this is approximately a 35 minute read.

On CapDems Leadership

Seeing the ignorant population of this great country become convinced that they should waste money on overconsumption and hoarding gave me clarity in my youth: valuing financial conservativeness and spending responsibly won’t work when most want to waste money on degeneracy, sloth, and gluttony. The war for the soul of the country – cardinal liberties vs social coercion – was a damned cause without a champion to hold back the tide of normalized malicious brainwashing.

Ensuring that the society is allowed to think about the pride of the nation again rather than being shamed into supporting countries that should be allowed to fail has been vital. Since securing the military’s loyalty, I’ve culled the self proclaimed “economists” that undermined our nation’s dominance with Globalist indoctrinations and corrected the perspective of national interest. The memory of their continued lies regarding “systemic failings” and “climate instability” with their last breaths will forever remind me how committed some are to weakening others for their own sense of self worth. I’ve additionally put the capital resources back into the hands of those that would strengthen the US dollar and shown how ridiculous “academic and scientific purity” is by watching the submission to funding based on patriotic empowerment. Any remnants of the lie that “diversity is a strength” has been shown to be a virtue signal; propagated by directionless boredom that allowed the rest of the weaker countries pass us while we refused to give up the fantasy of democracy.

Before the state was set back on its natural path, I was forced to “play nice” with the extortionists and learn what they valued. During their attempts to indoctrinate me, I took notice of their moralization of science; reducing the rights of those that have inherent leadership and manipulating it to the wills of the unworthy demagogues; dragging our great civilization down in the process. I used it to divine the field of Consumption Sciences to help awaken those from the Dream of Equality and understand that survival comes from finding the natural purpose. Only recently have the Sociophobes started to understand the virtues of embracing the utopia I’ve created in these short years. Through divine manifestation it seems, just as the supply of degenerate traitors has run short, the Socialists’ callous rejection of previous social ties will be optimal when they finally have the privilege to assist in the survival of our empire through forced enlistment.

Holding the Line – Acting President Joseph Relder – Nov 12, 2046

Since we now have time before the next trolley, we turn our attention to the neglected community permaculture. It’s been neglected more than expected which could just be a fluke, but that should be mentioned to the neighbors. It’s easy to take for granted since it’s always been here, but that only works if the maintenance is equally normalized. What should have been a 2 minute pruning turned into a 6 minute weeding. The more invasive plants are starting to encroach into the terrain of the more vulnerable, and while an equilibrium of the environment would have been maintained (regarding water and soil nutrition), the food supply wouldn’t be as plentiful. The pain suppression helps to offset the scraping texture of the tough plant fiber against my fingers, but the slight pain is still noticeable with every tendril that I uproot.

About half way through, Samuel revisits the conversation about a vacation. “Did you know the salt flats in CW14 the only ones like it in the world? You really should see it. The outlets to a massive prehistoric lake were all cut off and the water evaporated leaving only the salt making a white desert.”

The trip to the 14 Central West district he went on with his class last session really left an impression. When the opportunity arises, he goes on these little rants about the random factoids he’s learned. Every one is more interesting than the last.

“If we did go on a trip, would you want to revisit that? There are a lot of other places around that we could see too: the arches are further south along with the Grand Canyon, or we might see snow and the aurora borealis if we went past the states.”

He slowed down while weeding, “Do you mean it! We really can go somewhere?!”

“Well, let’s hold on for a second. We are just vetting the options right now. It depends on a few things, but we can at least see what we would like to do.”

Samuel’s excited fidgeting and engaged expression melts for no reason and he goes back to weeding. But then I realize I’m squinting because of my headache again. I killed the discussion unintentionally. He’s such a good kid. And I’m doing a disservice by being his guardian.

After another minute of effort to clean up the garden, I stand up and Sameul follows my lead. We walk to the direction of the trolley, “CoDaS, is the fastest route? Or did I overlook something?”

My childhood voice echoes in my mind, “It is the fastest route. The next best option would cause a 3 minute delay.”

“CoDaS, did you know we were going to miss the first trolley?” I hadn’t expected that Samuel would have heard the response, so the challenge is unexpected but welcome.

“Yes. It was inevitable that you would be stopped and you wouldn’t make the appointment. But regardless, this is – and was – the fastest route so I didn’t mention it.” Samuel shoots me a look of doubt as we continue to walk under the Tesla sparse lines of the neighborhood. CoDaS is supposed to be non-invasive in our day to day lives, but most people have a silent understanding how impossible that is.

