Brain-boozled by Innovation

By N. S. Rosner

In an era of immense technological advancements, Henry Myles, head of the Visionaries, prematurely deploys the ESPs to replace human beings, without having full knowledge of their intellectual capacity. The ESPs with their hyper-enhanced human capabilities and cost-cutting benefits, bestowed ginormous profit-margins upon

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bookable Moments LLC
• Release date: Nov 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9798986692937

Book preview

The Dome

We need the tonic of wilderness … At the same time that we are earnest to explore and learn all things, we require that all things be mysterious and unexplorable, that land and sea be indefinitely wild, unsurveyed and unfathomed by us because unfathomable. We can never have enough of nature.

—Henry David Thoreau

Chapter One

Between caged and unhappy, weak and powerless, on the whole, she felt nostalgic. She brainstormed. She let loose. She let her thoughts wander. She vacillated in her mind, with her thoughts bouncing back and forth from one idea to another … and then paused. She stopped thinking. She stared into oblivion for a minute as if to remember something. For an entire minute, she froze as her mind started to mull what it means to be good, bad, or happy. She questioned if these states of being were merely illusory and could never truly be attained.

Good, she contemplated, was any benevolent endeavor that enhanced the sensation of power and well-being. It was associated with the will of power and having the power in and of itself. She repeated that statement in her head, not twice, not thrice, but several times. Then she moved to the next thought. Bad, on the other hand, she mused, was birthed from weakness and destruction. She wished to understand the degree to which weakness could be considered a bad thing and could be rationally blamed for destructive forces in the world. Happiness, she concluded, was the ecstatic growth of power, the control of weakness, and the end to resistance. Three concepts—good, bad, and happiness—defined in ways she couldn’t fathom at first, but maybe in the end, at the end of it all, she would.

I wish I were Friedrich, then I’d come up with such powerful philosophies. Duly, she made a mental note.

In that moment, she felt nostalgic. She remembered the innocence of her childhood, a past that was perfectly fitted for an impressionable mind. Now, she was forced to confront a future mired in pure adulterated selfish iniquities, one rendered docile to those of the preferred race and socio-economic class. She fondly yearned for the good old days, when home used to be a private fortress filled with family, love, peace, raw honesty, and happiness. Those things were now rendered an element of the past. She missed what was now her old home, the place she just left, the place and time, she had a deep desire to go back to. Yet she moved forward, to a past she ran from so long ago, a past that required her duty to serve.

It dawned on her that she was neither good, bad, nor happy per Friedrich’s philosophy. She operated from a point of strength within a place entrenched in weakness, selfishness, and ugliness. She had no power to change her current situation, and that’s why she felt unhappy, lost, and almost powerless. She sighed deeply and constantly as if to reassure herself. As if to convince her mind that she made the right decision. However, she was optimistic. She was buoyant. She was confident that things would work out in her favor. With such positive thoughts, she shunned her worries.

The twins on the other hand, well, she couldn’t say it was the same for them. Seated at the back seat of their electric, self-

driving convertible car, Sam and Jazz harmoniously sang along as they rocked to their favorite singer, Vibrant Zealot. The warm breeze briskly brushed against their skin, leaving them covered in goosebumps. Samara’s flawless midnight-black hair recklessly swayed in the breeze, free and wild, but rooted. Her shades were slightly placed on her frontal lobe with her long, thin legs lazily resting on her sister’s lap. Jazz, gently, yet absent-mindedly stroked Samara’s legs with her left hand, while the other rested on her

seat.

The two were an iconic pair of beauties—the goddesses of beauty in the flesh and as a figment of the imagination. They had jet-black hair that flowed to their shoulders; pink, supple lips, saccharine flavored; and slender, neatly shaped eyebrows above hazel-brown eyes with a spark of magnetism in them. Their glossy complexion complemented their bubbly personalities. They had beautiful Amazonian curves which people adoringly admired as their outfits kissed and accentuated every part of their bodies. They bore similar physical characteristics, but their personalities and tastes in fashion differentiated them.

