These stalls bore as much resemblance to the previous ones as a nuclear sub did to a rowing boat, being part Virt-Hub, part firing range. A cute guy with red hair and garish skater clothes smiled from a lounge chair before placing Virt nodes on his temples. It made sense; this way he’d get all the thrills of MDK—murder, death, kill—without having to shoot live munitions in a crowd zone. Half of New York’s button men were here, buying the latest toys to kill cops.