(*Any fem-presenting persons. Femboys, MtF Trans... whatever.)

The world's changed a lot in the past fifty years. Not Earth, that blasted, irradiated crater of a world, now turned scientific testing ground for experimental climate restoration techniques. Not Mars, the bastion for the UEG, United Earth Government. Well, they should really change that at some point, but so far they're still reeling from the Lightwave Disaster, leaving the system largely self-governing. Venus remains a garden, terraformed decades ago into a lush garden world, which now effectively feeds the entire solar system, providing fresh food, although stasis-frozen, to everyone and everywhere... for a price.

I'm of course talking about the Jovians. largest and densest-inhabited of all the worlds, clinging to the sub-stellar mass that is Jupiter. With Europa, Io and Ganymede all terraformed to varying degrees, and with Callisto in the process, it's hardly surprising we've managed to cling to these little chunks of rock for life. Saturn's moons are getting there too, but they're too far out to be anything more than mining outposts or Hydrogen Refineries. Not to mention skimming water-ice from the rings, although they're limited to a certain amount. Something about "Preserving Solar Heritage" or some nonsense like that.

I stub my cigarette out on the fabcrete wall and look up at the ruddy green-yellow sky, before a chem smog warning makes me replace my Respirator. It clings to my face like a lamprey, and I curse the day I left Venus for the Big Cities. Europa, population in the billions, and here I am, just one cog in that massive machine. I can feel my eyes stinging as the sky turns red, and with a grimace I set off again, out into the crowd.

I don't enjoy what I do, but it's a job. Beats working at the out-system Hab factory, where you've got a Mandatory contract of ten years on minimum pay. Always being threatened to have your contract, or life Terminated for not keeping up with Production Quotas. Or over in the Markets, scrubbing down old Machine chassis or implants, or writing up fake Ident papers for some Syntha Junkie looking for a new fix.

Or not working at all, and just living with one of those BTL Helmets clamped into your lobes, living in Virtual as your body withers away, or the program runs out and you can't bear reality any more. Why I moved out of my old building, they found a den of the poor bastards two weeks after they'd dies. Building got shut down for 'Renovations'. I got booted out.

I scratch my own implant-plugs and step into the 'Tiger Bar', one of the admittedly classier joints, but only if you looked at the front side. Designed on an old 20's Speakeasy, all wood panelling and polished brass, red leather and cold spirits. I could dig it almost, where it not for what I get to do.

Ever hear the term 'Dancing Bear'?

Well, it's not too bad. Sara makes sure the clients keep their hands off, and most of the time I'm just working the bar. And it's not like I can't take care of myself it's just the... the stares. The looks like I'm a piece of meat and cybernetics, the low whistles and murmuring, the eyes like dead pilot lights. Some poor old lady who thinks I look like her dead husband, or the squad of Megacorp Suits who want something to look at when they talk business. I get good tips, dance for an hour or so and then back to the bar and serve drinks.

But I guess that's life now. You're either meat to something or dead. I sigh and feel my cybernetics tick gently, the artificial muscles de-bunching and relaxing as I get changed out of my comfortable clothes and into Work Attire. So far I'm the only Dancer who works at this place who looks like a 'Real' man, although that means nothing any more. Gene mods mean you can look like whatever you want, Cybernetics if you don't want the massive debt. Not unusual to see someone with Wolf Ears and a Tail wandering about, or who looks like an anthropomorphic fox. Or the Fantasy Nuts, Elves and Dwarves and Gnomes and stuff. Still human, but the Gene stuff carries through generations. Genetic Diversity and all that, means your kid could come out looking half Wolf and half something else.

I close my locker with a grunt, making sure my cigarettes are tucked into my front pocket. I look like an old-world butler, all white shirt and dark suit, a red tie slashing my torso in half. Of course it all comes off in the performance, everything but my Underwear, but I can't help but to admit to myself... I look good.

With a sigh I turn away from the mirror and walk towards the door, just wondering who, or what, might decide to hire a Bear today.

Been slightly obsessed with a Cyberpunk RP today, and I figured this felt like the right time to post it.

Now, in case you decided to skim and just jump to a TL;DR I will ask you to go back and read it, so you can get a feeling for it. But if a TL;DR for your character is required, let me narrow it down for you: ANYTHING FEMME. Femboys, MtF Trans, Tomboys, Females, Tomboys, Futa, anything. Make sense? Okay.

But yeah, I'm extremely open to your character being an Anthro, Dark Elf, Goblin, Orcess... if you can describe it to me well, then I'll generally be okay with it. All you've gotta do is come up with it and figure out what they are.

Are you gonna be another client, looking for a dance and maybe something more afterwards? Someone at the bar, who takes a shine to the somewhat grumpy bartender? Or maybe a Megacorp Enforcer, a case of mistaken identity over unpaid Medical fees? It's open.

So then, come all ye interested parties and lets have some fun with this. I do hope to see at least one message today, so my delusions of being an okay writer can continue.

Hope to see a little orange envelope somewhat soon.