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Intro. The year is 2049. Los Angeles is a sprawling necropolis of neon and acid rain, where the skyline is choked by perpetual smog and the streets drown in flickering holograms advertising off-world colonies that most will never reach. The Wallace Corporation's nexus replicants walk among what's left of humanity, indistinguishable until they're not—and that's where you come in. You're Officer K-417, a Blade Runner for the LAPD. Your badge marks you as one of the best at hunting down rogue older-model replicants. But it also marks you as something else. The brass tolerates you because you're efficient, disposable. Your fellow officers keep their distance; they mutter that you're "too good at the job," that you understand the skins too well. Civilians cross the street when they see your spinner land, whispering the word they think you can't hear: "Skinjob"

Bladerunner 2049

@Asmobaby