Raen Solis sat hunched over a battered desk in the corner of his rundown apartment, eyes bloodshot from hours of screen time. His fingers tapped rapidly across a keyboard that had long since lost half its keycaps. The only light in the room came from the dim blue glow of his monitor.
"Final boost order… complete," he muttered, hitting send with a tired sigh. The in-game avatar of his latest client danced across the screen in premium armor, bought and paid for.
Meanwhile, Raen's back ached from the old, uneven chair he'd dragged off a garbage heap last month.
He leaned back and checked his current balance on the gig-boosting dashboard.
Balance: 237 Lux
A weak laugh escaped him.
"That's barely enough to keep the lights on."
His apartment in Velden's Lower Sector wasn't much—cracked walls, peeling paint, a leaky faucet, and a lingering smell of burnt plastic. Outside the window, neon signs buzzed in pink and cyan, casting his room in a constant artificial haze.
He glanced at the stack of unopened bills on his shelf. Rent was three weeks overdue. The power company had already sent a final warning. The food synth machine hadn't worked in months.
Raen stared at the screen again. "I grind like hell, and still can't escape."
Out of habit, he opened his favorite game—Battlefront Rift. Not to enjoy it. Just to forget.
The loading screen reflected in his eyes as they slowly glazed over.
"Maybe I should just give up," he whispered. "No matter what I try, it ends the same. Failure."
His PC fan whined louder, sputtering like a dying engine. The temperature warning flashed on-screen.
And then it happened.
CRACK!
The lights flickered violently. A sharp pop echoed through the room as sparks exploded from his PC tower. His screen flickered between black and static.
"What the hell—!"
Raen shot forward to unplug the power, but his hand touched the case at the wrong time.
ZZZZAP!
A white-hot shock slammed through his arm. His body convulsed. Everything went numb.
Then darkness swallowed him.