Kafka surveyed the crowded auditorium, his eyes scanning the sea of eager faces. The citizens of New Eden flocked to his Psychoboom classes in a desperate attempt to taste some emotional release in their tightly controlled society.

“Welcome,” he said, his voice echoing through the cavernous space. “Today, we delve into the depths of your psyche.”

The participants looked at him eagerly, hanging on to every word he spoke. While he taught them what was prescribed by the New Eden Society—a series of exercises comprising punching crimson velvet pillows, immersions in frigid water, meditations with negligible dosages of drugs, and carefully orchestrated sexual encounters—he felt void. He did not feel like himself.

As the months progressed, he would see these participants become happy, hysterical, and sad. When they left, they would have lost themselves. The participants were depleted by the numerous emotional catharses so that the NES could install the neuron chip to monitor loyalty and movement of their citizens. The program had started to treat the myriad mental issues bottled up by people. But then things changed.

In the observation room above, Kafka watched the monitors, a gnawing unease growing in his gut. The system’s algorithms tracked every twitch, every elevated heartbeat, categorizing and quantifying the citizens’ responses. He could also monitor his own details, but he knew something was missing. The data showed he was a happy middle-aged adult, but he did not feel that way. There was a feeling that they were lab rats, and it became clear when Kafka’s colleague, Dr. Myrna, approached him with a syringe.

“The new formula,” she whispered. “It’s time for the next phase.”

Kafka hesitated, his hand hovering over the syringe. “Are we certain about this?”

Myrna’s eyes narrowed. “We have no other way, and you were the one who developed these…”

Once he had been assertive, took risks, but now something made him question the new policies.

As the chemical coursed through the ventilation system, Kafka observed the participants’ reactions. Their movements grew erratic, their eyes unfocused. One woman began to sob uncontrollably, while a man in the corner laughed hysterically. The drug would enhance the emotional feeling of the person. Kafka’s stomach churned. This wasn’t healing; it was destruction masquerading as therapy.

He turned to Myrna. “We need to stop this. It’s harming them.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder, her grip vise-like. “Remember your place, Kafka. The system knows best. Now switch on the emotional trigger to happiness. I want to see all of them laugh out loud.”

The links connected in the brains could immediately switch the emotional state of a person, and this new drug would enhance it. Kafka had not signed up for this; for the past two years, it was only about emotional therapy, but now it looked a lot more sinister.

Days blurred into weeks as Kafka grappled with his growing doubts. He watched his students deteriorate, their minds fracturing under the weight of the Psychoboom treatments. Then one evening, while he was resting in his room reading about his trillionaire founder, the alarms blared. Kafka knew something had gone bad. Armed guards burst into the room the next minute.

“There has been a breach,” they said as they pulled him. There was no time to dress. His mind was reeling with questions. For years he had worked here, and nothing like this had happened. He was rushed by the guards to the deep room, but as they neared it, one of the guards injected something into his neck. He immediately fainted.

The transport vehicle rumbled through the corridors to the re-education center. When he woke up, he was dressed in white. Dr. Myrna was also in the next bed.

“What is happening?” he said, sitting up straight. The room had a direct view of Earth. Just then, the Leader of New Eden walked in. His cyborg hands were flailing. A trillionaire, a mad genius called X007, the boss of Kafka, had come to meet them.

“Hey Kafka,” he said, surprising him with the familiarity of his own voice. “Lie down, stress will make it worse.”

Kafka didn’t understand what was happening. “You have been successfully installed with my latest secret project, Mem.C,” X007 smiled.

“What?” Kafka asked in anger. “Without my consent?” His anger was growing.

“Whose consent do I need?” X007 jeered. “And this is for your own good…” he trailed off.

“What does it do?” Kafka demanded.

X007 smiled. “Still curious as ever?”

“This chip in your brain can do a clean memory sweep. Think about it. All the guilt, pain, everything gone in a moment,” he kept smiling.

“But then why the emotional enhancers?” Kafka asked, perplexed.

“I’ll tell you, as you’ll forget all this,” X007 smiled again.

“The idea was simple: insert chips into your brain, switch emotions at will, and enhance using drugs to make you take action on the emotion,” he explained.

“Don’t you remember the flying pigs projects in which we drove the participants to suicide?” he smiled.

“Did we?” Kafka was unsure.

“Yes, but now we have a better way. Wipe their memory, then install instructions. Psychoboom without any casualties.”

There was an awkward silence for a minute.

“How could you do this, you piece of shit?” Kafka’s face changed as memories started flooding in.

X007 stood up. “Goodbye Kafka, you will not remember me, once again.”

He strolled out of the room, watching the Earth revolving miles away.

While alone in his office, he shredded Kafka’s photo. He thought about the mad genius visiting him and asking him to develop a chip and a drug to enhance emotions. What Kafka didn’t understand was that X007 had already developed the Mem.C chip. Once he arrived in the newly constructed Moon office, miles away from Earth, he said he was administering the emotion chip, but really he gave everyone, including his boss, the Mem.C chip, hijacking his identity.

He called himself the founder of Psychoboom.

Now, once again, he would reset all their memories and leave the Moon.

A beep was heard. “Project Nuke is ready to go, sir.”

The Moon would soon become bloody.

X007 walked out and boarded his spaceship, heading to Earth. The sound of the Moon blasting was mute in space. As the ship neared Earth, X007 connected with the satellites. Before 100 years, he was used for writing draft letters, creating images, and being an assistant for humans.

“What a bunch of fools?” He smiled.

The Common Era had ended; the AI era had begun.

© Ronald Hadrian 2024