It is 2247, an ethnonastionalist-devastated future. Ronin cosmopolitan scenesters wander looking for global conferences to attend. 1/
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Sneaking across borders to underground conferences, connected through a global black market of ancient schawag bags (lovingly preserved) /2
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they survive as a fragile subculture preserving a precarious tradition of thought leadership. 3/
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What sustains them is the lore of a golden age centuries past, when cosmopolitans were respected instead of hunted, 4/
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and to legendary thought-leadership bacchanals called "TED" for obscure reasons. 6/ tag continue this cyberpunk humor story
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I'm bad with specifics but there's something here about a underground TED mafia full of posturetalk, like prosecuted religion/secret society
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After the underground conference the globalists sneak back into their respective adopted tribes, using shibboleths to call across the aisle
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They yearn for the return of a Muskian messiah (last one got on a big fucking rocket and GTFO'd), and write cargocult blogs calling his name
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Global social networks are taboo, after the Zuckerberg trials. The TED cultists simulate a VR to argue with AI bots so they can feel outrage
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Our story begins when a young Cosmo named Neo Blockchain hears of the greatest underground conference ever, MadMaxCon, and heads there
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Unknown even to himself, Neo Blockchain holds in his head an encrypted neurofile of the greatest keynote in history, put there by his mother
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