Death Volleyball 2045

It is the year 2045—the future. In the People’s Democracy of America, Section 230 of the Communications Decency Act now applies to ALL corporate activities. A private company can do whatever they want. The richest executives have access to fantastic technology—bionic replacements, cybernetic enhancements, robot servants, nanoswarms, and the high-powered war machines they need to rule over the masses as feudal lords.

The rest of America lives in closets and subsists on rations of cricket paste. For the peasantry, the only comfort is the free entertainment provided by the virtual streaming platforms. It is engaging. It is wholly sensational. It is limitless.

Have you ever wanted to see homeless people fight in a cage with chainsaws? Would you rather play the latest in 100K-definition virtual shooting games? They can put your abusive ex’s face on all the terrorists if you want. No? Maybe you’re not so visceral. Maybe you just want a nice relaxing blowjob from Marilyn Monroe. They can do that. They can give you anything you want for free, as long as it isn’t real.

In this twisting sea of fantasy and debauchery, reality commands a premium. The shows that prove their authenticity are more popular than anything the digital animators can create. The most celebrated of these is Death Volleyball, a marriage of spectator-sport and pornography that crosses every line, burns every envelope, and violates every sensibility. Snowflakes will be triggered. Bodies will be mutilated. Thousands will die. Millions will be watching.

Get ready to strap on your goggles, smash that Like button, and spam the chat, because the new season is about the begin…