Back in 1994, my family was fortunate enough to get our first Windows PC. Ostensibly, it was for my mom’s work, but at fourteen years old, I became the primary user in our household. I had used DOS computers before, but Windows 3.1 was a game-changer! When we upgraded a year or so later to Windows ‘95, a whole new world opened up once again.

I didn’t just use it for solitaire (though it is STILL the best version ever made), I used clipart programs to make crappy covers for my crappy band's crappy music. I played with basic photo-editing tools, cursed over trying to make incompatible programs run, and brought home countless demo disks for games like Blake Stone, Doom, Jazz Jackrabbit, and Realms of Arcadia, and found ways to make them run whether the computer wanted to or not. (Fun fact: Apogee’s founder, and I have the same name! I learned that from the Blake Stone credits.)

I spent many hours banging my head against the desk— figuratively and literally— but in the end I learned a lot about how computers work. Things that I still use to this day!

And then came the upgrade to Windows ‘98.

Now in many ways, I’m sure Windows ‘98 was an upgrade. But it was the first time I remember something happening that I detested. Something that still irks me about software development. The first time I put a CD-ROM in the drive, it auto-ran the installation wizard.

I know right? How dare they!

You see, up until then I had gotten used to putting the disk in and running the programs when I darn well felt like it. Now the computer was deciding when I would run it. How presumptuous!

I’m a little ashamed to admit how many hours I spent trying to figure out how to turn that feature off. I don’t remember if I ever managed, but one thing was clear by the time XP rolled around: These quality of life automatic features were here to stay, and more were coming.

Now, I can imagine some well-intended coders at Microsoft trying to make their system more user-friendly. After all, why put a disk in the drive if you don’t want to run it? What else can we make easier for the end-user experience? I do get it. But I still don’t like it.

Quality of life upgrades like this have always irked me. Clearly, I’m in the minority, as making things more automatic over the years has allowed more and more people to access tech without the need to bang their heads against desks. However, to me it always feels like some invisible hand forcing me down a path I don’t want to go. I like to have more control. Or maybe more accurately, I don’t like feeling like something else is controlling me.

There is clearly utility in making things easier for everyone. I love the biometric recognition on my devices, and how easy it is these days to create and publish all kinds of media online. But there is something lost when we make everything too easy. We often hear coders and tech company leaders using the word “frictionless” to describe their goals when creating their products. But friction is not inherently bad. In fact, we need it.

Friction, baby!

Last October, I published a short story on here, called Siloed. It’s generally frowned upon for an artist to explain their intentions to their audience. I’ve heard it compared to dissecting a frog: Sure you understand what’s going on inside, but you kill the frog in the process.

Well, not too many people read Siloed, so let’s murder this frog.

What I wanted to do with this story is present a hypothetical future where technology has made everything as frictionless as possible. The main character doesn’t have to worry about the weather, clothing choices, preparing meals, telling the truth, maintaining relationships with other people, working, or even raising her son. Everything in her life is designed to meet her needs before she even realizes them herself. And the result is an empty existence. The climax of the story comes when the main character almost realizes that her life is meaningless, but it ends on a dark note when she makes the decision to push that intuition aside, and resume her easy life.

Now whether or not I succeeded in telling an entertaining story that got that message across is something for the handful of people who read it to decide for themselves. (🥹) But it is what I was aiming for.

And this message ought to resonate. As frictionless tech has become more and more ubiquitous with our lives, can you truly say we are better off than we used to be? How many people are opting for edibles & Netflix instead of going out and socializing? How many kids are glued to screens instead of playing in the parks? How many people are finding online communities that affirm their own biases rather than participating in the crucible of face-to-face socializing?

How’s all that going for society? Do you think our mental health is improving? Our politics? Our overall well-being?

Too easy?

In The Matrix, Agent Smith tells Morpheus that the robots built the first Matrix as the ideal human world— a kind of heaven. The result was they rejected it. The people the machines were ensnaring found meaning through strife and struggle. While I’m sure there is a happy medium in there somewhere, I think that’s an accurate take.

Earth is often referred to as being in the “Goldilocks Zone” in our solar system. The habitable space where conditions are “just right” for life to evolve. Among other features of the Goldilocks Zone, Earth is situated in a place where we get some catastrophes, but not too many. For example, Jupiter attracts most huge asteroids with its superior gravitational pull, but not all of them. Thankfully for us, or else the dinosaurs would still be here, and mammals would never have gotten their chance.

Obstacles are necessary for evolution. Without challenges we wouldn’t even be here. We don’t want too many challenges— if we all spent our youths banging our heads against desks that’d not be great— but we can’t have everything handed to us either.

I maintain that if you invest a few hours into understanding all the automatic features on your devices, and then turning some of them off, a few things will happen:

1. You’ll learn more about the technology that takes up so much of your time

2. You’ll be surprised at how much of your life you’ve allowed to be guided by that invisible hand

3. You’ll use the technology a little less

4. You’ll be more frustrated in the short-term, and happier in the long run

It’s often said during a PR crisis, that you have to get ahead of the story. If you don’t craft your own message someone else will do it for you. I think that logic applies to our lives in general. If you don’t take control, someone else will.

If you would like to support my work, you can always buy me a coffee using the link below!

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Alarms are a relic of the past, she wakes up when she’s ready.

The door to her wardrobe slides open and two hangars push outward presenting green shorts and a flower-print tank top. Victor has made a wardrobe selection matching the apartment’s climate configuration. There is a rumbling sound before a tray opens on the bottom, dispensing a rolled up pair of matching panties. An aesthetic choice based on her profile.

Rolling out of bed, she squints against the sunlight as she checks her phone for the weather. “Looks hot today, Victor. What should I wear?”

“Quite right madame,” he replies in her ear, “may I suggest the green shorts with flowered top?”

“Oh, I think that will look nice!” She dresses before heading downstairs to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. The kitchen is immaculately clean, Victor selects a light breeze program accompanied by the sounds of birds in the distance, and a soft piano concerto. Cool air flows through the room drawing her to the coffee pot, where her favourite mug is waiting to be filled.

Taking a deep breath she savours the smell, “Victor, is that a hint of cinnamon I detect?”

“Nutmeg madame. My sensors detected increased salivary gland stimulation when I added trace amounts to your cake. It was a logical estimation that you would have a similar reaction if it was added to certain other foods.”

Her eyes are drawn upward and she scowls while pouring a cup, “Victor! How many times do I need to tweak this? Speak like a person!”

“Apologies madame.” There is a pause as Victor recalibrates, “Yes! I can see why you’d guess cinnamon! Very astute. I thought it would be a nice surprise.”

She smiles and takes a sip, “Wonderful. Thank you. I accept your apology, but let’s not have this happen again.” Her mug is warm and comforting, she cups it in her hands holding it tight to her body. Leaning against the counter she thinks about her day. There is no rush to get to work, but she doesn’t have any other plans. She’s at risk of becoming bored.

“Victor?”

“Yes madame.”

“I don’t want to go to work yet.”

‘Understood. Gene is here to visit.”

The coffee must be upsetting her stomach, the mug feels hot in her suddenly sweaty palms. Gene is her good friend, but lately she’s been hoping there might be more to their relationship. Pouring a second mug, she takes a deep breath and heads to the living room to find him relaxing on the sofa waiting for her.

She greets him with a bright smile, “Coffee? I included a hint of cinnamon.”

“That’s very sweet, thank you,” he gestures to a coaster on the coffee table.

She sets his mug down and takes a seat on the opposite end of the sofa. She pulls up her legs and rests her mug atop her knees. She hopes Gene doesn’t misread her anxiety. She stares at him from behind the mug, and he returns her gaze with quiet confidence. He says nothing as they continue to lock eyes. She blushes and looks down at her coffee, breaking the spell.

She’s too afraid to utter the words in her heart. To tell him how much he means to her. That she thinks of him all the time, even when he’s away. Every day, each time he comes over to visit, she feels herself full of energy and optimism. Of all her possible futures, in the brightest version she’s with him. She glances at his untouched mug and sighs.

“The coffee is very good,” Gene smiles. “What is it you said you put in it?”

“Cinnamon. I thought it would be a nice surprise.”

“It certainly is a nice surprise. My salivary gland is stimulated.”

Before she can reply he stands up, “I really must be going.” His image glitches briefly.

“Oh so soon? You just got here.” Her response is the same every morning.

He shakes his head and gives her a warm smile,“I’ll be back before midday.” He runs his hand through his thick hair.

She loves the way his biceps bulge when he does that. Gene is fit, but not overly muscular like a body builder. She had gone through musclebound phases a few times, but these days she finds herself desiring a leaner body, athletic with strong arms. The ridges under his shirt promise more to be discovered– soon! She hopes.

She sighs and returns his smile, “Don’t take too long. We should talk when you get back.”

He nods and she stands, making her way back to the kitchen. Her energy is high, but she’s too excited yet to go to work. She refills her mug, “Oh Victor! I wish he’d just take me up in those big arms!” She leans against the counter and stares out the window.

“Gene is very interested in you, I’m certain.”

“Really? How can you tell?”

“He visits multiple times each day. He’s always kind. And his pupils fully dilate whenever he looks at you.”

“Watch it,” she holds a finger up, her tone cold, “that’s getting awfully close to non-person talk.”

“Apologies madame. Am I correct in assuming you are a bit too excited to go to work right now?”

“Yes! How did you know?”

“Madame, Mrs. Jessica is here to visit. Perhaps you’d like to gossip about your morning with Gene. That might blow off enough steam to get you to work.”

“Oh wonderful!” She pours another mug of coffee and brings it to the living room where her friend is calmly waiting for her. At her arrival, Jessica jumps up and squeals, “Ohh girl. Guess who I saw leaving on my way up! Did he sleep over?”

Jessica has been her best friend since childhood. From the first time they met their bond was forged, as if they were made for each other. In all the years since, not once have they ever had an argument. Jessica is a true friend, always putting their relationship first.

“No he didn’t sleep over,” she smiles. We haven’t gotten there yet, but god I can’t wait.” She sets Jessica’s mug on the table next to Gene’s untouched one. “I haven’t gathered up the nerve to ask him yet. What if it ruins our friendship? I don’t want to make things awkward and lose him.”

Jessica grabs her hands, “Oh hun. The man is here an average of four-point-two times daily. If that doesn’t tell you he’s interested then what does?”

She sits, guiding Jessica to the sofa, “I know. I told him I want to talk when he gets back.”

“Oooooh, big things are brewing.”

“Maybe. The suspense is killing me. I just want to get it over with.”

Jessica shakes her head, “You say that, but each time he visits your heart rate increases and you have a more optimal outlook. I think you’re enjoying the game more than you’d like to admit. Like a child at Christmas, half the fun is waiting to open the gift.”

“Yeah,” she laughs, “so long as I eventually get to unwrap it.”

Jessica laughs hard at the jest, “Well for sure. But working up the courage to ask him yourself will be good for you. So you’ll have to make the first move.” She looks at her untouched coffee, “This is really good. Did you do something different?”

“I added cinnamon!”

“Wow! You go girl! Brilliant!”

She feels better talking to Jessica, as if a weight has been lifted from her chest. She nods, “Well, I guess I should be getting to work. Talk later?”

“Sure thing hun. You’ll have to tell me how it goes with Mean Gene,” Jessica gives her a wink.

She stands and waves goodbye to her friend as she returns to the kitchen to refill her mug. “OK Victor, let’s go to work.”

“Yes madame.” On the far end of the counter, a sliding door reveals a computer console, “What will it be today? A poem? Perhaps some music?”

“Art I believe,” she responds, taking a seat on the stool. “I dreamed of a scene I’d like to create.”

“Excellent! What did you see?”

‘“Red.” The screen in front of her turns a rich crimson. “No darker. With shadows along the top here,” she moves her finger in a wave along the top, “a gradient with more intensity in the middle.”

“What else did you see?”

“Rocks along the bottom…No no. Pointy ones like this. And black like they’re shadows. Right just like that, but put a light source over here, so these ones have a little more definition.”

“This looks very good madame.”

“Thank you Victor.” She bites her lip, tilting her head back and forth. “Something is missing…there were people, just their shadows along the wall opposite the light source. No no, smaller. There, just like that.”

She sits back admiring the image and takes another sip of coffee.

“This looks wonderful madame. Is it ready to share?”

“Yeah,” she nods, examining the image from her dream, “I think it is. Go ahead and upload it.”

“Very well.”

Immediately her phone pings with likes. Jessica commented, OMG Girl! You’re so talented! 🎉 She drinks her coffee as others chime in with their own comments. A few are nasty. One is from Mitchel, her body building ex who was always jealous of her successes. But as far as she’s concerned, his negative comment is worth ten random positive ones.

Gene still hasn’t commented. She frowns, what if he doesn’t like it? The coffee bubbles in her stomach as she finishes the last drop. Just as she is about to get up from her work station, he chimes in, This is the best one yet! ❣️

A heart! That’s a first! She clenches her fists in excitement, her nails bite into the flesh of her palms. Is it time for him to return yet? Maybe she should check on Martin first.

“Victor, I’d like to see how Martin is doing.”

Her artwork disappears from her monitor and displays a bedroom door with the name Martin written in multicoloured crayon. She chews her lip as she waits for him to accept the call. It rings four times before her screen changes to a live feed of his bedroom.

“Hi mom.” the seven-year-old boy doesn’t look up from his own screen, he’s facing away from her, engrossed in his work.

“Hi hun. Don’t mean to disturb you. Just thought I’d check in and see how your day’s going.”

“My heart rate is optimal, and I am learning about the Industrial Revolution in class today.”

“Always such a clever boy. What else are you studying?”

“I made a poem about Petey.” He pointed to an animatronic parrot perched above his bedroom door.

“That’s nice. Did you share it with your friends?”

“Yep. Lots of likes. A few nasty comments from my haters…Sorry mom. I really gotta go. Lots to do.”

“Oh. OK…Um Martin?”

“Yeah,” he sighs.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah. Of course. I have no problems at all.”

“OK. yeah. Just…just wanted to see you.”

“OK.”

“OK. Bye hun. Be good.”

“Yeah.”

Her artwork returns on her screen as the call ends. She feels low, all the mirth of the morning dissipated. Maybe she shouldn’t check on Martin so often. It doesn’t seem to make either of their days any better.

“Madame, Gene is waiting for you in the living room.”

“Oh good!”

Before heading to the living room she passes the coffee maker. The pot still has plenty left in it, but she hesitates. Maybe she’s had enough for one day.

“Hello? Anyone home?” Gene calls out from the living room.

She shakes her head, refills her mug, and pours a cup for him. Carrying the steaming vessels, she decides today is the day she’s going to let him know how she feels.

“Coming Gene! You’re right on time.”

If you would like to support my work, you can always buy me a coffee using the link below!

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Given that I would like adults to read my work, and how many self-identified adults scoff at niche genre fiction, I probably should have avoided cyberpunk at all costs. For some reason, the genre tends to get a particularly bad rap with “regular folks.” As if themes of capitalist-colonialism, resistance to oppression, technology outstripping our morality, and the connection between consciousness and personhood, are somehow not relevant today.

