Position Saved! Are you sure you want to Quit BattleWorlds?

Connor mentally answered, “Yes,” and the infernal cavern faded away. It was replaced with a momentary blackness and a feeling of vertigo washed over him, like it always did whenever he logged in or out of a game. He felt like he was falling for a moment, as his body tried to decide just where it was, or even what.

However, in less time than it took to decapitate a goblin, Connor Breen was dumped, rather unceremoniously back into his old life. He suddenly felt the weight of the Vision 500 headset that he wore, and a breath later—

“Bleeding Stars of…!”

His legs and lower back cramped, as Connor struggled to get the headset off, releasing the latches behind his ears and fumbling with trembling fingers as he tore it from his head and thrust it toward the waiting stand beside his gaming chair.

How do I always forget about the muscle cramps? He thought dully, leaning forward to cough and rub his eyes. It was like this after every long stint in the Vision 500, because even a player as good as he was couldn’t afford one of the Vision TotalMax BodyBoxes.

He thought longingly of the top end system which completely enclosed a gamer’s body, gently cradling it while providing essential nourishment, gently stimulating long-underused limbs, and allowing players to stay inside games for days, even a couple weeks at a time.

“Urgh…” He coughed again and rolled his shoulders but instantly regretted it as the movement sent his head spinning. The room around him—his bedroom—was full of all the trappings of what he affectionately liked to call his lair. The room had been almost completely given over to his desk with hardwired network screens, his pro-gaming chair and Vision equipment, and several lamps. It smelled vaguely dusty and stale in the room, and the hum of multiple electrical inputs was a constant tinnitus whine in his ears. The only thing that marked it as a bedroom was a single bed in the corner.

How long was I in this time? He wondered, trying to calculate it by the neon clock suckered to the long, chipped mirror on the wall.

01:43 AM, SAT 13th NOV, 2048

One forty-three in the afternoon?

Connor tried to calculate in his mind, swiveling in the chair—the newest piece of gaming equipment he’d been able to afford—and looking toward the blinds. Even with his bleary eyes he could make out the gleam of neon outside.

He groaned loudly.

Neon, that meant streetlights, didn’t it?

It wasn’t one forty-three in the afternoon, it was one-forty-three in the morning, and he had logged into BattleWorlds! around noon on Friday, hadn’t he?

“Thirteen hours straight?” he murmured. No wonder his body was rumbling with all the primal needs it remembered it had. It wasn’t surprising that his limbs were shaking with exhaustion and hunger.

But a pro like Connor Breen, twenty-six and only a few pounds heavier than he had been at nineteen, was prepared for such things. Or he expected them, anyway. He snatched the now cloggy nutrient shake that sat on the desk. It was a blend of a couple of game performance shakes marketed by various virtual reality multi-player game companies, along with his own personal mix of spirulina, B-vitamins, pea protein, and electrolytes.

He chugged the vaguely yellowish mixture down in three long draughts, feeling instantly better as one hand fumbled for his screen. Connor tapped the message he had to send now that he had gotten Lord Crimson to Level 18 and earned the title Defender of Westermere!

GhostEffect: LordCrimsonReignsSupreme, you online? It’s done. Congratulations on your new character, bro.

He figured that the recipient, LordCrimsonReignsSupreme, would probably be ready and waiting for the good news, but right now Connor had other urgent matters to attend to.

First, his post-game ritual.

The young man with a dark bob of hair ignored his body as he pushed his aching limbs to a standing position. He stretched, gently this time, as he grabbed a black marker and scrawled his latest achievement onto a piece of paper tacked to the wall.

Star’s Fall, Alpha Level – January 6

DeadSiege – May 29

Enemies of Time – August 7

BladeFury Death Match Extreme – October 22

BattleWorlds! Level 18 – November 13

“Less than a month?” Connor had to grin. “I’m getting better and better!” he congratulated himself on yet another satisfied customer as he shuffled to the blinds, rolled them up and pushed open the window. He took a deep breath of city air outside—

He folded over in a sudden coughing fit, as the burned tire smell of smoggy pollutants filled his nostrils and made his eyes water.

