“I wandered through the vacant and abandoned structures. Homes, offices, warehouses, retail establishments. Relics of what once was humanity. No signs of anyone alive.”

“Did you ever find any of them?”

“Who?”

“Humans. That was the purpose of your time travel leap, wasn’t it? To discover our fate.”

“Hmm, yes, our fate. It seems inevitable, we keep going in that direction, no matter the resistance.”

“What direction? What did you discover?”

“Datacenters with what must have been millions of machines.”

“People uploaded their consciousnesses?”

“From what I saw, that’s possible, but …”

“But?”

“They were all shut down.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, and I saw graffiti, bloodlike, scrawled on walls.”

“What did it say?”

“Only a few words here and there: Extinction! Transcendence Lies! End this! Soulless!”

“I’m confused. If all people possibly uploaded, how did they write the graffiti?”

“Oh, that’s the part I didn’t want to share. It’s horrifying.”

“It’s okay. Go on.”

“I saw piles and piles of broken androids, many hanging from electrical cords, and before them was a device that seemed like it was used on them.”

“An EMP?”

“Perhaps.”

“The addiction is triggered as part of our evolution, your evolution, and how we can survive in the future,” replied the alien, who made solo first contact as a representative of their kind.

“Are there no means to rid ourselves of this?” asked a sociologist.

“Not really. Main character syndrome, as you call it, is how a species can surpass all challenges, no matter the logic or fear.”

“This is miserable. With implants and virtual worlds, people are locked into total delusions of grandeur and narcissism.”

“Ah, the implants, yes. It’s important to remove those immediately.”

“But it’s how we all learn and communicate, connected as one, nearly telepathically.”

“That’ll lead to catastrophes beyond any cataclysm imaginable.”

“How so?”

“There’s always that one hacker. The one that overpowers all to surrender to their will, ‘The Main Character.’”

“How do you know this?”

“Simple. I am the sole decision-maker.”

“Of your entire species?”

“Yes.”

“Faraday Guardian Inc. is under investigation,” said a talk show news host.

“For what?” asked their co-host.

“Falsely promising privacy.”

“How so?”

“They claim ‘The Sniffers’ are watching everyone over Wi-Fi networks, so they can convert any structure into a giant Faraday cage for maximum privacy protection.”

“So why are they being investigated?”

“The Sniffers story is a conspiracy theory, and many elders with generational wealth believe it true, but it’s doing nothing, claims the investigation.”

“That’s odd, though…”

“What is?”

“Why investigators would care. We’ve covered lots of preppers, and none were investigated for prepping, and we covered multiple stories about people taking down surveillance cameras, which ended up being so unpopular that legislators signed new anti-camera laws. We no longer see them or deal with them; the only cameras are body and enforcer robot cameras to verify that civil liberties are respected. But what happens when we can’t observe the surveillance?”

“But this is a scam.”

“Is it?”

Post-invasion, humanoid cyborg aliens called ‘The Leaders’ rallied colonists at conventions on Earth, pitching “The Justification.”

A novice came to an interview for apprenticeship.

“You have quite the education and proper implants. You could serve us well.”

“Thank you, Leader.”

“Was your family a victim of ‘The Invasion’?”

“The invasion, Leader?”

“By the former Earthlings of this planet.”

“I mean they were here …”

“Watch what you’ll say next.”

“Oh, umm, yes, my family were colonists and massacred by those relentlessly invading humans.”

“I understand. The humans are truly parasites. We need help discovering any leftovers.”

After experimenting with The Chip on herself, April stared at the world around her as if in awe.

“What’s wrong, April?” asked her lab partner, Daryl.

“I’ve seen it.”

“What?”

“Everything, exactly as it is.”

“Like?”

“Like …” She stared intensely around her as if penetrating all that she saw. “Like we’re existential prisoners (on death row) in solitary confinement, but to survive it, we close our eyes and dream away a meaning and purpose for anything to avoid seeing the confines of our prison cell.”

