2200 AD

You check the chronometer on your time machine's dash. It reads September 15th, 2200. You take a breath, unable to quite believe this has worked. That's well over 150 years into the future.

You figure either society will have become more egalitarian, or the world will have become a post-nuclear hellscape. You know which one you're rooting for. (The first one.)

As you exit your time-craft, you note with some surprise you're no longer in your house. You're surprised for a minute, but then remember the adage that any time machine must necessarily also be a space machine, given the orbit of the Earth and everything.

You're in a lushly-appointed, darkened room. Your eyes trace the marble floors, eventually alighting on some positively massive plate glass windows.

Looking out of them, you catch a glimpse of a city skyline, a mass of skyscrapers, on average 2 or 3 times taller than was commonplace in [CURRENT YEAR]. They are adorned with neon advertisements and talking billboards. Flying cars zoom by in every direction, hurtling through a torrential downpour. In short, it looks like something out of every cyberpunk movie, book and half-baked and ultimately overhyped role-playing game you've ever experienced.

You're taking it all in, nose pressed to the glass, when you hear a noise from behind. Turning, you see a small air vent cover drop to the floor. Glancing up, you see a lithe figure descend from the vent, sliding down a rope with an acrobat's grace.

The spider-like figure drops nimbly to the ground, and you get a better look at them.

It's an adult woman. She's clad in a skin-tight leather catsuit. She's wearing a half-face mask, a swatch of black fabric covering her jaw, but you can see she's an asian woman, about the same age as you.

As the intruder notices you, she seems as startled by your sudden and inexplicable appearance as you do by hers. There's a few awkward seconds of indecision, that seem to stretch out for minutes, before the catburglar's hand shoots behind her back.

It comes back, comes up, holding a bulky blag device. An unfortunately gun-like device. She pulls the trigger, and after a muffled, suppressed report, you feel something strike you in the chest. You look down, expecting blood, your organs to be destroyed, but see only a silver dart, with black shafts, embedded in your torso. You want to remove it, but already, your body feels leaden, your movements more difficult, as if underwater. Finally, your legs give out, and you careen to the hard marble floor, and unconsciousness.