Tonny’s local guide snorted and gestured toward them.

“See those guys? They’re the descendants of the original Shambhala guides. You know, the ones who promised American mystics a direct route to enlightenment.”

“And they’re still doing it?” Tonny asked, his voice thick with sarcasm.

“Of course. But now they’ve got tech.”

The guide nodded toward the mansion’s balcony, where a cluster of tourists in VR headsets swayed like zombies. Their hands reached for something invisible, their heads bobbing in time with imaginary footsteps.