Author: Dart Humeston

Nigel woke up as the day’s first commercial blossomed into a hologram above his bed. Naturally, it was for coffee. He groaned at the cheery actors extolling the virtues of premium caffeine. He slid into his slippers and walked to the bathroom, attempting to banish both the steaming mug and its catchy jingle from his thoughts.

Nigel was a geologist, but knew human psychology well enough. Ads didn’t shout. They seeped into your mind, steering you toward purchases you never planned to make. Sure enough, when his mirror lit up next, a sweeping countryside appeared—gardens, a distant castle, a couple riding horseback through green fields. A warm female voice praised the virtues of a deodorant brand. He lowered his eyes, focused on the steady sweep of his toothbrush and the rush of water in the sink.

They didn’t have ads in the toilet—yet—but the moment he flushed, a peppy tune encouraged water conservation.

Nigel always filled his mind with geology and math—today’s distraction was Darcy’s Law on fluid flow through porous rock. It was perfect for drowning out jingles and images. Thanks to these mental defenses, his modest savings grew steadily.

On his walk to the transit hub, he ignored the towering ads plastered across buildings and stepped carefully over those embedded in the sidewalk. The corner holograms were harder to escape; cameras mapped his face, pulling from an online profile. That morning, they advertised high-end digital microscopes—they knew that one of his had broken last week. He kept his hands in his pockets, stood at the crosswalk, and pretended to study the ad while counting bricks on a distant wall and humming to himself.

He boarded the tube to work. Nigel prided himself on being the perfect citizen: he was law-abiding, he paid taxes early, and voted in every election. So, walking into his employer’s lobby and finding three Compliance Officers in crisp blue uniforms and red helmets stopped him cold.

Before he could speak, they sprayed him with Dazehim. His limbs went slack. They cuffed him, half-carried him to a transit mover, and deposited him in the back seat. He was barely aware of breathing, let alone the nonstop attorney ads playing on the seat backs inches from his face.

In jail, he reached out to multiple lawyers; all refused to represent him after seeing the charges: Aggravated Advertisement Avoidance—a felony. The proof was overwhelming: surveillance clips of him turning his head, humming through jingles, ignoring personalized displays. His banking records revealed near-zero impulse buys. And worst of all in the eyes of the state, he was debt-free—a standalone misdemeanor. No attorney would defend him unless he pleaded guilty.

The cell itself was clean, but every wall blared advertisements nonstop. Public service announcements warned that the economy depended on consumption. Nigel’s resistance could encourage others, which could cause the system and society to collapse.

At the trial, the judge reviewed footage of Nigel brushing his teeth with eyes averted, standing at crosswalks staring through holograms. Nigel plead guilty. He told the judge that he’d learned his lesson from the jails’ PSAs—that he would start watching every ad, buy whatever was advertised, and embrace debt.

The judge glared at him. “I’ll take your promise into account,” he said. “However, I must adhere to state guidelines. I’ll announce your sentence in three minutes.”

He gestured to his podium.

“But first, please watch this brief commercial on affordable cremation services.”