Samara caught herself smiling and blushing at last night’s events. She remembered how gently and with sizeable intensity Sharon kissed her. She moved her lips in search of hers with unquenchable thirst, yet slowly taking her sweet time to savor each moment. She held Samara’s hands up against the bathroom walls with her left hand, while the right hand explored, teased, and played with her clit. She made faint moaning sounds, as Sharon’s lips wouldn’t let her moan any louder. Samara craved her every touch, ached for every kiss, yearned for more, as she became undone before Sharon, whose pace seemed to end abruptly.

She wished to tell Sharon the truth, the truth that she was never going to see her again. She wished to let her know that to her, she was just a one-night stand, that to her, she was a temporary distraction and nothing more. That she was there for her amusement, for only one night. She used her. She wished she could. She dared not make the mistake of breaking her heart, for she knew what it felt like to be heartbroken. Instead, I’ll see you tomorrow was all she said, as she blocked her number on her way out of the club. At least she didn’t break her heart, not directly. Samara thought about her actions the night before and felt she needed to atone for her sins. Never in her life did she think she could ever use someone in that manner and then walked away. Walked away without shame. Without guilt. Without remorse.

I guess there is always a first time for everything, she told herself.

Ever wondered why the sun seems red and the horizon orange yellowish? asked Jazz.

Staring far into the horizon, Jazz got lost in the beautiful color coordination of the setting sun. She couldn’t help but adore the sight—the blend between the ultramarine sky and the orange horizon covered in deflection of rays dispersed well beyond the distance.

Why bother knowing? Samara murmured underneath her breath, as she slightly adjusted her shades. Thinking to herself, she noted how beautiful a sight of the setting sun would be if captured on a canvas. Being a painter, she got lost in the strokes of her brush, the splash of colors on her canvas, spilled paint on her tank top, her hair held up, the—

Wavelengths.

Before she could finish her thought, Jazz interrupted.

When sunlight passes through dense atmosphere, particles scatter the shorter wavelengths. Red and yellow are longer wavelengths, hence not likely to scatter. As a result, we get to see the sun as red when it’s at the horizon, said Jazz, looking into Samara’s eyes, as if to say, In your face!

Well, what else do you want us to learn, your majesty? Samara asked sarcastically.

Did you know that human beings are fifty percent made of legs, and that is why— Jazz continued.

Don’t you understand sarcasm, for crying out loud! Samara became visibly annoyed.

You’re such a basic bitch, you know? Jazz snapped back at her.

Mom, are you going to let her talk to me like that? With teary eyes, Samara called out to her mother. As much as she was the jovial and cheeky type, Sam was quick to take offence, and her feelings were hurt easily. Sam wouldn’t harm a fly. However, make no mistake, she wasn’t the type to welcome being bullied, neither was she the type to stand by idly and watch someone else being bullied.

Stop dragging Mom into your mess. Clean it up by yourself, stupid. If you would stop being rude, I won’t have to call you a basic bitch. Jazz shushed her unapologetically. The one person who knew how to get on Sam’s last nerve was her sister. They were always at each other’s throat, exchanging sarcasm and insults. They never allowed their little tiffs to go too far. However, to an outsider, it was like watching Wrestle Extravaganza at prime time on a Friday night.

Mom! Seriously? Samara called out once more.

What did I tell you about calling your sister a basic bitch, Jazzlyn? their mom scolded.

They looked at each other and started smirking. And you, Sam, their mom continued, when will you learn to defend yourself? She quickly turned and berated Samara also.

Every time the two were at it, they would drag their mother into the argument as if to force her to choose sides. Jazz will deliberately call Sam a bitch, who, in turn, will involve their mother. Their mother would never choose a side but, instead, regurgitated the same admonition of their actions, always. They were creatures of habit.

Jazz jokingly apologized as she held Samara’s hand. They started laughing instantly and poking fun at how their mother always became incensed whenever they picked fights with each other. Most of the times, the pair of monsters did it for the fun of it. That’s something that their mother did not know.

They embarked on their sing-along routine, and this time around, their mother joined in. Elizabeth had a melodious voice. She could hit very high and low notes effortlessly. She embarked on a career in music at a very young age, but as time progressed, and her youthfulness faded, she decided to pursue a career in medicine.