We walk in silence as we both reflect on the innocent lie we were just told. As we arrive at the trolley stop with a few minutes to wait, Samuel makes the passive comment “I really don’t trust CoDaS. He never really tells me the whole truth.”

I take in my surroundings of the stop while thinking about it. Across the street, broken homes may have been a nice neighborhood at one point, but now it’s just wilderness that has consumed any livable spaces. A flock of birds take flight from the overgrowth as something hidden causes the plants to shuffle. As long as we don’t get too close, it is unlikely that we are in danger from the unseen wildlife. I briefly activate the AR to check and the risk level is minimal. “It seems that trust in CoDaS is low currently. I don’t remember this being the case before.”

“Is a society without CoDaS even possible?”

I look at the 12 year old who is looking back at me with a worry I rarely see. I fake confidence for him, “Society worked without CoDaS before, I’m sure we can make it work again.” Neither of us have been alive in a time without the voice in our heads, questioning the voice is equivalent to questioning our latent thoughts, which makes the current general unease seem manufactured. Samuel stares at me for a moment trying to see what’s hidden behind my words. At times like this I know that his perceptiveness will backfire on him someday. “You promise?”

I carry on the act and cock my head to the side with a look of annoyance, “You know I can’t promise that.” After a moment more, he seems satisfied with that answer, but continues to think in silence as we wait for the trolley. Whatever is rustling in the undergrowth across the street seems to have taken its leave as the birds start to congregate on the trees again.

After a few minutes, the trolley pulls up and we get on. While more populated than I would expect, almost all the hues caused by the overlay are fairly uniform in color showing they all come from a similar community. There are a few sitting by themselves blanketed under a common shade of “individualism”. None of the intensities are particularly strong, but the most transparent (aside from Samuel) is that of Kyle. We move to sit across, while the trolley starts forward and moves along the pre established route. Kyle is currently distracted by information we can’t see, lost in the virtual space unobserved in our shared reality. I smile inwardly as I revisit the revelation that delusion and insanity isn’t that much different from the virtual realities that we have manifested for ourselves today.

To imagine a world where humans could force internal perspectives onto others from the very beginning: forced empathy. Maybe some had it and those people just died off because they were a threat when resources were scarce? Or we learned to block it? Either way, we recreated it with language. Casting spells to make people understand complex ideas that they were previously unaware of.

Spells. Spelling. Heh. That always makes me internally chuckle with an immediate aftertaste of irritation. Words are magic that play on other’s internal narratives. That’s why narrativists refer to themselves as warlocks or witches. It’s a self parody. “The acolytes of Azathoth”. Another self parody. Paradoxically the worst spell ever cast because only the people who understand the concept get the joke. And then I groan internally because of how much harder we make it on ourselves.

Kyle is one of the spokespeople for the Consensus with a family legacy that reaches back a generation. The face is easy to place especially considering the visuals that were displayed in the morning announcements. Whether due to virtue signaling, “solidarity”, or because of true belief; Kyle is one of the only one of the few well known people that tries to fully embrace the identity abolition concept of the Tendians; it’s obvious by the profile pronouns “it/its”. Additionally, its appearance is an attempt at androgyny. A split hair style, one side long and feminine and naturally chestnut, the other short and masculine and died green. Its facial appearance is also purposefully contradictory: noticeable makeup on the eyes, cheeks, and lips as well as a distinct scruff to start a beard. The implicit critique forces the observer (often with frustrated response) to recognize that makeup is an often accepted reminder that women don’t deserve to be in men’s spaces. Personally it seems a bit demanding and over-the-top, making what I deal with every day into something abstract and possibly clownish, but I remind myself that it comes from a place of empathy and historic necessity while also taking on a purposeful risk to stand out and let others blend in.

My headache becomes a bit more pronounced over the next few minutes. By the time we reach the next stop, I’m dedicating all my effort to ignoring the people in the cab and looking out the window in an attempt to block out the pain. I barely notice Kyle’s small talk, “Hey Taylor. It’s nice to see you. Are you going to the CapDem campus today?” The tone of the question is dripping – possibly unintended – hostility to the government.

