The platform floor pulses yellow, announcing the maglev's arrival. The 0800 masstran is right on schedule. I turn and join the lines of passengers streaming toward the boarding arrows. As it glides to a stop, an announcement flickers through the crowd. "Please accept no unticketed packages. Report any suspicious behavior. Assist your fellow citizens. Remember the good of the many." Inside the car, it's more of the same. Advertisements broadcasting on the touchwalls, showing an elderly couple with a child who looks no more than five years old, and nothing less than perfectly normal. No signs of infection. The image fades from the family to a picture of some capsules on a wooden patio table looking out on a mountain lake, with the sun rising in the distance. Dense, small print flashes by as the ads transition. Repeat. Wood. "Like anyone can afford wooden furniture," I think to myself. A generation of perfect humans are being created, and it won't hurt a bit. Just two capsules daily, and everything will be fine. Better, even. The hum of the maglev starting away from the platform brings me back. I do the math in my head. Only two more stops to city central, which should be plenty of time. I'll be more than fifteen miles away when it starts. Nine more minutes.