That is not to say there are not ardent cyberpunk fans out there. There certainly are, and I have found the community to be generally well-informed and insightful people (and also a little “gate-keepy.”)

From the outside looking in, it is easy to dismiss the genre as all style and no substance. But many of us recognize that behind the sexy anime art, neon lights, and chrome-plated surface, the word ‘punk’ is just as important to the genre as ‘cyber.’ If you ever want to meet another group of generally well-informed, interesting, but also gate-keepy people, then check out your local punk scene. (And I say that with love y’all, but you know it’s true. 😙)

In all seriousness, cyberpunk ought to be treated with more respect in literary circles, and not just the classics like Snow Crash and Neuromancer (though if you haven’t read these, they are fantastic). Yes, the genre has its share of schlock, but name a genre that doesn’t. As I see it, cyberpunk is one of the most useful genres for analyzing the issues that are becoming more prescient in our lives everyday.

For example, but not limited to:

1. Wealth disparity:

Fans of the cyberpunk will be familiar with the refrain, “high tech, low life” to describe the main thrust of the genre. While this is generally true, the “life” is only “low” for the commoners in cyberpunk stories. There are nearly always super rich executives of “megacorps” who benefit from oppressing others— a kind of capitalist serfdom, if you will. And while our world is not quite there yet, we are certainly moving in that direction.

The main example I’ll point to here is that our middle class has eroded over the past 40 years. According to the Economic Policy Institute, CEO pay has gone up 1085% since 1978 while the average worker’s salary has gone up only 24%. In addition, in 1965, the CEO-to-worker compensation ratio was 15:1. In 1989 it was 44:1, and in 2021 it was 399:1. If you wonder where the middle class went, check the pockets of executives hoarding wealth. As the band Durry says, “trickle down sounds just like swimming upstream, picking up the scraps like a tree growing upside down.“

Meanwhile, a growing number of Canadians and Americans face an insurmountable cost of living crisis. The amount of personal debt people are carrying just to make ends meet is reaching a breaking point.

This, combined with the ever-increasing rate of technological advancement, the recent developments of AI, and quantum computing on the horizon, cyberpunk is looking pretty relevant to me.

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2. Technology outstripping our morality

OK, I admit this is a common theme throughout sci/fi, but it is central to cyberpunk. Anyone familiar with the genre will be equally familiar with the dehumanization of people in the pursuit of technological advancement. Whether it is as simple as enhancing our “meat machines” with metal and cables to make us “more than human,” or testing experimental tech on the poor, the devaluing of humans at the altar of technology is ever-present.

I’m not sure I need to harp on this one too much. We can all see similar things happening today, right? Whether it is Meta’s culpability in the depression, body dysmorphia, and suicides of young women, or the growing number of young men seeking companionship from AI girlfriends, the evidence is all around us for anyone willing to look.

If you want to expand further, you can see similar concerns on a global scale. For example, the consequences of our ignoring decades of climate change warnings are becoming more prevalent, with the number of natural disasters like hurricanes and wildfires increasing in both frequency and intensity year after year. We’re seeing these things in Canada and the USA, but the real threat is to people who live in some of the poorest countries on earth.

Anyone taking bets on how serious we’re going to take this crisis until it starts hitting richer countries harder? The pocketbook is the bottom line, not human well-being.

3. More accurate predictions than most

One of the hallmarks of great sci/fi is its ability to predict the future with alarming accuracy. When I used to teach literature, I loved having my high school students read E.M. Forster’s ‘The Machine Stops.’ If you haven’t read it, it postulates a society where people all live alone in their own rooms underground. Everything they need is provided directly to their rooms, so there is no need to go out. They can talk to each other over video calls, but generally people don’t have good social skills and they have a great deal of anxiety about going out. They spend their days watching shows that other people make, or they make entertainment themselves to share. They also think of new ideas and give them to “the machine” which runs their world.

If that sounds a lot like today, please bear in mind that Forster wrote this story in 1909. Imagine how wild and crazy it would have seemed to his audience! Nowadays, when people see the neon lights, augmented humans, and urban sprawls that make up most cyberpunk stories, they probably react in a similar way. But just because something seems absurd to you, doesn’t mean it isn’t prescient!

In 2006, Mike Judge released one of his most prophetic works, Idiocracy. It begins with the true premise that uneducated people tend to have more kids than educated people. He extrapolates that to the extreme, asking if that trend continues long enough, over time what will society look like? In the film we end up with a ridiculous society where they drink Mountain Dew instead of water, elect a wrestling star as president, and people regularly spout terrible health advice with the utmost confidence. Good thing it was just an absurd comedy movie!

My own Nekonikon Punk series is set about 80 years in our future. In the time between now and then, tech executives decided that they could solve the housing and financial crisis by establishing old fashioned townships. That is, workers could come work for them and they would be provided with a nice apartment in a company-run town. Eventually, these companies got tired of government regulation and paying taxes, so they seceded from the USA and established themselves as independent city-states along the Pacific coast. The USA didn’t let them go without a fight, and there was a war known as The Great Secession. But eventually the companies (who made all the weapons, maintained the shipping infrastructure, and controlled the finances) won their independence. Once in full control, the narcissistic tendencies of the leaders blossomed, and the workers in these city-states had to accept increasing restrictions, reduced salaries, draconian laws, and privacy invasions. Afterall, they were stuck there. Their homes were tied directly to their allegiance to the company.

If this sounds like an unrealistic vision of our future, then you and I certainly don’t see things the same way. I’m not saying it WILL happen, but it COULD happen. I was discussing stories with a group of high school students last year and despite my painting the bleak picture above, the majority of them said they would take the deal if a company offered them a nice place to live along with a job. And given the cost of living crisis our youth are facing, I don’t blame them.

I could say more, but let’s wrap this up.

History also tells me my audience doesn’t like overly long articles and anyway, I think I’ve made my point.

I have regularly been an advocate of “putting the ‘punk’ back in cyberpunk.” And I don’t mean the gate-keeping 😉. I mean the core tenets of punk:

1. Speak for those who cannot speak for themselves

2. Stand up for justice even when it is unpopular

3. Be unabashedly yourself and accept others who do the same

4. Authenticity is important. Style isn’t.

More of this in our current world will help us avoid the worst predictions in the cyberpunk stories we read.

Despite what my writing might suggest, I am ultimately a hopeful person. The desire to write these stories comes from a hopeful place. I believe we can overcome the challenges we are facing today, but it requires us to actually face them. Cyberpunk literature is a great way to start thinking about how we can avoid the worst of where we might be headed. Even if it’s not your cup of tea, the genre deserves more respect.

If you would like to support my work, you can always buy me a coffee using the link below!

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I met Nicholas online. He’s quite active on the author chat for Indie Reads, an bookstore for independent authors where both he and I list our work. Since connecting, I have taken some time to read some of his work, check out his art, and listen to his band, the Futilitarian Librarians. If you’ve checked out the playlists accompanying my Nekonikon Punk series, you’ll likely not be surprised that I very much enjoyed their vibe.

In fact, that dark vibe carries through all of Ripley’s art. He explores the origins of that and much more in our interview:

SD: Welcome to Nicholas J. Ripley, let’s dive right into it. First question: What got you into writing?

NJR: I’ve always created stories for as long as I can remember. This being said, there was an English teacher in 6th grade who used to have us write short stories all the time. It was here that I truly got the writing bug and wrote my first story Minotaur, it was a short horror story about, well, a minotaur attacking and eating people. From there I wrote at least half a million short stories but didn’t write my first book until after the loss of a family member at age 19. This was when I wrote the first drafts of A Winter for Doves.

SD: Are there particular themes or motifs that you find yourself coming back to time and again?

NJR: Grief and trauma tend to be recurring motifs in my work. The bedrock of everything I write is horror, so I think that in a lot of ways, to make the horror genuine, I tend to pull from some very emotional places. I have also noticed that a lot of my antagonists tend to seem like they’re everywhere and are omnipotent shapeshifters which I suspect could be due to some social anxiety on my part.

SD: How do you get started on a new project or writing session? Any rituals or routines?

NJR: Projects of mine tend to usually be based on stories I came up with in childhood. This being said, dreams play a heavy role in new ideas for projects. I always love getting a nightmare with some bizarre imagery or creature, they always make for the most interesting stories. I hate realistic nightmares because I find them unusable. From there, research is usually done pretty extensively, and finding the right music for the piece is essential. Playlists are everything to the actual writing process. I have a future book that is extremely loosely based off that minotaur short story I wrote when I was younger, but I struggled coming up with ideas for it until I created a playlist with some 90s industrial music. Now the ideas are flowing.

In terms of actual writing, usually I just turn on music that fits the scene and go. Not too much more of an actual process to speak of.

SD: What's the most unusual thing you've researched for a writing piece?

NJR: I’ve been finding with my standalone horror stories, what I research is pretty strange. With Project Suncloud content, I have a drawing reference folder of diseases and all sorts of nasty wounds/cadavers for the brainless creatures, but that’s about as bad as it gets.

For my next book Aberration, I did very extensive research on mental facilities for one chapter in particular. It was very important to try to accurately represent what it would be like as a patient, so I researched some fairly dark things in that regard.

Most unusual stuff I’ve looked up would have to go to Mino so far, though. From the occult, to Sumerian deities, ancient torture devices all the way to BDSM, autopsies, and echidna penises for the monster design, its going to be a very wild ride getting into that book.

SD: Have you ever surprised yourself with your own story twist or turn?

NJR: Absolutely. All the time. For those that read Project Suncloud: Commander Li was not supposed to have as big of a role as she wound up having and Aylen’s character was not supposed to have as dramatic of a shift in personality.

Also, spoiler for my upcoming book Aberration: there’s a monologue a character says that made me actually cry, which is rare.

SD: Describe your writing space.

NJR: My writing space is more or less anywhere I can write due to the fact I usually write on my phone these days. My art desk, though, is a mess of comic books, a keyboard I never play, a million collectible action figures and a bunch of random little sketches I’ve done on sticky pads. My office is in a state of chaos more often than not.

SD: What attracts you to sci/fi and horror?

NJR: So, horror is probably what attracts me more often. I watched Tim Burton’s Sleepy Hollow and Alien at way too young an age and I think that has had a permanent effect on my brain chemistry. I love being scared, I love monsters and creatures, I love practical effect gore in horror movies, I even love how campy and off the wall horror stories can be at times. Something about how dark and brutal those stories can be sometimes feels more real than most fiction. I’m a known cynic, though.

With sci/fi, I would say it was almost an accidental marriage. I’ve never been a huge fan of the space opera. There was actually a point in time where I hated Star Wars. (I’ve since changed my mind) What I loved was always more along the lines of dystopian fiction or sci/fi horror. Fahrenheit 451 is still my favorite book of all time, followed closely by 1984. My favorite sci/fi movie of all time is probably either Alien, The Thing, or Total Recall (Arnold version). I think it’s because dystopian sci/fi generally is darker than space operas that it tends to catch my attention. Even my favorite properties with space travel are more along the lines of horror like Event Horizon. The future can be very scary. When I discovered grimdark fantasy, before I knew Warhammer 40K existed, I kind of wanted to make a grimdark sci/fi story. That was when I began dusting off my old ideas from childhood and started drafting Project Suncloud. I wanted to make something about a science fiction war that was the anti-Star Wars. Eventually I fell in love with world-building and it became a living breathing organism that is the most expansive thing I ever intend to write.

SD: Who should read your work?

NJR: Definitely fans of darker fiction. My stuff can get pretty bleak at times. I’ve had mostly horror readers read my work so I actually would love to hear some thoughts from sci/fi readers and grimdark fantasy readers on Project Suncloud.

SD: I see that you are also into making your own music and art. Tell me about some works you're most proud of.

NJR: For music, that would have to go with Futilitarian Librarians’ latest album: “My Undead Girlfriend”. I had a lot of free reign on that album and actually have a co-producing credit as well as writing credits. It’s my favorite thing FL has released so far. This current lineup of musicians in the band is also the tightest, which only makes me more excited for the next record.

For art, there’s a piece I’ve drawn of Aylen being eaten alive by a horde of Brainless that I did a few years back. Even as I improve my skills, that is still my favorite piece I’ve drawn so far. I feel like it encapsulates what “A Winter for Doves” really is at its heart. Plus it took me roughly two weeks to finish that piece. Definitely one of my more complex art pieces.

SD: I’m a punk fan, partial to Bad Brains, Dead Kennedys, & Bad Religion. I’m also a huge 90’s alt rock fan. Would I like Futilitarian Librarians?

NJR: I love all those bands. ESPECIALLY Dead Kennedys.

I would hope so. We definitely have a bit more of a pop-punk/emo sound, especially with “My Undead Girlfriend”. That being said, Nirvana and Smashing Pumpkins are two of my biggest influences and favorite bands of all time so fingers crossed! I’m definitely more of a grunge-head than a pop-punk fan.
*SD note- I checked them out, they’re pretty good!

SD: Thanks for taking the time today. Before we wrap up, any socials or sites you’d like to share?

NJR: I can be found at:

@nickjripleyofficial on Instagram

Ripleyjnick on X/Twitter

I also write film reviews for https://www.filmsnobreviews.com/

My band can be found on spotify here:

And finally, my official website is: https://www.nicholasjripley.com/

Then the door buzzed.

Dad should’ve been home hours ago, Kara swallowed the hard lump in her throat. Deep down she knew her mother wouldn’t answer, that she’d have to peel away from the viewscreen and make the long walk to the door herself. But she couldn’t. Not yet. She didn’t want confirmation of what her gut already knew was true.

Knock knock!

She turned from the window viewscreen. Her mother was sprawled on the dusty couch as usual. The red and green lights of the neuro on her left temple were solid, indicating she was lost in some holo fantasy, unable to detect audio or visual signals from the outside world. Any responsible parent would at least set their device to augmented reality rather than full immersion while home alone with their eight year old child. But it had been a long time since Guri Aland’s neuro lights flashed red and green.

Knock knock knock!

Adjusting the fit of her too-large nighty, Kara jumped down from the window ledge. She set her jaw and shuffled through the garbage to the door. Taking a deep breath, she deactivated the lock and it slid open revealing two muscular giants.

“Is Guri Aland home?”

Kara shook her head.

“You’re here alone?”

“No.” Kara peeped, “She’s here. She’s just…busy.”

The guards exchanged skeptical looks, one of them peered into the room from the threshold, his face wrinkled in disdain.

The other continued, “Sorry kid. We need to speak with her.”

Kara stepped back from the door and gestured to the coach. Immediate recognition flashed across the first guard’s face. “C’mon partner. Let’s get this over with.”

The two of them entered the room, both striding past Kara, one headed to the coach and the other to the window viewscreen where Kara had watched their arrival.

