May 21st, 2033

It is 4:15 pm, May 21st, 2033. My social credit score is at 87—a smiling face stares back at me, a digital pat on the back for being a "model citizen."

May 21, 2022

4:15 PM

I just wrapped up the latest issue of my newsletter. Before heading out, I pull out my smartphone and open my Smart Citizen Wallet. My social credit score is at 87—a smiling face stares back at me, a digital pat on the back for being a "model citizen."

Groceries are on tonight’s to-do list. Walking would be healthier, but it’s late. No problem. The government’s all-in-one app lets me seamlessly buy a bus ticket with my digital euro wallet. A notification pops up: +0.01 social credit points earned. It’s not much, but every bit gets me closer to that coveted 100-point milestone.

5:00 PM – On the Bus.

The bus arrives, predictably packed. I squeeze between two strangers engrossed in their phones. A flicker of curiosity crosses my mind: What are their social scores? Hardly anyone owns cars anymore. Parking chaos and idling parents outside schools are relics of the past. With everything within walking distance—or a short ride—who needs personal vehicles anyway?

The city planners got it right, didn’t they? Less traffic, more order. Sure, the buses are overcrowded, but sacrifices are necessary for the greater good.

5:07 PM – Grocery Shopping

Two hundred meters from the bus stop, I approach the store. My Digital ID is ready for scanning at the entrance. Shopping won’t take long; I don’t even choose what to buy anymore. The Ministry of Food Planning handles all that, deciding our monthly rations based on lifestyle, social credit score, and collective needs.

Inside, transactions are effortless. Every product’s QR code links directly to my digital wallet. No need for paper receipts—it’s all logged in the Central Bank of European Welfare States’ archives.

By 5:40, I’m done. I hurry home, mindful of the curfew that starts in less than two hours. The streetlights will go dark, just like every night since the energy crisis of 2029 forced the government to ration electricity. They say it’s the fault of the greedy capitalists. Oh well, at least walking earns me some social credit points.

6:15 PM – Back Home

As I step through the door, my phone lights up. A push notification from the Redistribution Agency: my monthly Universal Income has been credited. It’s less than last month. Perhaps part of my share was redistributed to someone in greater need. I just hope I didn’t do anything wrong.

Last week’s news explained the Ministry of Welfare’s process: every month, algorithms analyze our transactions, movements, behaviors, and family dynamics to calculate the “optimal” Universal Income for everyone. It’s brilliant, really. The system ensures wealth redistribution happens automatically and efficiently.

Those with high social credit scores even get bonuses for non-essential purchases. If I maintain my score above 80 for six months, I might qualify. Maybe next month I’ll finally afford that restaurant date with my girlfriend.

Life today is undeniably easier than it was 50 years ago. With Universal Income, virtuous citizens aren’t burdened with work. Of course, those with lower scores still have to contribute by producing the goods and services society needs. After all, the community’s well-being comes first.

7:15 PM – A Quiet Evening

I sink into the couch, craving a cigarette and a cold beer. But I’ve long since given up both. Tobacco and alcohol aren’t banned yet, but each purchase chips away at your social credit. I can’t afford that. I’ve even removed my air conditioner to conserve personal CO2 shares. Every eco-friendly choice earns me points, enough to charge my phone freely and stay on track for that bonus.

I scroll through our state-approved social network, comforted by the Digital Services Act. It ensures all news is sourced from “authoritative” outlets, protecting citizens from dangerous misinformation.

I open WhatsApp to message my girlfriend, only to be greeted by a familiar reminder: “All messages are scanned and analyzed for child exploitation, terrorism, and tax evasion.” It’s a small price to pay for safety, isn’t it?

Behind the Smile

The comforts of modern technology and extreme welfare wrap us in a cozy simulation of freedom. A game we all play willingly, oblivious to the tracks it runs on.

Beneath the smiling faces and frictionless systems lies a meticulously planned world—economically and socially engineered by a techocratic State. A world where every action, every choice, and every thought is gently nudged into alignment with the collective vision.

But at least we’re safe. Aren’t we?