I push through the pain and attempt to be civil. “Yes. But I have to get Samuel to the Academy first.” I cringe internally, frustrated at my rude appearance as Kyle shifts the conversation to Samuel as the child apologizes for my migraine and they talk about his schooling. They talk for a while through the stops during which multiple people get on to take their seats. I get notified that Kyle is starting to take notice of its surroundings and looks at me again. I feel even worse when Samuel’s excitement at a subject becomes too loud causing me to cringe, he self sensors talking more silently. He deserves to be a kid: excited and jovial, but instead he is left protecting me. I can’t help but feel like an awful guardian… again.

I look away from the window and towards the conversation. Samuel is in one of his apologetic demeanors and I look away in shame as we meet eyes. Kyle is still trying to cheer him up but doesn’t seem to understand what’s going on and has a hard time focusing on Samuel’s presentation. From our past interactions Kyle has never been great at reading social context, but then again… who is? I have to remember this when it shifts back to me and doesn’t meet my eyes. While it’s not expected… not from Kyle at least, I still unintentionally take on the submissive tone to explain, “I’m sorry for being snappy. Just loud sounds are a bit much today”.

“Techologic autoimmunity?” Instead of explaining the uncertainty, I simplify the conversation with a head nod. After a moment of thought it asks a follow up, “Have you been checked out?”

I push through the pain and respond, I reach into my pocket to feel for my backup pain suppression pill. Usually it’s not necessary, but on days like this it’s nice to have it. “Yeah. They are going to exchange my BioWear today.” That’s still terrifying to think about. “Otherwise, taking Samuel would be out of my way and he could go alone. I’m hoping it will help.” Samuel looks at me with a knowing look that I’m telling only a half truth about wanting change. Before I go on, a system wide announcements forces it’s way onto the AR: Earthquake. Please find stability.

The first thought was to look to Samuel. One of the few irrational traits about him is that he fears tremors, and – expectedly – I meet his horrified eyes. He starts to get up before I stop him with a hard whisper to not embarrass him. “Stay seated but scootch over here.” Typically, a beacon of self sufficiency; he uncharacteristically seeks shelter in an embrace and I can’t help thinking of him as an infant and how much he’s grown. The shuttle starts to shake timidly as I feel him flinch.

In the middle of the quake, Kyle starts to respond to me, this time making eye contact. And behind the eyes I see a bit of judgement that I’m being overprotective. While annoying, I’m glad that the focus is on criticizing my parenting and not Samuel’s insecurities. “Taylor, I think this article may help you. I hope it goes ok today.” And my AR is notified with a document request.

Still holding Samuel, I open the article with some micro movements of my arm and start reading. The article titled The Hidden Fear of Techno-Dysphoria is explicitly about the way that changing out the BioWear has an accompany “forced shift in identity” that is rarely talked about. In the half minute I have to skim the topic, the testimonies are exactly reflect my own feelings and it discusses the transition that happened afterwards. The article brings my existential dread into the realm of shared reality; removing unexpressed concern that I am an isolated case. From behind the virtual words I see Kyle get up and leave. I catch its attention with “Thank you, Kyle.” It looks back to show that the words were heard and – as an afterthought, in an attempt to break Samuel’s focus on the ongoing shifting ground – I nudge him and whisper “you should tell him bye”.

In a bravery that no one but me realized, he looked up and said with a feigned but sincere smile and steady voice, “It was nice talking to you.”

Kyle flourishes the Consensus Salut: spinning around holding up his hands with two fingers held up on the left and four on the right before bowing low with arms thrown wide hands completely open. It makes Samuel silently chuckle from under my arm and – in a shock that I can’t express – he breaks away for a moment and returns the gesture. Kyle is a decent person. I doubt it knows how much it just helped.

I start to read the article again as commuters change out and the earthquake tapers off. The first respondent mimicked my own thoughts with their testimonial:

I only realized after being treated that I never questioned my pain. It was synonymous with being alive. I identified with it, and I was comfortable with myself – loved myself – so I also loved the pain. Part of the recovery was coming to terms with what made me, well, me. If the pain wasn’t part of me – something I was never even thought to question before – what else was I wrong about? What about my name? What about my religion and beliefs? What about my body or soul? Do I exist at all?

The passage is one of many daily reminders how committed people are to their own narrative. I consider myself lucky that I’m aware of this without having to go through a life changing event. But then I consider the events I have gone through and realize luck has very little to do with it. I block out the memory of blood as I refocus on the new person sitting in front of me and consider the irony of encountering them after thinking of being stuck in a socially prescribed narrative.

