Hype

or: ah, the future.


Like a future ghost she moves through the neon haze of the MetaVerse, Google Glass flickers ghost-data across her vision while she mints NFTs between the stations flashing by on the Tokio to Paris Hyperloop.

Her Segway screams as she changes to an Aerwin quadcopter. Main screen turn on. Zig.

A blockchain warning starts pulsating beneath her fingertips. Raw material to weaponise against rogue Google+ avatars running on salvaged Microsoft Zunes. Broken economies supported by the Bitcoin stored at FTX. She vibe-codes a defensive logic bomb with Claude.

Back in the Hyperloop. Maglev monorail. Graffiti-tagged AI in the endless tunnel, pinpricks of phantom data. Random flutter. Echoes of the Theranos nanojabs sample her bloodstream.

She speeds up. Vibe-coding the future. The route calls. It's glitching, collapsing. Lies. She must outrun the hype.

Hype.

Her mom calls. Buy catfood. Get some nice croissants. Yes mom. We'll go for a walk. I got a new kettle. It has a timer! I love you. Love you too.

Hype.

Tired. She just wants to be home again. Cuddle with her cat. Read a paperback. Drink tea.

Be human.



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