“Immerse!” I order.

You have two Rita Immersions remaining,” replies my console.

“I know.”

“Your Netflix Immersion Service is at risk of interruption if you don’t make a payment today. If you’ve already paid to renew, this notification may be ignored.”

Twisty sensation inside me. Scrim of sweat on my skin.

“I just want to immerse.”

“Into which series?”

“Rita.”

Unpleasant prickling from the needle tips. Creepiness from the dampening sensi-pads. Then my awareness drifts from my dust-laden breathing mask and all the rest of it.

“Before you’re fully immersed I must remind you that your Netflix Service is at risk of interruption if you don’t make a payment today. If you have already paid to renew, this notification may be ignored. Your inbox also contains bills for water, air, electricity, health maintenance and rent on the space your body will occupy if you remain in Warehouse 23CX459 for another month.”

“Do I have enough to pay Netflix?”

“You have insufficient funds for a renewal.”

“Check my credit.”

“Regrettably, this console cannot accept Virtual Payment from you at this time. Payment may be made via Real Currency: PetroDollars, Renminbi-Yen, SwissFrancs, BitCoin, TrumpAmazon—” Their list is long. Life is short.

“Mute billing.”

I could look for a job. I’m a credentialed media historian with a specialty in antiquarian streaming media… but who’d hire me? Any console can make recommendations based on a customer’s previous viewing and psycho-physiological profile. Any console can run an immersion. In addition to which, a job would interrupt my immersional bliss, so wouldn’t that be a lose-lose?

I set Neuro-Enhancement to BLAST.

“Plug me into the second-to-last Rita episode.”

I commend myself for having selected the deluxe immersion package (all twenty thousand channels from pain to delight) as I flood with the thoughts, words, emotions, images and sensations within Rita, a series about a rebel-with-a-cause originally acted by the evocative Mille Daneson. The vintage version premiered in 2012 and supposedly took place in the nation formerly known as “Denmark.”

Slim paper-y tube of a Marlboro between my lips. Acrid smoke and chemical after-taste coats the inside of my mouth. Rita-Me’s long-legged strides simultaneous with a tracking camera shot of Her-My tight jeans cupping each cheek of Her-My utterly fabulous ass. The series’ male lead, named Rasmus, sends out snark-i-tude and shade in 21st century Danish, which my Google Biochip translates. My console sensors detect Rasmus’s testosterone release and transmit the sensations of his stiffening penis as he is aroused. Rita replies with her usual fuck you and fuck me. Her-My twanging of l want. Next thing, Rita’s getting fucked hard. Which slow-motions into micro-moments. And a bonus replay.

An exceptionally satisfying sensual smorgasbord.

The episode ends.

All I want is to re-immerse.

***

Instead I’m once again aware of my surroundings. This warehouse. My addiction. Which is at least better than being outside: exposed to radiation, ravaged by climate chaos, on some toxic waste site. Though to be perfectly accurate, when the Environmental Protection Agency was defunded the classification of “toxic waste site” disappeared.

I still find it hard to believe the ecological Armageddon we’ve inherited was produced by the generations who created the original programming I love.

So much grime on these walls. I’m curious how thick it is, so I try to run a finger through it. But I can hardly move. My body has gotten so stiff. I say “Wow” but what comes out is “Ow.” Maybe if I wasn’t such an addict I could rub a couple of brain cells together and climb out of my Laz-E-Pod to join the desperate schnooks still trying to de-shit humanity’s collective bed.

“You have one Rita episode left. Your balance is —” The console has unmuted itself.

“Mute billing!”

I just want to immerse. To be Rita-Me forever. She fits. Although, honestly, any incarnation will do.

“We interrupt our regular programming to give you this special report. A space-yacht belonging to a Corporate Citizen is docking nearby. He/she/it is paying Real Currency for genuine human body parts.”

“Whoa, Console, how much for a kidney? Don’t they sell for a lot?”

“The payment for your kidney would be sufficient to resolve all your debts and subscribe you to an Immersion Renewal.”

“Open my transaction screen. Humans have two kidneys, right? How about if I sell my extra kidney?”

“Regrettably, you will not be permitted to perform that transaction. You have already sold one of your kidneys to pay off your previous debts and immerse in Orange is the New Black. You’ll need your remaining kidney to survive. I am not permitted to perform any transaction that will lead to your death.”

Of course my console is correct. Unlike me, a console keeps track of things. I remember now. I blasted through all forty seasons of OITNB for that kidney. Whoa I loved that show. Most OITNB aficionados immerse as the protagonist, Piper Chapman, whose feral cunning was portrayed in the original series by the spectacular Taylor Shilling. But I couldn’t resist going in as “the hot one” Alex Vause, played by Laura Prepon. Yada yada.

“How about I sell my remaining kidney and go on life support?”

“You have insufficient funds to cover life support.”

“So what’re my options?”

“You are still in possession of your liver. It is possible to remove a portion of your liver and leave the rest to regenerate. If you approve that transaction, you will have sufficient funds to renew.”

“Will my liver definitely regenerate?”

“There’s a 97% likelihood that your liver will not regenerate and consequently you would not survive because you are at the inadequate level of health maintenance which is all you can afford. However it is legal for a Corporate Citizen to transact for a portion of your liver so long as you have health maintenance at any level at all. Shall we proceed?”

“Yes. And the instant it’s done please renew my subscription.”