Their appeal to a dogmatic delusional reality causes their projected color to be almost non-existent. And the color is that of the CapDems contrasting with almost everyone on the shuttle this far from the facility. Without the AR providing the Social Analysis and my familiarity with him, the Arabian ethnicity would lead me to believe he was a Tendian; understanding that cultural acceptance is a huge motivator for people, but the old myths of individual agency and natural order are hard to fight. If Tark knew I wasn’t dressed to align with what he expected, I would disgust him. Luckily the priming doesn’t allow him to question his initial assumptions. Like all Descians, he is a paradoxical living example of the philosophy he rejects. “Quia Sum, Cogito” at its most primitive. 

I lower my voice and take a subtle but explicitly aggressive posture, “Oh, hi Tark. On your way to the office?” We bullshit briefly, talking about a variety of things (work, traveling the continent and some of the concerns) as we pass some of the other neighboring stops. When I turn to Samuel to ask for his input on Yellowstone, Tark focuses on other things (clearly not thinking that a child’s conversation would be worth considering).

“…Do you think that would be something fun to do?”

His class had obviously talked about the threat of Yellowstone, and the threat of an explosion could be seen in his face. “Isn’t that… unstable?”

“That’s a bit of the beauty of it. Yellowstone has been venting for thousands of years. If it ever does boil over, it would almost be more lucky to be in the caldera- you know what that is?”

Samuel shakes his head and I wait for a moment while he looks on his virtual space to find the definition. His face moves from wonder to confusion to shock, “Wait, the whole thing is the top of the volcano?!?!”

“Yeah. Crazy right? That may be another possibility.”

His face is a mixture of adventure and fear and curiosity, “I didn’t know that. One of my friends at school went a few years ago and he made it seem terrifying. But… Yeah! He really liked it! Do you really think we can?”

I think for a moment trying to quickly look up if that would be possible, but Tark interrupts – apparently wanting to talk about a different topic. “So are you headed to the office now? Is it take-your-kid-to-work-day?”

The change in conversation catches me a bit off guard, “Huh? Oh. No… I’m dropping Samuel off at PrimeAcadamy.”

Confusion crosses Tark’s face after considering the comment, “Why are you going this direction?” The question itself only makes sense in terms of “time spent traveling”. If any other metric (social safety, tardiness, even potential logistic disruptions) was considered, taking a round-about path wouldn’t be uncommon.

It shows a limited perspective that I don’t care to challenge, partly due to our upcoming stop. I respond with a terse but kind “It’s more efficient” which I follow up with a smile to convince him that this answer is not only acceptable, but he should accept it; having the ability to assert an unchallenged truth is a privilege that most men aren’t aware they have. “Well, I’ll see you there. My stop is coming up.”

“I’ve still got two more. See you then.” Somewhat unexpectedly, he leans forward to share some private information that shouldn’t be heard by anyone else, “Integrity with function.” I’m not sure if it is a test to see if I’m hostile to the CapDem ideology (which would no doubt be reported to the CapDem Overview Department and get me banned from working there) or if he thinks I’m an ally in hostile territory, but either way I have to hide my disgust for the overtly fascist motto. I force a smile as we rise to leave the trolley.

The connection to the 21st line is culturally bland for the amount of traffic it gets. It is hard to question the existence of the empty roads since they are synonymous with the overgrown city itself, but even the slightest consideration creates wonder and confusion around why they would span with such width. To consider car congestion needing 3 lanes for a single direction is incomprehensible when put in contrast to the current occasional bikes and rare trolley that now use them.

Surrounding the crossroads, makeshift booths occupy the overgrown concrete fields on the corners of the intersection. These are always shifting due to lack of a consistent consumer base. One shop has become a staple of the area; aptly named “21st Suppliers” which collects an assortment of rare supplies that are considered waste from both the Consensus and (to a much higher degree) the CapDems.

The connection time is 2 minutes, so there is no time to browse the shops. We sit down on the dry grass to wait. After a moment, Samuel looks at me and asks “Does it ever get annoying that people always expect you to be someone different?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, with some of my friends, I feel like I need to play a part. I’m not always interested in their stuff, but I listen anyway because I like it when they do that to me. They don’t always though, and that seems unfair when that happens.” He looks back at me, “For older people it seems more unfair. You seem to be playing a part more often than I would because others tend not to care that you want to be listened to. No one really seems to see you and you just play a part for them. Or… are you playing a part with me too?”

