His gaze fell on an old photograph on the wall. His parents, smiling, holding little John in their arms. This was before the Great Transition, before AI took over most jobs.
John remembered his father's stories about his work as an engineer. How proud he was of every completed project, how his eyes lit up when he talked about solving a complex problem. "And what can I be proud of?" John thought bitterly. That I viewed 50 more videos than yesterday?
Suddenly, a soft signal sounded in his apartment. "John, I've noticed an elevated stress level. Would you like me to order you some calming tea?" asked the voice of the AI assistant.
"No, thank you," John replied. He knew that this "tea" actually contained mild tranquilizers. Most of his acquaintances couldn't fall asleep without this nightly dose anymore.
John sighed and lay down in bed. Tomorrow was Saturday, a day off. But what does that mean in a world where your "job" is viewing content? People used to look forward to weekends to rest from work. Now, many experience anxiety, not knowing how to fill the time without the familiar stream of information.
As he was falling asleep, John remembered a strange conversation he had accidentally overheard last week. Two elderly people were whispering in the park, looking around nervously. They were talking about some "Resistance," about groups of people who refuse neuro-interfaces and try to live "the old way."
John hadn't paid much attention to it then. After all, there had always been eccentrics denying progress. But now, lying in the darkness, he couldn't stop thinking about it. What does life look like without a constant stream of content? Without a daily quota of likes and reposts? Without the omnipresent AI monitoring your every step and mood?
In the morning, John was awakened not by the familiar voice of the AI assistant, but by the sound of rain outside the window. He opened his eyes and lay for several minutes, just listening to this forgotten sound of nature. For the first time in a long while, he wasn't in a rush to put on his neuro-interface.
Instead, John got up and approached the bookshelf. There, behind a row of obsolete gadgets, stood an old paper book – a gift from his grandmother for his 18th birthday. George Orwell's "1984". John had never read it, considering it irrelevant in the modern world.
He picked up the book, feeling the unfamiliar weight and texture of paper. Opening the first page, he began to read: "It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen…"
An hour later, John tore himself away from the book, his mind buzzing with new thoughts and questions. He looked at his neuro-interface lying on the table. For the first time in a long while, he felt he had a choice – to put it on or not.
John decided to go outside without his neuro-interface. It was a strange, almost frightening sensation. The world around him seemed simultaneously sharper and more blurred without the usual digital filter.
He walked down the street, looking at the people around him. Most of them moved as if in a trance, completely immersed in their virtual worlds. John noticed for the first time how little people actually interact with each other.
Suddenly, his attention was drawn to a small group of people sitting in the park. They were talking and laughing, looking into each other's eyes. None of them had a neuro-interface. John stopped, mesmerized by this scene.
One of the group, an elderly man with kind eyes, noticed John and waved to him friendly. "Join us, son," he said. "You look like you're searching for something."
John hesitated. Part of him wanted to run home, put on the neuro-interface, and forget about this strange experience. But another part, the one that had awakened this morning to the sound of rain, pushed him forward.
Taking a deep breath, John stepped towards the group. "Hello," he said uncertainly. "I… I don't quite understand what's happening, but I think I want to find out."
The elderly man smiled. "Welcome, John," he said, surprising John by knowing his name. "We're not the Resistance, as you might have thought. We're just people who've decided to live consciously. And we're here to help others do the same if they want to."
John sat down with the group, feeling a mixture of fear and excitement. He didn't know where this conversation would lead him, but for the first time in a long while, he felt truly alive.
Somewhere in the distance, a faint alarm sounded – his AI assistant was probably trying to contact him. But John no longer paid attention to it. He was ready to hear a new story – a story about how to reclaim one’s humanity in a world where technology seemed to have taken over everything.
Chapter 10: On the Edge of Two Worlds
John sat in a circle of strangers, feeling his heart pounding in his throat. The elderly man, who had introduced himself as Michael, looked at him with a warm smile.
"John, we've been observing you for some time," Michael began. "We noticed how you sometimes stop in the middle of the street, as if trying to remember something. How you look at the world without the filter of your neuro-interface."
John flinched. He hadn't realized that anyone could notice these moments of weakness, these brief pauses in his perfectly tuned digital life.
"But… how did you know my name?" John asked, still not fully trusting what was happening.
The woman sitting next to Michael laughed softly. "Oh, John, it's so easy to learn someone's name in this world. We just had to see how you react to advertisements addressed personally to you. We're simply… observant."
John felt his face flush. He had never thought about how open his life was to those who knew where to look.
"Tell us, John," Michael continued, "what do you feel now, without your neuro-interface?"
John closed his eyes, trying to focus on his sensations. It was strange – describing what he felt, rather than what he saw through a digital filter.
"I… I feel naked," he finally said. "As if a part of me is missing. The world seems… too bright, too loud. But at the same time… more real?"
He opened his eyes and saw everyone in the group nodding with understanding.
"Now," said Michael, holding out John's neuro-interface, which had somehow ended up in his possession, "put it on for a minute and tell us what you see."
John hesitated. Part of him craved to return to the familiar world of digital comfort. But another part feared losing this new, sharp sense of reality.
Finally, he put on the interface. The world changed instantly. Bright colors were muted, replaced by a soft, eye-pleasing glow. Infographics appeared around each person in the group, showing their estimated age, mood, social status. Advertisements on nearby buildings came to life, urging John to return to his daily viewing quota.
But the strangest thing was that the people in the group he had just been talking to now seemed… less real. Their faces became slightly smoother, their movements a bit more predictable. As if the neuro-interface was trying to fit them into some familiar template, to make them more "normal" by its standards.
John tore off the interface and took a deep breath, feeling reality crash back into him in all its unfiltered intensity.
"This… this is terrible," he whispered. "I never realized how… distorted my perception was."
Michael nodded. "Exactly, John. The neuro-interface doesn't just augment reality – it rewrites it. It creates a world that seems more comfortable, more predictable. But in the process, we lose something incredibly valuable –