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A castle in Scotland, towers, turrets, and moats, an actual drawbridge.

A little boy's dream of a castle, which is exactly what it is.

Many floors below dug deep into the earth.

A man sleeps in a hermetically sealed pod.

Temperature and oxygen regulated, blood pressure

and heart rate monitored. His staff secretly call it the control wound. But there's one thing he

just can't control what happens inside his head. These are the two recurring nightmares of the

billionaire tech bro. One, a decade from now, an AI named Gaia has taken over the world.

It holds a series of show trials that punish those who are significantly contributed to the destruction of the biosphere.

The bro is found guilty of mass ecocide. As punishment, he is exiled to the Great Pacific Garbage Patch,

that collection of Debring three times the size of France. He desperately tries to stay afloat,

flailing around on the bottles and bubble wrap and bags and nappies as hungry shark circled below,

bellies full of microplastic, desperate for some real meat.

But the other dream, number two, that's the real scary one.

Because it's not a dream at all. It's a memory.

He's six years old, the middle of the night, working up by a loud bang and screaming.

Mommy! He calls out, Mommy!

He walks down the hall to his parents' bedroom.

The door half open. His father slumped in bed.

Eyes staring, jaw slack.

A dark red patch is blooming on his pale silk pajama top.

...