I close my eyes for a moment and sigh with a serenity that could only be the result of unprovoked understanding. I steel myself from weeping with joy as I ruffle Samuel’s hair which he quickly tries to restyle the way he wanted, “I play the role of your parent with you. Maybe I won’t always, but for now that’s what I do. That’s more close to who I am than the way I have to act around others though.”

“Did it used to be easier for you?”

I think about it. The question never crossed my mind before. “I think as people get older many get more set in their ways. They are done discovering about themselves and don’t have to make sense of others unless they are forced to. So they are quick to assume who others are. But that’s not how it went with me. It took me a while to figure out who I really was, so I try and extend that to others.”

“Treat others as you want to be treated?”

I look at him with curiosity and realize only too late that the light blue tinge is still shading his appearance and passively reminding me of our differences. I turn it off the AR while recognizing I didn’t expect him to know the old religious prescription. “Is that from the Mormon temple?” He nods and I think for a second. “Actually, yeah.” Then after a brief pause, “It seems that may be more a description of how people treat each other based on how they see the world rather than a suggestion.”

“That’s a bit sad. It means people can’t know when they are being bad.”

As the trolley starts to pull up and makes a u-turn, I look back at my kid with an awe that is becoming more familiar as he gets older. We start to get up, “Have I ever told you that you’re a smart kid?”

He looks back at me with a snark that lets me know what’s coming, “only way too often.” I go for ruffling his head again but he dodges, backing away. I chase him until it’s time to board.

On the trolley, we talk for a bit about the Mormon culture, what things are agreeable and where they seem absurd. Religious paintings that manufactured stories of crucifixions and miracles and ascending humans; all middle eastern men that had uncharacteristically light brown flowing hair and light skin. It’s only relatively recently (late 80’s) that humanity generally accepted the idea that power and myth go hand in hand. The staying power of stories and how communities lose themselves in the myths dictate who has authority. Even more than personal experiences, the legacies we are born into create the social reality we live in.

Once that conversation moves onto all the various cultures that have existed in the Western section of North America, ending on the remaining stone dwellings of Ancestral Puebloans. After adding another potential destination to our list of vacation locations, I take a moment to evaluate my first impression of the strangers in the trolley before turning back on the Social Identity app to evaluate my accuracy. The rest of the trip to Prime Academy and the Consensus Hub is occupied by reading more of the article that Kyle has given me. 

While the first few brief interviews are interesting, the validation that comes with reading my own thoughts through someone else’s words quickly loses its appeal. If I didn’t have my experience, it might be interesting, but it also leads to a sanitation of the raw feelings. The end of the commute offered a welcome reason to skip to the conclusion before disregarding the rest of the article. I suppress a bit of irritation as we leave the trolley with a majority of the passengers, but then I remind myself that Kyle was the one that shared it and it makes sense. An article sanitized through empathy and acceptability, first through the writer, then through the audience, all to reduce a visceral experience to something comprehensible. Now those that experience the plight through virtual intelligence feel justified passing off the deluded explanation as genuine, and false experts become the trusted norm. It begs the unanswerable question: do any of us really know each other? The logical answer is “no”, but accepting that as reality would sow distrust in those we fight for. But… delusional empathy is still better than ignorant bigotry.

As we get closer, the compound that the Consensus uses as their local community hub grows in the distance and eventually cannot be ignored. It encapsulates their philosophy of valuing practical use over aesthetic appeal. Any CapDem would see it as a monstrosity; the Tesla Lines which all but invisibly empower the neighborhoods spawn from this location. Even the CapDems pull from the infrastructure while also repairing the lines; creating a mutual dependency (which is one of the reasons they neither act on the disgust they have for each other) that they try to reject. But the passive dependency on energy that always threatens to reignite the climate crisis is hard to deny when part of the sky is obscured.

It is also obvious that the Consensus has always put efforts into reestablishing the capabilities of the buildings that were built before the early 21st century valuing minimalist repairs based on the availability of materials and methods above recreation. The building itself unapologetically displays its patchwork fixes; exposing the decades of change used to reinforce the decrepit megastructure, similar to remnants of eons past where layers of earth are exposed. This is another contrast to the CapDems philosophy which ensures the buildings on the campus are all uniform; pretending they are naturally grown out of the land as one single organism, regardless of the cost. It helps keep the appeal to a “natural order” unquestioned.

