Fuckin everyone is getting fired, laid off, fucked by their boss, replaced with a fake AI that's actually just a guy somewhere the minimum wage is lower, or they're getting beaten by pigs for practicing what they're getting taught at a college that's putting them in permanent debt to get a job that won't exist in five years anyway, or they're taking the deal to be the pig at the for profit prison or the air conditioned drone operator office at the air force base or the local precinct where they're taking bribes and making money on the side dealing the drugs they steal but you can't even get the big stupid muscle car you were promised anymore, or you're just in the fuckin way and you get rolled on parking fines or late fees or back rent and you're living in a 92 Corolla with no windows or a tent getting pushed from district to district by those pigs and doing the worst most stepped on noxious ass plastic drugs and probably getting a staph infection that takes you to a hospital that leaves you in triage for 12 hours and sends you home with another bill you'll never pay.
And this is the limit of what's possible, you've been told all your life, this is as good as it gets, the least bad. Why wouldn't you want to burn it all down?
The managers of this crumbling edifice wring their hands in the op-eds about the division and the violent rhetoric that has overcome their society, but in this existence, why wouldn't your dreams be of a short and violent but honest life, somewhere that law has gone away: your zombie apocalypse, your fallout wasteland, your settler-homesteader fantasia, or your barricade at the edge of the autonomous zone, or the trenches in The Rev, or just a good old fashioned murder suicide? No pretenses, and a finality, and at least a delusion of control.
They fail to comprehend that the underclass, the teeming mass of bodies which are the gears of this machine, feel pain. And there are limits to what discipline can do to train a body out of feeling it's pain.