The Cantonese

I have asked Paul to play some scene-setting music.

Paul, if you can play the scene-setting music as I read the opening monologue.

If you can make it much quieter than that, that would be amazing.

A little bit louder.

Perfect.

Split the difference.

The year is 20XX.

The world, as you know it, has inden.

The once-verdent forests and lush prairies peppered across feirunle fallow, swallowed up in

cyclones of dust and exhaust.

The land's great thriving cities are hollowed out wastelands, scoured tirelessly by electronic

eyes for any remaining signs of life, signs of resistance.

The reign of organic beings has long since been brought to a violent end by the world's

new ruling class, robots.

Sintiant machines of various shapes, sizes and functions that have reduced the world's

human, dwarf, elf, ork, really all non-robot populations down to a handful of barely surviving

enclaves, all eking out a harrowing existence beneath the smog-filled sky.

It's really very bad.

There's no grass anymore, where there used to be grass now there's just like little wires

all over, which is what robots like instead of grass.

Playgrounds that used to be full of children's laughter are now filled with like pipes and

...