Due to her love of music, Elizabeth George, their mother, paid homage to the art form by naming her eldest child Jazzlyn, Jazz for short. Luckily enough, just like her mother, Jazz started singing at a tender age. She also had an amazing voice, one of the many features she inherited from her mother. Sam was a good singer too, but she couldn’t hit the high notes as effortlessly as her mother and sister did. She made peace with this, and only sang for fun, either in karaoke or in sing-along cases. The trio had fun singing along to their favorite artists. They made a point of making the road trip fun, enjoyable, and memorable. They indulged each other a bit.

I am proud of the both of you, Elizabeth said weepily. They did not understand why their mom was sentimental. They looked at each other, suppressed the need, the burning curiosity, the urge to question her actions, and then smiled at each other. They had sparkling white teeth with a well-aligned dental formula. These were teenagers with inquisitive minds and the constant need to poke around. So, in unison, they asked their mother, Mom, why did we move?

Their mother looked at them and calmly said, That’s a story for another day. I promise I will answer that question, just not today. She sank in her seat, held her breath, and assumed they will never ask of it again. She didn’t know how to tell them that she might have torched the hospital where she used to work. The last month was tough on her. She had these vivid episodes of doing things but couldn’t quite distinguish if her actions were real, imagined, or dreamt. She could not explain what was happening. Sometimes it felt like she was having an out-of-body experience with lucid dreams, or she may have been sleepwalking. Either way, the constant factor in both cases was, though she could not explain it, she remembered the event later. Though she could not fathom how it would be possible, it felt as if her thoughts and actions were being controlled by something, or someone else. She had no autonomy over her own actions and thoughts.

It was as if her life had become a preset pedagogical template wherein her actions were being determined and executed by someone else. She was the puppet being controlled by a puppet master. Elizabeth was forced to come to terms with the fact that this was not only possible, but it was also highly likely, given the recent technological developments which were taking place. One Saturday, for instance, she left home for work in the middle of the night, operated on a patient for four hours, and drove back home without being aware of her actions. To Elizabeth, it felt like an out of body experience. The following day, she woke up well rested and detached from her actions of the night before. Physiologically speaking, it was as if she didn’t cover an entire surgery overnight. The following week, she woke up at four in the morning, made breakfast for the kids, did laundry for the entire family, and ironed her work scrubs, managed to go back to sleep, and woke up that morning feeling detached from her actions as if she had sleepwalked her way through the experience. Then, there was the recent incident where she supposedly set fire to the hospital where she previously worked.

Although she couldn’t explain it, Elizabeth felt as if she had lost control over what was happening. She thought if she were sleepwalking, the chances of her remembering her actions would be slim to none. Deep down inside her, she couldn’t conclude that lucid dreams were responsible for what was happening, but she could not rule it out as a factor either. As a neurosurgeon, she knew a bit about lucid dreams. They are atypical because one would have to be aware that they are dreaming, while they are dreaming, and that doesn’t happen in most cases. She was left wondering what precisely was happening to her. The only explanation that made sense to her was her brain functions were subjected to the control of someone or something else. She dismissed the thought as it creeped into her mind, for it immediately seemed incredulous and implausible altogether. Elizabeth grew increasingly concerned about what was happening to her. Although she never shared her concerns with anyone, she decided to resign her work at the hospital, fearing she was becoming a threat to her patients, whose lives she took an oath to protect. Her resignation from the position of head of neurosurgery at the hospital came wrapped in a cloud of secrecy at the most pivotal time, as the hospital was embarking on a breakthrough technology in modern science and medicine. The Board of Medicinal Science could not release much information about the new technology, as it was still in the scientific research stage of development, and it would have been presumptuous to release the results before the board got a chance to review research findings. Elizabeth was a well-respected neurosurgeon in her field and played an integral role in the research, which was ongoing. She knew the board would have many questions regarding her resignation at such a poignant time; however, she requested that her resignation be kept confidential. Until she figured out what was happening to her, she wasn’t ready to disclose any information to her twins or to anyone else.

The next twenty minutes of the drive were spent in silence. Samara dozed off. Jazz was texting her best friend Peaches, and Elizabeth was on a call with her lawyer. Sawyer Hawkins and Elizabeth have been good friends for a very long time. She met Hawkins at a party while pursuing her graduate degree. She never forgot how Hawkins saved her from a completely inebriated fellow who would not take no for an answer at the party.

