Ski resort. Blinding white slopes under cheerful blue sky.

Glowing green eyed skiers glide past in perfect formation, their joy aggressive in its perfection. Cindy struggles behind them, a massive boulder chained to her ankle carving deep grooves in the pristine snow.

She looks directly at us. "This is me and this is my sadness." Points to the boulder. "Ugh, why is life so hard..."

A happy woman in designer ski gear stops. Green eyes glowing like toxic waste.

"You know, life doesn't have to be so hard."

Screen wipe.

Operating table. Surgical lights burning white circles. A drill whirs against Cindy's skull, boring deep. The surgeon places something electronic, something small.

Back to the slopes.

Cindy's eyes glow green now. The chain falls away like it was never there. She launches into the group, all of them singing, gliding in choreographed epicness down the mountain.

"End your sadness today with NeuroOrchid." The announcer's voice, smooth as morphine. "Made by Snapdragon Industries, making perfect brains."

Drea's bedroom. Morning.

Pink vending machine labeled "Drea," LED lights pulsing like a heartbeat. The NeuroOrchid ad still playing on the vending machine's screen, casting green shadows across vinyl records and floating holograms.

We pull back to find Drea watching. Black, twenties, talks fast, thinks faster. That smirk says she's not buying it.

"This commercial is so stupid."

Donnie closes the vending machine's side panel, wrench in hand. Her brother, same age, different energy. Where she vibrates, he sinks. Monotone voice, nappy hair, eyes that expect nothing good.

His sigh fills the room. "Wait... Drea, was the boulder... that was hooked to her ankle... in the surgery room with her?"

"Yes it was Donnie, but the bigger question is, how did she carry that huge boulder from the surgery room, BACK to the ski resort... and then unchain herself from it? That rock is HUGE and her legs don't look that strong, and you saw it, she didn't have a key or ANYTHING! The boulder just fell off her ankle like dead skin off an ashy elbow. What is she, a magician?"

DIRT-E, a Roomba turned sidekick, rolls in like a mechanical pet. LED face displaying pure attitude.

"Her escaping from that big ass boulder is more impressive than them ski tricks she was doin'. Anybody could do ski tricks when you high off that Neuro shit."

Drea laughs. The sound cuts through the morning gloom.

Donnie rolls his eyes.

Drea's brain kicks into hyperdrive, words spilling out like water from a broken dam. "Speaking of that, how did she learn all these ski tricks anyway? Was she already a ski master? Did all these people just happen to know the exact song and dances to do? How is she this depressed but has all these talented friends who can sing and dance, ON SKIS, like happy, Broadway drug addicts?"

Donnie's voice goes flat. Dead. "The ego you gotta have to think you deserve happiness. I don't deserve happiness, and watching ads like this... makes me deserve it less."

DIRT-E's LED face shifts to pure judgment. "A real positive mothafucka here."

The ad ends. We see Drea's vending machine loaded with audio equipment, healthy snacks, fashionable clothing, inspirational books, hygiene products, and energy drinks. A life curated for optimism.

"You know if mom saw this ad she'd say, 'just pray the tears away.'"

Donnie scoffs, the sound bitter as burnt coffee. "Pray? As if God cares about me."