Cyberpunk was dead, and utopias were dead. The sky was dead, the earth was dead, only the masses of people were alive. Or were they?
The Great Inquisitor set the last relic on fire. It was a creation of satanic scientists, the evil scum of the earth he and his goons eradicated from existence. It was the glory of God and the American Nation that he saw emerging from the flames.
As I lay dying, beside the pile of precious sins burning beside me, I saw only decay and madness. But that wouldn’t matter in minutes. My vision was already began to cloud as my blood trickled out of me, away into the sewers, to be the Communion Wine of rats.
I cried my last tears for the Commodore and his girlfriend, Amiga. Hungry flames were eating the circuitboards.

Cyberpunk was dead, and so was I.