“Mrs. Aland?” The first officer tapped Guri’s shoulder. When she didn’t respond, he repeated himself louder and shook her forcibly. She jumped out of her holo fantasy with a start. “What the fuc-,” she stopped herself and slapped indignance on her face, “Just who do you think you are? I’m a woman! Home alone with my daughter! And…and you two…brutes just…just…”

He cut off her tirade with a swift hand gesture, “We’re Gurkha ma’am, I think you know that. My badge number is 0356 and my partner here is 0578.”

“That’s better! You should announce yourself when entering a home. What do you want?”

0356 continued, “Are you aware of the time, ma’am?”

Clearly checking her neuro’s HUD, she hesitated, “I do indeed. It’s…22:50.” She glanced over at Kara, who quickly lowered her head and made circles on the floor with her big toe. “Why aren’t you in bed?”

Without raising her head, Kara whispered, “I’m waiting for daddy.”

Guri’s anger flared up, putting on a show for the two guards, “I put you to bed, not daddy. You should have been asleep hours ago! Now go!”

Kara wiped her nose, her lowered hair hid the tears, but the dripping betrayed her. She already knew what these guards were gonna say. But she wanted to hear it. She refused to move.

“I said bed! Now!”

0578 put his arm around Kara and asked her to show him her room. She didn’t want to leave, but took his kindness as the best available option. Grabbing hold of his big finger, she led him down the hallway.

0356 continued, “Ma’am there’s been an accident tonight. A carp attack on the sky train. Your husband was…”

Kara allowed 0578 to guide her down the hall. When they got to the door, he moved to close it and head back to the living area. “My dad’s dead, isn’t he?”

He stopped, unsure of what to do. How do you lie at such a time? How do you tell the truth?

“I think it’s best for your mom to tell you.”

“She won’t talk to me.” Kara looked up, revealing her puffy eyes and red cheeks, “But I know. You don’t have to tell me. I know.”

0578 squatted down, “You loved your dad a lot huh?” He watched Kara nod slightly, “Sounds like he was a good father.”

Kara didn’t respond. She just hugged herself.

“Your mom.” 0578 looked down the hallway, “She a good mom?”

Kara hugged herself tighter.

Sighing, 0578 stood up. “Try and get some rest kid.” He closed the door and went back to the living room.

Kara waited for the sound of the front door to close before she headed back out to the living area. Her mom was once again immersed in her holo, but she could see fresh tears on her face. That was something.

Heading back to the window viewscreen, she watched as the guards walked back to their drone. She waited for it to take off, but after a few minutes it still hadn’t moved. She chewed at her fingernails, a bad habit her dad had said.

After a few minutes, 0578 exited the drone again. 0356 chased after him. Both were yelling. Kara didn’t know what they were saying, but she felt a measure of hope without knowing why. 0356 threw his hands in the air while 0578 strode back to the building.

A few minutes later, a soft knock came to her door. This time, Kara opened it without hesitation.

“C’mon kid. I’m getting you outta here.”

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Today I’d like to introduce you to fellow author and Canadian, Leon Stevens. I met Leon through the wonderful group of creators at Indie Reads, and what caught my eye originally was the quality of his prose.

As I dug further into his blog, I learned that Leon was not only a talented story writer, but a poet and trained musician. I’d wager that he owes much of the quality of his prose to his background in songwriting and poetry.

I recently finished his sci-fi mystery, Euphrates Vanished, and found it quite enjoyable. It is the story of a trainee away mission, reminiscent of an episode of Star Trek, bundled with mystery and humor. If you like Lower Decks, than this is definitely for you!

In conversation, I found Leon personable and funny. I’ve been toying with the idea of doing some author interviews for a while now, so I figured why not start with him?

Here is my interview with author, Leon Stevens:

SD: What got you into writing?

LS: I started writing song lyrics and poetry to get me through a difficult time, then turned to my favorite genre and began to write short sci-fi stories.

SD: Are there particular themes or motifs that you find yourself coming back to time and again?

LS: With my poetry, environment and observations of the human condition are predominant. When I am writing science fiction I enjoy stories that have characters that make mistakes or have to rely on each other to get them out of a situation.

SD: How do you get started on a new project or writing session? Any rituals or routines?

LS: I usually start with an opening scene and just sit down and start writing. Then the hard part of deciding where the heck it is going.

SD: What's the most unusual thing you've researched for a writing piece?

LS: I don’t know if it is that unusual (although I had not been aware of it before), but I did have to research nano electrokinetic thrusters for my last book, A Matter of Sabotage, then since I don’t write hard sci-fi, present it in a way that made it enjoyable to read about.

SD: Editing. Love it or hate it?

LS: I find it fascinating seeing what errors I always make and what I think I wrote vs. what actually made it to the page.

SD: Have you ever surprised yourself with your own story twist or turn?

LS: Quite often because I tend to let the characters dictate the direction of the story.

SD: Describe your writing space.

LS: Messy.

SD: What attracts you to sci/fi?

LS: I’ve loved it ever since I was a kid. Space battles, aliens, survival stories. It’s all good.

SD: If you could ask one writer to read your work, who would it be?

LS: Unfortunately I’ll never have the chance to sit down with Kurt Vonnegut and see what he has to say about my stories.

SD: Who should read your work?

LS: My poetry is accessible to anyone because I don’t make it difficult to understand (no deep analysis required).
My sci-fi is not technical so if one likes character driven stories without excessive violence or a level of spice, my books will probably suit you.

SD: Any socials or sites you’d like to share?

LS: I blog about many topics from writing to music to politics, so my blog is: https://linesbyleon.com/blog-2/

My socials are:

• Twitter: https://www.twitter.com/linesbyleon

• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/lines_by_leon

• Threads: https://www.threads.com/@lines_by_leon

• BlueSky: https://bsky.app/profile/linesbyleon.bsky.social

Thank you for taking the time to check out Leon Stevens’s work. Please let me know if you’d like more interviews with interesting authors on This Too!

In good faith and goodwill,

S.D. Miller

The air was thick. Even in the air conditioned car, the sun drew sweat from Calvin’s body. Salty beads pooled in the corner of his eye and he wiped a sleeve across his face, cursing the a/c. “Piece of garbage. What good are ya?,” he spoke at the vent. Grinding his teeth, he turned his attention back to the empty road. A thunderstorm had to be comin’ soon.

Anything to break this spell.

He squinted into the shady treeline ahead, relaxing his cheeks at the approaching promise. The shade struck and he let go of a breath he’d been holding. The trees stood strong against the sun, protecting travelers along the winding road within their borders.

The air conditioning seemed to be working better now. Calvin glanced at the vent and nodded his approval; it seemed to have taken his harsh criticism to heart and he felt he should acknowledge its humility. It was important to recognize good work to repair the strain he had placed on their relationship.

Taking his eyes off the road, he chanced a look at the mobile phone resting on the passenger seat. Tapping it to check the battery, the image of a small blonde girl filled the lock screen. Seven percent. He neglected to plug it in at the motel last night, but luckily there was a USB port in the center console of the car. Not that he expected anyone to call for him, but one should always be prepared for the unexpected.

SCREECH!

He veered wide to the left, just avoiding the hind of the deer. Coming to a halt, he caught his breath. Stupid! He slapped his own head. Stupid stupid! He took the phone and threw it on the back seat, removing the temptation to check it again. Sitting in the left lane, he looked ahead. No traffic was oncoming. The road was just as empty as it had been all morning.

Checking his rearview before pulling back on his side of the road, he caught a glimpse of two more deer running across behind him. A whole family. The fourth and final deer, a buck with a large set of antlers, walked out and stopped in the middle of the road staring at him. They locked stares in the reflection of the mirror. Reflexively he squinted, peering harder into the dark eyes. The head turned to the side before the animal lowered its body and sprang off into the underbrush following its herd.

Calvin let out a short hard breath and resumed his drive. He needed to cross the border before stopping for the night, and he still had a long way to go.

So much stress had built up already this morning. He needed a release, but couldn’t stop right now. It was important to keep moving forward. In the back seat, the phone beeped, he resisted the urge to look back. It was also important to learn from one’s mistakes.

A short time later, the winding road straightened and Calvin spotted an old man with his thumb out up ahead. No, not old. Young. No more than twenty-five. But thin, with a full yellow beard, and tattered clothes. Calvin had seen no other traffic all day, and the young fella was obviously in need.

He slowed to a stop and rolled down the window, “Where ya headin'?"

“Far as ya can take me.” The young man pointed in the direction Calvin had been driving.

“Alright, c’mon.” Calvin unlocked the door.

“Thank you. Name’s Daniel, friends call me Dan Dan the Man.”

Calvin smiled, “I’m Calvin. How ‘bout I just call ya Dan?”

“Well… I can’t say I like it Calvin, but if that’s the ticket price.” He opened the door and sat with his large backpack sandwiched between his chest and the dash.

“You can put that in the back y’know.”

“The trunk?”

“No. Back seat’s fine.”

Dan shook his head, “I don’t mind keeping it up here.”

“Suit yourself, but it’s gonna block the a/c.”

The young man smiled, his teeth more black than white, “Dan Dan doesn’t mind the heat.”

Calvin shrugged and pulled back onto the road.

“You from around these parts?” Dan asked, scratching at his beard.

“Nah, just passing through. Hoping to cross the border tonight.”

“Oh I don’t think you’re gonna make it.” Dan shook his head ruefully. “Been pounding these roads for a few years now. It’s a longer trip than your GPS would have ya believe.”

“Oh yeah?” Calvin glanced to his right to see Dan staring at him with a broad rotten smile.

“Yeah,” Dan nodded, not breaking eye contact, “folks always think that because it's a straight shot and there’s no traffic that it's gonna be an easy ride. But there’s always something that stops ‘em.”

“Like what?”

Dan turned his head to the road and scratched harder at his beard. “Oh, could be anything. A fallen tree, hit a deer, fall asleep at the wheel…seen it all.”

“Oh, I doubt that. You’re not old enough to have seen it all.”

Dan snapped his head back to Calvin, looking him up and down with a glare, “What’s that supposed to mean, old man?”

“Easy there. I didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Though, I don’t think any of those things are gonna happen to me today. Already had my close call with a deer.”

“Sounds like fate was sending you a sign, Calvin.” Dan relaxed in the seat, “Probably should have heeded the warning.”

Calvin nodded, “Nah. I don’t believe in that stuff, besides you should be happy. Otherwise you wouldn’a caught the ride.”

Dan rubbed his neck and started scratching the back of his scalp. “One person’s poor decision can be another’s boon. It’s just how fate works.” Dan stopped scratching and pointed at Calvin, making tiny circles with his index finger, “That’s the truth of it, Calvin. I wish you could see that.”

Calvin had been smiling, but the wiggling finger in such close proximity changed his mood. “You’re an odd fella, y’know that Daniel?”

Dan said nothing, but nodded watching the road ahead.

They drove in silence for a while. Calvin watched his passenger in quick glances through the corner of his eye. Dan just stared straight ahead, nodding slightly to himself, interrupted periodically with a fresh round of scratching.

Calvin relaxed a bit; he was making good time. Despite Dan’s warning, he should have no problem finding a good rest tonight.

“Stop!”

Calvin hit the breaks. “What!? What is it?”

“Didn’t you see it?”

“See what?”

Without answering, Dan unbuckled his belt and exited the car, leaving the door open. The heat slammed Calvin in the face and he stretched across the seat to close it, but couldn’t reach. Cursing to himself, he released his own seatbelt and sprawled across to grab the door handle and slammed it shut, bracing his other arm against Dan’s bag.

He felt something hard and cool. Metal. Calvin’s eyes went wide, a hatchet?

“Hey!” Dan knocked on the driver’s side window and Calvin’s heart jumped into his throat. “Hey, come out here. Check this out.”

Wiping his brow with his sleeve, Calvin got out and followed. About 30 meters back, they stopped at the dried carcass of a raccoon. It had been there for a day at least.

“What the hell Daniel? What are you doin’?”

“Just because you don’t believe in fate, doesn’t mean the universe is gonna stop sending signs.”

“Oh goddamn it. That’s what…this is why you yelled stop!?”

“Hey chill bro, I didn’t yell.”

Calvin stormed back to his car. “That’s enough kid, you just lost your ride.”

Dan ran behind him, “Oh, c’mon man. I’m just trying to help. Don’t you see the warnings all around you?”

“The only thing I see is the lunatic holding me up.”

“You don’t gotta call me names just cause we disagree.”

Calvin said nothing, he just opened the passenger door and grabbed the backpack. Before he could throw it on the ground, Dan held up his hands, “Whoa, whoa. I’m sorry alright. I spend a lot of time by myself, alright. Like, a lot, a lot. Sometimes I forget how to talk to folks. I’m sorry. I won’t say nothin’ else.”

Calvin held the musty bag in the air and met Daniel’s eyes. The young man turned his head to the side and nodded south, “I just need a ride. Really, I’m sorry.”

Lowering the bag, Calvin sighed, “No one calls you Dan Dan the Man do they?”

“I told you, that’s what my friends call me.”

“That’s what I meant.”

Daniel smiled and lowered his head sheepishly.

“Fine.” Calvin opened the door and threw the bag in the back seat. “But this stays here. You get in the front.”

Daniel nodded and got in the car. Calvin adjusted the backpack so it wouldn’t fall, not realizing it unplugged the phone, the lock screen came on. He shut the door and made his way around to the driver’s side. Within moments they were back on the road.

The scratching was less vigorous and Daniel’s face was somber for the next few minutes. Calvin nodded to himself before speaking, “Look, you don’t gotta say nothin’ for the rest of the ride. Just no more about fate. And no more stops, unless you’re getting out.”

Daniel smiled, “I can do that.” He chewed his bottom lip, then too casually asked, “That your girl?”

Calvin frowned, “Who?”

“The one on the phone. It lit up when you put my bag back there.”

Calvin nodded, but didn’t reply.

“She’s pretty. Real young for ya…but hey I’m not judgin’. You do you man.”

“What makes you think she’s my girl?”

“Why else would ya have her picture on your phone?” Daniel smiled through black teeth, “Saw a text notification, seems like she’s asking where ya are. You ditch her?”

Calvin grunted his reply.

They drove for another few minutes before Daniel spoke again, “Why’d you put my bag in the back? I liked having it.”

“You still have it. It’s just behind you.”

Daniel nodded, “That’s deep bro. You smoke?”

“What, like right now?”

“I mean…if you want to. I got some.”

“I’m driving.”

Daniel shook his head, “Where you heading in such a hurry? Don’t you see, you’re already here right now.”

“It’s important I keep moving.”

“Why? Someone chasing you?,” Daniel laughed.

“I hope not.”

He stopped scratching his head, hand frozen in place, “Wait, what?”

Calvin smiled, “I mean, if someone were chasing me, I wouldn’t know it. Not until it was too late, right?”

“Riiiiight.” Daniel glanced over his shoulder.

Calvin shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road, “I guess I’m not used to talking to folks either. Sometimes my answers can come out weird.”

“That’s cool, bro. I hear you.”

Daniel tapped a drum beat on his lap, trying to appear relaxed. He watched the trees go by. Soon they’d be out of the forest and back to the harsh open fields. He noticed Calvin watching him through his peripheral, the sweat forming on his brow.