Along with a dozen other travelers, Samuel and I exit the trolley at the last stop of the 21st line which will continue running East along the 17th. We move past a small group of commuters waiting to board and head to the East Entrance. I tend to avoid this area generally, why it was decided to put the more aggressively inappropriate texts that exist in society in the same place as the Prime Academy is likely to get people to question their own prudishness which they inherently impart onto the next generation, but it’s still aggravating. As a compromise it seems, there is an established “safe zone” to walk through and avoid the most obvious material (which doesn’t stop Samuel from trying to sneak peaks as we walk through). Typically I would do my best to avoid this entrance, but we are already late.

The entrance to the classroom is directly to the left as we walk into the wide hallway and Sameul has to almost jog to keep up with my hastened pace. The glass panels already show that many children are starting to find projects or books to read. The only rule seems to be “don’t allow yourself to be idle” which I appreciate. Samuel barely says “good luck Dad” as he joins some friends.

The custodian is an older man named Yashim who is sitting in a circle with kids of various ages talking about the pros and cons of lab altered genetics. Seeing him amongst the kids always reminds me of how little I approve of the assignment. Unlike most people in the consensus, he doesn’t allow his ideology to be known openly. Even though his hew and intensity is expected based on where I am, there is something that seems wrong. It isn’t until a book falls that I can put my finger on it.

While everyone else in the room reacts in shock: defensively, quickly looking for the source, gasping at the loud noise; Yashim’s reaction is almost supernatural. With the agility and skill of someone a third his age, he’s placed himself between the smallest children and the noise, looking at the source and reaching to his side. The intensity and hew – for a moment – shift to dark blood red before shifting back to light blue again and I realize after a moment he was reaching for a weapon. Like many people that lived through the climate wars, he has adopted time dysphoria to manage his PTSD. Seeing the event causes me to realize that I don’t trust kids around someone like that. I remember my grandparents and the scars they unintentionally pushed onto me.

As he starts to look around – trying to see how people were reacting to him reacting to the perceived gunshot – he sees me in the doorway and gives an ashamed smile looking down. He gets up and moves to me, and I realize that my critique may be unfair. After all, Samuel has been here for years and only says good things about him. He also went for protection – rather than aggression – when losing control.

“Your Sam’s… dad, correct?” I’m used to the slight pause while people check my profile to determine how to address me. It doesn’t help my view of the old veteran though.

“Yeah. We actually met a few years ago.”

After a moment of thought, “I think I remember that. Am I misremembering that you used to be married?”

I don’t show the shock of dealing with the reference. I’m sure my profile would very clearly say not to bring that up, which leads me to believe that he’s not using his Augmented Reality. He didn’t check my profile, but is actually evaluating me based on personal presentation and empathy. I choose to believe this rather than the alternative – he’s purposefully being a malicious ass to hurt my feelings. It – ironically – makes me feel better even after being reminded about my failed relationship.

“I did. He left, lives in the North West now.”

“I see. That can be rough, both on you and the kids. It can be hard to lose people.” We both are quiet for a moment as we both seem to be reminiscing about lost loved ones. “Is there a special reason you came in today? Was there something you wanted to discuss?”

“Oh… no, I’m just dropping him off on my way to an appointment here.”

“Oh! Am… I holding you up?” He reads my reaction and realizes that I’m passively trying to leave the conversation. “I am. I didn’t realize. It was nice to talk to you.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, it was more my fault than yours. It was good to talk to you too. I hope you all have fun today.” We wave our goodbyes as I move out of the door. I try to catch Samuel’s eye through the glass as I move down the hall, but he’s already preoccupied. Yahsim is already back in the circle listening to the kids’ discussion. I move past the broken down elevators and the large metal deposit box behind them, and I can’t shake the unease of the event.

The clinic that will be refitting my BioWear is past the food court and halfway to the south exit. It’s not a large room, but efficient use has been made of the space. The walls are lined with wires and machines. There are multiple different device types and sizes on tables near the back wall behind an extended counter. Enough seats to allow multiple people to rest while they wait. All while the middle area has enough space to let people walk around freely.

I end my brisk walk that is boarding on a jog as the young attendant – couldn’t be more than 20 – at the back invites me in. He shows no rush, but continues to sit as he casually identities me, “Hi! Taylor, correct?”

“Yes. I’m so sorry about being late.”

He waves off the concern, “Don’t worry in the least. We should be done before the next appointment.” I’m sure we have CoDaS to thank for that coincidence. The kid starts to look into the distance, reading something in the virtual space. “Your report indicates that your version of techno dysphoria is moderate; likely enough that a calf brace would be enough to offset. Do you have any questions?”

