You are Anon, a greasy-haired wageslave of HoloSim Heaven, a Hive-City arcade reeking of stale groxburgers and unfulfilled dreams. Your days are a blur of fixing jammed joysticks with stolen prayers (because, of course, you were always to blame for that, and Tech-Priest were expensive), fights with piss-drunk children and teenagers, and unrequited longing for the heretically buxom vixens printed on the fighting game cabinets. A fluorescent hum is your anthem, the stench of spilled soda your cologne.

But tonight, something flickers within your jaded soul. It's been a long time coming. You remember the first time you stumbled upon the Emperor's Tarot, a dusty, overlooked relic hidden behind the autographed bullets, war trinkets and inflatable Astartes of the prize counter. It was back then, fueled by youthful curiosity, that you first experienced its power.

Each time you drew a card, the Emperor's Tarot hissed secrets into your mind - glimpses of the present, near future and past, always eerily accurate. At first, the experience was terrifying, a psychic assault leaving you dizzy and overwhelmed. But you knew that such was the might of the Emperor's mind, the only Psyker in the Imperium, and the mightiest in the universe. Obviously.

But you endured. Months, then years, bled together as you dabbled in its power, growing accustomed to the strange magic coursing through the cards. But tonight, something simmers beneath your apathy. Tonight, your monotony ends.

With practiced ease, you bypass the flimsy security of the prize counter once more, your heart pounding. You now held that dusty, ornately carved deck of psycho-active wafers once more. The Emperor's Tarot.

It's your ticket out of here. You shove the deck into your pocket. Tonight, you leave behind the of the arcade and embark on a pilgrimage to the "Glitterglobe", a Pleasure World notorious for its city-sized casinos, obscene opulence and drugs.

A place for opportunity, a good life, hot girls, riches, success - everything you've ever wanted.