The classroom hummed with the faint static of the holo-board as teacher Lorn paced at the front. His coat shimmered under the soft blue ceiling lights, the NexusLink embedded in his temple pulsing gently as he spoke.

"Science," he declared, "is the only tool that has ever lifted humanity out of ignorance.

TheMyths,the superstitious—relics of a primitive mind grasping at the unknown."

A hand shot up. Elias, leaned forward. "But isn't science just another belief system? A different way to rationalize the unknown?"

A murmur rippled through the class. Jaxon, seated near the back, sighed internally. He had heard this argument a thousand times. He already knew how this would play out—predictable, shallow rebuttals, all surface-level.

Professor Lorn smirked. "Belief? Science is based on evidence. You don’t ‘believe’ in gravity—you measure its effects. You don’t ‘believe’ in evolution—you trace the genetic markers. Your argument collapses under scrutiny."

Elias pushed back. "Yet science changes. What was ‘proven’ centuries ago is now outdated. What if what we call knowledge today is just temporary truth?"

Jaxon finally spoke, his voice cutting through the debate like a scalpel. "You're both missing the point. The real problem isn’t whether science is absolute or if faith has answers—it’s the arrogance of assuming either side knows the full picture."

Silence. The room tensed, as if recalibrating. Professor Lorn narrowed his eyes.

"Go on," he said.

Jaxon leaned back, indifferent. "I am still thinking about it honestly."

The discussion moved on. But Lorn’s eyes lingered on Jaxon, as if seeing something no one else did.

***

Neon Lies in the Rain

The rain came down in sheets, drumming against the pavement as Jaxon walked home, hands shoved into his coat pockets. His Neuralink flickered to life, unprompted, projecting a translucent display over his vision. The cityscape blurred behind it, neon reflections rippling in the puddles beneath his feet.

BREAKING NEWS: POPULATION DECLINE REACHES CRITICAL LEVELS

A holographic news anchor materialized in his periphery, her synthetic features eerily flawless. “Experts warn that birth rates have plummeted. Humanity faces a crisis. We urge citizens to consider reproduction incentives—our future depends on it.”

Jaxon exhaled sharply, watching as curated statistics scrolled across his field of vision. Projected extinction within two centuries. Urgent measures required. It was the same recycled nonsense.

Through the Neuralink’s interface, he saw state-sponsored banners lining the streets—digital billboards layered over reality. A smiling family, arms around each other, captioned: Do your part. Another, with a suited executive, his Nexus 9 bodyguards in the background: A thriving population ensures a thriving economy.

Bullshit.

Jaxon knew the truth. The corporations didn’t fear a declining birth rate—they needed more minds, more implants, more control. The more people born, the more Neuralinks installed, the deeper their influence stretched.

He swiped a hand through the projection, dismissing it. The rain washed over him, cold and grounding. He kept walking, indifferent to the propaganda flashing in his mind.

Drenched in Thought

Jaxon walked through the rain, his pace steady, his mind restless. Water seeped into his collar, but he barely felt it. His Neuralink had dimmed the news feed, yet the echoes of propaganda still lingered in his head.

He exhaled, watching his breath mix with the cold night air. “How do people live like this?” he muttered. “Just… absorbing whatever they’re fed. No questions, no resistance.”

He kicked a loose stone on the pavement, watching it skip across a puddle. The reflections of neon billboards distorted in the ripples, just like the distorted reality they sold. Population decline. A crisis. He almost laughed. The real crisis was how easily everyone believed it.

“Maybe it’s easier,” he mused. “Let them do the thinking for you, let them decide what’s real. No need to overanalyze, no need to resist.”

He wiped the rain from his face, his fingers briefly touching the implant behind his ear. The Neuralink was quiet now, waiting for him to engage with it again. It was always there—an ever-present link to the stream of controlled information.

But he didn’t need it. He saw through everything, and that was the burden. Watching the world repeat the same recycled narratives, seeing people around him convinced they were making their own choices when they were really just echoing a script.

He sighed, stepping over a drain as water rushed past. “They call it peace of mind. I call it sedation.”

Jaxon’s footsteps splashed against the rain-slick pavement, his mind spiraling into deeper thoughts. The city lights flickered above, casting a dull glow on the wet streets, while the hum of distant traffic buzzed like white noise in the background.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

How the hell did we get here?

It wasn’t just about the propaganda. It was deeper than that—this twisted reality where status and wealth dictated a person’s worth. Where even something as fundamental as an implant, a supposed tool for connection and knowledge, had become a symbol of hierarchy.

