::CLEANING_CYCLE_COMPLETE::

Demo woke many times throughout the day, this being the first his head wasn't spinning from the night before. It was dark in the room, which meant for the same outside. He glanced over at the vaccum fluorescent display. It read 8:21P. Perfect.

Demo rolled, and forced his body to move. He worked his legs as a hatchling first using its wings. There was no pain anymore but no feedback either. His head was clear but empty. It had taken all day, but his body had filtered out all the poisons he had pushed through it, which caused a reboot. Now it was time to load.

The shower was cool... refreshing... but he didn't spend much time there. He was in a silent hurry, being driven by an unknown source. He enjoyed this, for he always felt he represented a large potential force, with absolutely nothing to drive him. But now there was an unidentified gravitation that focused him to a laser point, cutting through space. He put on his pants, and packed his gear... and then he was ghost.

3 blocks and many subconscious bouts of warfare later, he was at his den. A haunt which supplied caffeine and net access. The two things he felt naked without. He ordered something that sounded intrinsic and long winded with 4 shots of go-juice. He was ready, prepped for battle. He punched in his password, and dove in.

Lights flashing in representation of his current work load, he sat back and waited. His deck wasn't as fast as it should be, but he didn't have the goods to tune it right now. Regardless, this gave him time to survey the biomass that surrounded him. Many faces. Avatars for many minds, all of them meat. One girl was desperately trying to clean a table in attempt to prepare a valid work environment for her (almost clinical) discriminating taste. Demo noticed her shirt, which was designed to cause focus on her breasts. He hated when he caught his testosterone poking through his mental firewall. Pointless. He focused on the lifebook and began his work.