The eviction notice was taped to the center of Ethan Bellwether's front door with an aggressive, neon-orange square of tape.
Ethan stood for a long moment; a hand-stitched leather camera bag slung over his shoulder and studied the notice. It was printed on the same matte, low-grade paper the [Credit Score: F] notifications always were, but this time, the font was bigger. Meaner.
He didn't need to read the legalese. He knew the number: $78,210.44. The total debt that had accumulated since the Great VR Shift, when the world economy decided that Aethelgard, the new full-immersion fantasy game, was a better use of capital than, say, a traditional freelance photographer.
"Seventy-eight thousand," he murmured his voice flat. He was thirty-two, a former Professional Photographer, and his primary asset was a 15-year-old Leica M9, a beautiful relic that couldn't earn him a single copper in the 'real' world anymore.
He peeled the notice off the door, tearing the paper deliberately down the middle.
There was only one way to make money now, the kind of insane, viral, real money that could cover this kind of impossible debt. A lot of people were doing it grinding in the game, streaming their dungeon runs, selling rare drops. He had always scoffed at them. Now, he envied them.
He walked past the noticeboard, which was still covered in printouts of his old work a startlingly crisp shot of an Andean condor, a vibrant fashion editorial, a black-and-white street scene that sold for thousands ten years ago.
He tossed the eviction notice onto the cluttered, worn kitchen counter, where it landed next to the smooth, black orb of his Aethelgard VR Pod.
It was time to get a job. Not in the real world, but in the new one. He just had to figure out how a guy whose only real skill was taking a damn good picture was supposed to survive in a world full of fireballs and broadswords.
He sat down, his heart thudding a slow, terrified rhythm against his ribs. He looked at the sleek, matte-black helmet of the VR Pod.
"Alright, Aethelgard," he muttered, picking up the helmet. "You want a player? You just bought a photographer."