Overview Cast List Cyberpunk at its finest! Anita Prasko: 26 Zion: ? The wake was in her father’s penthouse. She didn’t want it any other way. Anita Prasko belonged to this type of women who always get what they desire. Draped in all black, the pale diva moved through the crowd that gathered in the living room. Only the closest ones and family members had been invited that day, but hundreds of people said good bye to Antoni Prasko. The Mechatrix CEO died few days ago when still in his primes. In what was impossible accident. Anita knew her father - a very good driver, who loved cars but knew how to handle them. Or the wet road. The cops quickly proclaimed an unfortunate accident without a foul play, but she just didn’t believe Antoni would drive off a cliff like a reckless teenager. Some speculated suicide, the rumour infuriated Anita to no end and brought crimson flush to ghosty complexion. We are so sorry, dear. I simply can’t believe this. How are you holding up? To every condolences Anita nodded and thanked with a detached smile. The last days had been a hazy mixture of xanax and adrenaline. Now it was all wearing off, leaving nothing but vast emptiness. The guests talked in respectful, hushed voice. Anita’s pale green eyes, shade of an ancient glacier, glanced around, taking in the grim scenery. The bright penthouse, filled with the most exquisite furniture, lost its radiant aura. Anita could no longer smell the lingering scent of the cuban cigars and Lorent cologne her father was fond of. She grew up in this place, surrounded by old fashion books. The young heiress hated this place for years: the constant arguments, her drunk mother throwing things in blind rage. Now this resentment felt like bitter ash on her tongue. The feeling of loss overwhelmed the woman’s senses and for a moment she couldn’t catch a breath. She was dizzy. Anita pressed her back to the cold wall. The woman’s head throbbed with stress induced headache. Her mind knew Antoni was dead, just heart didn’t want to follow it. She shooed away someone trying to help and quickly regained impeccable, lady like composure. Just in time to observe her mother - Maria - coming to the room. Anita’s mother was a gaze drawing, lither creature with a storm of blonde curls. Despite her forty six years, she looked stunning. Her daughter was heavier, dark haired with golden ration in features ruined by too wide cheekbones. Anita had always feel inadequate next to Maria, who would rival even with a stick when it came to beauty. She had put Anita in the best dresses and had taught many secrets of a good make up, only to shadow it all by her own glamour. Aside from physical allure, Maria had nothing to offer. She was a vapid, poorly educated woman who had once aspired to be an actress. Those dreams had been quickly reduced to over the counter drug abusing wife of a rich businessman. Now, a drunk, drugged widow to one. Anita saw it in her mother’s theatrical sadness, the imminent hysteria. Maria, already drunk and high, knelt by the urn and began to sob. The gatherers tried to politely look away, but some already pointed fingers at the emotionally broken woman. When Maria broke into violent spasms, Anita had it. The entire room went silent, only an unrelieved cry and a rushed pit pat of heels could be heard. Anita grabbed her mother by the elbow and forcefully pulled Maria into the kitchen. She closed the sleek, ebony doors behind them. ”The fuck are you doing?!” The dark haired woman asked firmly, trying to break through the wall of hysteria. ”What? I can’t mourn my husband now? What kind of monster are you?” Her mother spew. It hurt, it hurt every time. ”It always has to be about you, even when he is dead, it’s still about you!” Anita reciprocated with equal venom. ”Little, heartless bitch!” Maria screeched, not a single tear left from previous sadness. Just ugly anger that betrayed her true age. ”Attention whore!” Anita added before her mother added a hearty slap to the next remark. ”I am the attention whore? Look at yourself.” Maria’s features turned from fury to cold anger. Anita pressed hand to her flaming cheek. Her mother tugged at Anita’s dress, trying to force it to show less cleavage. ”Seeing flaws only in other people. Just like your father.” Maria spat and stepped away. Anita inhaled deeply, humiliated and shocked. Only when her mother had left she felt the anger, flooding her like an unstoppable tide. Anita let out a cry of fury; she grabbed a half filled wine glass that stood neglected near by and threw it. The overpriced stemware hit the wall and shattered into tiny pieces just after the doors had closed. Spotless, white wall was now freckled with burgundy wine. It looked ugly, like dried blood. Anita felt her knees growing weak, she would fall if not for the marble counter. Sniffling quietly, she began to gather broken pieces of glass.