music for a bit all while sipping her glass and making sure it doesn't go completely empty. Soon enough the runner is sitting there in silence, thoughts rushing through her head about. Everything.

I wonder how Fiona's little holo-star side project is going. She said she was gonna be messing around with that for a while. Just obsessed with getting more money like it's gonna make her happy. I hope I'm not getting her in over her head with this. Chick clearly has no idea how this runner thing or this city really works. That corpo lifestyle silver spoon for you. She insisted though.
I wonder how Morgan's doing.. I don't go see her near often enough. Used to go eat at her place every week and now I barely go every other month. I hope she isn't mad about that. I should call her. Actually wait. No. It's late, I should wait to do that.
That girl.. I hope she's okay. I really enjoyed myself. Trevor and I talked about starting a family, and finally getting away from this city. I wanted that more than anything. I wanted to be a mother. We just can't get what we want in this city, can we? Nobody prospers in Prospera. I wonder what our kids would have looked like. Probably have my eyes, and his stocky build.. I bet they'd be..

The runner knocks back her drink mixture of aged whiskey and tears, letting the glass slam back on the counter as she feels the weight of the darkness of her room surround her. Completely and utterly alone. No family, no friends, no hope, and no more drink to dull her senses. Probably for the best, as the woman trips trying to get off the stool and falling into the couch where she lays before finally falling asleep.