A new campaign. After the last game had ended on... less than pleasant terms, the group had very nearly kicked Riley to the curb. But eventually, begrudgingly, his GM had calmed down, and had agreed to let him join in on their newest campaign: a cyberpunk story set immediately after World War III burned the world as we know it to ashes, and a rift in reality itself had started to spawn strange mutations of humanity... And when Riley had mentioned building a character with a history as an escort, the GM had actually smiled and nodded and rolled right along with it. He even loaned Riley a new set of dice for the game, that he'd picked up special order offline...<br/><br/>And it had all started out pretty darn well. Like the events that had led half the table to storm out of the room last session had never happened. The pizzas had come, and four sets of dice had started to rattle in anticipation. The GM likes to start en media res, and this game was no exception... they'd opened up in the middle of a street-fight between their gang of runners and a rival company. And when Riley's turn comes, he flings his dice across the table with gusto, rolling to "distract" one of the rival gang members by flashing some leg...<br/><br/>And he finds that the smell of pizza has been replaced with the acid smell of dust and nuclear decay, and feels long, slender fingers brushing up against smooth, cybernetically tailored thighs...