The direct-to-business-attitude makes me unsure if I should be treating him as an individual or just part of the operation. I push aside the headache and body pain that is amplified by the short run and give myself a moment to rest so I ask the most pressing curiosity: “What should I call you?”

He stops for a moment, slightly taken aback. “Oh! Sorry, I’m Klyde,” and he gives a welcoming smile as he performs the Consensus Salut. I suppress a grin at the movement as the thousand questions ranging from loss of identity to electrocution risk run through my head. All questions that were either unanswerable or unknowable until we try to exchange the machinery, so they all seem equally meaningless. I revert to my standard query when I’m unsure, “what do people usually ask about?”

The tech gives me a look of curiosity before turning around to select the BioWear that has been prepped for me. “Well most ask if their personalized apps and data will transfer. Others ask if the change will be obvious.”

“Those both seem like good questions. What are your answers?”

“The information in your BioWear is simply software and stored data, transferring that is trivial.” He brings back a longer device than the one that I’m currently promoting. “The change should be pretty clear. To ensure there is a direct comparison, we turn the old one off gradually as we turn the other on.”

“So it’s a gradual process? I thought it would be simply switching it out.” I do my best to avoid presenting the recent passive discomfort.

“Most are surprised by that. The general public doesn’t realize how much we passively normalize our perceptions and how dangerous it is to shift them quickly. There is evidence we’ve always recognized this; from opium dens to religious healers, they all tend to rely on shifting perceptions through drugs or drastically changing environments. We should have learned quickly that virtual spaces and sensations do the same thing, but they were just so useful that we ignored the parallel.” The kid motions to a chair and I sit down before reclining back and propping my leg up to make it easier to attach the new BioWear. “If there is a gap when switching the two, people become incredibly suggestible so – for your protection – we transfer them gradually.” At the end he is talking to himself rather than me while going about his work. Only after he finishes and ensures it fits correctly does he take notice of me again. “Do you have any other questions before we make the transfer?”

“Should I feel this nervous about it?” I tried to laugh while I said it, but the nervousness is obviously apparent.

“Honestly, I’d be surprised if you weren’t.” The bedside empathy is much appreciated at the moment. His subtle smiles while treating the whole event as trivial is expertly executed.

“I guess we should do this then.”

“We have to hide your information obviously.” He connects a few wires to the two devices making me feel more machine than human.

I consider for a moment how much we make technology part of our identity when it’s not pointed out before reverting back to the practical topic, “More restrictions to protect me?”

“Yep. You can imagine how even the most good faith actors might unintentionally manipulate the feedback to make you want to be -” he takes a pause from his work to perform air quotes with one hand to emphasize the annoyance while using the word “- better.” He finishes before I have time to think of anything else to ask. “I’m going to start. Tell me if anything feels wrong.”

I allow myself to focus on my current ache for a moment, “What does wrong feel like?”

For the first time he looks at me seriously, “Anything. This is about making you feel comfortable. It is completely for you to determine. Be selfish.” He doesn’t look away until I provide a reluctant nod of understanding.

With a few brief keystrokes in the air, the hum of the new device starts. And slowly I feel the drain from my arm subside. It isn’t as instantaneous as disconnecting it while bathing, but the adjustment to a disconnected state is obvious. The anticipation for the new ankle brace to start up becomes unbearable. While I’m sure it was only about 20 seconds, minutes seem to pass before I ask “when will the new device be turned on?”

“It’s already on. You’re 90% done. So the old device is 10% active and the new one is almost fully engaged.”

“Really?!? It feels like it’s not even turned on!” With only a content smile, he continues to stare into space; checking the status of the transfer.

A few moments later, he asks, “does anything feel wrong?”

I try to reflect critically on my current state. My headache is gone. I have no body aches. Even the air feels soft. “Everything feels amazing.” Satisfied, he removes the arm brace – leaving untanned skin and white hair underneath it – and sets it on the table. Then disconnects the cord from the leg band. “You’re done.”

I feel like I’m floating as I sit up. My joints flex smoothly as if lubricated. My skull must have been expanded into what I could only describe as the opposite of a migraine. The world is alive and full of potential, hugging me as I’ve never felt it before.

I look at the technician with a loss of words. His kind smile widens, showing that they aren’t needed. “Welcome to your new life.”