My parents died in the last battles to save democracy. Everyone had become worker bees in their tiny apartments, consuming Earth’s remaining resources. They lived glued to their smartphones and guided by the digital consensus fostered by swarming social media. The Cloud hovered over everyone. This was a treadmill existence. I, Peter Tesla, resolved to build a company and a must-have product. Wasn’t this, after all, the American dream?
I had a creative workshop in a dilapidated railroad building. There I experimented with discarded computers, smartphones, and the resources of the Internet. I was fixated on developing Pandora. It would give the user free will in the space of the whole universe.
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