I step out for what makes our balcony. In reality it is just a narrow ledge outside the window. Carla joins me. I hug her.
The outside world is just as grim as our apartment. Apartments stack on one another in levels. This was a poor neighborhood, and there was no escaping it.
Carla mumbles something. She's still learning to speak, but it's clear she's hungry. I suppose I'll have to go back into the game and get some well earned points. But I don't want to wear myself out. Long-term exposure in the game has been known to wear away at one's consciousness. It's a shame that it's the only source of income for many other online bounty hunters like me.
I breathe the smoggy air, just as poisonous as a pack of cigarettes. Why couldn't I have been

born elsewhere?
I give Carla her favorite toy and plug myself back in. There was no escaping this reality. And there was no escaping the game.