Chicago. Andriy stood at the window of his skyscraper flat, staring out the grimy glass at an even dirtier city. Behind him screens and wires glowed in the darkness, the constant hum of hard drives working 'round the clock as they exchanged information with each other and the rest of the network. The sound was usually soothing--it was his sound after all--but more and more he felt the disquiet that comes from wondering, what happens when reality isn't worth it anymore? What happens when you become so attached to the virtual world, when you're spending the majority of your time there, jacked in, and you can't find any more pleasure in this cesspool called America?

One by one, the city came to life with lights as dusk descended early, the sun blotted out by the thick smog that even the Windy City's wind couldn't blow away. For a few moments his resolved swayed and he longed for the distinct craggy mountains and misty green vistas of China; even the pollution of Beijing was nothing compared to the filth that covered this city, worked its way deep into the souls of its inhabitants as they struggled to survive in this lawless era.

A mechanical beep jerked him out of his reverie and he turned, stepping over thick bundles of wires and empty pizza boxes and Chinese takeout containers like a blind man, one who had the position of every object in the room committed to hard memory. In the background across the room rows of servers clicked and whirred, their green eyes unblinking, reflective like a cat's eyes in a dark alley.

He dropped down to the floor, assuming a cross-legged position in front of a 36" highres flatscreen that he didn't actually need but he liked better for reading text, and picked up the pair of wraparound goggles from the floor where he'd left them. He slipped them on.