Maybe not such a great idea, Connor thought as he closed the window, still spluttering, and contented himself with just looking at the outside instead.

The horizon was a murky orange, cut through with the tall blackened silhouettes of towers and spires that was Tokyo City, 2048. All of the most distant buildings were wreathed in their own veil of orange smog, and each lit up by their own brilliant neon guide-lights that helped the drone postal service find their way. Other objects, like the tripod tower, the dome, and downtown were ablaze with the more brilliant displays of neon lights and holo display billboards. The skies themselves were still dark and ominous.

“Freaking smog,” Connor groaned, thumping his chest. He really needed to remember that it was imperative to check the current pollution levels before opening a window in the ‘Greatest Tech City of the World!’

He suddenly felt light-headed and woozy, this time not just because he had sat inside BattleWorlds! for more than half a day, but also the effects of having ARD, or Acute Respiratory Disease, thanks to living in the middle of the twenty-first century in said greatest city.

“Yeah, cheers future,” Connor sighed, taking short sips of breath as he knew how to do, while he waited for the woozy spell to disperse. It had the desired effect, and he didn’t even need his inhaler this time. The dizzy feelings were replaced with the now screaming needs of his body.

“Fine. I hear ya,” Connor said, stumbling first to the bathroom, and then the kitchen to rustle up some proper food. By the time that was done, he was even feeling vaguely more human as he got changed into some fresh clothes, then eventually turned back to find a message bleeping for him on one of his daisy-chained screens.

LordCrimsonReignsSupreme: You’re a hero! I’ve just logged in and I’m about a quest away from freaking epic status! Thank you so, so much!!

That kid sure uses a lot of exclamation marks, Connor thought, scarfing down the hasty stir fry of mushrooms, bean sprouts, and white cabbage, all slathered in black bean and chili sauce.

But then again, Connor shrugged, LordCrimsonReignsSupreme was also rich enough to hire a professional game hacker to get his account from a measly level 2 all the way up to level 18. It had taken Connor the best part of a month, logging in almost every day, only having to respawn three times, but he had done it nonetheless, and delivered the results.

LordCrimsonReignsSupreme: I got you, bruh! I’ve direct-mailed the payment to your account. Let me know you got it!

“Hallelujah and thank you most merciful angels!” Connor said sarcastically, quoting a line from some funny film he had watched a long, long time ago. With that kind of money, he’d be able to pay the rent for another couple of months and update his Vision 500 firmware, maybe even get another Accelerator to boost his bandwidth status.

Or… Connor thought—as always—he could afford to pay for a week, ten days maybe, in one of the rental BodyBoxes.

“Grrr.” Connor winced at the frustration of the choice, as he did every time he was presented with it, which was after every contract job.

It was always the same: be responsible or play big? Ever since he had flunked out of the Tokyo School of Augmented Design it had always been the same thing. It had turned out that he wasn’t actually the best coder, even if he had won a scholarship to get there, and having ARD had really blown a whole lot of his opportunities to try and improve his life by adding medical bills on top of his student fees.

I should make sure I have food and a secure place to live for a bit, Connor reminded himself, maybe even enroll in one of those work-online-courses.

Or he could see what he could accomplish by having ten days, twenty-four hours a day, of pure, unadulterated time in a game world.

The thing was, that even though Connor was a pro game-hacker, he was still being held back by his equipment. The Vision 500 was top of the line for general players, but for those like him? It was still small fry.

“If it takes me a month on an immersive VRMMORPG like BattleWorlds, then just what could I achieve with a week in a BodyBox?” he mumbled to himself as, a moment later, there was a ping as his secure payment account updated:

$10,000 has been added to account: Connor Breen.

“Boom!” Connor punched the air, and, before he had even told himself that he had made the decision, he was already filling out an application for the nearest Vision BodyBox Lounge.

Now, all he had to do was to find the next contract worthy of it, and then he’d be raking in some real cash!

Luckily for Connor, in the world of 2048, where supercomputers ran most of the industrialized world, there was always going to be someone willing to pay for a pro game-hacker like him.