In a dimly lit private cubicle.
The young programmer known online as "Herohero" clutched his chest, wracked by tearing pain, and coughed violently.
He was exhausted. More than eighteen hours a day of high-pressure algorithm programming had already pushed his internal organs to the brink of failure.
Yet just as he closed his eyes and prepared to meet death, a dazzling yet unusually warm golden light passed unhindered through the tiny, dust-covered window, spilling over his desk and driving away the chill that filled the room.
"Ding-dong."
A mandatory red notice suddenly popped up on his work terminal:
[Emergency Notice: The boards of all major monopoly conglomerates have been fully taken over by the Wayne Code. Effective immediately, all employees are on indefinite paid leave. All patients suffering from occupational illnesses will receive free treatment from fully automated medical terminals.]
The pen slipped from Herohero's hand. He raised his head blankly, and for the first time, his pale, waxy face felt the warmth of sunlight.
Deep beneath the city, in a dark basement filled with the stench of moldy dampness and cheap nutrient fluid.
"Ulbert," who had become an arrogant demon in the game yet could only curl up at society's bottom rung and hate everything in reality, tightly gripped an old photograph of his parents. They had died tragic deaths from workplace injuries at a chemical plant, receiving nothing in return but a few scraps of cheap compensation paperwork.
The hatred in his eyes had once burned his soul to ashes.
But at that moment, the sound of acid rain outside abruptly stopped.
Warm, brilliant radiance poured through the ventilation shaft like a waterfall, illuminating his parents' blurry faces in the photograph—and Ulbert's bloodshot eyes.
He staggered out through the underground pipes. When the blinding sunlight forced him to