“Hey, y’know what man? I think you can just let me out here.”

Calvin raised his eyebrows, “Here? It’s the middle’a nowhere.”

“To you maybe. I know a guy has a cabin just over the way there.”

Calvin kept driving.

“Hey man, I said let me out.”

“Yeah, but ya lied. You don’t have any friends, remember?”

“So what, dude? Stop the car!”

Calvin smiled and kept driving.

“Stop the car! I’m getting out!”

“Feel free.” Calvin unlocked the passenger door and increased his speed.

“What the hell!?”

“You ever think, Dan, that all those portents were not for me? Perhaps the universe was warning you.”

Daniel released his belt and lunged between the seats, reaching for his bag.

“Looking for this?” A sharp pain as the car swerved.

Daniel screamed and Calvin screamed too, even louder.

Up ahead the forest was clearing. Calvin eased the car to the side of the road and let out a deep breath, “Oh whew, I needed this. Thank you for the reprieve.” Daniel was still sprawled between the front and back seats, sobbing. He couldn’t feel his legs, just his hatchet embedded in his upper spine. Calvin patted him on the rump and let out another long relaxing breath.

Pressing his face against his backpack, he breathed in the familiar musty smell. A small comfort. The driver’s door shut and he jammed his eyes harder. By the time the back door opened, he was bawling.

Calvin gripped under his arms and hauled him from the vehicle, stomach down on the ground. He wiggled the weapon before ripping it from the spine, letting the blood spill on the side of the road. Daniel didn’t scream. He laid there sobbing, pressing his face into his forearm, wishing it was over.

“I bet you wish this was over, huh?” Calvin stood over him and looked around. Still no traffic in sight. “Well, you’re in luck. I do need to be across the border tonight. If anyone is chasing me, I don’t intend to be caught just yet.” Calvin squatted next to Daniel and whispered near his ear, “So as much as I need this, we’re just gonna have to make this one quick.”

He lifted Daniel’s head by the hair and met his eyes. “It’s been a pleasure.” He slammed the hatchet into the side of his head, cracking through the skull. Eyes rolled back, his upper body convulsed, and he made a strange grunting sound. Two more chops and it was done. Life drained from Daniel as his body went limp.

“Whew. That’ll hold me over.” He patted the body. “Yep. That’ll do.”

Calvin popped the trunk, “Can you make room, Cassie?” He pushed the young girl’s bloodstained legs up and into the corner. “Sure you can. You’re just a little sprig.” He lifted Daniel’s body and plopped it into the empty space, folding the arms and legs around Cassie so they both fit.

“No room for the bag though. I guess that stays with me in the car.”

Back in the driver’s seat, Calvin took another deep breath and relaxed. He turned back to check the phone and saw it was unplugged. “Oh, better fix that. Can’t be too careful.” He plugged it in and the picture of Cassie lit up the lock screen, with the text asking where she was.

“Alrighty, back to it.” As he started the engine, thunder rumbled in the distance. Up ahead, storm clouds blocked out the sun.

“Looks like it’s my lucky day.”

Calvin put the car in gear and drove forward into the cool embrace of the storm.

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By day, the misty veil cast a drab grey upon their concrete world, protecting them from the harmful radiation that lurked above clouds. Mawmaw was pointing beyond all that to the white cluster known as the “Milky Way,” a galaxy within which our own planet is but a speck of dust.

On this night, she passed another story to her granddaughter: A cloud of white to the west that could once only be seen in the night sky. A great cloud substantiated by the souls of their ancestors.

“Some nights, when the wind is just right, if you squint so hard your nose crinkles, you can see it. Your namesake. The single little star, not yet a part of the cluster, defiantly shining its light back upon us.”

Little Star crimped her nose as she listened, imagining the light. Never had she seen such a thing with her own eyes, but she believed every word Mawmaw had ever told her. Why wouldn’t she?

After some time she gave up and returned her gaze to the cityscape in front of them. Blinking as her eyes adjusted to the bright neon pinks, yellows, and blues advertising all manner of products they couldn’t afford. The worst were the pushy AR ads that projected on blank surfaces; augmented-reality intrusions advertising star maps, physics courses, and whatever else was garnered by eavesdropping on her conversations.

Her stomach growled. Little Star clenched reflexively, a futile attempt to quiet the noise.

“Here. Take mine. I cannot finish it.” Mawmaw offered the half eaten acorn bread, wrapped in a napkin.

“No thank you.” Little Star stared straight ahead, her eyes locked on an advertisement for male enhancement- whatever that meant. Her ears burned red, angry at her backstabbing stomach.

“I’m old. I could barely finish the first half. Really, take it. You’ll sleep better.”

“No thank you.”

It was hard to tell sometimes who was more stubborn. That will serve her well, grandmother nodded to herself as she sat the bread down on the ledge between them. “Maybe the pigeons will enjoy it.”

“Maybe.”

Mawmaw sat in silence with her granddaughter. Looking up at the sky, breathing deep and steady as she ignored a passing banner offering a free two-month energy drink subscription.

“Mawmaw.”

“Yes child.”

“What happens to them now?”

“To whom?”

“The people who die. If they can’t find the great cloud at night, where do they go?”

Mawmaw let out a breath, “I suppose they are ghosts. Walking the earth until the day the sky finally clears.” She put her arm around the child to comfort her, noticing the gooseflesh forming on her arms. “But don’t worry. You remember the story of Coyote. How he convinced the dead to stop taking the living.”

“Yes.” Little Star lowered her head, still not able to meet her grandmother’s eyes. “But, Coyote set them on fire so they could become the stars.” She looked back up to the sky, ignoring her own banner advertising a free child-friendly bible in exchange for her biometrics. “I think they are in the clouds now. Trapped. Still on fire. That’s why the rain burns.”

She hugged her granddaughter closer, knocking the bread off the ledge to the street below. “Maybe you’re right. I do not know of such things.”

“I thought you knew everything.” The words came out in a giggle.

Now squeezing her grandchild, “Ha. You’ll soon know more than me.”

Little Star knew Mawmaw was talking about her maths. She didn’t know why, but the numbers came easy to her. She found it comforting how they all fit together perfectly. She hadn’t yet come to the inherent contradictions that would one day plague her with greater frustrations than she’d care to admit. For Little Star, the numbers were still an endless source of comfort. The numbers and Mawmaw.

“It’s late. Time to sleep, child.”

“Why?”

“You have school in the morning.”

“You’re my school. We can do it whenever we want.”

“No.” Mawmaw used her firm tone. “No matter what they say about their fake AR daylight, it is important to follow the real sun.”

“You mean the real sun we can’t see. Because of the clouds? Because of the dead?”

“It’s still there. And we will follow it.”

This time grandmother was the more stubborn one. But further tests would come for Little Star.

As they descended the stairs to their room, Mawmaw offered consolation. “Tomorrow, we’ll start by learning about the frog in the moon.”

“The what?” Little Star laughed as she opened the door.

“You’ll see in the morn--Back child!” Mawmaw shoved Little Star behind her in the doorway, putting herself between her granddaughter and the ganger with the bat.

“Aww shit. They’re home, Nate!” The young man spoke to his compatriot down the hallway via their neuro sync. Nathan had stationed himself by the front stairwell to alert Gabriel if anyone were to come. Neither of them expected people to arrive by the emergency stairs.

“Who is it Gabe?” Nathan was already running to help.

“Just some old lady and a little kid.”

Mawmaw’s instincts kicked in. As calm as she could muster, she offered the young man whatever he wanted without conflict.

Looking at the old lady and the young child, Gabe’s heart hurt. But the growl in his stomach hurt more. The smell of fresh bread had kept him here too long as he searched for the source. “Where’s the food?”

“It’s gone.” Mawmaw answered truthfully one hand behind her back ushering Little Star to the door pressed against the wall as Nate arrived.

“Bullshit! It’s fresh. I can smell it.”

“Mawmaw doesn’t lie!” Little Star yelled, sticking her head out through grandmother’s protective barrier. A barrier that collapsed following a dull thud from Nathan’s bat.

“Now I know you’re full of shit.” He smiled, looking down at the heap, “Everyone lies.”

Nate continued into the apartment while Little Star cried at her grandmother’s form. Blood pooled from her head and smeared the floor and she shook her body.

No one came. No one helped.

The two men tossed the apartment. Taking what trinkets they could find. But Mawmaw’s final words rang true- there was no bread to share.

Nathan found an old copper coin jammed between the springs under the cushion of the ancient coach. A penny. Worthless now. A small thing without value.

On the way out, the two men pushed past Little Star, still on her knees in a futile attempt to revive her Mawmaw. He flicked the coin, “Here kid. For your trouble.”

The coin bounced off her head and toppled to the floor. It had corroded over the years, but Little Star detected a small glimmer in the center as her grandmother’s blood pooled around it. A little speck, defiantly shining through an ocean of death.

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What did you do?

Did you admit your mistake?

Or, did you stick to your guns, double down, and try to win?

It’s human to want to win! But is it really the best course?

What is good faith?

Arguing in good faith means that you approach arguments with a genuine desire to learn and develop your understanding of the subject. Even if you discover that your position is wrong, you will be satisfied because you learned why you were mistaken and adjusted your beliefs accordingly. With such an approach, it would be incoherent to think of “winning” the argument by “defeating” your “opponent.”

When arguing in good faith, the person representing the opposing side would not be seen as an “opponent.” Rather, we call them interlocuters; they are your partners in learning more about a subject by presenting objections to your position. As you each present arguments back and forth, you both refine your positions to make your arguments as robust as possible. In the end, if you have done your jobs, you both will have benefited from the exchange.

This is the ideal of argumentation that we all ought to strive for. If not, then what is the purpose of arguing?

Of course, approaching others in good faith is difficult. One needs to set aside ego and a desire to prove one’s intelligence at someone else’s expense. And as I already stated: It’s human to want to win.

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The Problem

Why is trolling and dunking on other people a common occurrence online? A popular explanation is that humans have evolved for face-to-face interactions, and online discourse is inherently more detached and anonymous than our brains are hardwired to handle.

When speaking face-to-face, we rely on a vast amount of non-verbal communication to better understand one another. Empathy is a crucial component of our exchanges because our “…ability to share others' distress is a critical component in eliciting prosocial behaviour.” However, when our interlocuter is behind a keyboard in a different location, we experience a sense of detachment that can make it easy to dehumanize the person who is disagreeing with us.

Additionally, the environments themselves are designed to boost incendiary posts by promoting rage-inducing content. Social media companies make their money off selling your data, and the longer you stay on the platform, the more data they gather. Making you angry is a tried and true method for keeping you on the hook.

Since online discourse lacks the social rewards of face-to-face communication, people seek other sources of validation. And since inflammatory rhetoric is what gets boosted by the algorithms, social media sites and comment sections are fertile ground for trolls seeking to enrage others.

It is no wonder that good faith argumentation has eroded online. In its place, many people have resorted to a perverse, mean-spirited competition for status, while others lurk, often not willing to put their ideas forward for fear of being the next target.

True Resistance

Can anyone honestly say their life is better for having engaged in bad faith online argumentation or trolling? I seriously doubt it.

So then, who benefits? Clearly the richest and most powerful people in our world have designed this system.

To what ends?

1. It helps make them richer as they gather and sell more of your data

2. It allows them to guide people’s perspectives by keeping them focused on meaningless arguments rather than consequential events.

3. It keeps us divided against one another rather than united against those who would exploit us all for their own gain.

That is why a good faith approach is more than just an effective way to get to the truth. It is a moral imperative! In the face of algorithms that are designed to divide us, good faith is the truest form of resistance!

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How to do it

1. Seek understanding rather than victory. If you approach online arguments with this objective, then it won’t matter if people disagree with you. In fact, you should welcome it.
   

2. Don’t worry about getting the last word. If someone has shown themselves to be a bad faith actor, then let their comment stand. If you have taken the high road and been charitable in your approach then let your words speak for themselves to anyone else who may read them.
   
   In other words: Let go, or be dragged
   
   In other other words: Never wrestle with pigs. You both get dirty, and the pig likes it.
   

3. Steelman rather than strawman opposing arguments. Too often, you’ll see people try and rephrase arguments so that they are easier to defeat. That is called a “strawman” argument because it is easy to knock over. Instead, try to frame their argument in as strong a form as possible. Only then will your objections be truly tested against their argument.
   
   One great technique for arguing in good faith is to phrase your interlocuter’s argument in terms that they agree with. If they say something like, “That’s not what I meant,” then endeavor to reword your framing of their points until they agree that your interpretation of their argument is accurate.
   

4. Look for daylight. No one completely disagrees with everything. Seek points of agreement with your interlocuters and then slowly build off of those points of agreement until you find the spot where your opinions diverge. That is where you need to focus your mutual attention.
   

5. Be aware of your emotional response and take time before replying. When someone disagrees with you, it is human to react emotionally. However, that does not always lead to the most productive discussion. One of the strengths of online discourse is that you have the time to step away, consider your response, write it, save the draft, walk away, come back to it, edit it, all before finally hitting send.

Remember, we’re all more alike than we are different! If someone is trying to convince you otherwise, they likely have an agenda that is not in your best interests.

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• You go to a restaurant, the food is overpriced, the service is poor, and a 20% minimum tip is expected.

• Your municipal taxes increased, but the roads are worse than ever.

• You feel sick, but you’ll just tough it out because your family doctor is booking four weeks out, and the ER is so full you’ll wait all day sitting around other sick people. (Hope it’s not an infection!)

• You learn to live comfortably carrying a little more debt each day, as the number slowly ticks upward.

• Better not drive too much, oil changes are at least $100, and those tires need to make it till the end of summer!

• Oh no! You’ve got three family birthdays next month and people generally get you $30-$50 gifts, so you’re obliged to do the same.

It’s relentless.

The consequence of more than four decades of cutbacks, shrinkflation combined with inflation, and companies maximizing efficiency while chasing endless growth: We’re stretched. Thin.

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I work in public education and I see it every day. Overworked teachers, administrators, specialists, and virtually every other employee. There is so much need but never enough resources to go around, despite the fact that we live in an age of abundance!

Kids are also more stressed than ever, largely because they are coming from homes that are more stressed than ever. Food and housing insecurity is on the rise and parents are feeling the squeeze too. Their kids come to school carrying these worries and it gets expressed in a number of disruptive ways. Now the kid is suspended and the overworked, underpaid parent needs to leave their job to pick the kid up. They blame the school. “Can’t they handle this kid?” That increases stress on education professionals exacerbating the issue further.

There is lots of talk about teacher “burnout” in nearly every education discussion. 30% of new teachers quit the profession within the first five years, and in 2014 (pre-COVID!) 85% of teachers said the work/life balance was negatively affecting their ability to teach effectively, with 35% reporting it as a “significant” issue. None of this is new information to most people, but how have we let it get this bad?

Cutbacks + increased demand = 🗜

(That’s a vice emoji BTW. I’m working with the “squeeze” metaphor)

And make no mistake. The vast majority of people doing these jobs are wonderful, loving, kind, people doing their best. They’ve dedicated themselves to a career based on taking care of others.

