ory was an unemployed, unremarkable juve who lived in Peach Trees Block, and by all accounts, that pretty much meant his life was over. His only family was his mother, whose anaesthetic of choice was the tri-D. His father had died of ennui two years ago. Cory's existence was marked with a numbing pointlessness which led him to believe he'd go the same way as his old man.

These were the thoughts that endlessly circled his brain. They tormented him as he sat in the combined kitchen and living area of the hab, bolting down his breakfast. It was a dirty, cramped place, although you couldn't see the much of the dirt or the cramp because the window drapes were kept drawn. The only light emanated from the flickering glow of the tri-D.

"When are you going to get a job?" said Cory's mother. Lying limp and boneless on the couch, doped up by the vid, she resembled a corpse. Or Cory's first and girlfriend (who, incidentally, had dumped him).

"Why don't you get a job?" Cory retorted. His voice came out in a dull monotone.

His mother's brow furrowed slightly as she desperately tried, and failed, to think up a good answer. "Juves at your age should have a job."

"Well, there aren't any jobs."

"What about that position for shop window dummy you applied for a few weeks back?" She languidly unwrapped another umpty candy and popped it in her mouth. Her eyes never strayed from her vid-show. Looked to be 'Streets of Dan Francisco', not that Cory cared one way or another.

Dropping his head to his head, Cory released a beleaguered sigh. "It went to some other geek who paid five thousand creds. How am I supposed to compete?"

"Then do something productive, for drokk's sake. Collect the welfare or something. I'm sick of you hanging around all the time."

Cory was a slo-mo user, but he hadn't fallen into it straight away. He had, at first, been sceptical as to why he would want to take a drug that stretched his perception of time. His existence was dismal enough as it was: he didn't want to experience ten times more of it.

His attitude changed after he had given slo-mo a try.

Now, having collected a rather thin wad of creds from Social Security on ground floor, it was a foregone question what he would do today.

Before Cory went to get his fix, he recruited his friend Dave to come with. He didn't feel comfortable around the dealers in apartment 23625, on account of the fact that they were huge and armed to the teeth. He only felt secure with Dave taking the lead; his friend effortlessly exuded an aura that said "I know what I'm doing."

23625 was a grim place to be. Walls flaked like they suffered from a chronic case of eczema. Broken glassware, butts from illicit tobacco cigarettes, and other detritus covered every surface. A smell similar to raw rotten munce pervaded the room. The floor throbbed with loud, discordant music.

Kicking away greasy takeaway food containers and empty bottles, Cory cleared a path to a corner of the room. He sunk into a grotty beanbag, clutching the inhaler. Dave settled next to him.

A hit from the inhaler and he blasted off to twinkling la la land. Like a shaft of sunlight penetrating storm clouds, the grim, desolate room suddenly rippled with garish colour. The harsh music melted into tinkling chimes. The air enveloped his skin like silken sheets. Waves of euphoria bubbled from a wellspring in his chest.

In this timeless space, he was free from pain and fear. Through half-lidded eyes, he watched spiralling tendrils of the white cloud he had exhaled. It was very soothing.

The front door imploded.

Swirls of twinkling light and dust engulfed the room and transformed it into planetarium. The doorman drifted backward through the air, gently riding the wave. The music swelled into a baritone chorus as the two dark angels of death breached Elysium, spitting fire and vengeance.

Dave pulled out his piece as the angel swivelled towards them. Light danced across a blacked out visor. It was still raining stardust.

There was a flash. Cory's eyes were hypnotised by the slow sideways arc of a casing. It shone with a brilliant incandescence, like the sun on a smogless noon.

Liquid warmth splashed Cory's arm. Dave's head moved sideways, lethargically, as if through water, and connected with his lap.

Adrenaline jolted him back into the present; he raised his hands tremblingly. Staring at him was the muzzle of a gun. Behind the gun was a hard, faceless Judge.

"Anderrrrrsonnnn. Juuudggggemennnnt." The Judge's voice sounded dilatory, blurred.

The other one said something incoherent to Cory's ears. He wasn't paying much attention. Still dazed and stoned, just keeping a petrified eye on the jut-chinned Judge who was pointing the gun at him like he was scum.

The full reality of the situation wouldn't hit him right now. It would hit him only later when his ass was filling a juve cube and the brain chems had bailed.

For the moment, as he was being cuffed, Cory thought: well, at least mom will be happy.