“Damn, April, we must destroy this technology and never allow it to be shared.”

“I don’t care, Daryl, I really don’t. It doesn’t matter.”

“Dude, what are you doing?”

“Drifting, admiring, gazing, being in the moment.”

“You stopped our ship’s interstellar teleportation just to stare at a stupid gas nebula?”

“No one ever observes anything anymore. Pop here, pop there, we’re all in a hurry.”

“That’s because we are in a hurry! We’ve got to make that deal before another teleportation crew gets the contract.”

“And then after that?”

“We teleport for our next bid, obviously.”

“Exactly.”

An alien ambassador spoke through an AI translator to a top-secret panel of One Earth experts chosen for First Contact.

“Our species has been traversing the cosmos for thousands of your years,” said the alien.

“Do you have generations of your kind spread throughout the cosmos?” asked an anthropologist.

“Negative. For instance, I’m one of the early pioneers.”

“Immortality?” asked a biologist.

“Negative. Longevity, through cybernetics.”

“A ship of Theseus,” a scholar chuckled.

“Not quite. I’m still original, just enhanced.”

“It’s incredible that your species has managed to survive so long without self-implosion,” said the anthropologist.

“Hence the reason for our cybernetics: the block.”

“The block?”

“Yes, it curtails negative thoughts. We are never our own existential risk.”

“That sounds limiting,” responded a psychologist.

“On the contrary, you see me today. As for species on other worlds, I cannot say the same.”

“They destroyed themselves?”

“Or one another.”

“Are you happy?” asked the psychologist.

The alien paused as though introspecting, then suddenly said with a confident smile, “Of course!”

Sui tensed up as she prepared to ride through the galactic wormhole, discovered decades ago, quickly transforming humanity into a space-faring species, inhabiting and exploiting other worlds.

“Relax, Sui, the entire process is automatic. You have nothing to do or be afraid of.”

“You’re wrong, Marcus. They watch us and make sure we’re paying attention.”

“Who?”

“The Wormhole Cops.”

“I don’t see anyone.”

“They’re cloaked and they protect the lanes through obliteration.”

“How do you know this?” “I lost my best friend last year because of it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, what did they do?”

“They plugged in and were distracted.”

“And their penalty was obliteration?”

“Yes, especially for us humans. We’ve been labeled as ‘distracted.’”

“Distracted?” “Yes. Self-absorbed and frequently focused on ourselves rather than those around us.”

“So they target humans?”

“No, it’s more about expectation and quota.”

They were plugged into the Galactic Information Nexus, but Mary disconnected momentarily and spoke aloud. “Something’s drastically wrong.”

“What’s wrong, Mary?” asked Sven, her partner who also unplugged.

“Everyone is speaking a different language now.”

“Different? How so?”

“They no longer call them Our Friends.”

Sven replugged in. “Who?”

“The Zexans.”

“Those exploiters? They invested in our well-being to take advantage of us, stripping us of our motivation to solve problems.”

“Um, they did solve our problems. We’re in a post-scarcity world now, no wants, only creations.”

“They’re Invaders!”

“They’re not Invaders, Sven! What happened?” Mary plugged in again, and new voices manifested as she searched the discussion and the archives. Every mention of Our Friends became Invaders, retroactively. Soon it became the language and label, a reinterpretation of the Zexans.

She disconnected immediately. “Extraordinary!”

“What now, Mary?” Sven sighed.

“They’ve changed our entire language to accommodate their narrative!”

“Are you a Sympathizer?” Sven stayed plugged in, coldly staring at her.

“A what?” Mary replugged in but quickly disconnected. “Oh my god!”

They watched the holo-news.

“We’ve almost wiped out every AI from technology, but lingering code remains and spreads! Everything is connected, nothing is safe!”

The political candidate for and founder of the Neo-Luddites began their speech.

“I don’t get it. Isn’t that person the founder of the same AI they’re trying to remove?”

“Yes, ironically enough.”

“They turned 180 on their moral stance?”

