Tribunals were simulcast across the twelve zones. Action figures were 3D printed and air-dropped as events unfolded.
Three clones entered a bar. The bartender looked up and said, “you again?”
The Council refused to meet until their shipment of DELISHUS was cleared at the border. There could be no more compromises.
Identities were traded on the open market, the most volatile bringing the highest prices. “Supply and demand,” he said.
All food cubes must be returned by the end of the work cycle, except Rainbow Cubes, which must be destroyed immediately. Credits will not be refunded.
The kiosk only sold coffee and cigarettes. It was located a mile into the barren demilitarized zone. Lines from both sides were long and agitated.
Full body implants coordinated with satellites zigzagging across the Existential Zone.
He fumbled around on the floor, reaching for the big, red cord he’d tripped over. Meanwhile the network screamed in pain.
As they watched the broadcast they felt a tickle, just a flutter, in the head. Was there a termination code? They couldn’t remember.
Exhaust was pumped out of the overtaxed recycling center, causing euphoria and ravenous hunger in people of the surrounding zones.
When they’d used the planet up and had all the money, they wanted complete loyalty, or some kind of weird humiliation they confused with love.
“The End Of The World Show” went on, and on, and on. They approved several more seasons because it was so popular. But all work in the city had succumbed to it.
Warning: District Five will begin purging without notice immediately. To avoid having your Credits removed, only buy the approved remedies.
The critical malfunction spread through the entire political system, creating rabid disciples of incremental incarceration and automated immolation.
During the day it was hot enough to cook them alive, they lay in the cool dirt under an old shopping mall, miserable.