The year is 2050. You're an 11th grader. You wake up early in your boarding house bedroom in a suburb of Des Moines, Iowa, and study as quietly as you can, so as not to wake up your parents in the other bed, who have been together for almost 20 years now as part of the state-assigned marriage initiative. They didn't really want to have you, but couldn't afford to avoid Emperor Barron's tax on "heritage American" unmarried couples and needed a housing voucher badly. At first they thought they were safe, but then Emperor Barron changed the definition of "heritage American" to encompass Asians like you.Four lone faded framed diplomas grace the wall on the other side of your little room. Two for UC Irvine, two for Rutgers. Both in tech, one BS and one MS. Your current boarding house is part of an initiative for your parents to work off the debt. Through the drywall, you can hear the manchildren are blasting AI-generated YouTube Kids videos again. You groan, and wish they'd turn 21 soon so they can finally get their Internet licenses.You open your school-authorized AI-monitored Tesla Tablet, and start reviewing your notes for AP Artificial Intelligence. You hope you can be part of the 29% of applicants who get into U of Iowa, for the alternative is a lifetime of drudgery in Amazon-Palantir's quantum sludge factory. You skim through those notes, as well as those for AP Quantum Computing. You concentrate, yet struggle to learn 1 page worth of content, since the communal GPT subscription has run dry for the week. Instead, you decide to brainstorm ideas for your civics presentation for Bible 11."Oh well," you think to yourself. "Maybe my Chinese ancestry and Mandarin fluency can help me qualify for China's K-VISA lottery."
Nigger
