A blinding light blares into his eyes. He forces his eyelids shut, as hard as he can, and yet he can’t. His eyes can’t filter out the heat, the brightness. He tries again, feeling his eyes slowly burning away. It is no use. 

Tarun is blinded by the light. 

Tarun Robbrie was born in the darkest area, in the darkest time known to man, in the dark, nocturnal era of humanity. The only exception to this was VirtualVerse. 

Over 200 years ago, the predecessor of VirtualVerse, Edison, was a car company. However, in 2030, things took a turn when Richard Musk, Edison’s founder and then owner, created the first ever fully virtual universe. This new innovation created a whole new world for exploration, for entertainment, and even for safety. It was also linked to the real life universe, essentially meaning the laws of physics couldn’t be broken and things like pulses, temperatures, and even livelihoods were connected to it. Doctors around the world started using it to remotely treat patients in more accurate ways than ever before. Suddenly, things took a turn for the worse. 

Musk’s ego had gotten to him, and he decided to seize power via his most powerful asset: VirtualVerse. He made a military deal with the government which input his virtual reality into tracking missiles, aim assist in firearms, and scopes that see behind enemy walls. The only problem — he had bugged the devices, making them turn on the U.S. government, setting up a military coup. With the world’s most powerful army at his side and its leaders in his hand, Musk decided to take over the world and give his most powerful toy even more power, by converting every country into a VirtualVerse-based infrastructure. 

Some countries conceded to his control right away, fearing what havoc he might wreak on their people and lands. Others, like what used to be Russia, had to learn the hard way. Millions of Russians died in the horrendous work camps, trading human labor for electronic advancement. The Russian Army fought valiantly, but were no match to the superior Edison Army. 

Fast forward roughly 200 years, where the Sun has drastically been increasing in brightness, humans have become nocturnal creatures, and vulnerability to heat is a deadly issue in the daytime. Thousands, even millions of people are still forced to work in horrendous work camps. The most genetically ideal people are mind-washed into working for the government’s unspeakable experiments, while all other people are forced to trade their labor for the government’s greater good. Even their bodies are harvested for what valuable body parts they hold, scrapping whatever remains. 

“Tarun! Run, before it’s too late! Forget us, run son!” a tall, sooten man yells. Tarun runs as fast as his 6-year-old feet will drag him. His mommy and daddy are gonna be fine, right?

Tarun lurches awake, all sweaty. Not this dream again. Ever since he joined the Brass Knuckles, he’s been yearning to avenge his parents’ deaths. The Brass Knuckles, named after their unconventional war methods, are an anti-governmental terrorist group known for the barbaric treatment of everything they touch. While their methods may be anarchic and lots of members who joined have been killed by both the government and themselves, they do inflict lots of damage to the government. Young Tarun hates the authoritarian Edison government that caused the poverty and destruction in his life and others’. A government that makes people work to death, then uses their bodies as fuel. A government that took his parents. 

Suddenly, Tarun is called to the Elders’ council room. The Elders say, “Tarun Robbrie. You are our most valuable asset, and yet your confidence is wavering. What do you have to say?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sirs. I always have and always will be with the Brass Knuckles,” replies Tarun. 

“Very well, but any sign of betrayal and you will be executed,” the Elders respond in a sanctimonious manner. 

Tarun’s blood starts boiling. These “Elders” weren’t as bad as the government; however, they also weren’t much better. Killing people in their own organization to root out weak links? How could they be judging him?

Now, two weeks later, Tarun is on a mission. This time, however, if he doesn’t succeed, it’s game over. It is an important mission assigned to him, the most sneaky and athletic Brass Knuckler, by the elders. This is his chance to knock out the Musk regime. And, if all goes well, he can knock out the Brass Knuckles too, those half-wits. This is the most important day of his life. 

He puts the VirtualVerse headset on. The universe loads in, where the sky is black, smoke is fuming across the sky, and working slaves could be seen breaking their backs over Edison’s cruel labors. Tarun’s heart shatters seeing these people, but he reminds himself that once this mission is over, all these people will reap the rewards of a free life. Next destination: the capitol. 

Tarun scans the capitol area. Two guards outside guarding the entrance, which he could take care of easily. From there, it is just sneaking through the hallways up to the president’s office and executing operation -32, essentially getting rid of all of VirtualVerse’s database. He holds the virtual malware USB he has in his hand. One little input of this into the main database, and thousands of brainwashed, enslaved, and unjustly incarcerated people freed. All he has to do is wait for them to disable the power supply for the building, and he should have enough time to sneak in. Security cameras, lighting, ventilation, and, most importantly, Edison warfare all turned off. 

The lights turn off in the building. Tarun runs over to the guards, grabbing one and knocking one against the other before delivering a final blow on both. He moves on, sneaking through the building and knocking out guards whenever necessary. And just like that, he is in the president’s office. 

Who knew getting into the president’s office was that easy? Tarun’s com buzzes. 

“Tarun! It’s a trap! Abort NOW!” 

Tarun feels searing pain in his back. He feels himself hitting the ground as a figure steps over him. 

“Pathetic.”

He wakes up, gasping for air and with no headset on, tied up onto a chair in a random warehouse. He sees a familiar-looking thinning man in a suit and tux, with a long thin pale face, dark circles around his eyes, and a sinister smile.

 “At last, we meet,” he says, cackling insanely. “The supposed ‘Brass Knuckler’ who has been wreaking havoc on my slave camps around the world! Looks like you’ve gotten the upper hand over me, haven’t you?” he sarcastically laughs. 

“Who are you?” says Tarun, exhausted. 

“Why, it’s me, the president of the country! I may stay anonymous, but I’m still pretty famous, aren’t I? But you may know me as… Richard Musk!”

Tarun’s world seems to disappear, focusing on the one man laughing madly in front of him. The Richard Musk? In all the photos of him he’s seen, Musk was a plump, intelligent looking man who never looked to have any health issues. And yet his face — it looks somewhat familiar. But how? 

“You may be wondering lots of things, including how I’m alive and why I kidnapped you. Well, you see, a couple centuries ago, I found a cure to death! A way to live forever, as long as I keep using it! But why commercially sell it when I could keep it to myself, and live forever! Do you remember your parents? I do quite well! Their organs and millions of others’ are the reason I’m here today! And why kidnap you? Well, my personal geneticists have kept an eye on each individual since the day they were born. And you, my good sir, have a gene at its best right now, a gene that can help me not need this drug anymore, so I can be a leader… forever!” He laughs lunatically. “And right before I harvest your organs for immortality, I would just like to say… It was nice knowing you!”

Tarun cuts the final bind in the rope that is tying him, freeing himself and lunging to punch Musk across the face. Then he starts running. Mike and the Knucklers are pulling up,  getting a car for them to run. But by that time, it is too late. Musk pulls out a weapon and launches a rocket straight towards the Knucklers, knocking everyone out.  

Tarun wakes up again, lying on the ground next to some bodies, his eyes forcefully pried open, facing the torturous sunlight. He can feel his abdominal organs gone, his body searing in pain, and Musk cackling in the background. Tarun tries screaming for help, but there is no one there, all hope lost. He tries grabbing a body next to him, but it is still, unmoving. 

He has lost, and Musk is now forever.