Urban Camoflage

This piece is the sequel to Trench Warfare 101. Please read that before for best effect. I'll probably continue this eventually.
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A thin boy, dark hair, grey eyes, was left staring blankly into space. His vision, moments before filled by the miseries of war, was now filled instead by his miserable life. The room was shabby and dark, an old desk covered in old gadgets and obsolete media, bed unmade, mattress thin.

 The only remarkable thing about this room was the computer at the boy's feet. Slim, black, a thin strip of blinking lights breaking the darkness. A single power cable trailed to the wall. There was no obvious input nor output devices, nothing of any sort. Only when the boy stood, and approached his own reflection in his cracked mirror, could he see the marvel of technology he'd been experiencing. A large plastic and steel device, perhaps 6 centimetres in diameter, was affixed firmly to the back of his neck by a pair of thin black ties, forming a collar around his neck. This was the device science had searched for for years, a true neural interface, and now it was in the home of every kid geeky enough to set it up and wealthy enough to afford it.

 The boy looked at the computer, concerned, for his connection loss was unheard of. The blinking lights revealed his dilemma, that, somehow, his internet connection had gone down. This was unusual to say the least; such a thing as a downed internet connection was a relic of the century's first decade, at least to his mind. A restart of the system did nothing. Nor did any of the myriad troubleshooting possibilities offered by the operating system.

The boy threw off the collar in frustration. Looking in the mirror again, he saw red marks where the straps had dug into the skin. He'd been online for a while, hours at least. The collar stayed on to eat, to check the mail, to defecate; all time which could be wasted instead used productively, doing schoolwork, keeping up with the news, socialising. Most of the friends he socialised with the boy hadn't seen in weeks; but no matter,  he saw them online all the time.

 The boy opened a curtain, and a flood of yellow light entered. the room was uglier in sunlight than in darkness; only now could one see the stains on the walls and the damaged plasterwork, the door hanging lopsided in the unpainted door frame. The boy dragged on a pair of shoes, nondescript walks trendy amongst his generation for reasons not known by anyone.

 The boy walked out into the street, as of yet not seeing a single other person. A lone post truck drove by, carrying food, clothes, anything people needed to live. Wandering aimlessly, the boy followed in the same direction, away from his home and the dozens of others identical to it and into the edge of the metropolis. He still hadn't seen a single person.

 Suddenly, as the boy rounded a corner - music. The strumming of a few simple chords, and a man's voice, somewhere in the distance. Walking in the direction of the sound, the boy listened with a critical ear. The lyrics the man sung were nonsensical, meanderings about 'pianos filled with flames' and 'semen-stained mountaintops'. And yet - there was a beauty here, unlike the electronic tunes and produced pop idols favored by those he knew. The boy walked, and walked, but the music was always in the distance, it seemed. 

 A man, maybe 60, sat on the kerb at the side of the road. Another person had finally emerged.
"You there, boy, do you now where that music's coming from? It's getting on my nerves." The boy looked intensely at the man, for he looked strangely familiar. He had a bristling mustache.
"No, no, I'm looking for it too." The boy wrinkled  his brow. The man looked like an older version of the commander from his war game before.

 Walking awkwardly away, the boy continued. The music was closer now. The man he'd seen before lurked on his mind. It was definitely the commander from his game, but he was more... broken? He seemed old and tired rather than young and full of life. Was this what the web did to people?

 The boy caught his reflection in the glass of a shopfront. The red marks on his neck were still prominent, with it looking like he'd fallen the victim of strange bedroom antics. His shirt fitted terribly, his chubby arms sitting limp in sleeves clearly designed for a more athletic man. He clearly was as broken as the commander, not the muscular heart-throb he was online but simply another slob who needed real exercise.

 The music was closer still. The boy looked around, trying to pinpoint it, but he didn't even know where he was. It looked familiar, almost as if he'd passed through before... And suddenly, the pin dropped. This was the same corner he'd seen the old man near. This was the same corner he'd been passing for awhile, now. Very odd. He kept walking.

Next time he came to the corner, there was a man, with an acoustic guitar. His features were unusual, facial hair bringing to mind a particular British revolutionary.
 "Welcome back to reality"
The buildings warped, sky fading to black.

A thin boy, dark hair, grey eyes, was left staring blankly into space. Before his return to reality, he had seen a single flash of text.
 "Escape your electronic prison"
No matter what he did, every time he closed his eyes the text was back.

The internet seemed to be working fine.
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It's Anonymous! In the future! And seriously, if /mu/ were involved at all you can guarantee In The Aeroplane Over The Sea would be involved.

I feel sick. Damn pizza, making me thirsty. Damn water, making me feel bloated. But the Pokemans and the teasing Laura was good.

I have so much work for the next few days. Money's good, but I'm gonna hate Foodworks at the end of it...