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.
That year an army of orphans rose up from the war zone and took revenge on their corporate sovereigns.
Citizens will each be issued a firearm—to protect the Homeland, and to self-terminate when their lifetime allotted Medical Credits run out.
Leadership rewarded their victims with a series of initiatives fostering maximum confusion and cruelty.
At the bottom of every millionth can was a prize–a free set of internal organs and a week’s vacation in Dreamland.
The dangerous transfer of personnel between the rogue satellite and the remote dystopian bubble cities was sponsored by a popular sports drink.