If planting bombs net enough, what can you do? You become bomb.

Corpo or not, without chrome we all look like the same idiotic, bullet-riddled sacks of meat.

V: Used to be a media, didn't you?
Regina: Not hard to guess, but I'll give you a point for perceptiveness.

The boys have prepared everything and found me a lamb. Blood will course through the fiberoptics, swirling and blending with the digital, opening the gates of the abyss. Death within arm's reach, the metallic taste of his scythe on my tongue, I will tug at the tangled cables of Fate. A hard reset, a blue screen, a brain reformatted... I'm ready. Luck be with me.

Oh V, V... got no sense of reverence... Expect if you found the goddamn Holy Grail, you'd fill it with caramel and Pop-Turds.