You'll spend the next 50 years alone in your room, only leaving to pick up pizza and groceries. Slowly over time, the clutter in your apartment will begin to build up. The cigarette smoke from your 1 pack per day habit will create a permanent disgusting odor to the room for any who enter it. Alcohol bottles get strewn about. There is an odor that you can no longer even detect as you rot in your own filth. Trash begins to line your floors like a permanent fixture. Broken appliances never get fixed. You stopped showering years ago, you eat nothing but junk food and tv dinners. You life is a constant effort to maintain a weak dopamine stream in your achievement starved brain. You end up in OCD dopamine loops smoking, drinking, browsing incels, and watching anime. You gain weight to the point of horrible obesity, it becomes hard for you to walk without getting short of breath. You haven't had a real conversation with another human in years. Then one day, you are headed to the bathroom, and its over. You stroke out and fall head first into your bathtub smashing your face in, but you were already dead before you hit the ground as half of your brain's blood supply was suddenly stopped by a clot built up from the years of cholesterol accumulation from eating your disgusting junk food and never exercising.
Your body lays there, and it takes WEEKS before anyone realizes something is up. Your landlord or your neighbor realizes the rent hasn't been paid or that there is a strange smell emanating from your apartment. They go inside, they see your disgusting hell-hole of a dwelling that you have cultivated for yourself and follow the burning smell into the bathroom where your rotting corpse is discovered. Your actively decaying body has attracted maggots, and the person flees in disgust after getting too close to your body and calls 911. The deputy coroner comes by and 3 men photograph your body and apartment, wrap your body up and bring it downtown to the morgue where it sits in a large refrigerator in a bag with about 10 other individually wrapped up bodies, consisting of other old dead incels or brutally murdered young ethnic gang bangers.
Monday comes around and your body is the first on the table. The pathologist and support staff retrieve your body from the refrigerator after donning their protective gloves, gown, and goggles, and wretch in disgust when your bag is opened and your body is rolled onto the cold metal table connected to nothing but a cold metal sink that serves to catch your blood and other remains that will become detached in the autopsy process. The coroner stops by the room and greets the support staff, and drops a brown folder down on the desk next to the autopsy table. The team all jumps at the folder, and becomes giddy to view the photographs taken by the three men of your apartment. They all laugh in disgust at your pathetic lifestyle, and several comments are made about your choice of anime posters in your apartment. Your entire existence is on display to these cold, calculating heartless organ harvesters as they mock the thought of you rotting alone in your filthy dwelling for half of a century.
One of the younger members of the support staff laughs along. But he can't shake an existential dread that he feels when he sees the photos. He feels that maybe his life could have become the exact same thing if he didn't work really hard and get into a training program to be where he is today. After the autopsy reveals the already presumed findings of stroke, he manages to shake the thought of your existence from his head as the team moves on to other autopsies for the day. At 5pm, the young trainee is exhausted from feigning interest in pathology and physiology in a room full of competitive students, funeral directors, autopsy technicians, and pathologists who could care less about his actual well being. He is nothing more than an evaluation form to be filled out to them, and feels huge relief whenever the day comes to a close. He walks out into the cold night towards his car and is home quickly in 5 minutes. He rests his body down on the couch in his empty apartment, and thinks to himself that he hasn't seen his friends in ages. He whips out his phone and begins his dopamine loop of browsing different forums to substitute his lack of authentic human contact. He lazily glances around the room and notices the clutter in his own apartment is starting to build up.
