noon, John has a headache, but he can't stop. His basic income depends on this activity. The government and corporations claim it's necessary for "AI training" and "maintaining the economy," but John feels like a hamster on a wheel.
In the evening, tired and red-eyed, John removes his neuro-interface. He looks out the window at the real world, but it seems dull and uninteresting compared to the bright digital world he's spent all day in.
John remembers his grandmother's stories about how people used to work, create things with their hands, communicate in person. It seems distant and strange to him. Why bother with all that if AI can do everything better and faster?
But deep inside, John feels empty. He can't shake the feeling that his life is passing in vain, that he's just an appendage to a huge machine for producing and consuming content.
Sometimes John wonders: what if he turned off the neuro-interface? What if he went outside and talked to a real person? But these thoughts scare him. Without his daily stream of content and likes, he feels lost, like an addict without a fix.
This world isn't a dystopia from a sci-fi movie. It's a very real scenario of the future we might arrive at if we don't consciously guide the development of technology and society.
We're already seeing the first signs of this world today. Social networks that capture more and more of our time and attention. AI systems that create increasingly realistic content. Growing dependence on digital technologies in all aspects of life.
I myself use AI to create content for social media. AI avatars, automatic editing, speech synthesis – all this is already a reality. And while these tools can be incredibly useful, they also carry the risk of creating a world where human creativity and genuine communication become rare.
But this doesn't have to be our future. We can still choose a different path. A path where technology serves us, not enslaves us. Where AI enhances our abilities, not replaces us.
To do this, we need to ask ourselves a few important questions:
1. How can we use AI to enhance human creativity rather than replace it?
2. How can we preserve the value of genuine human communication in a world where virtual interaction is becoming the norm?
3. How can we ensure that technological development serves the good of the whole society, not just the select few?
4. How can we cultivate critical thinking and the ability to independently create meaning in ourselves and future generations in a world oversaturated with information?
The answers to these questions will determine what our world will be like in 10, 20, 50 years. Will it be John’s world, where people have turned into passive consumers of content? Or will we create a world where technology helps us unlock our human potential in all its fullness?
The choice is ours. And we make this choice every day, with every action and decision.
Chapter 9: Cracks in the Digital Facade
John slowly removed his neuro-interface and rubbed his tired eyes. The clock showed 11:30 PM. Another day had flown by in an endless stream of content. He stood up and approached the window, gazing at the night city.
Below, holographic advertisements glowed, projected onto the sidewalks. "Increase your viewing rating! Get premium access to exclusive content!" they screamed. John smirked. As if anyone had any energy left for "exclusive content" after the mandatory daily quota.
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.
