Sunset bathes New New Melbourne in a bloodied glow, the sun hanging low in the sky like an infected cyclopean eye. The coder-serf data factories & housing hubs which once lined the streets during the reign of the last of the Emperor-CEO’s now lie in ruin and disrepair.
In the last tower left standing, on the 10th level, in the 709th cubicle, a squat hunches over a laptop. No longer exactly ‘human’ in shape, sentiment or biology, the figure nonetheless types away at its keyboard with its hyper muscled fingers, sim-skin purpled and bruised, working feverishly. The screen at which it stares displays only rows of endlessly scrolling green text on a black background.
It doesn’t remember who or what it once was. Doesn’t care anymore.
It only exists to troll.