Plodding down the cramped staircase, I open a second door into the kitchen area of the small coffee shop named Le Chevalier. Poking my head out into the dining area, I spot the owner, Mr Jackson, sat at one of the window tables with a few of today's newspapers in a deflated stack on the table adjacent.

Mr Jackson is a bit of an odd one. Around 60 years old, a retired factory worker, he has this morning routine of going through every newspaper he can find to cross-reference their articles for authenticity. Claims you can find the truth by putting a bunch of liars together in a room and seeing how many contradictions pile up.

Friendly enough, though. He lets me live in a converted storeroom at a greatly reduced rate in exchange for help at the weekends. Basically a live-in barista. Not sure exactly how worth his money it is, but I'm not going to question cheap accommodation this close to Paris.

"Monsieur Jackson, I'm headed out for a while, do you need anything done?"

Without looking up he slowly shakes his head, "Already have everything I need for opening time. Take care, kid."

I shrug, half-expecting the answer, and leave through the back door. It's about 7 am, so the next public bus will be in twenty minutes. Enough time for me to get to the stop.

Tortue Village is a development project funded about fifty years back in the midst of a period of great wealth. Upscale housing and storefronts for the well-to-do, conveniently placed in the outskirts of Paris. A mix of country life and modern sensibilities you can retire to in peace, as Mr Jackson's mother did.

Up until speculators in multiple markets pushed the world economy past breaking point that is, plunging the world into a global recession after a series of financial fuck-ups. Consequently, upscale middle-class real estate like Tortue became an anchor around the necks of the people who bought into it. Banks and loan companies saw these big fancy properties and the people who came to them for support as a necessary sacrifice to stay solvent, calling back their loans en masse and sparing only the wealthiest clients to preserve their financial security.

Tortue went to shit after that. Nowadays it's jointly owned by a few surviving locals and my University as off-campus student accommodations. A little cheaper than in the city proper, but not by much. When I was looking into the house-shares here on my Pane at the coffee shop, Mr Jackson made me an offer, and that was that.

The buildings exteriors have honestly seen better days. Between the outdated aesthetic and rampant student partying, it's a wonder the land still holds any value.

Taking a seat on the bench of the bus stop, I glance at a small huddled group of fellow students.

"-so cool, yeah? Thought that Journey was fucked after that."

"Journey is used to that shit though by now. It's been meta for the past three patch cycles."

If memory serves they're talking about the semi-finals for a PvP tournament in an older VRMMORPG, Valiant Advance. It's pretty popular in the esports scene around this time and manages to hold on for a few years after this before it sells it's servers to Hectic Works. If I paid any attention at all to the scene I could maybe make a quick buck on the outcome of the finals, but I was pretty new to the gaming scene back then, despite its nigh-omnipresent popularity.

Hah. Back then, if you weren't a marble sculpture, you weren't really worth my time. I only picked up Astral Reckoning at launch because I heard one of my favourite contemporary sculptors was tapped as a consultant and wanted to see what they made. When I logged in and experienced the disaster of a launch day, I decided it wasn't worth the effort and that I'd just look up some screenshots later.

A while later, I'm stood in front of an atm inside a branch of Excalibur Banking, my current account holders. Around me jostles a noisy throng of random citizens, students and tourists. Loud enough that I'm thankful for the headset blasting classical music into my ears allowing me to concentrate.

€26,020.97

That's my total wealth, displayed on the booth's small screen. More than I expected, honestly.

Withdrawing a couple bills to pay for breakfast from a food stall, I retrieve my card and leave the crowded bank in search of sustenance, finding it at a breakfast crepe stall a short walk down the street.

Next order of business, naturally, is to make my way over to Gaming Sanctuary which should be two blocks north of here. It's a little hole in the wall built into a subterranean area with about sixty stations and thirty low-end VR capsules. A little extravagant, perhaps, but it's popular with students and their prices are high enough to deter anyone not serious about the hobby.

One of my classmates told me about it. Don't remember her name, unfortunately, but there's a good chance I'll bump into her over the next month. I do plan to spend the majority of my time there over the next few months after all, so I should thank them if I get a chance.

Heading down the filthy sidestreet, I come to a halt in front of a downward staircase with the cafe's sign riveted to the wall. Even standing at the entrance it smells musty and faintly of cheese. Brings back some memories.

Hopping from step to uneven stone step, the narrow ingress opens out into a massive, open room filled with orderly rows of PC stations. It's still early, so there are only a few obsessives and staff members loitering around, trying to kill time until peak hours start.

Noticing the new customer, a girl in the cafe's staff shirt ambles over to the front desk, flashing me a tired smile, bags clearly visible under her eyes in spite of the poor lighting down here, "H-hey. Welcome to the Sanctuary, traveller, care to rest your weary head?"

The spiel is obviously still a bit awkward for her, so odds are the kid's a recent hire, "Mmm. I want to sign up for the uhh..."

I squint at the backboard behind her detailing all the rental fees, "...Saviour's membership. And book a VR capsule from tomorrow until the 25th of June."

The girl looks surprised, considering that's a hefty amount of money I'm dumping out in one go, and I definitely don't look like someone who can afford that kind of expense. Which, honestly speaking, isn't entirely wrong.

"That'll be..." A few taps on the tablet serving as a till, "€13,500."

I glance at the board and run some quick math, "Shouldn't that be €16000?"

She smiles and winks, "Employee discount. Don't tell my boss."

I bark a laugh, "Thanks. Not sure what I did to deserve it though."

The girl shrugs, "Woke up this morning and promised I'd do a good deed if God would get rid of my hangover. Lucky you."

We both laugh at that, drawing a glare from one of the obsessives playing some kind of old RTS.

Ignoring them, the worker introduces herself, "Winfrey. Cash or card?"

Fishing out my wallet, I hand over my debit card, "Card. I'm Alex, thanks again, bon mademoiselle."

Winfrey shakes her head, "Don't worry about it, really. My diploma ended last week, so by the time the boss notices, I'll already be on a flight back to Florida."

"Fair enough," I press my thumb onto the authenticator to finish the transaction, feeling a strange inward twinge as half of my savings go up in smoke.

Handing back my card, Winfrey folds her arms and eyes me curiously, "So, what's with the big binge?"

"You heard of Astral Reckoning? It releases tomorrow."

Winfrey shuts her eyes, twisting her lips around as she rummages through her memory, "Ohhh right. MMO, right? Yeah, I remember. Looked pretty, but I dunno, the gameplay leaks from the beta were pretty damning."

I nod, "Yeah. But I have confidence it'll get better."

She shrugs, "Your money, man. I'm just here to take it off your hands."

I turn to leave before a stray thought crosses my mind, "You should play too, if you get the chance. The sooner the better, even if it isn't any good. Consider it a €2500 tip. Later."

I head back upstairs, leaving a thoroughly confused Winfrey behind.

Winfrey

Watching the cute guy leave, I start to call after him to get an explanation, but the words get caught in my mouth as a fresh pulse of pain thrums through my head.

Ugh. Everclear shots were such a terrible idea, I don't know how Sherry talked me into it.

Resting my elbows on the desk, I clutch my head and massage my temples, "Goood...we had a deeeeeal you miserly assss."

Thump. My face slips through my hands and onto the dusty surface as the headache starts to subside again.

"Astral Reckoning, huh? Might be fun. VA was getting boring anyway."