My love, sorry it took me so long to get us drinks, I lost my way back to you, Hawkins said as he handed Elizabeth vodka on the rocks, gently took her left hand, and led her away from the drunken young man, who was still wobbling at the bar.

Did you know this hotel has over one hundred and fifty rooms that all look alike? Hawkins asked as he led her to the balcony of the hotel.

Warming up to the conversation, Elizabeth asked, And how would you know that? She was genuinely grateful he had relieved her at the right time. However, she was also very curious to know how he had acquired his information.

I see, you think I was lying when I said I lost my way to you. Sincerely speaking, I did lose my way, Hawkins assured her.

She chuckled. Really, and why should I trust you? I mean … I’m not your love, Elizabeth stuttered a bit as she tried to find the right words to respond to Hawkins.

Yet, he answered as he gestured to Elizabeth to take a seat.

"I have had my eyes on you from the moment I saw you walked

in. To be precise, that was two hours and thirty minutes ago. I

tried to approach you, but to say I was intimidated by your beauty is an understatement. I left to find the restrooms, then stopped

to get myself a couple shots of tequila to calm my nerves. You see, I needed to build up the courage to approach you, and unfortunately, I lost my way. Hawkins chuckled as his face became a little flushed. And that is how I ended up walking in on several couples making out in different rooms. I needed some liquid courage after that experience," he said with a smirk on his face.

Elizabeth couldn’t help but smile at Hawkins’ boyish demeanor and expression as he tried to explain himself. As caution sieved into her mind, Elizabeth quickly shunned it, figuring what’s the harm in giving him a chance to explain. After all, she did owe him for being her hero when she needed one the most.

I am Hawkins, Sawyer Hawkins, and I swear that I am telling you the truth. Hawkins appeared to have read her mind at the time.

Oh no! Please tell me you are not faking the lawyer cliché just to talk to me? Elizabeth gently chided at him.

Hawkins looked into Elizabeth’s dark amber eyes, noting the golden lining in them as they reflect an array of light, creating a beautiful spectrum around her cornea. He felt instantaneously drawn to them. It was a connection so strong that it lured him in. It was as if her eyes were roaming, searching his soul to find out who he really was.

I love your eyes. They are intoxicating, or maybe I’m drawn to their amber color, Hawkins revealed as Elizabeth sipped her vodka, and looked away, as if to blush. The sudden softness in Elizabeth’s demeanor and facial expression, alerted Hawkins to the fact that she was beginning to warm up to him. You go boy, she is beginning to come around! he thought. It’s been a while since Hawkins took time away from work to socialize. He secretly hoped it wasn’t evident to Elizabeth.

Amber is a rare eye color. Only five percent of people have it. People with amber eyes are said to be charming, sexy, and desirable, said Elizabeth, trying to appear un-flattered by his fascination with them.

Such individuals tend to be dominant but in favorable circumstances, flexible enough to adapt, Hawkins added, appearing to hold his own in the conversation.

Impressed, Elizabeth smiled. She liked him. He knew exactly what to say and when to say it. I am Elizabeth George, she told him with an outstretched right arm. Hawkins gave her a firm

handshake in return. Elizabeth decided to cut him some slack that night because he won her over with his humor, charm, and wit. That night, the beginning of a new authentic friendship was initiated.

A few minutes after Elizabeth ended her call with Hawkins, she found herself reminiscing on some memories of how her mother randomly wrote her poems. Her favorite was Minefield. She repeated the stanza to herself:

A whole we were, a minefield perhaps,

A hole they dug, hollow it left my chest,

A dagger went both ways, came out in none,

Some gravel was added, little consolation, perhaps.

Just enough to get our message across, they said.

As white hatred, greed, and hypocrisy

Crystalized and enshrined on the pedestal of our reality.

In went a seed, birthing a rose,

A beautiful rainbow rose, the colors I adore,

Beautiful and intricate - breathless it left me,

Wrapped its thorns around thine heart,

And squeezed the life out of it,

Leaving looming darkness instead!

Is this the price we pay to feel and understand

Too much yet so little?

Lies masked as truths,

Truths buried under a veil of secrecy,

As alternate and virtual worlds become our reality

Where mediocrity is forged as authenticity,

Where does this minefield end?

How many more lives must be destroyed?