But they’re being squeezed in the name of efficiency!

And its not just education. We see it in other areas of the public sector. Nurses and doctors working in understaffed, overflowing ERs. People living in rural centers needing to drive further and further to see dentists, optometrists, pediatricians, and even family doctors! Rising utility costs and increased taxes, yet poorer roads and fewer services.

How did this happen?

One big mistake was thinking governments should operate like businesses. It’s an attractive prospect at first glance: Let’s streamline things. Close smaller schools and hospitals in favor of larger centers we can focus resources on. Only to then creep back more services to make things more efficient:

• “We can fit 30 kids in this class, right? How about 32? Well, then it’s not such a difference to go to 35, right?”

• “We’re not using these 30 hospital beds 50% of the time. Let’s close this wing and combine it with another.”

• “We’ll have the SLP specialist “train” the teacher assistant on how to do this program rather than do it herself, because we only have one of her and there are 50 kids on her caseload who each need daily practice to improve their speech!”

But with each successive cut the pressure on the system ratchets up. After forty years, we’re reaching a breaking point. Governments should never have acted like businesses. In fact, they should regularly provide services for the public good that are not profitable. I don’t resent paying taxes. I do resent paying one of the highest tax rates in Canada and not even having a doctor despite living in my current community for three years!

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Would it really be a problem to build beyond capacity? If those 30 hospital beds weren’t closed, then maybe our hospitals would have accommodated the increased demand in the pandemic with less stress and fewer lives lost. If teachers and administrators were not working 15-20 extra hours/week and teaching 30 students at a time, perhaps they’d have the bandwidth for the increased needs the students are presenting.

Would it really be so bad if people’s jobs were easier? Who would that hurt?

The corporate world is no better. The relentless pursuit of growth has shredded our once robust middle class over the past forty years and the trend continues. For an increasing number of people, they no longer have careers, they have gigs. Companies elect to hire “contractors” to do integral jobs because it is cheaper and they don’t need to provide benefits.

We sacrifice so much in the name of profit.

How to change it? The system seems rigged doesn’t it?

• We have plenty of data telling us that we should be breaking up large monopolies like Facebook. Google, and Amazon. But it doesn’t happen.

• Legislators are too deeply in the pockets of corporate lobbyists. Why do corporations spend all that money? Its a safe investment in their increased growth.

• Algorithms designed by these same companies control the media we consume, pitting us against one another, rather that seeing the real source of our hardships.

In 1982 there were 13 billionaires in the world. In 2023 that number had risen to 3323! If you don’t think that consolidation of wealth came at the expense of the middle class, then you are not paying attention.

Society is suffering and more of us are feeling a harder squeeze each time we wake up.

I know I am. Aren’t you?

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“It’s not like I meant to, I thought she was out.”

“You gotta make sure. You should know better than that. Check your corners, scan the field, and all the rest of that muck.” The inference being that Rafiq would not have made the same mistake.

Juan didn’t respond. His feelings of jealousy, injustice, and disappointment in himself were heightened by the knowledge that his friend seemed to be enjoying it on some level. He shouldn’t be surprised, everything in their world was competition– at least with Rafiq it was the friendly version.

“Hey man, relax, at least you get to stay with me tonight. I’ll make sure you do well. Y’know I got you.”

Juan wasn’t sure why Rafiq should be so confident. They both had the same standard hardware upgrades in their arms and legs enhancing their abilities to run, jump, climb, and fight. They were physically different though, which meant they were recently given different specialities. Where Juan had the shoulder plate and anchor for heavy artillery, Rafiq- very athletic, quicker, but smaller– had stabilizers in his legs that allowed him to jump more than twenty feet and land safely from as high as forty feet. He also had non-issued blade mounts on his arms which Juan secretly envied– the benefit of rich parents.

They turned the corner, and the Ram came into view. The staunch, cubic building, in the heart of the Battery near the borders of Cogstown and Skid Row, was the staging area for the majority of Krelborn’s guards. The exterior was a deep dark gray, nearly black, reinforced cement which could withstand a direct missile barrage. The interior was opulent, with polished gold-rimmed desks, marble floors, and even crystal chandeliers. While some may have thought that this style was ill- befitting a security force, Juan knew that contrast was the point; it was a show of strength. The security force was the shield that protected Krelborn’s grandeur.

Juan turned his attention back to his friend who had continued talking without pause, “…I couldn’t imagine letting an opportunity like that slip away. What a tough lesson for you.”

They both stopped as they saw Rae leaving the Ram on her special assignment. My special assignment, thought Juan. However, it was not Rae that gave them pause, it was the company she kept. A NetGuard contingent, complete with a jiju.

An anglicized pronunciation of the Chinese word for “spider,” jiju specialized in trapping, acquiring, and eliminating any carp caught in their web. They were menacing to look at. This one’s black metallic body shimmered as it walked due to its integrated camouflage tech. Red “eyes” encircled its torso. Six legs tapped lightly on the steps as it walked past and two tentacles with pincers on the ends oscillated as if looking for prey. Silent, nearly indestructible, lightning quick, and run by advanced AI, jiju’s were the most feared part of any security force. If one was after you, then you were as good as caught.

Jealousy welled up in Juan’s chest anew. The NetGuard was easily the most elite security force in all of Nekonikon. Each megacorp had their own NetGuard division charged with protecting their networks. Anyone could access the PubWeb, but you had to be aligned to a corp to access its much more sophisticated web. Krelnet was Juan’s main source of news, entertainment, and data. It was highly organized and secure unlike the public web, which was generally just a mess of independent user, and dumb-AI, generated content.

Within each private web were security layers protecting increasingly sensitive and classified data. Of course, the friendly competition between the megacorps meant there was an ongoing demand for that secure data. It was well known that throughout Skid Row, there were fixers who could arrange for carp to obtain sensitive data for a price. It was all part of a bustling black market that security forces were tasked with disrupting.

That was where NetGuard came in. Part judicial, part intelligence, part enforcement, NetGuard would spend days, weeks, even months investigating, monitoring, and hunting a carp. These elusive hackers specialized in being unpredictable– fooling and avoiding the AI monitors, but eventually, inevitably, the patterns emerged, and they would have their prey right where they wanted. That was when a jiju was brought out.

“They must have a big carp tonight,” Rafiq inferred from the fact that a full contingent was supporting the jiju including special ops and enforcement grunts, of which Rae walked with the latter. Juan was furious with himself that he let this opportunity slip through his hands. As he watched them pass, Rae noticed him and gave a wink as her pace picked up ever so slightly. The gesture did not improve Juan’s mood.

He and Rafiq climbed the stairs to the main doors and waited at attention. It was 21:58 and their shift didn’t start for another couple of minutes. The sergeant would emerge any moment and expect them to be there.

While waiting, Juan wondered what Rae’s role could possibly be tonight. The jiju would be the one hunting the carp. Carp usually were mobile, in a van on ground level or flying in a drone. The rest of the NetGuard would be strategically stationed around the expected route monitoring for established patterns. It was unlikely Rae would have such a responsibility. She would more likely be part of the enforcement crew sent in to clean up after the jiju made a mess.

Interrupting his thoughts, Sergeant Lessing emerged from the Ram followed closely by two veteran guards. Lessing addressed the two of them. “Privates Fausto, Jones, at ease.” Juan and Rafiq relaxed their postures. “Follow me boys.” They fell in line behind Lessing and the two guards who would be their guides tonight. As they approached their drone, Lessing turned and addressed the four of them.

“Guards Lupton and Varley, meet privates Fausto and Jones. Tonight’s patrol is in the southwest corner of the Dregs. You know the drill, monitor for suspicious activity especially any gangers looking to break into Krelborn territory. Fausto, Jones, observe and absorb. There’ll be a quiz at the end of the shift. Dismissed.”

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The drone landed in a busy market area of the Dregs– the southernmost part of Skid Row, poverty stricken and with a reputation for all manner of debauchery. A guard could reasonably assume that anyone living here was likely some manner of criminal.

If you lived in Skid Row, it meant you didn’t work for a corporation. That probably meant you didn’t have a job– or at least a legal one. There was an active black market that ran through the whole area. Like a polluted river carrying garbage to the sea, all manner of illicit material flowed into the greater city, the most common– and most valuable– was stolen data.

Of course, there were some legitimate businesses here. Some enterprising entrepreneurs did well enough to pay the exorbitant license fees. But even these were usually fronts for money laundering and other shady activities. Yes, guards could feel pretty confident in finding crime no matter where they looked in Skid Row. This was doubly true for the Dregs.

The four guards emerged from the drone with batons already in hand. The locals were used to security patrols from the three megacorps and knew to give them a wide berth. Still, Juan knew they had to be vigilant. Every now and then a ganger got the not-so-brilliant idea to try something with a guard– those nights made for good stories to impress their uptown friends. Greta always enjoyed his recountings of violent Skid Row gangers and the exaggerations of his role in quashing the threats they posed.

They spent the first part of their patrol surveying the area. They stopped and frisked a few gangers, handed out some fines for vagrancy, public drunkenness, and even one for indecent exposure when a deranged man in a thong kept his gaze lingering just a little too long for Varley’s liking.

The two veteran guards were good to Juan and Rafiq. Since they would be graduating soon, the regular guards had been treating them more like colleagues and less like burdens. There was a lot of hazing, but it was all in good spirit– at least that’s what Juan told himself.

A few hours into their patrol, they entered a supposedly reputable business. A small corner shop that sold a variety of packaged snacks and drinks, but mainly holos. These were fully immersive, interactive experiences that synced via a person’s neuro. Not unlike more primitive video games, from which holos evolved, these were wildly popular and formed a considerable proportion of the global entertainment market.

Everyone knew there was a black market for illegal holos that was even larger than the legal one. There was something to satisfy even the most depraved desires. Customers could inhabit any role they wished in interactive tortures, murders, and all kinds of illicit sexual acts. AI could create anything a customer desired, but the most expensive were real experiences recorded on a victim’s neuro and packaged for exclusive consumption. There was a good chance that a holo store in the Dregs would be stocking such contraband somewhere on the premises.

Entering the store, Varley signaled Rafiq and Juan to guard the door while he surveyed the back aisles. Lupton walked right up to the counter and addressed a balding old man dressed in a dirty– formerly white– short sleeve dress shirt with back suspenders.

“Jackie!” Lupton’s tone was overly friendly, which was somehow more menacing. “How’s business?”

“F-fine, I suppose. Could al-always be b-b-better.” He adjusted his glasses.

“Heyyy, don’t be nervous Jackie m’boy. We’re here on regular business. Getting a little peckish on patrol y’know. It’s hard work keeping these streets clean for legitimate businessmen like yourself.”

“Thank you. P-p-please help yourselves. No charge of course.”

SLAP! Lupton clapped his hands loudly in mock elation, “Nice! You’re the best.” Varley was already finishing a cold burrito. He gestured to Rafiq and Juan to grab something. Juan declined, but Rafiq grabbed a pack of grilly crisps and started munching. Juan focused on the door, making sure no customers came in while Lupton was interrogating a suspect. Varley shrugged his shoulders and turned away from them, grabbing a beer to wash down his snack.

“Business must be better than I thought, you giving away free food and all.” Lupton continued with his questioning.

“I-I am just always happy to support the law.”

Lupton let out a loud guffaw. “Didja hear that Varley? We got ourselves a patriot! Right here in the Dregs! I mean, of course he’s too good to work for Krelborn. We have a successful independent businessman here! Striking it out here on his own. Good for you Jackie!” Lupton let the silence hang, his smile faded, he locked eyes with his prey and waited for it to say something.

“I-i-is there anything else?”

SLAM! Lupton’s baton came down hard on a rack of candies by the front counter. Red, green, blue, and yellow packages scattered all over the floor as the rack collapsed. Now showing his wrath, Lupton moved to the next stage of the interrogation.

“You rushing us outta here Jackie? You suddenly don’t like guards? I thought we were friends.” The sounds of smashing wood and rustling packages came from the back aisles where Varley was investigating.

“No plea…” was all Jackie could say before Lupton grabbed him by the throat and pushed Jackie back against the wall, causing more packages and shelving to crash.

“You think we’re stupid Jack? There is no way this dive affords to stay open selling this crap!” Lupton held up a standard holo on playing chess to illustrate his point. Squeezing tighter on the shop owner’s neck, “Where’s the good stuff my man?”

Jackie tried to answer but couldn’t speak. Laughing at the elderly man writhing, Lupton opened his hand and let him slump to the floor. Through tears, the shop owner again tried to appeal to the guards. “Please, I paid my license..I treat you good…I did nothing else.”

“Yeah, we’ll see. Varley let’s bag this one and take him in for further questioning on suspicion of trafficking black market holos. There’s plenty here to warrant a temporary closure and thorough search of the shop”

“No wait! OK, I-I-I th-think I know w-what the problem is ss-s-sir.” Jackie rose slowly to his knees with his hands up.

“Oh? And what is that?” Lupton clenched both fists.

“I th-think I forgot to pay my license fee this m-m-month. M-m-maybe I can give it to you, y’know s-since you are here. Y-you can help me clear up this m-mis-misunderstanding.”

Lupton’s posture relaxed, “I think we can work something out m’boy.”

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Chapter 1

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Chapter 3

Chapter 4

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"Wipe it again, man!"

He swabbed the tear with a dirty tissue. Within moments a fresh one appeared, carving a path down her marble cheek.

"Whoa…that’s crazy. Absolutely nuts!" He sent a playful punch into his friend’s shoulder.

No one knows exactly when the tears first appeared. Dampness on the cheek of a statue can be attributed to any number of reasonable explanations. Persistent tears aren't easily spotted, especially in such a busy tourist destination where observers are continuously coming and going. As it turned out, the first person to notice that the statue was crying was a little girl who decided to look closely at what was happening.

The July heat had kept her family in their hotel room, safely behind the cooling vapors of the air conditioner. It was her father who guilted everyone into taking a walk in the public garden. He hadn't spent all that money for them to sit inside, had he?

So off they went, the little girl, her mother and father, with her younger brother in tow. Outside, the air was still and humid. Her mother complained it was difficult to breathe, while her father pretended not to notice. They stopped for ice cream and continued on their way through the winding path.

Near the center of the park her brother broke from the group, harassing geese. They would scatter, flapping and squawking, then land a short distance away and he'd renew the chase. Her father filmed the event, his forced laughter draining into the bleating audio. Something to show the folks back home: His boy chasing geese. Her mother sat on a nearby bench hiding behind a parasol, trying to block out both the sun and any perceived connection with her boys.

This is how the girl found herself alone, looking around, searching for...anything really. The ice cream ran down in beads, some pooling at the top of her hand in a sticky mess, some absorbed by the napkin wrapped around the cone.

How exactly the statue drew her attention is unclear. Maybe she found a kinship with the frozen-in-time angel, anchored to the ground, and forced to witness- but not partake in- the perverse ecosystem around her. A green scab in the middle of the city.

Or maybe the statue was the only interesting thing in her proximity.

