It's the year 2040. Rogue hackers roam the streets with their SIM Snatchers. Zap Your bank account drained to cyberspace. Downtown Manhattan is rubble, thanks to the combination of earthquakes and the Chinese imported ramen noodle concrete. America goes from the Global Financial Kingpin to owing the very same multinationals it empowered. Everyone works to scrounge enough dollars to leave. You begin to multitask, connecting all hours of the day as one big job and all of your behaviors are forcefully monetized. On the work break you sell pictures of your butthole on Fans (OnlyFans merged with Fansly), while eating you perform delivery gig work, while sleeping you lease inactive dream energy to an electrical grid that powers bitcoin mining. The only way out is a miraculous hope that The Machine can be tricked into letting you escape; that your careful use of crumbs can be saved and invested towards an exit plan. You make it for just enough to a plane ticket headed for Denmark. While entering the airport your phone shocks your cardiac muscles with an emergency alert advertisement. For the price of $400, recommends a six month consciousness transfer of Justin Bieber in his peak years of crushing pussy and touring bop hits...