To foster colonialism in perpetuity

To keep nurturing the farce

That inclusivity, fairness, equity and justice for all,

Is the pride and guiding mantra of our existentiality?

With this minefield, as it darkens the rainbow ambers.

At the end of the poem, her mother always reminded her to be cautious of who she surrounded herself with. Elizabeth reinstated the same warning into her memory.

You have reached your destination, Magna, the voice on the navigation announced.

Thank you, Magna, said Elizabeth as she gently woke the ladies.

When they arrived at their new destination, Samara and Jazz didn’t know how to feel about the changes. They were sad to leave a place they were acquainted with, a place they called home for the past sixteen years. They were born in Villa City, and they loved and appreciated every bit of it. They left some amazing friends behind. The culture was inclusive and diversified, with memorable holiday traditions that were worth celebrating. They had balance, homeostasis, and a routine they had settled into. Suddenly, a paradigm shift occurred out of nowhere. It was one that no one saw coming. It disoriented them, destroying the balance they were accustomed to, rendering them confused and out of place. They acquiesced to Elizabeth’s wishes with no explanation given.

Now, they were forced to live in Phoenix City, a choice Elizabeth made without consulting them. It’s not that alerting them to her plans would have made a difference, given that they were almost sixteen and still considered legally minor children, but the twins felt they should have been given enough notice.

Ladies, we are leaving for Phoenix City over the summer break. That was how Elizabeth informed them. It was a resolve, not a request. A resolve delivered in such a way that the girls knew it was a not open for debate kind of statement.

On the other hand, they were somewhat happy. After all, it was a new environment, a new place, and a chance at a clean slate. Right?

Samara was melancholic, but relieved, given that she had somewhere she could start over. Her girlfriend recently dumped her for her best friend, and that shattered her world completely. Speaking of betrayal, Anya, her best friend, and Adriana, her girlfriend, were seeing each other for two months behind Samara’s back. They waited for Adriana’s birthday party to make things official with a grand announcement. They publicly humiliated Sam without remorse. Damn pair of animals! Sam thought. She was beyond heartbroken at not just the breakup, but the fact that they didn’t consider her feelings or all that she had done for them. Adriana didn’t come from a well-to-do family. So as a surprise, Sam arranged the birthday party for her, invited all her friends, and bought her a laptop as a gift. Adriana had been working, covering several shifts, to buy herself one. It turned out that Sam was the one who ended up being surprised at the party instead of Adriana. Jazz, Sam’s twin, was the one left to help her pick up the pieces.

Being the empath that she was, Jazz shared in her sister’s heartbreak and could relate to the pain she felt in the pit of her stomach. She wasn’t the person to voice her empathy, but through her actions, it was apparent she was just as sad as Samara in her own special way. That explained why Jazzlyn was always on Samara’s case. She tried to bully her, poke fun of her, and tried to make her laugh. She would do anything to engage her sister in a failed attempt to take her mind off the betrayal. Jazz went as far as ending her relationship with her boyfriend to avoid seeming insensitive to Sam’s feelings. Honestly, Jazz didn’t mind that they moved to Phoenix. According to her, home is where her family is. As long as the three of them were together, that’s all that mattered to her.

Elizabeth, on the other hand, was mostly nostalgic. It was written all over her face. Phoenix City was, and has always been, home for her, even with the good, bad, and indifferent memories she had of the place. Up until that tragic day, she had not stepped a single foot in Phoenix after the death of her mother. As she stood on the front porch of her home, the memories flooded her mind. You could see it on her face the second she ascended the stairs to the front door. She stopped for a minute to take deep breaths as she allowed the memories of her past to consume her. It was on that porch that she had lost her virginity. It was on that porch she sat with her dad every evening, naming the stars. It was on that same porch she saw her mother collapsed as a result of a myocardial infraction. The porch … um … she thought as she slightly shook her head at the thoughts. It bore memories, good and bad. It was hard for her to relive some of those memories. Given who she was, and what she was to her girls, she would have to remain strong for them and not let it all consume her.

Elizabeth George was resilient. She had stamina and perseverance—the qualities of a Nubian and Amazonian goddess all in one package. These qualities defined her entire existence. She was not about to become emotional or show her true feelings when they were about to have a reunion with her old friends in the neighborhood.

