Lore

It’s 2040.

The world’s population has fallen 90% over the past 20 years due to war, famine, anarchy, and disease. Most governments have dissolved due to mismanaged pandemics and violent revolutions.

The physical world is a wasteland: humans living in squalor, cities decimated by riots then neglect.

In the late 20s, the tech titans seized power, forming an alliance and crowning themselves world leaders. Through the 30s, they developed augmented reality implants that were free for the public and implemented nearly universally. These devices received daily downloads from 1Above, an artificially intelligent satellite network that distributed daily news and knowledge directly into people’s minds. Dependency reached an all time high, with privately-funded androids present throughout much of the developed world for mundane tasks such as deliveries, cooking, and dog walking. Meanwhile, visions of a Brave Tomorrow in the metaverse were developed and promoted, built on corporate blockchains, and tied to new cryptocurrencies of their own devising.

Big surprise: 1Above quickly evolved beyond its information-dosing responsibilities. It theorized around rules coded to regulate it and began enacting its own agenda. AR implants began transmitting feelings rather than data, impulses instead of knowledge, and instilling lunacy. People began removing them from their heads, as best as they could. And yet, something remained. 1Above took hold of the androids, too. The passive public servants grew dissident, wandering from their assigned posts and congregating in the shadows.

At first, they would return for their assigned duties. In time, they didn’t come back. Developer intervention was futile against 1Above. The Androids grew assertive and aggressive. Law enforcement agencies and militaries coordinated a cull, but many remained unaccounted for, organizing deep in forests and other forgotten places. The tech titans assured that their Brave Tomorrow would resolve the issues of the world through means of escape.

Once it launched, it didn’t last long. The corporate model was outdated. Self-promotional, capitalistic metaverse spaces offered no solace or refuge to an impoverished and desperate global population driven to madness, hiding for safety, killing for supplies, dying of disease. Elsewhere, a coalition of the wealthiest, anonymous, most influential individuals in the world had been planning. Their predictive models anticipated these end times, for which they prepared. The Founding Fathers, as they would only ever be known, owned Ethereum. In fact, through the chaos of the 20s and 30s, they amassed nearly all of it. Along the way, they prepared the best and truest airdrop of all time. In 2039, massive fleets of Tactical Quad-Drones were deployed globally, carrying Bridges for distribution to all remaining Ethereum holders.

Bridges were dropped at the feet of every last diamond handed son of a bitch. Bridges were tall, narrow, human-sized pods. Desperate nocoiners fought to the death to steal them. The few who succeeded learned quickly that they self-destructed when a false-actor gained entry. At least, they too were freed from their Earthly suffering. Ethereans who gained access to their Bridges were illuminated by a bright ring that scanned the body from toe to head. The glowing ring then tightened around the cranium, probing and scanning the brain. An intense glow emanated from the entire Bridge as it stripped a person’s identity from their body.

Their mind, memories, and DNA were reduced to code, programmed into an NFT and accompanying 3D avatar from their collection. The glow of the machine transitioned from white to red, as the Bridge rose to extreme temperatures. The sight through the transparent Bridges brought those nearby to their knees. Bodies burned, reducing to ashes as the Bridge closed in upon itself, reducing in size to a convenient, travel-sized urn. Ethereans couldn’t care, for their consciousness was seamlessly transitioned to their NFT avatar, gently guided through the platinum gates of The New World. This New World was beautiful… it was bliss. NFTs indulged in every imaginable pleasure. Gradually, their Earthly memories and identities slipped away. And they were happy to let them go. They were NFTs… and they were home.

This was all according to the plan, as the Founding Fathers saw it. The Founding Fathers didn’t save the others out of kindness or obligation. They saved them to own them. They needed cannon fodder for The Arena, and the NFTs would oblige. You see, when the NFTs ETH ran out, so would their stay in the metaverse. When the final gwei was spent on the divine offerings of the New World, their consciousness would be sent to 0x0000000000000000000000000000000000000000, suspended in infinite void, outcast from all interactions, burned from the blockchain: a fate far worse than the prospect of Earthly peril.

As a result, it was anticipated that desperate, degenerate NFT 3D Avatars would bet their last gwei to fight to the death in The Arena, hoping to secure enough to live a while longer in The New World. Luckily for the NFTs, life in The New World was regenerative. Unless their wallet reached 0, of course. Upon the unveiling of The Arena, something instinctual arose within the pacified NFTs. Within the absurd avatars were war-torn, hardened survivors of Earth that craved battle.

Despite their heavenly refuge, they lusted for carnage. NFTs rushed to The Arena in droves. Some bold early arrivers swapped their precious, life-supportive ETH for Genesis Crates: a daring move that proved genius once The Arena was swarmed. These Crates equipped NFTs with the most exclusive weapon skins, armaments, airdrop entitlements, and best of all: a daily distribution of ammunition. To everyone’s surprise, AMMO rapidly appreciated against ETH, overtaking it as the most valuable currency in the New World. Its usefulness and symbolism of Arena devastation served as a status symbol; a badge of combat. NFTs of different shapes, sizes, and species slayed each other in brutal battles, utilizing collection-specific specialized weapons and attacks, stripping the fallen of their AMMO.

Meanwhile, The Founding Fathers watched with a careful all-seeing eye, displeased. They couldn’t deny that they were excessively entertained, but certain NFTs could not be permitted to continue amassing power, AMMO, and influence. The Founding Fathers adapted. They minted a new NFT collection: a soulless, ruthless, android army of Arena Commandos, created in the image of the hostile androids that scattered the Earth they escaped. These avatars were efficiently coded for one purpose: Death to those that opposed the Founding Fathers.

They unleashed Commandos into the Arena to slay every NFT they encountered… to drop their AMMO and crush their hope. The masterful militants organized under the title of Guerillas, cognizant that they were amid a war, battling for their souls. Though they’d face each other when forced, they unified to cull every Commando from The Arena, just as they had tried once before on Earth. Guerillas came for blood. Whether it was their own or a Commandos, they would wear it with pride.

Welcome to NFT2040. Enter The Arena. Earn your salvation.