So, you are a store owner and a very bedraggled man is looking through the window obviously dying of hunger. You want to help him. To slip him a box of saltines. After all, he was your first date back in high school. He was so interested in you that he met your family and went to church with you.
Today you are being surveilled by a beacon planted in your forehead. Street cameras are measuring your face to find a match in the database in Antarctica and the 5G out there on the light pole is registering your every move and regulating your emotions.
And you know you will be docked points if you approach him, somebody who is not numbered or registered with the system. But they took those precious points away anyway because that's the way it is. You looked and had a bit of a reminisce.
To get the points back, you will have to go stand in line at precinct headquarters where bureaucrats who speak your language poorly can receive your confession or explanation. Maybe 10% of the time they return your points. You're there because those points control whether your kids eat or not. Life or death.
On this day somebody got closer than 5 feet in the line and mumbled to the person in front of them. All of a sudden they both began to writhe with pain and collapsed dead. Everybody stared at their feet and remeasured their distances and tried hard not to react as they advanced two places in line. The Ninjas will soon come.
Dressed in black Kevlar bullet proof clothing wearing a face mask that only allows anonymity and vision, the Ninjas do come. A black truck pulls up with a cloud of foul smells in tow. Several ninjas begin kicking and rolling the corpses onto a small conveyor belt one at a time. A motor starts up and a grinding like sound is heard. A smoke stack on the top of the truck is exhausting some hot gases with an occasional flame.