Fading Realities: The Shadows of the Future

In our relentless pursuit of innovation, we often focus on immediate technological breakthroughs—AI, blockchain, the metaverse—but how often do we pause to consider their long-term societal impact?

This is where the power of science fiction becomes crucial. As I explore in my Synthetic Minds Podcast, science fiction serves as more than just entertainment; it’s a vital tool for strategic foresight and futures thinking, offering narratives that allow us to explore the ethical, cultural, and technological implications of tomorrow.

The fictional story you’re about to read—an excerpt from my book Step into the Metaverse—illustrates how immersive technologies might reshape everyday life, from the workforce to personal relationships, governance, and beyond. I used this story as an introduction to the world of the metaverse, which, in 2022, was very confusing to many companies.  

The story is about Laya, a Prime Minister navigating a digital world in 2032 where virtual reality, AI, and the metaverse have become the norm, embodies the challenges many leaders and innovators face today. Her world represents the convergence of spatial computing, a hyper-realistic metaverse, blockchain governance, and AI-driven policies that drive the cultural and societal shifts we will soon encounter.

In Synthetic Minds, I argue that fiction like this not only helps us imagine the possibilities but also encourages us to critically examine potential risks and rewards. Fiction acts as a testbed for ethical considerations, giving leaders and technologists a chance to envision future scenarios before they manifest. In this way, stories become essential in shaping our strategies for adopting emerging technologies responsibly.

As you read through this narrative, consider how today’s advancements in AI, the metaverse, and digital governance could soon redefine both the public and private sectors. How can we prepare for this? How do we ensure these technologies enhance rather than erode our humanity? Science fiction opens the door to these essential questions, allowing us to not just react to the future but actively shape it. Enjoy!

Fading Realities

Ae, one of the latest AI virtual assistants, and Daryl, a young intelligent man from a small village in the south, stood in holographic form on the other side of Laya’s large oak desk. Behind them, a virtual presentation sat floating in the air.

“Good morning, Prime Minister,” Ae’s neutral soothing voice announced. Laya’s chief of security always had reservations about using Ae, but the software worked well, and with the founding of the M.C.P, the Ministerial Cyber Police, Laya disregarded his old-school aversion to new tech.

“Can we just get this over with? Today’s the first day I’ll see my family in months,” Laya told them, AR glasses resting on the bridge of her nose. Ae and Daryl exchanged a knowing look and got to work.

Daryl began his spiel in his usual tone, updating the Prime Minister on three key programs, New Skills, Cultural Protection Program, and Blockchain Plus. Daryl started with New Skills, an initiative added onto Universal Basic Income with the idea to support and encourage redundant workers to retrain and transition into future-proof jobs. After, Daryl covered the Cultural Protection Program, a program created to reassure the older citizen, a group who’ve witnessed so much change within such a short amount of time.

Ae took over for the third. With an uncanny-valley smile, she stepped forward and changed the presentation to display the latest on Laya’s education reforms, and an update on the Treasury’s Blockchain Plus program.

They discussed the most pressing issues for another hour and, at the stroke of nine, Laya bid a “good morning” to her assistants, and with a touch of her glasses, she was alone. It was the first day in two months she’d put aside to spend with her family and she’d be damned if anything was going to keep her from it.

Laya stood up and walked over to her Communication Wall. There, she removed a sleek lightweight metal-coated headset and walked to the middle of the room where a 6×6 box had been outlined on the floor. On the far side of the box, a comfortable but sturdy-looking safety chair sat. Most VR zones had one considering how tiring VR could be. Laya stood in the middle of the outlined box, put her gear on, switched on the smart lidar system that captured her movements, and issued a command.

The screen illuminated, and suddenly she was standing in a digital twin of her office. It was almost exactly the same in every way, down to the panic button under her desk and even the pile of coats hanging in the corner. The only difference was a data screen with live economic projections and headlines floating above her desk.

Using her default avatar, Laya walked over to a digital wardrobe. The glowing doors opened automatically, spiraling away into nothingness. She cycled through a few outfits and avatar choices, before settling on a light tan suit. It had an air of casualness, ideal for family and any unannounced digital paparazzi.

With another slightly different wave, she raised a group of tabs. Swiping through a few, she stopped on People. There at the top of the list, a contact labeled “Terry XOXO” sat. Having pressed the name, Laya selected the “Travel to” option.

Laya’s vision turned black for a moment, spare a small ball, roughly the size of a basketball, spinning in front of her, slowly filling with color. The moment the ball was fully colored, Laya found herself in front of an endless row of squash courts, all styled in various fashions. She still hadn’t quite gotten used to how instant everything was, when only a couple of years ago lag was pretty much expected no matter where you went in the metaverse.

