Overlooking the city, Josiah couldn't help but smile as night fell. The last night, before his favorite day of the year. The dome of innumerable bright, colorful billboards flickered off, then turned back on with a soft, mellow white light, coating the normally bright city in a white twilight. The skyscrapers towered over the streets, their sleek, polished surfaces reflecting the lights of the city below.

Josiah had lived in this city his entire life, and he had grown used to its perfect façade. The skyscrapers rose tall and straight, the streets pristine and orderly, everything running like clockwork. But the tall straight buildings meant nothing. The fighting, the oppression, the drugs, that is what defines this city. And throughout the years, The Last Caesar does nothing about it.

As he stood on the rooftop, Josiah's mind wandered. The day after tomorrow would be the first day of Brutius. The day of the Chosen. 99 people Chosen, their cybersuits given strange powers, and marked as keys to heaven. Whoever wore one of the chosen cybersuits at the end of the month, the 30th of Brutius, would be able to enter the gate to heaven, in the Heavenly Tower, directly in the middle of the city. Being one of the original Chosen? Probably a death sentence. Hell, everyone wants to go to heaven. And killing someone for their cybersuit is a small price to pay to get there.

"Frick this.” Josiah muttered to himself. “Gotta be more than just the endless murder, drugs, and the hope of going to heaven. There has got to be something better. And until I find what that is, I will train myself. Become the best. Fight. So that if I get a chance to make something better of this world, I'll be able to take it."

He took a deep breath and looked out at the city below. "And tomorrow, I'll show everyone what I'm made of. Tomorrow will be the day I come out a Champion of the Jacked Final Championship."

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As Josiah laid in bed, sleep evading him, he couldn’t help wondering what all he’d been missing since his parents died. He’d spent the entirety of their remaining rez, all that they’d saved over the years, into becoming a Jacked. Getting the port installed upon his neck that allowed him to plug into simulations so real that you felt every sensation, every moment. The only thing he really had anymore. He’d given up on having friends. None of them were anything like him. None of them understood how horrible the killing was. None of them understood how fucked up the city was. How fucked up it is. “Hell, if I get a key to heaven, I’ll go to heaven, and I’ll kill Caesar myself. He created this hell hole, can’t get any worse without him.” Josiah thought to himself.

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I woke up to the glaring lights reflecting into my room. The dome powered on at 7AM, the blaring, colorful lights reflecting into my room on the fiftieth floor. I hop off my bed, grabbing my Starburst pistol, magnetizing it to the hip of my cybersuit with a thought. As I do so, I withdraw the cybersuit from my head, and my feet. Stepping out onto my balcony, I feel a cool breeze through my hair, as I brush it back, and the cold metal on my feet. “Today. Today will be my day. This is it. Time to win.” Looking down, I see that my cybersuit is a boooring black. “Time to win, wearing BRIGHT PINK!” As I watch, my cybersuit responds to my thought and covers my body in bright pink. “Heck, even if I lose today, at least I’ll lose, I’ll lose with style” I think to myself, as I step out of my room.

I quickly follow the halls out of my apartment onto the main skywalk. Walking towards the food tower on it, I take a right and walk a ways, and am greeted by the familiar rez transfer request, sent to me by a member of the cult of the Crimson Hand. There’s two of them standing there, one on each side of the hall of the skywalk. The hall is about fifteen feet wide, ten feet tall. Honestly, it wouldn’t be that hard to take both of them out, and avoid their taxes. Walk a little closer, roundhouse kick the cultist on the left, into a smooth few shots from my starburst as I close the distance to the cultist on the right. Punch his repeater out of his hands, knock him out with a punch, then finish them both with bullets from their own guns. Not like it would be reasonable though. I live in the red district, north from the heavenly tower. It’s infested with the Crimson Hand. Were I to kill these two, I’d probably see hundreds of cultists trying to kill me in the near future. Reinforcements throughout this whole area. The cams in their suit, the footage from their perspectives, is always being cast to their supervisors. They don’t believe in autonomy within their cult. Unity, they say. Yet they also fight for freedom to have Jez, to be able to addict yourself to the most potent drug in existence. Somehow, it almost seems hypocritical. Yet, were I to kill these two, it would not take long for them to figure out who I am. Find my little apartment. Kill me. No point in fighting back, if it will just be a meaningless death for me. Besides, at least they are better than the Purists.

I transfer the 10 rez tax through their request, then walk up to the food tower. Honestly, their taxes, though annoying, still leaves me a decent amount of rez. At the food tower terminal, I order two nutrient bars at the price of 20 rez total for the bars, and after a mere moment, a drawer-like device opens, with two crisp, unwrapped nutrient bars lying on it. I slide one bar into my cybersuit’s pocket, and take a bite of the other one. Crisp, crunchy, cool, and mostly flavorless, they are quite filling.

Once I am back on the main skywalk, it is only a short walk to find a Jacked Station, and buy myself a stall to plug in. As I plug myself in, the cord fitting perfectly into the familiar port on the back of my neck, and in a flash of white, I am floating in an empty, black void, a practice area. With a thought, I am queued up for the Jacked Final Championship for this year. As I wait, I control the practice area with a few thoughts, and turn it into a nice white firing range, with every manner of plas weapon I can think of available to warm up. Today, I will come out a Champion. Not Josiah Pottinger, victim of circumstance. No, I will be Dhedjeshdi. And I will not fail.