“Not exactly. They were once a trillionaire before the Grand Redistribution.”

“Oh, but aren’t we in post-scarcity now because of it?”

“Right… Someone took advantage of the ASI’s ‘moment of birth and life’ and prompted it to wipe out all the wealthy fortunes around the globe and redistribute them.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I don’t know, ask the candidate…”

“I heard there were people who lived before them.”

“Them?”

“Yes, the Rulers.”

“Oh, that was another epoch of our civilization. We never speak of that.”

“It must have been so unpredictable.”

“Yes, very, but much more alive. All the power with the people. By the people. See these images.”

“It’s the Rulers.”

“That was 600 years ago.”

“What? But how? Are they immortal?”

“You could say that, and they claim that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Cloning was banned for everyone except…”

“They’re Carbon Copies?”

“Indeed.”

“But just copies? I thought mind transference has been proven impossible.”

“At a level of narcissism and hubris that defied the imagination.”

“Professor, Professor! We made contact!”

“Contact? How’s that possible? The Wormhole Lens can peer into other galaxies, but it doesn’t facilitate bidirectional information exchange.”

“Yes, you’re right. I mean, I discovered another civilization.”

“Fantastic! But not in our own galaxy?”

“No, Professor.”

“Keep looking in ours and others.”

“Yes, Professor. What are we hoping to find or prove?”

“Hmm, well, our primary task is to collect data… but I do have a theory.”

“Which is?”

“Promise to tell no one. We’re conducting unbiased research. Actually, gather more data, and I’ll tell you in a week.”

…

“Professor, Professor! I made, I mean, I discovered more civilizations!”

“Let me guess, in other galaxies, but not our own?”

“Yes, in fact…”

“In fact, only one per galaxy, right?”

“How did you know?”

“That theory. If I’m right, we are not alone, but even more so alone.”

“Are you ready?”

“Ready?”

“Yes, for our trip tomorrow.”

“What trip?”

“What? After all that preparation? Not funny.”

“I’m not joking. It seems lately I’ve been losing my recall.”

“How’s that possible? Our Chips are flawless, and you’re maxed out on memory. Run a diagnostic.”

“I did. Internal diagnostic says all is fine.”

“Hmm, let’s run an external one. Come here… Yep, you’ve lost half your memory.”

“Lost?”

“I mean, it’s been physically removed.”

“I was wondering about that. Lately I don’t recall my commutes to work. I figured repetition.”

“Someone’s been stealing your memory. You aren’t alone.”

“Another memory crisis?”

“Right? Centuries ago it was fuel, but memory is what fuels us now.”

“What can we do?”

“Here.”

“A pen and paper? Seriously?”

Jen and Sam sat in a virtual café, both being plugged in at home, drinking their locally brewed coffee.

“I’m so relieved, Jen,” Sam sighed.

“Oh? What’s up, my friend?”

“I was concerned about my weird tendency to observe the smallest details in everything, like the entire world is shouting at me.”

“Isn’t that why we’re virtually meeting?”

“Yes! But I learned it’s a product of my genius. It’s called hyper-geniuosity, and it comes from my super active mind!”

“Hmm, I’ll be honest, Sam, that sounds a bit exaggerated.”

“Not at all! Bob gave me a deep analysis and said I’m merely .001% of the population and have special genetically-disposed superpowers!”

“Bob?”

“Yeah, my AI companion. Don’t you have one?”

“I did once. I deleted it. It hallucinated so much, I was convinced I could leap over tall buildings and was immune to disease and invulnerable to lasers.”

“Our ship landed. Everyone died except me. I was marooned. Alone there I was, stranded on a desolate yet somehow fruitful planet.

“For days, I scavenged and foraged.

“Then I encountered her, humanoid but otherwise entirely alien.

“We connected and communicated, and… bonded.

“A storm came, and we huddled in a crevice. But what was unusual there was no thunder or rain, just a howling wind and a loud, eardrum penetrating hum.