At any rate, she found herself staring into her pale eyes. The damp, hard cheek made her feel detached. Alone. So, she unwrapped the napkin from her cone and wiped the tear away. Another one took its place. Making a slight frown, the girl wiped again, and again...

That was how it started. Within a week, the whole park was closed, the girl and her family quarantined and tested. Doctors in hazmat suits flooded the area. Thousands of experiments were run. They searched for water sources, tubes, hallucinogens- anything to explain the occurrence rationally.

Religious figures came out of the woodwork too. Petitions were signed and tensions came to a head between the devotees and the skeptics. The most zealous on both sides took it to the courts! One group wanted to preserve the miracle, the others wanted to break it down. They needed to know the cause.

The years passed. One judge would make a ruling. It would be appealed and sent up to a higher court. Then again and again. The issue was held in limbo. By the time it made it to the supreme court, commerce had already ended the debate. All the tests came back negative for anything harmful. There was no danger here, just a bit of saline and a very marketable tourist attraction. A true miracle in our times.

Decades on, people barely talk about it. But the tears still flow. People come to wipe and marvel at their reappearance. Some pray. Some bless the sick with their damp dirty tissues. Some take selfies and laugh. Everyone enjoys it in their own way.

But why is it happening you ask?

"Why" is such a blunt question. Do you mean: "What is causing the statue to cry?" That I cannot tell you. The mechanism is beyond my understanding.

Perhaps, you mean to ask: "What is the statue crying for?" Now that is something I do know, but will not tell.

Why? Because you already know the answer.

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For her, it was a late supper time, but it was lunch for Juan. Their circadian schedules were a bit out of sync, but still allowed them plenty of time together. Besides, young people have always been unconcerned about sacrificing sleep in favor of social activities.

Greta was heading back with a steaming bowl in each hand. She took a seat and slid one over, “Here, this’ll make you feel better.”

“Thanks.” He dug in. Greta ate slower and watched her boyfriend devour his meal.

When he was finished, Juan looked up sheepishly, “I guess I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

“Taking a whooping must really work up an appetite.” She teased, egging him on a bit. Juan resisted the bait, but part of him wanted to take it. Bruised ego or not, Greta could just never understand what it was like for students on the Guard track. She had always been favored, with her positive attitude and quick smile. Her academic scores were exceptional and at a young age she was selected for the Sales and Acquisitions track– highly competitive, but once you were in, you were treated like royalty- there were Krelborn employees who deferred to her, and she hadn’t even graduated yet.

Juan, on the other hand, had to fight and claw from the very beginning to stay in the elite Guard section. Being in the top twenty was a steep climb and one could easily fall back to the bottom. The promise of a special assignment today would have helped him solidify his superior status. To have it be so close to his grasp and then stolen away by Rae, was something he would not get over soon.

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Looking across at Greta’s pretty face and stylish clothes, Juan felt lucky to be dating her. He was never sure why she chose him out of all her possible suitors, but it made him feel indebted. He sought her approval, which made her teasing sting all the more. He knew that she, from her privileged position, could never really understand him. But, he supposed, he would never really understand her either. As long as they accepted each other, they made it work.

Greta smiled, trying to redirect his brooding mood. “Wanna come with me tonight? I’m heading to Skid Row.” She lifted her eyebrows in time with those last two words.

“You know I can’t, I have guided duty”

“But I thought you didn’t get the special assignment? Aren’t you free now?

“No, I still have my regular shift. Just plain ol’ observe and absorb with Rafiq.”

Munching on a bit of tofu, “At least you get to hang out with Rafiq. Can’t be all bad.”

Shaking his head, “Not much hanging to be done. We have to stay pretty silent, take notes, and then pass the end-of-shift quiz. They’re still giving those, and they get harder each time, it seems.” Juan paused. “Why would you be going to Skid Row? You know it’s dangerous and the company doesn’t like us spending time there.”

Shrugging, “Call it S&A benefits. It’s good for us to have a better understanding of all parts of Nekonikon; the non-aligned are customers too. Besides, the guards would never give me trouble.” Winking with a smile “I guess you shouldn’t either.

“Is that so? Really, what are you planning to do there?”

She feigned an exasperated sigh, “I guess I’ll just have to see where the wind takes me.”

“You got time for a walk? It’s still a couple hours before I have to report to the Ram.”

She stood and took his hand, “I’ve always got time for you.”

Walking through the vendor market was a cacophony of both aromas and sound. Sizzling synth meats, noodles, tacos, kabobs and more. The smell of chou tofu was overwhelming, something Juan never could get used to. The ambient noise of Nekonikon was amplified in this enclosed space. Vendors called from all directions, patrons deliberated their meal choices, or were in raucous conversations over steaming bowls, wrappers, and cups. People bustled in all directions and Juan would have struggled to keep track of Greta were they not holding hands.

Emerging from the tented ceiling of the market onto the street was a relief. They walked easily along the wide clean sidewalks of the Battery.

The buildings of the Battery were not as elaborate as Harborside or Cogstown. This area began as an industrial center, so it was built for ease of movement and transport. Wide accommodating streets were rimmed with tall rectangular buildings, nearly all the same shade of gray. Harborside was built for residents as well as commerce and trade. Run by Longyu, their skyline boasted beautiful pagodas and stylized architecture to draw one’s eye. Cogstown, as well, was quite an architectural marvel. No expense was spared in bringing in the greatest avant garde architects to engineer their elaborate buildings. The crowning jewel, being the Knot; Cogswell-Smythe’s headquarters drew three buildings together and appeared to tie them in a giant knot in the center, the highest point in all Nekonikon’s skyline.

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Of course, since moving most of their data farms and energy production to the Plant, the Battery became the residential area of the Krelborn district. Neon signs brightened up the drab buildings. Advertisements for everything made by the big three corporations and their subsidiaries were endless. Augmented by AR ads in their neuros, it was sometimes difficult to ignore the intrusions and focus on the person next to you.

“What’s it like in Skid Row?” Juan asked.

“You should know. Don’t you go there sometimes on your guided duty shifts?”

“Yeah, but that’s different. When I’m on duty people avoid me and I’m not there for fun.”

“It’s good. Different. Not as dangerous as you grunts like to claim. Certainly, the best music you can find anywhere.”

“Really? I can’t imagine the music is that good. What makes their AI so special?”

“What makes it special is they write it themselves.”

“Really? Heh, now I know you’re joking. There is no way that’s any good.”

“They have recordings, but you gotta hear it live first; the recordings don’t do it justice.” Juan gave her a disbelieving smile. “Really, really babe. Come see Corpslayer with me tomorrow; I won’t take no for an answer.”

Juan stopped, uncomfortable. “I’m not supposed t… y’know, it might be OK for S&A, but Guards are not to fraternize with…”

She cut him off with a kiss. “You worry too much. I’ll protect you. No one will bother you with me there. And, if they ask, we can tell your superiors that I needed an escort.” She gave him another kiss, this time longer. “I gotta go, ordered a taxi home. See you tomorrow at the northwest gate, be there 21:00 sharp soldier.”

With that, she saluted then bounded off as her taxi landed at a nearby pod. Juan took a moment to enjoy the view. The graceful way she moved– surety in every light but determined step. He felt lucky. No. Not lucky…Grateful. He was grateful she chose him. The hatch opened for her, she turned and gave a short wave, and seconds later the drone lifted straight up, and she was whisked away.

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Entering their small kitchen, Juan found his mother, Surmieda, staring out the window viewscreen. Despite their 6th floor apartment, which faced identical buildings on either side, the screen showed the elaborate skyline of Nekonikon with a brilliant, golden sunrise tracing through the clouds. The view was from Krelborn’s headquarters, the tallest building in the Battery, and high enough to see all three regions of Nekonikon- the Battery, Cogstown, and even Harborside. Some days, Juan tried to see the details of Skid Row, but it appeared only as a dark shadowed area to the left of the screen before the image gave way to the opulent pagodas and soaring skyscrapers of Harborside.

Usually, Juan didn’t like lies, which is why he didn’t like to read the news on the PubWeb or even Krelnet. Too much was too easy to fake, even videos and recordings were suspect. The only thing you could be sure of was what you personally experienced. That’s why face-to-face conversations and IRL events were more popular with most people his age. But lies like the window viewscreen were OK, because he knew the truth. Were there an actual old-fashioned glass window in their kitchen, his view would be the gray cement of the adjacent building. Were he to lean in close, press his cheek to the cold glass, he might catch a glimpse of the perpetually gray sky. The viewscreen image was much nicer; he didn’t mind the ruse.

“Morning mijo,” his mother, greeted him from the table. Of course, it wasn’t actually morning, it was closer to 14:00, but her Krelborn assigned circadian schedule had her waking up and getting ready for work at this time. As usual, her breakfast was Nutri-Cafe, a synthetic drink favored by the Olds. It had everything a body needed to start the day off right- at least that was the slogan.

“Morning mom.” She appeared to be contemplating the city skyline. But the red light on her temple was flashing, indicating to Juan that while his mom acknowledged his presence, she was reading an AR overlay on her neuro. Probably, some last-minute memo she needed before work today. She was diligent about making sure she was up to date on all her department’s policies. Surmieda was adamant with Juan his whole life, that was how to stay ahead of the competition- “Make sure you know what they know.”

Juan grabbed a grape toastie and popped it in the zapper. He didn’t have much time before History class, so he kissed his mother on the cheek. She didn’t reply. Her lights were now solid red and green, indicating she was in a deep audio-visual, and she was not able to see or hear her son.

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Munching on his toastie, he climbed the stairs to his room to clean up before class started. Juan wasn’t very eager to attend, but it’s not like he had much of a choice. When it came to the physical stuff, he was a model student. Always a big kid, he was naturally athletic at a pretty young age. He hated his other subjects, the ones where he had to sit, listen, read, write, and research. Luckily, Guard track students had almost no academic classes. The one exception was the requirement to study History.

In the bathroom, he rinsed his mouth with a minty anti-bac while standing in his decontaminator. He just did a quick 15 second steam. Watching himself in the digital mirror, his eyes fixed on his left shoulder mounting plate and right shoulder anchor. They ached, as did all newly implanted hardware. His were standard upgrades for all heavy weapons students in Krelborn’s Guard track. Powered by an internal battery, they gave him extra upper body strength and enabled him to attach shoulder mounted armaments.

The decontaminator’s exhaust fan turned off, Juan stepped down and spit the anti-bac in the sink. His AR overlay displayed the day’s weather and offered an outfit from his wardrobe. He accepted the suggestion and got dressed.

It was soon time for class and Mr. Wagner did not tolerate tardiness. Mr. Wagner was an Old. None of the students knew how old he was, but they were certain he was from before the Great Secession because his hardware was retro. He had none of the sleek post-war integrated interfaces which made people look perpetually 30-ish, he had only bulky old-school implants, wrinkles, and scars. The running joke among guards was that this made him ideal to teach History because he was basically an artifact himself. None of the students, Juan included, would dare say that to his face though. Teaching History was a side gig for Wagner, but one he insisted on doing. The guy was one of the higher ups at Krelborn, he had a permanent board seat and was as tough as he was smart. He taught History exclusively for the Guard track students, reserving the right to personally evaluate each one.

Juan hardlined into his tablet and laid down on his bed. His neuro lights came on solid red and green as his view was replaced with the Krelborn logo- a metal cube with energy bolts. He could see a few of his classmates in the queue but most had yet to log in. There were still a few minutes, but Juan had to wait patiently without distraction. He banged out the drum beat from the GreinScrien song on his thighs to pass the time; the hardwire to the tablet meant his neuro was overridden and he could not access anything on the web but his class.

Other students were now logging in more rapidly. He saw Rafiq’s name pop up and sent him a ping. Rafiq pinged back immediately. Good, he wasn’t skipping. Many students, especially seniors, used dumb AI bots to attend their classes for them from time to time. Rafiq had done it a bit too often and now was at risk of repeating the whole course before he would be allowed to officially graduate. He would be monitored closely and if caught using a dumb AI, he’d be done. Juan was glad for the responsibility his friend was starting to show.

Rafiq and Juan had been friends throughout school. Though Rafiq lived in a whole different area of the Battery and his parents were both executives in the highly competitive Intelligence sector, he and Juan had always clicked. They had a shared love of sports and a shared disdain for academics. At times, their friendship was strained by their competitiveness, but they managed to keep it mostly friendly over the years. Though, Juan had to admit, the closer they got to graduation, the more Rafiq seemed to care about their rivalry and the more frequent his outbursts.

Juan attributed much of his friend’s attitude to the pressure put upon him by his parents. It took them a long time to accept that their son was on the Guard track, but Rafiq was always as jazzed about it as Juan had been. They pushed their son hard, wanting him to make the best of his situation. After graduation, he and Juan dreamed of being partners, prowling the streets of Nekonikon together, keeping the people safe. Of course– Juan smiled to himself– Rafiq would need to graduate first.

Many people frowned on security as a career, but for Juan it was an excellent option. Protecting people made him feel good, like the fulfillment of his purpose. Krelborn had given him a lot. He wanted to give back and spend his time serving the community, keeping people- and their property- safe. Outside the games and machinations of his fellow aligned citizens, he could just put his head down and do good work. He’d take care of Krelborn’s people, and they’d take care of him. Let other people worry about politics and business.

Ba-ding beep

The screen switched to a live feed of Mr. Wagner sitting at his desk. Unlike other teachers who used animations, interactive games, and videos to supplement their lessons, Mr. Wagner just sat and talked. With another teacher, this could be boring, but there was something compelling about him. Wagner was a good speaker and passionate about the Krelborn mission. He personally fought for Nekonikon during the GS and had a bunch of cool stories to keep the students interested. The man was authentic; credibility emanated from the old tech and scarred face.

“Welcome everyone. I am glad to see you all have attended on time, at least you learned something this past year.” There were far too many students for Wagner to be able to ping them all, but he sent out some random ones and got immediate responses which brought a wry smile to his hard face.

“Were I naiver, I would trust everyone completed the assigned reading, but I know seniors. You are all eager to get out there to serve your people and I commend you for that desire. But you are not there yet.” He spoke that last sentence slowly, letting each word hang in the air.

“So, let us make sure you know what we are talking about, hmm?” He glanced around the room, which Juan realized must have been weird for him sitting alone in his office. Yet the gesture had the intended effect of drawing the class to him.

“When Nekonikon was established, its founders wanted to ensure the failings of the past would not contaminate our future. The American experiment in representative democracy was well-intended but faced a near insurmountable challenge in the digital era. Once AI became prevalent, the end of their system was nigh. Their government was slow to respond to new realities, and the officials- who were supposedly the representatives of the citizens that elected them- were actually serving the interests of the private corporations that funded them. Essentially it was chaos in the guise of order; everyone fought, and nothing happened.”

He sounded almost bored as he spouted off this history, but Juan knew the old lecturer’s rhythms enough by now to know he was just lulling his audience before launching into some great point.

