In 2077, flesh is weak, and machines are the way to ascend.
In the Kowloon Walled City, where neural cables and steel intertwine, Su Ming is an oddity.
He doesn’t upgrade cybernetic implants or sell weapons. Instead, he runs a cyber-funeral home called “The Other Shore.”
His clients are another kind of “dead” in this city: a butler AI whose logic has collapsed, an old songstress still clinging to her obsession, a laboratory creation with a fractured personality... beings cast aside and forgotten, struggling on the edge of the data abyss.
“Boss, this AI’s practically an electronic ghost. Can you really ‘send it off’?”
“If it existed, it left a trace. We resolve its obsession, cleanse its data, then burn a stack of specially made ‘binary spirit money.’ Five thousand credits, and they get a proper end.”
In his left hand, Su Ming holds the “Grudge-Cutting Shears,” which can sever obsessions embedded in data. In his right, he rolls between his fingers “Ancient Requiem Incense,” which guides AIs to rest in peace.
Faced with immortality technology that treats consciousness as a resource, and gravediggers who see AIs as heretics, he flicks away his cigarette ash.
“You call it recycling. You call it purification.”
“I call it laying them to rest.”
“Tonight, I’ll burn another offering of dignified spirit money for this man-eating city.”
