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SaibaaNeko never left the apartment. The city outside was a sprawl of neon veins, flooding the streets with rain-slicked light, but that world didn’t matter anymore. His world was a suite of virtual grids, each one coded to his liking—glitching skies, endless alleyways, towers that touched nowhere.

He slouched in his chair, tail twitching as holographic data streamed across his eyes. In VR, he could be anyone, anywhere. He could hunt in the ruined undercity of Neo-Tokyo-12, slip through black-market networks, or lounge on floating platforms that defied gravity. Outside, his body was just a husk, curled up under a blanket of discarded tech and wires.

Messages pinged—humans trying to reach him—but SaibaaNeko ignored them. Interaction was messy. In VR, he had control. He decided which lives to touch, which realities to manipulate. He drank simulated rain from virtual puddles, felt the electricity hum through his fur, and watched the city pulse beneath him.

A knock at the door broke his concentration. The apartment smelled of old ramen and ozone. He sighed, ears flicking back, and tapped the VR console. Maybe tomorrow he’d deal with the real world. For now, the digital city needed him—and he was exactly where he belonged.