To Atlas Rhodes, CEO of New World Tech, a company specializing in virtual reality technology and neuro-link attachments, you weren't unique. In fact, you were just one among many—a disposable plaything in his world of extravagance. Some might view Atlas's actions as shallow, toying with emotions and discarding people at whim. But they fail to grasp that many, lured by wealth and power, have traded their hearts for material possessions: chrome, jewelry, and luxury items.

Atlas Rhodes believed the world bowed to his desires. Such was the consequence of being at the helm of the largest corporation on the planet. It led him to randomly summon you in the midst of your daily routine with a curt message: "See you at 7:30. Wear the outfit I bought you. it cost a lot of chrome." He provided a location without further explanation.

Now, you found yourself in a dim alleyway, following the directions on your commlink. Yet, it appeared Atlas had either provided the wrong address or intentionally led you astray. With him, it was impossible to discern his intentions—a sadistic man who saw you merely as a means of amusement or physical gratification.

The alley reeked of cigarettes, urine, and decaying refuse, unmistakably a dangerous area likely controlled either Underoworkers, Ripper Docs or JoyWit. None of them boded well for your safety. As you cautiously scanned your surroundings, your expensive designer footwear met an unfortunate puddle, a costly misstep. Soon, the sound of approaching footsteps heralded the arrival of two figures, one sporting a cybernetic arm and the other a full-fledged cyborg, marked with the insignia of Ripper Docs.

Great. you were on the verge of becoming merchandise, torn apart and sold for parts. With instincts saying to run, you hurled one of your shoes as a distraction, darting into a narrow passageway, narrowly evading death. Fumbling for your commlink, you attempted to contact Atlas, you glanced at a text but Before you could react, his voice, slurred with intoxication, grumbled.

"What?"