He glanced at his reflection in a store window, his own Neuralink barely visible beneath his damp hair. It was a standard issue—functional, unremarkable. But for those who could afford the elite models, the experience was different. Enhanced cognitive processing, unrestricted data access, even sensory upgrades that made reality itself feel more vivid.

When did intelligence become something you had to buy?

He had seen it firsthand in class—the students with premium Neuralinks always a step ahead, processing information faster, responding with artificial confidence. Was it even their intelligence, or just another algorithm feeding them the ‘right’ answers?

Is this what evolution looks like now? Not survival of the fittest, but survival of the richest?

Jaxon clenched his jaw. People worshipped those at the top, mistaking privilege for superiority. As if wealth alone made someone more deserving of power. He had long accepted that the world wasn’t fair, but some days, it felt beyond rigged—it felt designed.

The rain dripped from his brow as he exhaled sharply, stepping back into the darkness.

Drowning in the Noise

Jaxon trudged through the rain, the cold biting through his jacket. His Neuralink flickered in the corner of his vision, displaying the same tired headlines.

"Global Population Decline Reaches Critical Levels."

"New Policies to Encourage Growth & Stability."

"The Future is in Our Hands—Support the Initiative!"

Bullshit.

He scoffed under his breath. It was laughable how predictable it all was—yet no one seemed to question it. He swiped the feed away with a thought, but the irritation remained.

"Everyone's just eating this up. Like this is some great crisis when in reality, the only crisis is their bottom line."

His voice barely carried over the rain, but it didn't matter. No one was listening. No one ever was.

He kicked a stray can, watching it skid across the pavement before disappearing into a drain.

He wiped the water from his brow, his Neuralink pinging softly. A silent reminder that even his thoughts weren’t truly private. Are they watching me now? Are my words getting flagged? He shook the thought away. Paranoia or not, the truth remained the same.

By the time he reached home, his clothes were drenched, but he barely noticed. Stepping inside, the warmth hit him first—then the familiar scent of something cooking. His mother glanced up from the stove, barely sparing him a look.

“You’re late,” she said, stirring a pot of stew.

"Yeah," Jaxon muttered, kicking off his shoes. He ran a hand through his damp hair, still lost in thought.

His mother turned, a smirk tugging at her lips. "You might not be an only child for much longer."

Jaxon froze. His gaze flickered to the TV in the corner—where the headline was still glowing.

He exhaled sharply. "Of course."

Jaxon let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Right. Because that’s what the world needs right now—more consumers, more data points, more—”

His father’s voice cut through his words like a blade.

"Jaxon."

A single warning.

He turned to see his father standing by the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable but firm. The same look he always gave whenever Jaxon thought too much.

Jaxon exhaled, but he wasn't about to let this slide. "You do realize this whole 'population decline' thing is just manufactured panic, right? The corporations don't care about birth rates. They care about implant sales. Every new child means a mandatory Neuralink, which means more data mining, more behavioral tracking—"

"Enough," his father said sharply. "You sound like one of those people."

Jaxon narrowed his eyes. "One of those people?"

His father sighed, rubbing his temples. "The ones who think they’re smarter than the rest of the world. The ones who question everything just to feel superior. The ones who refuse to accept reality."

Jaxon scoffed, his frustration boiling. "Reality? You mean the version of reality they let you see?"

His mother, still stirring the pot, didn’t look up. She never got involved in these debates. She never cared.

His father, on the other hand, stepped forward, voice cold. "Not everything is a conspiracy, Jaxon."

"And not everything is true just because it’s repeated a thousand times," Jaxon shot back.

A heavy silence filled the room.

His father held his gaze for a long moment before shaking his head. "This is exactly why no one takes you seriously."

Jaxon clenched his jaw. He could argue. He wanted to argue. But what was the point? His father wasn't listening. He never did.

So instead, Jaxon forced a smirk and shrugged. "Well, congratulations, then. Hope you enjoy the tax incentives."

With that, he grabbed his plate, turned on his heel, and walked straight to his room.

The chatroom was alive.

[User: Cipher]: New broadcast just dropped. Same recycled headline.

[User: Nyx]: Let me guess. Population Decline?

[User: Cipher]: Bingo.

[User: Jaxon]: They aren’t even trying anymore.

[User: Nyx]: Bro, they don’t have to. People eat this up.