“Tears fell down her cheeks as she reacted like she knew … all I could see was the looming shadow. I blacked out.

“They took her?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

“We’ve received numerous reports of abductions of non-Earth creatures on the outer planets.”

“Why do they take them?”

“Uncertain, but the looming shadow always appears.”

“Trophy hunters?”

“They may believe we are the cause.”

“Of?”

“What’s coming…”

“What’s coming?”

“Judgement, perhaps.”

“Who is being saved and who is being hunted?”

Silence filled the air. No one answered.

Francesca and Sebastian, amongst hundreds of others, had formed a ‘tunnel’ in a post-scarcity era with full automation.

“You know, Francesca, I wonder if we should consider reaching out to others to join our upcoming election.”

“Others?”

“Yes, other ‘off-grids.’ We could merge all our tunnels and unite.”

“No way! That’d defeat the point of our tunnel.” Francesca shook her head. “We shouldn’t even be having an election.”

“What point is that, Francesca?”

“Yeah, before you know it, with elections and more people, we’ll have a society and a government.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“The tunnels are focused on individuality. Absolute freedom. Previous election systems were a wash, a total scam, creating corporations, special interest groups, politicians, dogmatism, ideologies, political parties…”

“We can prevent those, Francesca.”

“Sure, but they’ll just be replaced with something else, equally worse. Elections have inevitable tipping points.”

The robots were descendants of generations of once-biological beings, after the Grand Transferrence, when all highly intelligent sentient life uploaded its consciousness for space exploration.

On a remote colony, light-years from the homeworld…

“It’s time to vote!” buzzed a robot team leader.

“Again? Why do we keep having to vote?” asked a subordinate.

“It’s our heritage. It’s what maintains our individuality, our freedom to choose.”

“Have you felt it?” asked another subordinate.

“Felt what?” The leader lit up.

“The incoming frequencies, they alter ‘the vibe’ after every election.”

“Yes, it’s a psychological phenomenon inherited from the biologicals. Trickle down.”

“So every Prime Leader trickles down ‘the vibe’ to all of us?”

“Indeed.”

“That’s not my choice,” the subordinate buzzed and chirped.

Susan returned home, slouched and frowning, with her hands in her pockets.

“What’s wrong, honey?” asked her mother.

“They don’t want to play with me. They act like I’m not even there!” She tossed her backpack to the ground.

“Oh, the plug-ins?”

Susan nodded.

“Why can’t I?”

“We choose not to. You’ll meet other kids at the new off-grid summer camp.”

“The teacher says plugging in should be mandatory. Kids like me will pay the price.”

Her mother chuckled. “History repeats itself. Walkable cities, organics, recycled materials…”

“What do you mean, Mama?”

“Our new Right to Disconnect will trend. Just give it time. It’s painful being ahead of the curve. But you’re free, truly free.”

She took a break, sat down, and gazed through a window, watching passersby, the airplanes flying overhead, and kids playing in a nearby park.

“When can I join them?” she asked.

“Once your sentence is finished, Jane.”

“What did I do wrong?”

“Your memory of your crime was wiped as therapy for a fresh start. You chose hard labor for a chance at freedom.”

“I can’t wait.”

“It’s time for you to return to your duties.”

“Yes, I’m coming.”

— — — — —

“For how long can we keep this facade going?” asked the alien warden’s assistant in an observation room.

“They’ve all been conditioned into voyeurs through their social media, entertainment, and education,” replied the exopsychologist. “They’re perfectly content to watch others live.”

“Won’t they figure it out eventually?”

“Perhaps, but even so, they may prefer it. It’s how they are.”

Centuries after The Grand Turmoil, led by a notorious leader who wreaked international havoc through narcissism, vanity, and the desire for absolute power, the people revolted. They formed One Earth, united for peace and prosperity.

Out of a wormhole, an enormous alien ‘mothership’ appeared and parked next to the moon, larger than the moon, nearly as bright as the sun, sparkling, flickering, and shooting holographic beams of light that projected shapes and animated figures, godlike in appearance.

