Unplugged

Dakota wasn't always tired, just like the world wasn't always digital. They remembered stories their grandmother told about a time when people walked in sunshine and counted the stars at night. But that was gone; reality was now synthesized through digital visors and neon glasses. In their cramped apartment, Dakota sat hunched over a holographic screen filled with flashing error codes. 'System Overload #F9C4.' The code repeated relentlessly. All day, bots made their lives easier, while humans plugged into the SynthWeb—a global neural network that offered infinite realities, all simulated. Everything changed when Dakota noticed something odd about the glitching code. It wasn't just another system failure. Closer inspection revealed intricate pathways in the code that didn't lead anywhere inside the SynthWeb. They led *outside*. "You're not seriously thinking about investigating this, are you?" asked Riley, Dakota’s cheeky digital companion, who liked to blink in and out of the holo-chat like a friendly ghost. "I haven't unplugged from the real world in years," Dakota replied uneasily. "Well, you do look a bit pixelated," Riley teased, its holographic form flickering like desert heat. Curiosity gnawed at Dakota, challenging the safety of their virtual cocoon. So, against prescription—because real-world excursions were discouraged for safety—they disconnected. The atmosphere hit Dakota like a wave. The unfiltered, moist air was strange on their skin. With a manual map loaded onto a handheld—the kind grandparents used—Dakota set out. It led to an old, forgotten subway station. The train tracks were buried in dust and neglect, unlike the polished lines they'd known in their digital street art. But Dakota saw the flicker of synthetic spirits that still lingered in the metal. "How did you find me?" questioned an unexpected voice. Out stepped Celeste, an enigmatic figure beautifully real yet vivid as digital art. Her eyes glowed with rebellion, a person from the stories Dakota watched and the news deemed dangerous. "Some of us like to live here, on the fringe," Celeste continued. "People don’t know what they're missing beyond the pixels." "But, why? Isn’t fear natural in a world without safety protocols?" Dakota asked, flummoxed by someone who seemed to challenge everything the SynthWeb stood for. "On the SynthWeb, everything's superficial—a beautiful lie." Celeste offered a shy smile. "Here, every step truly counts." They spent hours talking, the kind that stretched beyond lunch breaks or digital notification sounds. Time was as palpable as the air around them. Crackling transmitted over Dakota's holo-device, jolting them to digital reality. Supervisor alerts buzzed: "Invalid Activity. Return to Web." "Are you staying? Or is this a temporary thrill—you'll go back?" Celeste asked, watching as Dakota considered leaving. In that hesitating moment, Dakota realized. Through the SynthWeb, they had everything they could ever want, but none of it mattered. The only real connection was this. "Where do I sign up for the unplugged experience?" Dakota laughed, as Celeste handed them a small leather journal—something tactile and comforting, fit for carriers of real thoughts—a ritual these fringers valued. And for the first time in years, Dakota truly felt "awake."