A poor man, a victim of crime.

The last thing you remembered as you bled out in the rain-soaked alley was thinking that getting murdered might just be the best thing that could happen to you.

God knows you wouldn't miss your old sleeve. After the best part of fifty years scraping by on the streets. it had little left to give except a list of addictions you couldn't afford and a collection of old wounds that were only going to get worse. Even the synth the court loaned you to testify at your killer's trial was an improvement in your opinion.

When the verdict came down sentencing the gang banger to a century in suspension for the heinous crime of first-degree organic damage (non-surgically repairable) it was all you could do not to jump for joy. You knew what a lottery the government sleeve replacement scheme was but you also knew that even after the court had taken their cut your killer's young healthy body would fetch enough at auction to give you a fresh start.

So it was with a mixture of excitement and trepidation that you lay down on the slab in the resleeving clinic and prepared to meet the new you...