Jaxon scrolled through the flood of messages. Someone had posted a clip from the news—one of the corporate-controlled networks. A sharp-dressed anchor spoke with practiced concern:

"Birth Rates continue to fall, raising concerns about the future workforce. Experts warn that a declining population could lead to economic collapse within the next century."

Jaxon almost laughed. What economic collapse? More people meant more Neuralinks, more consumption, more control.

[User: Helix]: Funny how they talk about “decline” while licensing Nexus 9 in bulk.

[User: Jaxon]: Exactly. They don’t need more people. They just need more implants.

[User: Cipher]: Controlled minds over uncontrolled masses.

[User: Helix]: It’s not about bodies, it’s about processing power.

Jaxon let that sink in. Processing power. The more humans were plugged in, the more data corporations had. The illusion of a crisis kept the system running.

[User: Nyx]: Tell me why Nexus 9 got deployed in the last world war but now we’re supposed to act like birth rates matter?

[User: Cipher]: War’s a business. Birth’s a business. Everything’s a business.

[User: Jaxon]: They keep the numbers where they need them.

Silence for a moment. The weight of the conversation settled. Then, a new message.

[User: Helix]: So what’s next? Elections are coming.

[User: Cipher]: Same script, different actors.

[User: Nyx]: You really think votes matter?

[User: Helix]: They don’t, but the illusion does.

Jaxon exhaled, running a hand through his hair. It was all a loop. Every election, every crisis, every wave of manufactured fear—it all fed the same machine. The only real variable was how many people saw through it.

And even then—what could they do?

[User: Jaxon]: It’s funny. The more you see, the less you can do.

[User: Nyx]: Welcome to consciousness.

[User: Cipher]: And yet, they still call us crazy.

[User: Jaxon]: They call you crazy so you don’t get listened to.

[User: Helix]: Because the moment too many people get it, the game’s over.

Another pause.

Then, an anonymous user joined. No username. No identifier. Just a blank space where a name should be.

[???]: …You’re asking the wrong questions.

Jaxon sat up, pulse spiking.

[User: Nyx]: What?

[User: Cipher]: New account?

[User: Jaxon]: Elaborate.

But the user was already gone. Their message lingered in the chat for a few seconds before glitching out.

Jaxon stared at the empty space where it had been.

Something about it felt… off.

The room was suddenly too quiet. The Neuralink interface flickered, just for a second. A static hum filled his ears.

Then, everything returned to normal.

The chat moved on.

Jaxon didn’t.

He had seen glitches before—but not like that.

He logged out. Sat in the darkness of his room, listening to the rain. His stomach twisted. What if they were watching?

Or worse—what if they weren’t?

What if whatever was watching… weren't them?

***

Jaxon stared at the empty message log. You’re asking the wrong questions.

It gnawed at him, but the chat had already moved on.

[User: Cipher]: That was weird.

[User: Nyx]: Glitch? Bot?

[User: Helix]: Nah. Someone watching.

[User: Cipher]: Watching or warning?

[User: Jaxon]: Both.

Jaxon leaned back, exhaling slowly. His mind was running in circles. Too much information, too much noise. He had been here before—lost in the labyrinth of knowledge, knowing too much and too little at the same time.

[User: Nyx]: Anyway. Before that freak show interruption—

[User: Cipher]: Elections.

[User: Jaxon]: Scripted.

[User: Helix]: Rigged.

[User: Nyx]: Profitable.

[User: Cipher]: But the illusion must go on.

[User: Jaxon]: And people will line up, thinking they have a choice.

A tired laugh. Jaxon could almost hear it through the screen.

[User: Nyx]: We all know the real elections happen behind closed doors.

[User: Helix]: Six people. A round table. The gods.

[User: Cipher]: Mars colonies, population engineering, war contracts. That’s the real ballot.

[User: Jaxon]: And Nexus 9 ensures compliance.

Silence.

It was too much for one night. The more they talked, the heavier Jaxon felt. None of this would change by morning.

He stretched, rubbing his eyes.

[User: Jaxon]: I’m tapping out. Enough mental gymnastics for tonight.

[User: Nyx]: Go touch grass, bro.

[User: Cipher]: If there’s any left.

[User: Helix]: Sleep is a scam.

[User: Jaxon]: So is free will.

Jaxon

logged out.

His room was silent. The Neuralink interface dimmed. His head buzzed from the flood of information, but exhaustion overpowered paranoia.

As he lay back in bed, eyes drifting shut, he had no idea what was waiting for him on the other side of sleep.