Last gunfight of the steel rose


Nighttime in the switching yards of London, a cyborg struts, hips swaying, her target’s locked. The gun implanted in her hand’s ready to fire.

A pack of crooked werewolf lawyers howl for money as she sashays toward them.

“Keep me in your heart, yeah right.” Said the headless gunner, shaking her hand to disengage the safety. She accidentally died like a martyr, torn apart by wolves. Technology brought her back wired with a new purpose.

This steel rose won’t fall ’til every last bullet’s spent.

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