debuted a new game. No one watched rom-coms, crime dramas, tela-novellas or talk shows any more; even the reality shows had shed their audience.
Reality sucked for just about everyone, except for the young and the old up in Alaska, so stimulating entertainment was critical to avoid unrest among the Millennial2s and the Gen-X2s who still lived and worked below the 49th parallel. Synthetic food had caught on better than synthetic booze and drugs, since most kids had become acclimated to it in the 21st century. People being people, they still needed distractions. The new game was called R.O.U.S. and it was to launch on February 2nd at 2pm, Groundhog Day.
Magnus’ birthday was February 1st and to celebrate he’d opened the bottle of wine Hester had given him in 2152 before she left. He drank the whole bottle in one sitting. It was exceptional, having been vinted from the final batch of Saskatchewan grapes ever grown. Now he was 52 years old. It didn’t seem possible. As a result, he stayed up well beyond the mandatory bedtime and overslept.
He slumped at his desk pod and re-watched the required holo-ad on the lid before he opened his breakfast box.
Lucille perked up at the sound. “Good morning, Magnus. Or should I say afternoon? Would you like to know today’s program?”
Magnus swallowed quickly. “Sure, lay it on me.”
“I’m not sure of your meaning, Magnus.”
“Sorry, please tell me what’s on the agenda, Lucille.”“Use Schedule D today. And R.O.U.S. releases this afternoon. I noticed you stayed up much later than recommended last night and slept through the 7-9 news feed, as well as, mandatory Face-time from 9-10. I’ve added these omissions to your database. Please be more aware of your time. I took the liberty of scanning your cell which seems to be in