They had made a rag-tag uniform of old digital camouflage. Worn by God knows who in a time since past, repurposed by them as a uniting attire.

  John drove. Crosby, his passenger. The other three sat in the back, the Neosun comfortably in the sky as an omen of this new day.

  The drive was charged with discussion on the plan, especially given the info courtesy of Douglas. On the way, they pass many hyperrailer tracks; escaping the mountains of Colorado to go north through Montana.

  On the way there were a few drowned townships akin to Hastings. Deemed too invaluable to bother protecting from the weather; abandoned for the swollen urban centers which now house the overwhelming majority of the population.

  Once in Montana, the drive stuck to a more maintained path. Montana, the thirty sixth most populous state of the ceremonial Union. More popular than Maine, Puerto Rico, New Vermont and Superior State combined. Yet vacant of people for ninety seven percent of its area and still fifteen times less populous than Texas.

  Yet Montana wasn't the mission. As they cross the murky border into West Dakota, the river from which Rapid City gets its name comes into view.

  Its green chemical nukage lights the ground besides which the river flows. Though as they travel further downstream, the flow is less nuclear and more akin to an old glow stick.

  The ride was cold without air conditioning. Their own breath was visible for the majority of the trip. As the Neosun enters the last quarter of the sky, the apogee of a city emerges through the suffocating rainfall.

  So dim it starts out as. So nauseatingly bright it becomes.

  Downtown resisted on a hill, the buildings of which are visible even from the outskirts.

  Finally, they take an off-ramp into the city proper. The traffic here was next to dead, indicating advanced hyperrail development.

  An escape would either be home free, or a minefield. It took less than half an hour for the target to come into sight. A square building terminally plagued with neon lighting. About five stories tall and nestled within a gap between two… office complexes? John wouldn't have a clue what it could be that warrants their existence as part of this society they reenter.

  As they get out, they can properly inspect the filth with eyes wide open. The streets are putridly bright with trash, gunk, temporary items, bags— anything that can be thought of littering the streets, gutters, drains, sidewalks, alleyways.

  They parked about a minutes walk away from the arcade as the road ahead was literally blocked with trash. It was a relatively normal sight. If a road will see more garbage than traffic, it will become a dumping ground.

  They grew closer, weapons drawn in the open. Each of their steps on the ruined, sweaty, oily sidewalk leaves a moist sound in their wake. The plan was a smash and grab. Go in the front door, locate the headsets, cause an electrical fire and then ditch it.

  As they walk closer to the entrance, no one pays them attention. Relatively modern firearms holstered to their shoulders. Clear military gear carried in public. As they pass people by, no one gives a shit. Because people are too caught up in there own lives to actually see the real world right in front of them; the real enemies. Or at least in this case, their real saviors, John likes to think of himself as.

  To his right as he walks by, a group of five tweeking and spazzing out on the disgusting floor from prescription drugs. He recognizes one of them to be overdosing. Where usually, we would at least try to help, he cannot. As he looks away, forward, he sees the main entrance opening up.

  It's only a matter of time until someone gives a shit, and so he leaves the woman for an unknown fate.

  The crew enter the revolving door inside, a scrolling text on the glass reading as. “Now playing - Everyone Knows That! By Saint’s Booth”

  As they walk in, they slow down to take in the view. Gigantic posters of overstimulating, animated erotica cover more of the walls than there is actual wall. The matted carpet floor was covered in stains, dampness, fluid and trash.

  As they stop from the sheer shocking vileness of the place; a giant floating hologram ignites in front of them. It must've been ten feet tall. A blue see-through women wearing an uncharitably well-groomed suit. Likely an avatar of some kind. “Why hello there Yukon, Chad, John, Lex, Crosby! First time for you all?”

  John ignored the thing as he took in the share depravity of the space. There were no ceiling lights. All of the lighting of this place, excluding neon accents and advertisements, was literally just pornography. He fails to believe this isn't parody.

  He hears the others talking, but he doesn't listen. How the fuck did he live in places such as this for so long? How did he ever sleep? How do people tolerate— no— thrive in such an environment? That's the thing. They don't.

  The sound of blasting music, digital sound effects, dramatic moans, machines, advertisements; it all together turns into an infomationless static that drowns out real thought.

  Has it always been this bad? Has he just not noticed?

  “JOHN!” Someone yells at him. He turns to the voice seeing Crosby trying to get his attention.

  “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU WAITING FOR, A PICTURE?! HURRY UP AND GET A MOVE ON!”

  “Shit! On it.” John tells him, snapped back to reality. Yukon and Lex are given the tasks of starting fires in marked locations. John, Crosby and Lex are responsible for the equipment. Pilfering the shackles to be repurposed into keys for the resistance.

  John isn't allowed to process the environment around him. He must follow the set path for what they look for. Not the virtual simulators, those are far too big to carry. Virtual devices such as headsets, controllers, omnidirectional treadmills, processor relays; those are the real prize.

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  As they pass through the huge main hall, John can't help but notice the shamelessness of the arcade’s customers in the corner of his view.

  Nope, there's a mission. No time to dabble in implication.

  The far wall is ripe with virtual simulators, indicating that what they seek must be somewhere nearby. All it takes is a right turn for their eyes to fall upon their prizes.

  Finally, some purpose-built lights on the ceiling. He guesses it would be useless to plaster overstimulating media here as most people shove their heads into a far better means to do so. Not that logic usually stops post-capitalism, of course. There is one issue however. The stations are all occupied with people and their… activities.

