Human civilization in the thirtieth century presents a paradoxical tableau unseen in previous epochs. After five centuries of astronomical exploration, scientists still find no second habitable world among the stars. Earth stands as humanity's final fortress, encircled by orbital waste processing stations whose metallic constellations blot out the heavens. Venus bears mountainous electronic refuse heaps twenty stories tall, while Europa's ice sheets entomb nuclear waste - ironic monuments to 25th-century environmental breakthroughs. The Hacker's Lament of 2800 CE irrevocably altered civilization's trajectory. Rogue quantum viruses turned North America's mechanized legions against their creators, leaving molten silicon carcasses adrift in Pacific thermoclines. The New World Government's Anti-Intelligence Edict remains enforced with glacial rigor - possession of any computing device beyond abacus complexity warrants execution. Beneath Tokyo Bay, proton prisons preserve cryogenically suspended remains of half-million chip smugglers. Within this cage of failed interstellar dreams and lobotomized technology, humanity turned evolution inward. Gene-splicers birthed mutants capable of rending titanium alloys barehanded. Cerebral adepts levitate megaton vessels through electromagnetic manipulation. Yet supreme reverence falls upon those manifesting energy exoskeletons. When the first quantum carapace capable of withstanding thermonuclear detonation materialized in the Himalayas, a new epoch dawned - the 35th-century carillon heralded humanity's irrevocable transition into Armor Cultivation Civilization.