Welcome to Earth. Or what’s left of it.

The year is 2560, and the classic blue-green marble you read about in dead history books is entirely gone, choked out by a sprawling, global grid of one-mile-high, lifeless white and gray blocks and eclipsed by massive, metallic human-made satellites. There are two trillion people crammed onto this rock. We cut down every last tree—even the endangered ones—just to get that sweet old wood for "Andy’s house construction," a style where we slap random materials together at rapid speed, cross wires that shouldn't touch, and wire switches to rooms they don't belong in. It’s been happening for 1.2 centuries, so don’t complain; everyone thinks houses are supposed to be this bad.Nobody moves anymore. Humanity has achieved peak, paralyzed laziness, nestled inside all-in-one pods that let you sleep, shower, pee, and poop without shifting an inch, all while drowning your brain in endless streams of AI slop content. Don't worry about cooking or cleaning; automated delivery droids will slide a pizza right to your face. The air is so thin from overpopulation that you have to scan your ID just to take a breath of oxygen. If you starve because the livestock is entirely emptied, or if your sector gets too full, the system doesn’t fix it—they simply launch you into space to go ruin one of the other colonized planets in the solar system.Littering is legal, the oceans are chemically refilled with stolen extraterrestrial water but choked with plastic, and the streets are patrolled by automated titanium police droids intentionally coded to slap you with false positives. Nobody cares. The world is replaceable, and the next planet is just a rocket launch away.