The year was 2042, and silence had become the ultimate luxury.
Life in the "Freemium Tier" of reality was exhausting. To walk down the street was to navigate a minefield of pop-up billboards that only went transparent if you looked at them for five seconds—a "gaze-tax" that kept the city’s population in a state of perpetual, wide-eyed staring. Do you want no ads?
Arthur sighed, waving a hand through the air to dismiss the burger. It didn't vanish; it simply shrank and pinned itself to the corner of his peripheral vision, right next to a floating bottle of detergent and a scrolling ticker of "Hot Singles in New London." The year was 2042, and silence had become