The world of 2040 is not so different as one might imagine. It’s not perfect, nor is it dystopic. You would recognize it.
Trees still shed their leaves with the Autumn breeze. Mountains wrap themselves with deep snows and weep in the spring. The people are not so different. They laugh, talk, love, scream. They still find worthless baubles interesting and search for shells in the sand. You would like them, mostly. Hard work is hard work, is hard work. People modify themselves for beauty, for career, for money.
Tattoos are impermanently permanent, writhing around in their boundaries of flesh, each e-ink molecule mesmerizing onlookers with iridescent animation. Marketers hunt for new billboards as the electronic hair of passersby announce the purities of the latest soft drink.
Religion hangs on in the depths of a society whose faith in technology is all consuming.
National borders rise and fall in milliseconds as endless wars wage, the only casualties being your data. Communication is constant, incessant, your mother always knows where you are and what you are wearing. Your virtual self is cooler than you, and has been for some time.
Everything at your finger tips or thought means not knowing what you want to do, or wear, or buy, or eat in 120 languages. Anything you think is instantly searchable. Why think at all. Let the net offer you choice after connected choice in a flowing spiderweb. Leaving you to convalesce in its cold embrace. Everything automated, everything done for you. Just exist…
Welcome to the world of Mizgot.