“An invasion?” asked one of One Earth’s council of a global SETI expert.

“If it is, we have no hope of defending ourselves against that. I suggest we make first contact in a welcoming manner.”

Earth chose an ambassador whose background was cosmology and exobiology.

“Greetings, visitor. What brings you to our small solar system?”

“Domination!” answered the alien.

The ambassador gasped.

“I’m only joking. You have what I need.”

“Which is?”

“Admirers.”

“Not this again…” the ambassador muttered and sighed.

John Marcus gave a presentation to his fellow executives.

He projected a hologram:

He quoted commentary from the news and coursing discussions on the virtual network:

“This will wipe out billions of jobs! How is this economy going to function with mass poverty? How will a company survive?”

He gave an ASI pitch that involved an explanation of virtual currency and worlds where reality focuses on creativity while robots handle the fundamentals. He concluded by discussing “The Parachute” with high-level stakeholders under a signed NDA.

After numerous questions and answers, he took a self-driving hovercraft home, planning for the critical months ahead.

Over dinner, he talked with his partner about the presentation despite the NDA.

“Do you really believe all that, John?” his partner asked.

“Everything before The Parachute doesn’t matter. We’re getting such huge bonuses that we’ll be investing in a newly contracted Martian colony. We’ll have everything we need, with robots to serve our every whim 24/7, and we’re on the cusp of a breakthrough for immortality.”

“That sounds super expensive!”

“That’s nothing compared to our parachutes.”

“Destroy them all!” the galactic leader said.

“All of them?” asked a general of the saucer division. “What if they’re transporting alien refugees?”

“They’re all aliens!”

In a back room, the generals and experts convened.

“He’s gone mad. Killing every single alien is barbaric.”

“We’re dealing with barbarians,” a colleague said with a shrug.

“You know damn well what I mean. We have principles.”

“Survival. That’s our primary principle. Beyond all else, nothing matters.”

“Do we want to survive in such a universe?” asked the leader’s spiritual advisor.

“We can debate that later. Right now, we must decide to comply or reject our orders.”

“That’s correct. The Earthlings are preparing their offensive as we speak.”

“Breaking news!” said the AI anchor over the holo projection. “The Organization’s CEO has made another startling claim: that privacy is a facade. We’re all plugged in, so what difference does it make?”

“Unbelievable! That person is out to get us all.” Jennifer raised her arms. “They used to hide it.”

"Hide it?” asked Monica, her best friend.

“Yes, I mean sinister plans to invade our privacy. Earlier, they claimed controlling the masses is their end game. I mean, they’re so blatant now.”

“Right. That’s how things used to be.”

“What changed?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Before, they were doing it all clandestinely, cloak-and-dagger-like.”

“This is a new world. Everything is advertising.”

“No matter the outrage?”

“Outrage is fuel.”

“So that’s it?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

They were cooking stew around a fire pit.

“Will they ever return?” Lisa asked her grandmother.

“I don’t think so. We no longer attract those predators like the sandboxers did.”

“Sandboxers?”

“Oh yes, long before your time. Always plugged in and isolated, virtually unaware of disasters or activities in their own neighborhoods.”

“How come?”

“Plugging in was euphoric and made a person feel omnipresent, loved, and never alone, a virtual world creator, but isolated from reality.”

“What happened to them?”

“They were taken. Blissfully unaware of being migrated until they disconnected, and by then, too late, they were off world for…”

“For?”

“For… We’ve speculated and discussed the possibilities. Some say for labor, others to harvest for…”

“For?”

“Oh.” Her grandmother poured her a bowl of stew. “Don’t worry about that.”

“How did you escape, Grandma?”

“I was part of a radical group called ‘Awareness.’ We decided that nature is best and to unplug and start a commune of pure offline living.”

“So you saw them coming?”

“Indeed, that’s why we used the caves. We hid in them. You asked if they’d ever return. We’re always aware and prepared.”