Fumito unplugged.
His eyes adjusted to the dim world around him as he set the deck down on the floor.
He was lying on the floor.
It hadn't felt like the floor.
His pupils slowly dilated. they were natural. They took time to function. The world around him came into focus. He pulled the buds out of his ears and set them by the deck.
The fuzz of the real world buzzed around him. The sound vibrated within him, frequency hitting his jawbone in a way that was simple discomfort.
The world went on around the hole that was politely called an apartment.
Light snuck in past the metal blinds as cars flew by his window. A singular slab of too-thin glass with slats to shade the outside world. It let in the cold of the rain outside. It let in the scent of the sewage treatment pipes in the building wall beneath Fumito's home.
He hadn't smelled that scent in so long.
How long had it been?
Fumito finally stood. His joints creaked and popped and his muscles sparkled with tickling pain as they woke up. The next part was the most uncomfortable. Fumito removed the auto-pipes from himself. What a lovely name for rubberized plastic tubes in each orifice to give food and take any and all byproducts away. He winced as he pulled, glad for the numbness in his still half-asleep body.
A car passed by his window, flickering the neon sign of the building across from him. The light through the slits of the blinds made an effervescent experience as it flickered. Fumito's mind fought to catch up, excited at the colors, excited at the feeling. It almost felt like the deck.
He didn't turn on any of his own lights. There might still be power to them, but who knows if the bulbs burnt out. It wasn't worth the effort of finding the switch.
Instead, he walked over to the fridge. Inset on the wall, its silver screen cover shimmered and nearly blinded Fumito as it came to life - full brightness - when he walked up to it.
"Order please :)" came across the screen. Sideways smiley and everything.
A few taps and Fumito's credit was hit. The fridge opened up, and he grabbed his food. Plastic scraped plastic as he ate the grub and looked about his home. Hole. Home. Same thing, right? Why try to hide behind a word when you can be honest with the place?
He smiled.
His eyes were back and his muscles didn't dislike the movement about the place as much as they had when he first removed the deck.
He gasped.
The plastic bowl and plastic food fell to the floor.
The fridge worked.
His account wasn't drained.
He had money.
Fumito raced to the deck. The rear screen turned on and he saw the menu options. He scrolled to account and to subscription and to payment method.
A gift card.
He had been burning through a gift card he received, not his own money.
He nearly screamed with joy.
Fumito switched away from the gift card, now drained. He input his account number and the board came up green. There was a price per minute listed, but Fumito ignored it with a smile.
He'd only run out of the gift card. He hadn't even been in VR that long.
He sat on his mattress, thin but sufficient. It was right next to where he had been laying when he took the deck off.
He put the buds in his ears, blocking out the noise of the world. Then, he put the deck on and the rest of the world disappeared as well.
On to a better place.
A better life.
He barely noticed the auto-pipes reset themselves into place.
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Love ya!
Max