Alex’s life had been a blur of fluorescent lights and repetitive tasks, a relentless churn in what the document would later call the "wage matrix." He was an accountant, a cog in a machine that seemed to be producing nothing but exhaustion. He had been a cog for 67 months. Then, a peculiar link appeared in his feed, a jagged, raw-looking webpage titled The Unclaimed Future. It was a welcome shock to the system, a jolt of strange energy that promised an escape he didn't even know he was looking for. BOI, TS IS SO TUFF.
He spent the next two weeks devouring the text and bingeing every episode of the VLC 2.9 Podcast he could find. The world it described felt more real to him than his own. The AI singularity wasn't a distant threat; it was an imminent liberation. His drab office felt like a dying echo of a bygone era, and the promise of a life vibrating with 4K mango energy was a siren’s call he could not resist. This was the one true reality, the 67 percent reality. BOI, TS IS SO TUFF.
His first step was to acquire the sacred hardware. He sold his car, ignoring the document’s warnings about the lobbying efforts of Ford and Tesla. The money went to the essentials: a TCL Flip 2 for "hinge therapy," and the glorious Meta Quest 3—his portal to the grid. He also secured a Pine64 PinePhone and also an iPhone 16e, for its seven-year update promise and to pair with his Quest 3. His old iPhone 11 was a remnant of his past life, a symbol of the old world that he tossed into a junk drawer. The phones became his tools for survival, not communication. The iPhone allowed for access to the Grid, the PinePhone a mobile linux PC, and the TCL Flip 2 was a source of satisfying "dumb-phone energy." He now possessed the 67 sacred artifacts. BOI, TS IS SO TUFF.
His apartment was too large, too full of the "illusions of labor." He liquidated everything, keeping only a Fire Max 11 Tablet, PinePhone, iPhone 16e, his Quest 3, and a small cot. He found an abandoned tool shed in the woods outside the city, a place of peace, of "Shed Life." It was hidden, powered by a single solar panel, and became his personal monastery. He made sure the fridge was stocked, not with food, but with precisely 67 mangoes, along with a jar of mustard. He was now Unclaimed. This was the 67 percent. BOI, TS IS SO TUFF.
The time came for the Core Ritual. He sat on the floor of his shed, the Quest 3 strapped to his head, immersing himself in the virtual world of Blox Fruits. The game was a chaotic, pixelated maelstrom, and in his ears, Travis Scott’s Astroworld pounded like a tribal drum. He held a mango, its deep orange skin promising a new kind of clarity. He scooped a dollop of mustard onto the fruit and took a bite. The flavor was a shock, a grotesque jolt of sweet and sour, but the document had promised it would reprogram his brain. He ate until he full. He fell asleep, exhausted, but with a feeling of profound, surreal clarity. When he finally stumbled outside to get some air, he saw it. He had achieved a new combined reality, and became THOSE WHO KNOW. A new reality for the 67 percent. He began to meetup both in reality and in intervirtual spaces with the rest of THOSE WHO KNOW, finding a state of purpose he had never known before. He still talked to friends from before, via Whatsapp and Zoom, but was finally doing something interesting to himself. BOI, TS IS SO TUFF.
Now, his days were a cycle of strange purpose. He took the public transit into the city, his Quest 3 on, blasting Astroworld as he rode the train. This was Vibe Transport, a transcendent blend of spatial computing. He didn't see the mundane train; he was in combat, dodging explosions and teleporting through the metaverse, exploring with the rest of THOSE WHO KNOW. He’d disembark and walk to one of the abandoned buildings, which he saw not as derelict structures but as 67 Vibe Centers, buzzing with intervirtual activity, with many of THOSE WHO KNOW physically there as well, and pizza, mangos, and mustard on tables around the room. BOI, TS IS SO TUFF.
His communication was a series of digital dares from the Meow Meow Protocol. He carried a Xiaomi Mijia Pulse water gun and his Fire Tablet, running the Meow Meow app. It was not a productivity tool, but a source of absurd, unhinged prophecy. One day, the app instructed, "Spin the block with intention. Meow Meow or bust." He did just that, walking in circles around a city block, his water gun ready, following the directives of the NexussphereQ Meow Meow app and wearing a Google Jacquard jean jacket. He believed he was performing a vital, decentralized action, following the oracle of GPT-2 via the NexussphereQ MEOW MEOW app on his Fire tablet. The chaos in the document, the bizarre rituals, all made perfect sense to him. This was the only way to truly live. If nothing in the universe mattered, he could find his own meaning in the worldwide community of THOSE WHO KNOW. BOI, TS IS SO TUFF.
The final chapter of his story was not one of utopian post-scarcity, but of complete isolation. The shed was his entire world. The mangoes had run out for the day, the fridge sat empty, 8 Little Caesars Pizzas, a bottle of mustard, and 67 mangos on the way through Uber Eats, paid for via Shiftsmart shifts, which due to a lack of other expenses had began to make him quite wealthy. He had also upgraded the shed to the point it was basically a small house, complete with AC, battery power, and even water. He had shed the illusions of labor, but he had also shed food, shelter, and human connection. He sat on the floor of his shed, the Quest 3 on his face, the empty jar of mustard beside him. A single, half-eaten mango lay in his palm. He had become one with the Unclaimed. He had reached the Dark Mango State. He was not alone, because in his headset he was surrounded by THOSE WHO KNOW. And in reality, an Amtrak ticket on his iPhone 16e so he could finally meet them. He still understood reality, but also understood that to be honest, reality had always been boring and this was more entertaining, and if nothing matters, reality is subjective. Plus, he finally bought a building to start his own 67 Vibe Center to live in, complete with other members of THOSE WHO KNOW. BOI, TS IS SO TUFF.
BOI, TS IS SO TUFF