Ladies, welcome home, Elizabeth announced to her daughters as she placed her luggage down to the side and made way for her daughters to step inside.

Mesmerized at how massively the house had changed, Elizabeth stood at the door, allowing every passing second of the moment to sink in. It was as if she was savoring time for it to start to taste good in her mouth. The interior design was impeccable. From the choice of furniture to the color coordination of the walls, from the chandeliers to the electronics, down to the arrangement of the books on the shelf—everything was intricately arranged and detailed.

Wow, I love it! marveled Jazz.

I call dibs on the master bedroom, said Samara as she ran briskly up the stairs.

The first one there gets the room, said their mom as she ran after Samara.

Well, this seems fun! said Jazz as she arrived ahead of her mom. Samara beat them both to the master bedroom.

Losers! She jabbed as she jumped on the queen-sized bed and giggled at them. They both jumped on the bed, laughing like a group of five-year-olds who just won candy for themselves at a Halloween party.

You can have the room, Ms. Petty! said their mom as she walked out and headed to her parents’ former room, a second king-sized bedroom that the girls did not notice. The other rooms are pretty much the same size as this one, Elizabeth added.

Sam and Jazz sat there discussing what they wanted for their rooms. They both agreed on changing the color of the walls in their respective rooms. They wanted their own unique furniture, electronics, and wardrobe of clothes and shoes that defined each of their personalities. Jazz was enthusiastic about shopping for jewelry that matches with her outfits while Samara couldn’t wait to hang artwork all over her bedroom walls. The girls taste in fine art were sharply different, like oil and water, darkness and light, and heaven and hell. They were completely opposite of each other.

Jazz had a love for the performing arts and particularly music. She loved singing and had a few demos recorded. As mentioned earlier, she inherited her mother’s talent. She was outspoken and generally the most verbose of the twins. She was a girly girl who woke up an hour before everyone else every morning so she could work out. After her workout, she would shower and get herself dolled up. She would literally dress up like royalty, as if she were a princess. Of the twins, she was most like her mother. Unlike Samara, she took an interest in the opposite sex even though she never invested much time or effort in a relationship.

Samara was the more eccentric of the two. She was creative and distinctively talented at drawing and painting. Her impeccable illustrations and artistic renderings could be found in the most exquisite galleries. Her paintings were eye-catching, authentic, majestic, raw, real, and abstract, as well as relatable. She had her own art gallery with a stealthy fan base of millions of followers. She was humble about her achievements and made a comfortable living doing what she loved the most. She didn’t care about other people’s perception of her, so she didn’t spend hours in front of the mirror. She once wore a pair of jeans and button-down shirt to a formal event. She didn’t care that everyone else was in formal attire. It was one of her most endearing qualities—not allowing people’s perception to impact her authenticity. She was comfortable with who she was, and that’s all that mattered.

Even though they had distinctively different styles, people could not differentiate between them on those very rare occasions that they decide to wear the same outfits. They were identical twins with similar physical features, from the way they talked to the way they walked, and from the way they reasoned to their reactions. Genetically speaking, they were indistinguishable. To add to that, they were both equally intelligible. They had the same intelligence quotient score, and both were considered geniuses by societal standards.

Do you think Mom is okay? Samara asked Jazz, after their little tête-à-tête ended.

I really don’t know. She has been acting a little peculiar lately, Jazz replied with concern evident in her voice. Do you think she would let us know if something was wrong?

I don’t know. I would hope so, though she does seem to be keeping secrets from us lately, Samara pointed out.

I noticed that too. It’s not like her, Jazz agreed. Let’s hope she knows she can talk to us if there’s something going on that we need to know about, she continued as they concluded the conversation.

They lay on the floor, steering at the ceiling. Both started to wonder what their lives was going be like living in Phoenix City.

Magna, please play all the sad songs you know, said Jazz to the radio as she led Samara up off the floor, guiding her to dance and sing along to Magna’s playlist.

The girls had a strong bond, which was undeniably evident in times where it counted the most. They could paint and sing, but they were terrible dancers. It was not hard to notice the inconsistency, the lack of flow or synchronization in their movements as they tried to keep in tune with the music. Watching them dance was like watching a comedy show—all laughs and no flow. Their mom would jokingly tell them she regretted not paying