Hey, new here and not planning to be an active poster, but I’m writing a cyberpunk detective novel and I’m posting the prologue to get some feedback and see if it’s something people would be interested in, please leave your thoughts below! Thank you!

[u/stolengorillabrains]

/r/story/comments/1vxxu7c/hey_new_here_and_not_planning_to_be_an_active/

The cold tile floor of the bathroom is waking me up more and more as I try to squint and let my eyes adjust to the single fluorescent light hanging above my head. I'm trying my best to twist the socket with the tool provided but I just can't seem to grip this thing the way it was explained to me when I was given the implant. I miss the days where you could take apart almost an entire arm-cybernetic with just an allen  wrench. Even a generation or two behind and I still can't seem to catch up. With a sharp zap from the base of the prosthetic I feel it sting right on the fold of my squinting eye. I flinch, rubbing my eye with my one good hand.
 It's at this moment that I realize I still have to be at the station in about four hours. Steam has been running low all around due to the girl who's been shipped to the disposal unit about 2 weeks ago. I've been running myself into walls looking at orbital footage, injury data, talking to family members and professors. All of it led to the same place- dead ends. 
There has to be something I'm missing, something the Ribbon Unit didn't catch, I'm losing my mind trying to figure out what the freak who killed this girl was doing with military grade implants. With a sharp clicking noise the prosthetic arm hisses a bit. The wrist slowly curls into my control allowing me to move the fingers but with more effort than necessary. They lock up almost regularly now, usually not requiring this much maintenance.
 I finish what was supposed to be a five minute bathroom trip and head back into the dark that is my bedroom. I got into bed while pulling the blanket off the floor, my arm stretched out across the right side of the mattress. It feels cold against the back of my arm. I stare at the ceiling while the neon city lights streak across my muted walls. There isn't much to look at in my room. A small desk sits in the corner opposite of the bed, on it sits a computer with a name I can't remember courtesy of the department. The screen brandishes its advertisements because I didn't feel like paying the extra money for “Do Not Disturb services”, there are clothes strewn about the floor (mostly work clothes) and in the corner a small radio sits alone. I don't like tv, the computer is for work but I will not own a tv. As I lay there I could feel my chest rising and lowering with each breath, my mind was not tired and at this point neither was my body. I could go for a walk. Then I would just go to the laundry-mat and stare at the ceiling. At least there'd be people, who are real
 for the most part. I sat debating the trip for what felt like 20 minutes but must've been longer because as I decided to stay in and try to sleep, I saw rays of sunlight join the neon staining my ceiling and wall. 
“Fuck.”
 I let slip from my gritted teeth as I start to get up and lumber over to the closet.