On a street in downtown Metropolis, there was an old fashioned video arcade. “Old fashioned,” here meaning “cheap.” They didn't have any of the latest games, many in fact being nearly a thousand years old(the hardware long since replaced, but the game itself remaining unchanged). The upshot was, if you didn't mind the lack of modern neural feedback, it was a very affordable place for a gamer on a budget. 


Tommy Tinker was one of these. His home computer could play many games, but was very bare-bones and had no virtual reality capacity. Here at Old Code, he could play on the old fashioned goggles-and-toggles VR for quarters on the hour. Today, however, his quarters were being put toward charitable use. 


Tommy was standing, arms crossed with his hand on his chin in a thoughtful gesture, looking at the display screen as a younger human girl wore the goggles. 


“It's not like the game pad on Mortal Kombat or Tekken, Sylvia,” he was telling her as her avatar on screen took another hit from her opponent. “You have to move your feet,” though she couldn't see, he demonstrated, perhaps subconsciously, a quick step as if avoiding a blow in a fistfight. 


“I keep forgetting!” Her stress was rising as her health bar lowered. In a moment, her avatar fell down, lying on the ground with a view of the man across the ring moonwalking in victory. 


“It's alright!” Tommy fed another quarter into Punch Out Classic VR, “Here, Smokin’ Joe is a tough opponent anyway. Try Brian Sutherland, he goes down easy.”


She made her selection and was soon swinging her arms at nothing, while her avatar landed punches on her mulleted contender. “Feet,” Tommy breathed, and she shuffled sideways in time to avoid Brian’s swing. Another punch and he went down. Sylvia jumped for joy and pulled the goggles off. Though it wasn't necessarily an impressive showing, a couple of nothing-better-to-dos had gathered and gave her an encouraging cheer. 


“Nice! Try Ali next, he'll show you how to move your feet for real. Here,” he dropped a handful of quarters into her hand, “You're on your own, I've got a high score to beat on Guitar Hero 13.” 


Some of the crowd, casual acquaintances of Tommy’s, followed him, while a few others stayed to play cheerleader for Sylvia’s next bout. After a quick count of his quarters, Tommy realized he'd only left enough for two tries. He shrugged, it was alright. He'd just have to beat it in one. 


In a moment,  he was shredding on the little plastic guitar.