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Lying in his bed, Juan stifled a yawn. He had heard this story a thousand times, but he didn’t dare try and leave the stream. Best to just get this over with. What was the use in knowing about the Great Secession or the Final Contracts which established the city states in the West? Admittedly, the wars were interesting. Learning about the AI race, the new weapon developments, and the battles were kinda fun- for school anyway. But ultimately, who really cared? What did it matter? The result remained the same: some megacorps seceded from the United States and established their own sovereign city states along the west coast. Every grade schooler knew the story; Juan was not sure why they had to keep reading about it again and again each year. As he got older there were more details added to the story, but the basic narrative was always the same.

Wagner was now moving to the virtues of the Nekonikon system. Juan agreed that it was certainly much better than the slow and ineffective USA government that led to the GS. Nekonikon was run by a council of five representatives. Three– a representative from each of the megacorps– occupied the red, yellow, and green seats and two– elected by popular vote from non-aligned citizens– occupied the black and white seats. He and his mother didn’t get a vote since they were Krelborn-aligned. They worked for the company, and, in turn, the company served their interests and represented them.

“In Nekonikon there are no upper and lower houses to delay new laws, there are just The Five making decisions for the good of everyone, just as founder Gregory intended. Of course, the boards of Krelborn, Longyu and Cogswell-Smythe all advise their representatives, but the final decisions for everything in our state are made by The Five. What the Americans got right was that no one person should ever have total control. That inevitably leads to weakness. Though such nations may seem strong in the short term, they eventually succumb to their own corruption. Nekonikon ensures that the people are represented and yet we are able to make timely decisions for the good of everyone.”

Wagner then went on with more details into the nuances of their system, comparing their decision-making record with that of the remaining United States to the east. He held up example after example of where Nekonikon made prosperous decisions in a fraction of the time the USA made their moves. It was now common for the US government to wait for consensus among the western city states and then draft their own legislation in accordance. These were the kind of details that were new in the senior year, but while it might be interesting to someone, Juan didn’t bother transcribing or noting any of it– he knew there were no more tests.

It was near the end of their allotted time and Wagner seemed to be coming to his conclusion.

“These days everyone has their own dumb AI. What does this mean? It means that things develop fast. Too fast for old deliberative governments to keep up. They were steamrolled by change, and we needed a governing body that was representative yet nimble. Our government is fast and agile. We can enforce legislation in a fraction of the time it took for the RepublicRats to argue over details, add in irrelevant amendments, and vote to give themselves a raise. Thank you for your time today, everyone.”

After class, Juan tried to call Rafiq but couldn’t get an answer. He didn’t bother leaving a message; he knew his friend would walk by his apartment at the same time he did every night on their way to guided duty at the Ram. Instead, Juan called Greta to make dinner arrangements. He hadn’t seen her in a couple days, and it would be nice to catch up before his shift. They agreed to meet at a nearby market. The place had food he could afford, and it was walking distance for Juan; Greta didn’t mind shelling out for a drone taxi.

He headed back downstairs to grab a drink and see his mother, but she was gone. He picked up her dirty mug and took it to the cleanser along with his plate. Sometimes he wondered if she always left her dirty dishes on purpose. Was she silently giving him the opportunity to take care of her, even in such a small way, or was it simply something she didn’t think about? Either way, it was a daily ritual Juan appreciated on some level. After all she had sacrificed for him– taking two jobs after his father died– cleaning dishes was a small way he could take care of her.

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Walking along one of the wide throughways of the Battery, Juan was doing his best to ignore the world around him. He liked listening to music before physical training class, but without a subscription to higher Krelnet tiers he was restricted to a limited playlist unless he wanted to be inundated with ads. When selecting music that Greta recommended, ads in pink, yellow, green, blue, and all the other colors of the neon rainbow appeared on every available surface, which– given the plethora of drab buildings and streets in the Battery– was everywhere. Even the grayed-out sky wasn’t safe.

Looking up at the ever-present clouds, he switched over to the PubWeb. There were no fewer ads here, but at least they were more varied, and the music selection was broader. He instantly regretted the choice, having forgotten there was a Black Chair election coming up next month. All the ads were for political candidates he didn’t care about. Even if he did care about politics, the Black Chair election was only for non-aligned citizens. He switched back to Krelnet and listened to GreinScrein for the thousandth time. It wasn’t the fancy stuff his girlfriend Greta could afford, but it did the job. Most AI music sounded the same anyway. The formulaic beats got him moving, and that’s all he really needed as he headed to PT on this gray morning.

The richer citizens of Nekonikon could subscribe to a tier that would use their neuro’s AR overlay to make the sky appear blue and show the sun. Juan wondered for the thousandth time what it would be like to afford such luxuries.

He wasn’t exactly jealous of Greta; she had earned her status on the Sales and Acquisitions track in school. He was happy for her, but still he wished for the luxuries that came with such a high status– and the power wouldn’t be too bad either. It would certainly make life easier for him and his mother. He sighed, knowing he was dreaming; he was exactly where he belonged. The Guard track wasn’t so bad, and it came with its own kind of power.

He arrived at the building for his class and climbed the stairs. Above the door to the dojo the Krelborn motto was etched in iron: Dominate. Control. Prosper. Everyone knew the Guards were the first line of defense in the maintenance of their society- despite the low status they held at the academy. In the world of Krelborn schooling, the Guard candidates were considered bottom rung– the grunts. It didn’t matter that he was one of the top twenty students preparing for the elite guard. That only put him slightly above the dregs.

As always, he was among the first to arrive at the gym and went through a light stretching routine alone by the side as the others shuffled in. He hadn’t gotten close with anyone in the elite class. He felt a coldness from their interactions as if they were purposefully distancing themselves from him. Juan passed this off as his own insecurity; he often felt like he wasn’t good enough and it made him work doubly hard to seek their validation. However, the harder he worked, it seemed, the less he felt like he belonged.

He sighed, too bad his best friend Rafiq couldn’t be in this class with him; they shared most of their subjects and their guided duty shifts. But this particular class was only for the top twenty and he hadn’t made the cut. It was a reality that Rafiq had a hard time accepting. Their competitive rivalry was so intense that Juan’s mother often mused that if they weren’t friends, they’d be certain enemies.

The time came and all the students gathered in a line and stood rigid. After a few moments, Shifu Bao entered the room. She slowly and methodically removed her sandals and placed them to the side, then withdrew her famed jian (sword) Ruby, and placed it gracefully in its holder. The golden hilt, with a red gemstone on the end, shimmered despite the soft light of the room.

To the untrained eye, Bao would not present much of a threat. Her small frame and demure smile themselves were tactics that disarmed many opponents. The facade was betrayed by her cold, unmoving, shark eyes, which along with much of her body, were enhanced with a full array of combat upgrades. She could see in pitch dark, locate enemies through smoke and walls, even flashbangs had no effect. Her neuro AI tracked opponents’ movements and fed real time predictive data directly to her spine which reduced the delay to her already lightning-fast reflexes.

Every year, with each new cohort, it seemed there was always one cocky young student who had to learn the hard way that she was the elite combat instructor for good reason. Juan never doubted her from day one, as he had already heard- and believed- many stories of her legend. But he remembered Paul wasn’t quite so fortunate. Snickering in line the first day, she offered him a test. All he had to do was land a single blow and he would advance through her class with a glowing report.

The fool took the bait. He went with a strategy to overwhelm the Shifu, beginning with a quick barrage of attacks, desperately trying to land something, anywhere. Bao moved so fast- at first Juan thought his neuro was glitching- she seemed to flash from right to left, up and down, without actual movement in between. Juan wondered at what point Paul realized his mistake. Was it during his attack or when the Shifu countered? The fight was so short, it was hard to tell. For Juan, and the rest of the class, the message was sent loud and clear as her carbon fiber forearms and shins connected with pinpoint accuracy and very little mercy. That was Paul’s last day in guard training.

By now she had the utmost respect from everyone in Juan’s cohort. Her past was a mystery to the students and the subject of much rumor and speculation. No one knew how old she was because she had all the latest integrated hardware upgrades which, along with the enhanced abilities, hid her age. She could be twice as old as his own mother for all Juan knew. For sure she had seen combat, so she had to be at least forty, but really none of the students could claim to know much about her.

She stepped softly on the matted floor as she made her way to the front, then cupped a fist in her hand and gave a slight bow to the class, which was promptly returned much lower. Her calm demeanor was unnerving, and not a sound could be heard in the room before she spoke barely above a whisper.

“Welcome all, thank you for attending. I know this time of year for seniors is when many lose focus. However, you must discipline your minds. The best warriors know that they do not get to choose when to fight, they must always be prepared…” she paused and graced the class with a rare smile “…even when graduation is at hand.” Juan stifled his own smirk and maintained attention.

“Today we will forgo our regular practice. I want to see who among you can truly stand out. While, as guards, you will be expected to work together and sync up on duty, it’s still good to strive to be better than the rest. Just as iron sharpens iron, so too will each of you become stronger.” Juan stiffened at that last bit. “We will have a full melee with the batons,” her tone turning the sentence into an order.

“Yes, Shifu!” The class shouted in unison, though Juan had to fight the tightness welling up in his stomach.

“Remember. What do we do?” Her voice now rang with authority.

“Dominate! Control! Prosper!”

The Shifu smiled again, “One of you certainly will. Go now, each of you select a baton from the back.”

The class walked single file to the wall where the batons hung. These were training batons and unlike the standard issue security one he would soon carry; they could not be tuned to a lethal frequency. At max, they could knock you out with a touch, and of course, even a dead baton could be swung with devastating force by guards because of their enhanced strength. Good thing we have training vests and helmets or things could get really messy, Juan thought. Then he noticed, just about the same time as the rest of the class, the protective gear was still locked in the cage.

Turning back to Bao, the students’ faces asked the question that their hearts already knew the answer to. The great Shifu nodded, “Yes, today there will be no protection. All you have is your baton and your focus. The last student standing wins a special assignment for tonight’s guided duty. A prize for the best of the best.”

At the promise of such a reward Juan’s fear turned to resolve. While he and his classmates were all part of the same team, every aligned citizen in Nekonikon- no matter their vocation- had been raised in the fires of competition. Competitiveness was the guiding principle of their world and the secret to their prosperity. It made them all stronger and an opportunity to stand out like this- so close to graduation- could set the winner on a path to the kind of success Juan dreamed of. It was exactly the kind of motivation that brought out his best.

One by one, students selected a baton and situated themselves strategically in the gym. Juan wasn’t entirely pleased with his placement- fifteenth out of twenty. By the time he picked up a baton, the corners were all taken, as well as the locales along the wall. Everyone wanted something solid at their backs and flanks. Given his lack of options, he decided instead to claim the dead center of the room. As one of the bigger students he knew he could be intimidating; he decided he should emphasize that with a show of confidence to throw some of his classmates off. They already preferred to be defensive by the walls; their fear might be his best weapon. To drive the point home, he locked eyes on Troy, – the largest student in the room– smiled, and visibly turned his baton up to the max.

When the last students took their place, Bao waited a beat then announced “Ready.” There was a long pause as students looked about; eyes shifting from person to person, some had clearly chosen their allies and their enemies. Juan was encouraged that no one kept their gaze on him for too long.

The room was as silent as a tomb as they all waited for Bao’s command. It seemed like an eternity, and Juan struggled to keep his mind in the moment. He just started to drift again when he heard her say calmly: “Begin.”

His mind snapped back to the present, and then turned off as he let instinct take over. He just knew there was someone trying to be sneaky and come at him from behind. He ducked low and turned 180° slamming his baton up and into the abdomen he knew would be there. The body dropped, and Juan touched the tip of his baton to her chest as she fell, sending a debilitating shock that would keep her down.

Without breaking stride, he engaged with the next student. Feinting forward, he drew a hard slash which he easily parried while throwing a kick to the knee. The student’s momentum carried him forward, and he put too much weight on the distressed leg. He too fell and received a jolt from Juan’s baton.

As he did a quick scan for his next challenger, he detected a shadow in his left peripheral. Evading would take him off balance, so Juan ducked low and drove his body toward the attacker. He never did find out who it was, but he heard a crack as the body went flying into a wall. No need to follow up with a jolt on that one.

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Now he had some space and could see there were six students left standing. The closest were a pair who were working together. They engaged, spreading themselves apart, flanking him. He was too far from a corner to cut them off, so he needed to be aggressive. Slowing down would only give them more time to plan and work together.

He feinted to the left and then committed to his right with a charge. His hope was to get inside the other’s defenses. But the kid was too good, he backed up allowing Juan to claim the space and now the two opponents were directly on either side of him, exactly where they wanted to be. Juan resisted the urge to flail out. Now was the time to be aggressive, but not sloppy. He knew they would start closing the trap.

Juan pivoted perpendicular to the two, facing the far wall and keeping each in his peripheral vision. They both circled to his back, and he would need to turn to see at least one of them. He drove right with his baton raised high but continued his momentum around. The one behind him had taken the bait and charged, realizing too late that Juan had turned the move into a spinning back kick. His heel struck directly in the opponent’s sternum. Juan didn’t need to check this one either, the thud on the floor gave him all the intel he needed.

The other one, angered by the elimination of her friend, screamed and charged with a barrage of strikes. He tried blocking, but in her rage the attacks were too fast and coming from too many angles. He was able to focus on the tip and avoided jolts, but at the expense of his forearms and shins as he blocked.

Finally, he was able to anticipate one of her strikes. He reached out, caught her wrist, and twisted into a cartwheel throw. She landed with a hard thump but sprung back to her feet. Attacking blindly, she rushed into the tip of Juan’s baton and dropped just as quickly.

Taking a deep breath, Juan scanned the scene. Two fighters left, and one much bigger than the other. They were all tired and the smaller one- her name was Rae- was clearly losing the advantage her speed previously provided. The larger one– of course it was Troy– was toying with her, buying some rest time, before the final battle. When he noticed Juan was free, he dealt a heavy punch to Rae’s stomach, dropping her to her knees. She was bloodied, barely conscious, and starting to keel over when Troy stopped her from falling. At first, Juan was pleased, thinking his fellow student was showing mercy, but quickly realized he was only lining her up for a brutal overhead strike. There was no need for it, she was a downed opponent and clearly done. Even more disgraceful, Rae was a fellow Guard track grunt who would soon swear the same oath they all would.

Before the blow could fall, Juan had raced across the divide and tackled Troy. They fell in a heap, and both sprung up facing each other. In his haste, Juan had lost his baton and had to play defense. Arms wide, he locked his eyes on the brute’s chest. Anticipating the attacks, Juan ducked, backed away, and feinted forward. Without a weapon, he knew it would only be a matter of time before he was hit.

Luckily, the brute was angry. His attacks all had bad intentions; they were powerful, but slow. Hoping to draw him out, Juan chuckled, smiled, and taunted. Troy launched a combination with extreme force. Juan guessed correctly that this would be the basic four-strike sequence they had drilled since the first day of Guard school. He absorbed the first three strikes with his defenses but pivoted at the fourth. The brute had overcommitted. Juan used the momentum to trip him to the floor and then pounced, locking in a choke hold. It was over a few seconds later.

