You continue to toil at your job endlessly. Eventually a new boss arrives, he gives you a couple small promotions but overall there's not much to look forward to. Eventually the manufacturing factory you work for is forced to close down due to a collapse caused by the magickal pressure exerted on the company by unseen pseudo-art-archetypal big boys playing sick twisted games of inficon.alstance. Despite rumors to this extent and a general discontent for management no one ever speaks out against the company running the factory lest they end up like that one guy who got nilhatroned outta the 11th dimensional structure. Having met their quotas for etheric pineal lechery, the represenatives to these corporations were graciously given the privilege of being ground into bonedust after being dehydrated, ready for rich scum to snort. After the factory closes you slowly starve to death, something you were working on while employed there anyways. Before the inevitable escape from these earthly trappings, your free time and gnosis-inducing hunger bring you to alot of realizations in your whispy thoughts but you know this be not the pinnacle of your spiritual societies' knowledge..."If only I had more time to play my cards differently" you think on your deathbed.