The wind whistling through boarded-up windows. Tumbleweeds scratching across dry, sandy tracks. That's how towns die. Not with a bang, but with whispers and whimpers.

Your body can be chrome... but the heart never changes. It wants what it wants.

V: Bug, ya could at least try to be... nice.
T-Bug: You want nice, supportive? Call a damn helpline.

Guess even pneumatic arms can't lift morale in a toxic workplace.

Seedy bars, betrayal, a beguiling woman... Sounds like something out of a pulpy noir thriller.
"Pepe was used to listening to his customers' complaints. But now it was he who needed to get something off his chest. It was the same old story - an unfaithful wife, in a city where everything was uncertain..."