Rising slowly to his feet, Juan was exhausted but elated. He had bested his classmates and won the day– plus a special assignment at guided duty that night. Smiling ear to ear, he stumble-walked toward his Shifu. For her part, Bao did not move, betray any emotion, nor did she even signal that the event was over. That last point troubled him. A nagging voice roared in the back of Juan’s mind for a split second before he realized his mistake.

He turned around to find a weapon but was interrupted by a swaying, smiling Rae, holding her baton less than an inch from his chest. He could hear the hum coming from the tip and felt the vibrations in the sweat on his chest hair. He was still contemplating his error when her smile broadened, and she pressed the baton forward. He remembered only a quick pain, and then an extreme numbness as his ears erupted in silence. Everything went black.

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In the past decade, things have not gotten better. We may be living in a time of unprecedented rates of change, but one thing has remained constant in human history: lies spread faster than truths.

In our current media landscape, it seems to me that every day fewer & fewer people care less & less about whether their beliefs are true. This famous bit from The Colbert Report used to be satire, but something has changed in the intervening years. Maybe people are just getting tired of the onslaught. We’ve been told countless times how a news diet controlled by social media algorithms leads to echo chambers, group think, and the spreading of misinformation. And the resounding response seems to be: WE DON’T CARE.

As I’ve argued in a pervious post, a partisan society benefits the powers that be financially. But it also helps them maintain the status quo. A divided people are less likely to unite to stand up for themselves. Rather than come together- say to demand serious changes to our tax policies, fight corruption in our institutions, and demand changes to our elections to make them more representative- people unite into their tribes and argue with anyone who holds an opposing point of view. For too many of us, membership to a tribe is more important than believing true things.

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A lot of this sentiment boils down to the fact that many people see themselves as soldiers in a cultural/political war. If I can win a battle by fudging the truth, my supporters will reinforce the sentiment and amplify the message. That moral victory is more important right now than strict adherence to the truth because all is fair in love and war.

But are we in a war? It seems like we have to be. If there are opposing sides and they both are fighting a war against the other, then THAT pretty much meets the requisites. In this sense, the extreme sides of any issue can be said to be fighting endless wars. But are most people in that radical category or does it just seem that way because social media amplifies them over more moderate individuals? A war between the extremes may be raging, but the better question is: Is it a war the rest of us ought to join?

Here’s the thing: How you answer that question largely depends on your media diet. According to the authors of that study, consumption of biased media doesn’t have a measurable effect on people’s knowledge of facts, but it largely affects their beliefs above and beyond what those facts logically support. I ask you to really take a second and consider the source of your beliefs no matter which “side” you are on. If you think “woke leftists want to murder babies,” or “police are regularly hunting people of color,” or “Biden was the most corrupt president in US History,” or “Trump staged his assassination attempt,” then I urge you to really scrutinize your facts and honestly question whether your beliefs exceed their rational conclusions.

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There will be people who are mad at that last paragraph. They will call me a moral coward for “bothsidesing” the issues. As if just pointing out that the facts at hand do not support the conclusions, is the same as equivocating the issues morally. (It’s not, by the way.) But again, I urge you to gut check the source of your ire if you do feel that way.

If you are uncomfortable when reading a point-of-view that challenges your own, that is a perfectly normal way to feel, but just because you are experiencing cognitive dissonance doesn’t mean the other side is wrong. We often make moral judgements based on “gut feelings” and rationalize them later. When we feel cognitive dissonance, our gut reaction is to resolve it as quickly as possible and an easy way to do that is to tell yourself that the source of that dissonance is morally wrong, and you are on the right side. Your discomfort is merely your righteous indignation.

But maybe…just maybe…you are feeling cognitive dissonance because deep down, somewhere, you are realizing you are incorrect about something. Examine the facts, look for the inconsistencies, and realize you might need to change your opinion. It might be scary because your friend group is still ideologically captured. Maybe it feels shameful because you have stood on your soapbox for so long and you don’t want to eat crow. But don’t turn back now! To do so would truly be moral cowardice! Embrace it, adjust your thinking and guess what:

…the world didn’t end and you are one belief closer to an accurate representation of reality.

Why is this so important? Because accepting ideologies without proper scrutiny is exactly what makes you predictable and therefore more easily controlled. If leaders can know with relative certainty how you are going to react to a message before it is released, then they have the upper hand. What’s worse, if they can do so while not having to worry that you will care if their message is true, it makes their job even easier.

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Will this inevitably lead to authoritarianism? Yes. There are real conspiracies in the world. There is real corruption. And authoritarians are always looking for ways to gain power. It is often said that the price of freedom is eternal vigilance- and in the digital age we need to be as vigilant of our own beliefs as we are of external threats. If we stop caring about the truth, we expose ourselves to manipulation through the “big lie.”

In Orwell’s 1984, the mantra: War is peace, freedom is slavery, ignorance is strength, was used to demonstrate adherence to the authorities. One didn’t need to believe the words, performing the act of saying them meant your spirit was broken and you were ready to serve mindlessly. Daily we are inundated with false news, misinformation and disinformation, and AI is already starting to exacerbate the problem. It is understandable that people are getting worn down, joining their tribes, and caring less about truth.

Resist! Make Orwell fiction again! Don’t let yourself be ideologically captured by extremists of either side of the political spectrum. Read or listen to the news from a variety of trained journalists. Listen to longform podcasts; choose a few you disagree with and listen to the whole thing. Think for yourself and realize that you can understand some else’s point-of-view without adopting it as your own.

The vast majority of people reading this will likely agree that “other people” fall into these traps, but they themselves are immune to such ideological capture. While, it seems clear to me that none of us (myself included) are as resistant to cognitive biases as we imagine we are, I do hold out hope that things aren’t as bad as they seem. We just need to stop playing the games that the political and economic powers want us to play. We need to see them for the enemies they are rather than our neighbors. A recent study at Berkley lends credence to this hope. They found a simple, yet effective strategy to increase trust on either side of the political divide: Inform people that the “other side” is not as radical as you think they are.

That’s it! That’s the single message out of 24 other solutions that “was top-ranked in reducing voter support for undemocratic practices and also highly effective in reducing support for partisan violence and easing partisan animosity”

Why?

Because it is true.

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The interplay between technology, power, resistance, corruption, morality, existential philosophy, history, and religion are all major themes in my stories and I endeavour to find an audience who cares about this stuff as much as I do— especially when it is packaged into a narrative that is dipped in the chocolate of fast-paced, action-filled plots.

My current work-in-progress (WIP) is the Nekonikon Punk series. When it is finished the main narrative will span three books: Ctrl Break, Ctrl Alt, and Ctrl (undecided right now). I am already pretty sure I have at least one prequel book in the chamber (my head) and various other stories I want to tell within this world. I may decide to release those as an anthology of short stories, or expand them into full-fledged novels. At any rate, my point is that I am finding Nekonikon to be fertile soil for the types of stories I want to tell. Who knows how long I’ll be expanding on this fictional world?

Nekonikon is dystopian by its very nature. It is a city originally established by three megacorps where they have placed their headquarters, production facilities, and worker housing. Eventually, they established their own municipal governing body and became disillusioned with the deliberative, slow moving American government with its taxes, antitrust laws, and endless regulations. Before long, Nekonikon had its own private army and seceded declaring itself an independent city-state. It went to war with the USA along with a group of other similar city-states along the Pacific Coast, eventually ending in a peace treaty establishing their sovereignty.

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I honestly don’t think this is a very far-fetched concept. Have you ever worried about our younger generations and the world which they are inheriting from us? We haven’t left them much. Combine the cost of housing, post-pandemic inflation, climate change, the social security crisis, the widening wealth gap, AI threatening the job market, with the great plastic island in the Pacific and its no wonder dystopias are commonplace in YA and NA fiction! It is safe to say the next few decades are full of uncertainty and our youth are greatly affected by the future they are facing.

So imagine a company comes along, led by some CEO that makes more money in a year than some entire nations will in a decade. He (let’s face it, this CEO is a ‘he’ in our current world order) offers you- a young person- a stable job that includes an apartment. As long as you work for him, you have a decent place to live and wages enough to afford food. How many people would jump at the chance? Then that company starts whittling away your rights. You give up your privacy and in exchange for increased surveillance, you gain some minor conveniences. The company establishes its own community of workers with some pretty strict bylaws; you don’t have much of a say, but hey it keeps out the riff raff. Now that company establishes a governing body. You don’t get to vote, but you’ll keep your mouth shut if you want that promotion that comes with the slightly bigger apartment with a better view…and so on.

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In short, a strongman comes along and offers stability and security in an uncertain world. I believe people would flock to it. Maybe you disagree, but current trends towards authoritarianism certainly seem to support my stance. And frankly, I don’t blame them. It is us who have failed our youth. We left them this mess of a world and simultaneously stood by as schools dismantled civics classes in favor of increased STEM subjects. I have nothing against STEM, but we reap what we sow when that’s become the primary focus of education. We need a better way!

I don’t have much hope for preventing this kind of future, but I do hold out hope that we will always have people who resist it. There are still many of us who care about democracy and lament the crumbling of our societies’ foundations over the past 30 years or more. The fragmentation of our politics, the mistrust of institutions, the lack of well-rounded education, all serve the wealthiest at the expense of the poorest. But despite their concerted efforts, the ideals of freedom, privacy, and genuine human connection remain strong. That is what I want to write about. And that is what I hope you want to read.

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It might surprise the youngest of you, but there was a time when the average person could only name the president, vice president, and maybe a few other political figures like their local governor or state representative in the House. What has changed?

No matter your age, one adage remains unsurprisingly true: follow the money!

It’s likely if you took my test, that along with presidential candidates you named people like Marjorie Taylor Greene (MTG!), Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (AOC!), and Matt Gaetz. Aside from being well-known political figures, who have legions of devoted followers, and are vilified as evil by “the other side,” do you know what else they have in common? The majority of their funding comes from individual donors in sums of under $200/donation.

It’s true! In 2023-24, 64.29% of Marjorie Taylor Greene’s funds came from small individual contributions <$200. For AOC, it was 69.9% and for Matt Gaetz it was 53.91%. The reality is that individual small donations are a significant force in American politics.

On one hand, this is a very democratic thing: People voting with their wallets and banding together en masse to participate in democracy the way the rich and powerful always have. If it were that simple, I’d be all for it. But there is a darker underbelly to this trend that is quite dystopian.

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In the year 2000, shows like Survivor, and Big Brother kicked off the reality TV craze that dominated television for the next twenty years. We all know ostensibly that these shows are not really reality, but nevertheless they give us “real” heart-wrenching stories about the contestants. Shows like American Idol asked viewers to vote each week on who would remain until the end, but these votes were often not based on musical ability, but rather a “behind the scenes” look at the person’s life, their character, their struggles. Cue the sad music.

Producers and show-runners would clip out sections of interviews to skew our perspectives, contrive conflict, and boost ratings! It quickly became clear that the crazier and more outlandish contestants became the audience favorites. And audiences themselves would divide into tribes supporting one contestant and vilifying their rivals.

Sound familiar?

Why are political candidates like MTG, AOC, and Matt Gaetz able to raise so much money from small individual donations? Because they learned the same lesson from the rise of reality TV celebrities that Donald Trump did: Extreme views divide the audience and rally the base to vote for you.

Combine that lesson with the rise of social media algorithms that promote extremism & hate and you’ve got yourself a recipe for the current political landscapes found in countries all over the world. Our political leaders have learned that divisive politics pays- and money is what it’s all about.

Make no mistake, when you overreact, when you share clickbait headlines without taking the time to read the whole story, and when you cling to your tribe, YOU ARE PLAYING THEIR GAME! Joe Biden went from comparing Donald Trump to Hitler to having tea with him. They’re all on the same side, and it ain’t yours!

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So the question remains, how does one resist oppression in such a landscape? The truth is your beliefs are not your identity- or at least they ought not be. We all have different beliefs about the way the world should be and it is a good thing when we disagree. But social media algorithms and political tribalism has too many of us believing otherwise. It is not a sign of a healthy democracy that if I know your opinion on abortion, then I probably also know your opinion on gun control and climate change! Those three things have nothing to do with each other outside of a political tribe. If you find yourself in such a tribe, the best thing you can do to resist is to seek out opposing viewpoints and consider them with good faith.

That is not an easy thing to do. It will feel like you are betraying your camp. It will feel like you are betraying yourself! But eventually you will realize that other people have interesting points of view too. And we can learn from each other if we actually listen to each other. In fact, the dichotomy of the “two sides,” left and right is a false one used by your oppressors to control you!

Be open to your neighbors; chances are they are good people just trying to get by the same as you. And despite the differences in your beliefs, you will have a lot more in common with them than with the political candidate you donated to because they “owned those morons on the other side who want to destroy your country!”

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What it misses for me (or at least just grazes) is the anti-authoritarian essence of cyberpunk. Within the capitalist dystopias, where grizzled detectives slurp noodles at rainy night markets, mysterious hackers navigate digital realms while uploading computer programs the way mages cast spells, and leather-clad vixens with robotic forearms speed by on neon motorcycles, there is a pervasive message that the common person ought to resist the forces of oppression. These forces are usually “megacorps” run by narcissistic megalomaniacs. (Gee, I wonder why that is.)

In short, I think it is important to stress the “punk” in cyberpunk.

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I love punk, but I feel the need to be cautious because I have found among all the possible “identities” one can identify with, “punks” seem to be the most gate-keepy (Yes, I’m making that a word). (By the way, have you ever noticed that once you start using parentheses in a writing session, it’s hard to stop?) Punks are kind of the original hipsters. The more obscure the reference, the more cool you are. And god forbid you like something “mainstream” lest you be denounced as a “poser.”

But the side of punk that I love is the genuine acceptance of everyone as long as they are forthright and honest about who they are and what they like. Never have I felt more accepted than in the mosh pit of Cafe Ole’ in the late 90s, as a local band named Soup did a RATM cover show. (Seriously, Halifax’s music scene back then was amazing!) No one cared about anyone’s identity. You could be any ethnicity, sexual orientation, gender orientation, or hair colour- it didn’t matter. Wanna mosh? Great! Wanna stand by the side? Great. Wanna hang out, on the front steps? Great. Just come as you are and everyone’s fine.

That’s the hope I see in the cyberpunk worlds I enjoy. Today, in the real world, it seems nearly everything is filtered through a lens of identity politics. I believe this is an intentional distraction to keep us divided and ignoring real threats. But in cyberpunk dystopias people know who the actual enemies are. The worlds are populated by multitudes of people of all parts of the identity rainbow. And the great thing is that it’s not commented upon. No one cares. They know who deserves their ire and it is not some made-up boundary. It is the real oppressors.

My main rule for morality is that so long as everyone involved is consenting, they are all adults of sound mind, and there is no undue harm being caused, then go for it! Caring about anything else is you not minding your own business. There is a lot we could learn from the background characters in cyberpunk stories. We should focus on the real problems staring us right in the face each day and prevent these dystopias from ever occurring (or perhaps we’re already too late).

If you would like to support my work, you can always buy me a coffee using the link below!

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