[ WP ] Humans have perfected the person/computer interface , allowing you to download skills and knowledge instead of going through traditional schooling . Lacking the necessary funds , you decide to bootleg the skill you 've been wanting .

My hands tremble as I begin to hook myself into the grid. The helmet creaks as I place it over my head.Next come the gloves, fabric splaying, the pinky on the right hand missing. The interface to the NeuNet is all set up and prepared needing only to be plugged in to connect. A cold sweat travels along my back as I prepare for what is to come next. If I do n't somehow learn how to 
 weld underwater within the next week, there wo n't be any more nutri-bars or light gracing my apartment. 
 
 I strengthen my resolve and jack into the grid. Neon colors swirl around my vision until they coalesce into a simple text box. Before me stands the typical greeting by Asuno Corp. `` Please enter login credentials''. I take the free floating stylus before me and write out my name along with my identifier. The world goes black and after a while buildings begin to populate the horizon and multiply until they come to my reach. Slowly, the ground begins to sprout from the abyss below my feet and soon enough I am fully within the Neural Net. 
 
 I bring up the query and search for the Kos Koncept. As I confirm my search, my body begins to bend forwards with my arms stretched outwards. Slowly I am stretched to inhumane lengths until I become no thicker than a thread, winding through the virtual streets, people and buildings a blur. There is no sense of discomfort as one would think, instead only a tinge of speed can be felt by this form of travel. Upon reaching my destination, my body begins to wind back into form and before me stands a set a lone set of stairs between two buildings. The stairs lead to a door some 15 steps 
 down that has no handle or any distinctive features. As I descend the stairs, the air begins to become gelatinous and the entrance becomes obfuscated. The door swings open and before me lay a set of marble racks, books engulfing the stone and utterly filling the room. 
 
 As I step forward I begin to feel drawn towards one of the corners, drawn by some raw instinct. Plunging my hand into a pile I extract what I thought was a book, but was closer to a journal, completely enwrapped in a brown leather. Its' cover bore a symbol of a welders torch beneath a wave. 
 As I turn around, the books are gone and instead is a lone wooden chair in the center of the room. 
 As I take my seat in the chair, a marble pedestal rises to my right with a rectangular indent the size of the tome I have. The leather then begins to warm and I place my hand atop it. The leather melts and becomes something akin to an ooze and flings sinewy tendrils onto my arm, slowly being absorbed into my pores. As leather leaves the journal, the ink on the pages begins to flow into the palm my hand until finally there is only a stack of blank papers left on the pedestal. 
 
 I begin to get up and experience a dull pain in back of my head and decide it is time to leave. I make my way out of the silent room without incident and find myself blinking with my helmet in my hands, back in the comfort of my own real home. I decide to call it a night afterwards and head towards my futon to sleep on this newfound information. 
 
 The next morning, I wake in a haze with a pencil in my hand. On the floor near me are some papers 
 with diagrams scrawled out and messy writing in what seems to be Portuguese. Somehow checking the language of the book had gotten past me.
