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Wire up. Jack in. Log on. Brain dive. Net cruise. Packet surf. Punch in. Data burn.

NUKE IT.

Back door. Away clean.

Wake up.

You're a decker, your medium is the mind, your element is cyberspace. You deal in data, information, trade secrets and stolen snippets of eavesdropped conversations. Your physical body is secondary, just another interface. Twin realities crowd your mind, and the one that glows brightest is a networked hallucination.

It's the Matrix, a massive linking of every network computer on Earth, a collection of the assembled data of a billion humans, archived past and present. It controls everything, sees everything, hears everything. Its tiers range from the scattered enclaves of BBS hackers to the floating datafortresses of military multinationals. Data is power there, on the matrix. And this place, this non-place, it's your playground.

In the networked future of Cybersphere's world, the power of a decker is subtle and complex. Security doors open at their command. Their eyes are behind every camera, their icons potentially behind every digital signature. They can be the voice of a complant in your mind, or the final armageddon of a hijacked laser satellite. Yet a decker is nothing without a network jack, a cyberdeck, and a direct neural interface to jack in. Their lives are defined by the struggle for one more upgrade, one more chip, one more black box.