  “Oh God.” Says John, the three stopping to adjust plans. John in the middle, Crosby left and Lex right. The left and right side of the hall houses five virtual setups respectively. Lex leans over towards John as he speaks, his eyes stuck on a particular female who is strung in the air by their arms and legs being thrown around like a ragdoll. “Fuck! Why didn’t we think they’d be used?”

  “Well I’ve never used one of these things. Was always to broke!” Crosby tells him, taking him away from a drooling fool to address Lex.

  John moves forward first. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll rip them out the fucking things.” The two follow as he approaches the first one on his left, housing the drooling man. He taps him on the shoulder and turns him slightly. “Excuse me sir?” John asks.

  No reply, and so he lifts one of the earmuffs of his headset.

  “Excuse me sir?” He asked again. “Aaaaghh, amphgri grgijavag anna, oooh, oooohoho.” He gets as his reply.

  John tried in vain to process the words for a singular second before opting for the physical method. He removes the headset from the man, causing the man to start frantically looking around. Lex moves to disable the local console as John removes the headset carefully.

  As it raises off the man’s oily face, his eyes are stuck open in a soulless gaze. And the man starts panicking frantically, kicking and screaming in his chair. “Ahhhh! Ahhhhhhh! AHHHHH! REEEEEE! REEEEE! REEEEE!”

  Says the man, falling from his chair and spazzing on the ground uncontrollably. He sounds like a dying animal. It is a sorry sight. Yet Lex picks up the console and accompanying wiring, John giving him the headset as controllers. “Take these and put them in the back. We’ll try to free the rest.” John tells him.

  “Got it.” Says Lex, passing him to head towards the exit.

  John looks around to find Crosby, who is approaching the neighboring station. John joins him as they analyses another case study. Another man, more or less nude, though his unsightly body is covered in skin-tight PVC plastic, and his body parts appear purposefully stuck in places they should not be.

  “I don’t suppose we’re bringing the jerk-off-inator are we John?” Crosby jokes with his arms folded. John approaches the man without a lick of comedy in his body. “Save the shit Crosby. Get to work.”

  His little compassion is turning into abhorrent resentment and disgust. Without grace, he rips the headset off the suited man and slaps the controllers out of his hands. The man moans sensually at the act, further repulsing John. Crosby moves to take the console while John collects the virtual devices.

  He wishes he brought gloves. The main remains plugged into his impersonal stimulators as Lex comes back past the corner, looking at John and speaking. “Hey. Are you going to take advantage or what?” He asks John. John can't even look as he forms a reply.

  “I would genuinely rather kill myself.” John mutters.

  The man exists passively, without protests, and John and Crosby hand the pilfered equipment off to Lex who tells them something.

  “No sign of enforcement so far. We’re good.”

  “Great.” John replies. “Keep it up.”

  Lex heads back to the car as the two move to the next one. The first guy has gone from screaming to wailing on the floor at this point.

  The new person; another man. Quite tall but very frail, and with cat ears. “Excuse me sir?” John asks. The man removes the headset and looks at John, his face either naturally ugly or somehow misshapen.

  “Who are you?” The man asks, his voice very deep.

  “That doesn’t matter. We’re taking the virtual devices.” John tells him. The man seems to shrink a little, becoming timid and passive.

  “Oh, okay mister… Please don’t hurt me.”

  “Are you kidding?” John thinks as he approaches the man to take the headset. Half the drive here was theorizing and planning for how people would resist, but now that they’re here, everyone is such a pushover that it is actually sad.

  Once again, they wait for Lex, the man standing awkwardly in the corner, sobbing. As Lex returns, he has a few choice words. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but everyone is a fucking pushover. One of the security guards saw me and just rolled over onto the floor spouting nonsense.”

  John hands him the headset and controllers, followed by Crosby with the console. John tells him. “Don’t question it. We’ll save that for later. Now get going.”

  “Got it sir.” Lex tells him, heading back. The man in the next station yells loudly, almost like a battle-cry. John and Crosby investigate, going through the same routine up until now.

  The man is huge, though about the same height as John. His muscles are far too big to be natural, likely a designer baby from birth.

  “Excuse me sir.” John asks. The man rips off his headset and turns to face John. “AHA! YES! FINALLY, AN OPPONENT!” The man had no shirt and some sort of cyber implant in his chest, maybe a synthetic heart. Perhaps his frame was too taxing so his heart needed replacement. The man raises his fists, yelling in a berserk like frenzy.

  “COME ON THEN YOU FUCKING PUSSY!” He yells at John. He charges, John throwing his pistol up and grabbing it by the barrel. The man throws a wild swing, completes misses, and has his face grazed by the grip of John’s pistol.

  He charged with so much fury that his face hitting the pistol made a light thunk. The man falls to the floor on his face and… stays there. Soon after, he rolls into a ball and begins crying like a baby.

  “What the fuck is wrong with these people?!” Crosby can’t help but exclaim at the sight. John gives a simple answer.

  “Wrong? Crosby. This is perfectly normal.” He gets closer, preparing to approach whoever is the last on the right. He gives Crosby an affirming tap. “No time to dwell on it. Let’s get this shit sorted first.”

  Just as John exits the station, an alarm cuts off the music and the lights turn red. “Fire. Fire. Fire” The AI arcade overseer repeats. The alarm is going, yet everyone engaged in the arcade’s activities remains completely unfazed. Not John or Crosby of course. They know that means Yukon and Chad have begun torching the place. No time for platitudes. They must take what they can get. “Double time.” John tells Crosby.

  “On it.” Crosby replies.