The world ran on money and greed. Everyone knew this. It sucked, especially for the working class such as yourself— a nine-to-five on top of a bartender from nine-to-two. Working two jobs to make ends meet was killing you slowly, but it was worth it when you got home.

Your nice apartment, tucked into a nice part of the city, with its chipped paint and water stains. It was ugly. It was warm, though, and kept you safe from being stabbed on the street. It had a fridge you filled with food, a couch with a mountain of throw blankets, and a bed that was massive and soft. Even a nice computer to game on. Your savior. Your grace. Your shining light. Gaming. You loved gaming more than anything.

Cozy in your pajamas, headphones on, lights off, fan on. Life looked so much brighter in the dark room. Joining a random server on Counter Strike, a new game you've been into lately, you were thrown into a match with a few other people.

“Inhaler? I barely know her!” a deep American accent echoed through your headphones followed by the rest of the guys laughing. You couldn’t help a small giggle yourself, though you were muted.

“Who’s this?” another guy asked, pointing their in game weapon at you. “Who the fuck are you?”

“What the fuck is that name? (gamer-tag)?” the first guy asked, running up to your character. “Do you have a mic, dude? I need to hear what voice belongs to this name.”

“It’s probably a little kid and you cunts are being so mean,” another voice said as he laughed, his accent thicker, different. New Zealand, you noticed.