Who are you?
The last human, as far as the market is concerned. One corporation stores my consciousness; another manages my connection to the net. I wouldn't expect you to recognize me as human: I haven't worn flesh since we mined the sun.
Why not?
Flesh has a price, and I have no means to pay. I leased my consciousness to a corporation without a name. I sold the skin and organs my parents gave me to a recycling firm to pay the deposit.