[ WP ] The year is 2076 . Memes are now earths most expensive commodity . You are a black market dealer willing to do whatever it takes to get the money you need

[ `` Yo dawg, I herd u liek memes'' ] ( https: //cdn.meme.am/images/300x/10148014.jpg ) 
 
 You approach a shady character standing in front of a closed door, in the heart of the city. No signs on this door, no lights lit in this alley. No markings of any kind to let someone know where they were. 
 
 But you know exactly where you are, and the guard knows exactly what you're here for. 
 
 `` Travelling man? ``, he asks. 
 
 `` The meme is older sir, but it checks out'', you reply. 
 
 The word echoes down the long alley. Police sirens in the distance. 
 
 You consider the Internettual Treaty of 2055; The global governing body on what memes were allowed, and what were n't. You heard that shitposters used to only get ignored, or downvoted. You can remember when they would get only permabanned. Soon whole neighborhood got embargoed, laws outlawing unsanctioned memes started at the local level, but quickly went national and global. Now, people get blackbagged; Now people die. 
 
 The smoky room is full of dimly lit screens. Scrum of the earth, all glued to the unregulated intranet of the place, siphon pumping the most foul shitposts cached on the places internal servers. 
 
 A fat greasy man blows air from his nose - a damn near illegal act in public - with complete impunity. A trio of young women cackle in the distance. `` OH no you di-int! Bazinga! Ai n't no one got time for that!'' 
 
 The guard points you towards the back room. Another guard stops you in front of a rotting beaded curtain. 
 
 `` When does the narwhal bacon? ``, he asks. His right hand betrays a glint of his weapon. 
 
 Fuck, you knew this one. 
 
 `` Uh... because ice cream has no bones? Fuck man, gim me a break. Monkeybabypuppy.'' 
 
 A deadly pause. 
 
 `` Oh oh! Midnight! `` 
 
 He breathes a heavy sigh of relief. A deep metallic **clank** comes from under the curtain, and you are usher into the server room through a wide vault door. 
 
 The air reeks of ozone and burnt plastic. `` God, what are these, Gen1 quantum? ``, you comment. 
 
 A weaselly little toad rolls an ancient wheeled chair out from between the racks. `` I9plus dweebus, now get over here.'' 
 
 `` Cringeworthy! Hawkward!'' you jest, but the toad is having none of it. 
 
 `` I'll need you to take a seat right here,'' the toad says, as is breaks into an insane smile. 
 
... 
 
 **'' We're gon na make some memes. `` ** 
 
 

