1.

We insert into the planet's noosphere at single-digit percentages of the speed of light, carapaces crackling with heat. The first salvo takes out most of the civilisational superstructure: pop music lyrics, television advertisements, bitcoin, and societal roles. The second salvo cleans up what's left. When we hit the ground, we do so with shreds of ideology between our teeth.

2.

The planet is populated by 'thought leaders' who form the vanguard of cultural integrity. They generate the large volumes of thought constantly, which must be vented at regular intervals from their armoured shells. Most have survived the orbital barrage. Before we know it, they have surrounded our landing site, swarming us by the thousands. They have names like @real_human_vc and @securities_dad. I grapple with one, crack its shell with my fist. In place of an eye is a single black iris, blocked by a skeumorphic paywall.

3.

The 'orbital turn' of cancel culture revolutionised noospheric warfare. Before this, our society administered justice through vaguely-worded subtweets accompanied with TikTok hand motions. This was not sufficient to combat the securitised ideologies of hostile geopolitical actors. Change had to be kineticised and made real through blood and steel. At the behest of the tolerant left, we printed rainbow stripes onto the noses of our drop pods.

4.

On the battlefield, my buddy is downed by a stray round. I drag her body behind an embankment, find her wound, dig in, and tear the bullet out with my claws. My buddy screams. Then she groans, grits teeth, and staggers back up to her feet. When I point out that she is in no condition to fight, she growls: "My feelings don't care about the facts. Let's clear this motherfucking ridge."

5.

It helps to think of a firefight as a series of mobilised power-structures, oriented such that there are multiple overlapping fields of discourse. This model does not preclude the developing of hegemonic strategies, nor does it count out the efficacy of close-quarters tactics. My buddy and I advance towards the enemy's foxholes under a cone of covering fire. All around us ring the cries of the ratioed and the damned. The entrenched thought leaders spew inspirational quotes and fire. When we can see the whites of their paywalls we run them bloody with our fangs.

6.

Antifascist supersoldiers were crucial to this shift in the culture war. Fed on soy milk and student loans, the first generation carved a bloody path through the stars. The second generation was too sheltered and never left their vats. We were raised on cautionary tales of warriors found aborted in their echo chambers, poisoned by their own irony supplements. Our bodies were weaponised with hormones and top surgery. When it came to our turn, we were stronger and prettier than the ones who had came before.

7.

Paradigm after paradigm succumb to our assault. Living cities are reduced to pink mist. This battle is waged across a multitude of territorialities and on the fields of a thousand plateaus. Bit by bit, our forces cut towards the heart of rationality, which is located at the galactic core. Generations of us have lived and died in trying to reach it. The galactic core is a region of immense gravitational pull which constantly strips stellar matter from its surroundings and compresses it, spewing large amounts of radiation in every possible direction. Cultural Marxists call this phenomenon "the Enlightenment".

8.

The last of the opposition crumbles beneath my buddy's bayonet. In the void that remains, we establish new modes of communality and reasoning. Medics set up relief tents promising hot soup and reparative justice. Combat engineers erect new architectures of care. There is a mutual aid fund set up for the families of enemy combatants and forcibly-feminised prisoners of war. My buddy and I limp through the dregs of modernity, marvelling at the ruins of dead malls and overinvested infrastructure. She pulls out a shiny plastic Ring-pop from the wreckage and proposes to me. We embrace under the smoke of a burning sky.

9.

"The task ahead, then, is to supersede such mystical and fetishistic forms, realizing the dream images of the present into the pathway for collective, world-historical awakening" (Martín Arboleda, Planetary Mine). Tomorrow, we set off for another world.