“Man, I can’t believe we’re finally done with exams. No more school! I hate school.”

  “What are you complaining about? At least we’re not corporate slaves yet, barely making enough to survive in this dying world. I heard we only have 40 years before the toxicity levels get so high that life won’t be sustainable anymore.”

  “Well, we’re all fucked anyway, so what’s the point of school? My family’s rich, obviously, but I didn’t get into school because of that. My mother kicked me out when I was 10. They only cover my living expenses—no spending money. I’ve been making my own from tutoring rich kids. The only way to get into the top school in the country is either having a wealthy family or ridiculously good grades.”

  “Well, look on the bright side. Australia’s toxicity levels are slightly lower because it’s in the Southern Hemisphere, so we’ll live a bit longer.”

  “I guess.” He scoffs. “Let’s get off these depressing topics. I heard a new game is coming out.”

  “Oh? What’s it called?”

  “New Life Plus. It’s designed specifically for the latest model of the Steam Pod and Steam Helmet. I heard it’s the most realistic DMMORPG yet. The game’s website says it puts a heavy emphasis on realism, so much so that the only option in the menu is a logout button. When you log in, you get an in-game item called a ‘Guild Card,’ which displays a magical hologram of your name, race, age, gender, and level.”

  “What about stats and skills?”

  “That’s the beauty of it. The game also puts a heavy emphasis on player skill.”

  “Really? Sounds interesting. Too bad I won’t be able to play it—I can’t exactly afford the latest generation VR helmet or Steam Pod.”

  “Well, the game doesn’t work on old tech anymore. They designed it that way on purpose to market the new Steam Pod.”

  “Yeah, pretty much. They’re really hyping up this game, so it might actually be good. Not like you have anything better to do. I’m sure your dad will continue covering your living expenses for that dingy apartment. And spoiler alert, I may not be rich, but I do have ways of making money.”

  “Oh, really? Slaving away like the rest of peasants?”

  He laughs. “No. I heard the game has a currency auction, where you can sell a gold coin for a dollar. The market value is fixed to prevent tampering, and the auction goes live as soon as the game launches.”

  “That sounds interesting. Play games, make money? But let me guess, a single gold coin won’t be easy to earn?”

  “Yeah, probably. Only the wealthy who can afford to buy them will get them easily.” He smiles. “But it’s still a good way to make money.”

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  I slip off my inside shoes and put them in my locker, replacing them with heavy-duty boots. "Ah crap," I mutter, realizing I need to put my pants on. I take off the boots, pull on industrial-style cargo pants over my shorts, then put the boots back on. I zip up my thick jacket, button it, pull the hood over my head, and finally strap on a breathing mask.

  “Well, I’ll see you online, probably,” I say as the door—more like an airlock—opens. I step outside into the thick, toxic pollution. The air is so dangerous that it can burn your skin if exposed, and even ordinary clothes would melt. Acid rain isn’t uncommon, and buildings need to be plated with special materials to withstand it.

  As I walk home to my cheap, one-bedroom apartment, I reflect on how my father provides me with the bare minimum. No spending money, just enough to live.

  When I reach the apartment building, I enter through the airlock and remove my protective gear. Just as I’m about to open my door, my phone rings. It’s my stepmother. My biological mother died when I was 10—poisoned, no doubt, by my father’s second wife. After her death, I was sent to live in this apartment alone, supported only by my father’s minimal allowances. I’ve never met my half-siblings, born after I was kicked out.

  I answer the phone. “I’m surprised you called me.”

  She says flatly, “Your father is dead. I’ve sent a limo to pick you up for the will reading. You’re required to attend.”

  I head down to the parking lot, and the limo takes about three hours to reach my father’s lawyer’s office. “So, Dad’s dead, huh?” I ask.

  They confirm, but I know better. He’s probably one of the 10,000 people who got a ticket to the Martian colony. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the elites are fleeing there, faking their deaths, and giving up their possessions to make it look legitimate.

  I zone out during most of the will reading until I hear my name: “To my son, Alex Joshua Ashwood, I leave the Cube and its contents.”

  The Cube is a massive skyscraper in central Sydney, standing one kilometer tall. The air up there is cleaner because the heavier toxic gasses sink, but even at the top, you need air filtration systems to survive.

  I sign the electronic paperwork, not really caring about the rest. Afterward, I get the limo driver to take me to the Cube, taking the express elevator to the penthouse. The building is managed by an AI, and I’m informed that my account has been credited with 100 million dollars from accumulated rent.

  “How many employees does the building have?” I ask.

  The AI lists the security team, cleaning staff, building manager, and various maintenance crews.

  I pause. “Let me guess, you’ve already fired a few employees who were embezzling funds and hired replacements, and now I have to meet them, right?”

  The AI responds, “Correct.”

  “Figures,” I mutter. I’m sure my father left me something just to prevent me from contesting the will. If he hadn’t, I could have made a case for a bigger inheritance.

  “Since I have 100 million in my account, pre-order the latest generation SteamPod and the game New Life Plus. Also, arrange for my things to be moved from my old apartment to the penthouse.”

  Five minutes later, I arrived at the penthouse. It’s got a modern, minimalistic vibe, but I don’t care. After a meeting with the new building manager, filled with pointless office politics, I’m finally free. I check the cupboards for food and let out a sigh of relief when I find a ready-made meal packet.

  It’s not real food, of course—only the ultra-wealthy can afford that—but it’s better than the nutrient paste I’ve been living on. At least I can afford these synthetic meals now.

  After eating, I ask the AI, “You pre-ordered New Life Plus and the new Steam Pod, right?”

  The AI confirms, and after a month of waiting, the VR pod installation is finally complete. I waste no time setting it up and logging into the game.