<span class="mu-g"><span class="mu-i">Please enter your account card to log in.</span></span>

You had been staring at the popup long enough that the main menu's log in music had begun to loop. It was this brief moment of silence that brought you back to the dark room you were sitting in. The only source of light was the LEDs embedded into your full dive setup, not that you could see it with the helmet on your head projecting the menu into your eyes. Had you owned one of the newer models of the system, it might had been a simple visor with tactile gloves for menus outside of VR or perhaps an all in one system/seat with a built in computer. Unfortunately, you could afford neither so you were stuck with a bulky set up that involved you plugging in the peripherals directly to your PC via a series of cables and extra hardware. Even so, your setup was considered archaic by today's standards. Most players' computers would already be full dive capable and even the most novice of PC builders would include the parts for it as baseline for a gaming computer. Your build was just another sign that you were a relic of a bygone era where full dive tech was just going over the tipping point of becoming the new standard for gaming.

<span class="mu-g"><span class="mu-i">Warning: You have been inactive for an extended period. The system will log you out in 120 seconds then shut down.</span></span>

Your hands tremble and you shuffle a bit. The screen goes temporarily translucent to allow you to see your surroundings as it assumes you're going to slot in the aforementioned account card. You reach for the drawer in your desk to dig it out but stop. It had been 5 years since you touched it. 5 years since you buried it under various odds and ends. Why now? It's location had always weighed on your mind but it had never ate at you like it had in recent days. You let out a heavy sigh and pull the helmet off your head. Upon detecting it's removal, the system projects the menu on to your monitor giving you enough light to see clearly in the dark. Before you can hesitate again, you pull the drawer open and empty it completely on your desk. No chance to back out mid way now. Pens, pencils, an old phone, and various other office supplies litter your workspace until, in an almost dramatic fashion, the gold account card bearing the words "Account#00000020" lands nearly atop the pile.

You gently pick it up as one would an injured friend. The metal was cool, almost cold, to the touch. Running your fingers over the card, you can feel every nick and scratch on it but can also remember exactly how each and every one was earned. Finally your fingers reach the raised, stylized letters spelling "Nevermore".