The year is 2036. Packs of feral dogs roam the streets of Denver, scouring the destitute downtown for their next meal: probably some poor vagrant bastard, if Those Who Dwell Below haven’t beat them to it. A lone scream in the distance pierces the eery silence.
“What happened here?” a young girl asks her father, scanning the hellscape. “Where did all the people go?”
The father turns a dial on the hovercraft, appearing to have not heard the question, his face expressionless. As he brings the vessel to a stop, he takes a deep breath, sighing as he wipes the sweat from his brow. How to explain?
“They — they legalized marijuana,” he says flatly, pressing his temples. “Reefer, Annie. The bloody fools!”