To her front was the back of her husband’s digital twin. He was intensely watching a match of hyper-squash between two avatars. One of which looked like a salmon, the other George W. Bush. The avatars smashed a golden ball back and forth, dashing and jumping in ways only possible in the digital realm.

“Terry,” Laya called, almost retracting at her own unfamiliar loving tone. She hadn’t heard her own voice sound so sweet in what felt like an eternity. She moved closer toward him, her real smile projected onto her digital twin.

Terry turned, excited to see his absent wife. They hugged, virtually, their feedback sensors warming as they did.

“What happened to brunch?”

“Nothing, I was just watching some hyper-squash while I waited,” Terry explained. “I’m already there.”

Terry was wearing his AR glasses, enabling him to enjoy his wife’s holographic presence and his food at the same time. From Laya’s perspective, she was sitting in Al Pancho’s digital twin and looking at the digital twin of her husband.

Al Pancho’s was one of many holo-restaurants that now called the mall their home. These establishments were designed with both the physical and digital guest in mind, letting friends, family, and lovers share meals while sitting in restaurants separated by hundreds of miles. Laya ate a brunch prepared by her kitchen staff, Terry from Al Pancho’s.

Once they’d finished, Laya waved her holographic hand over a physical card machine, held by a waiter wearing a pair of Al Pancho–branded AR glasses, who then handed Terry a physical receipt.

Terry pushed his face towards Laya, “Thank you for brunch, honey.” He was putting on that cute voice he does sometimes. “Although I do wish you could’ve been here in person.”

“I know. I do too, but we’ll see each other tonight. I promise.”

“It’s fine. When I see you in person, we’re always haunted by your security anyway,” Terry added with a raise of his eyebrows and his voice slightly deflated.

Terry walked out into the mall, Laya’s hologram automatically tethered to his movements. As they strolled, various adverts, both physical and digital, subtly changed. The words Laya, Terry, and husband and wife seemed to repeat across a few of them. To Laya’s annoyance, one particularly aggressive ad for menopause supplements popped up in Laya’s path, floating about 3 feet off the ground.

Terry knew she hated those adverts, so he reached out and grabbed the advert and then tossed it across the mall like a frisbee.

“Oh, look,” Terry added, changing the subject quickly. “D’Argento is having a sale. How about that necklace we saw last time?”

Laya started smiling again. She connected her holographic hand to Terry’s digital hand, and together they strolled into D’Argento, an upmarket jewelry store for both the physical and digital jewelry lover.

The inside resembled a classic turn-of-the-century jewelry shop. The glass display cases of various shapes and sizes were full of beautifully crafted items of aesthetic pleasure. Above and besides the physical pieces, digital jewelry floated and glowed. Signs stating NFT certified and Unique Digital Items were proudly displayed in AR fashion.

Together, they perused the selection, eventually agreeing on the same necklace they’d flirted with a few times before. Terry paid this time, swiping the palm of his hand across the card machine. Once the payment was confirmed, the necklace appeared in Laya’s digital inventory.

After she equipped the necklace, they stood there for a moment admiring their buy in a virtual mirror, giggling and whispering sweet nothings like they did when they were younger. In the midst of Terry telling Laya how beautiful she looked, a red flash appeared in the corner of Laya’s vision—the word Ae on the screen. She had to take it. For a brief moment, Laya had forgotten about her age, about her job. “Yes, Ae? I asked not to be interrupted.”

“Ahh, duty never takes a day off, Prime Minister,” Ae quipped as she strolled into Laya’s vision.

“And apparently you never listen to your programming.”

Ae narrowed her eyes at Laya but kept the conversation focused. The Cultural Protection Program had just landed a celebrity spokesman, pleasant news to Laya’s ears, plus it was almost time to go to Mia’s school for her show. Mia was Laya’s 15-year-old and eldest child.

Laya thanked and dismissed Ae. She turned to her husband with a sad look in her eye. She was so grateful for Terry. Many other men wouldn’t support a spouse with a job like this. But Terry, Terry got it. She wondered how she would’ve coped 20 years ago before the metaverse helped them steal days like this every now and then. Before we had virtual AI assistants to do the paperwork.

They said their goodbyes and promised to see each other, in person, for dinner that evening.

With that, Laya brought up the central directory and opened a door to The Imperial College of Arts’ new metaverse performance space.

It was always the sound first. As Laya stepped through the door the noise of a full hall poured over her. A wave of conversation, laughs, and cries from excited kids and teens reverberated through her headset. She adjusted the volume on the right side of the headset and looked around the large, darkened hall.

A stage sat at the far end, brightly illuminated by invisible lights. She looked up and noticed the hall just faded off into blackness, never actually coming to a ceiling, just an endless void.

Ms. Hutchkings, the school’s principal, had turned up to personally guide Laya through the crowd of mixed avatars. Digital twins, some sporting tuxedos, others shorts and T-shirts, lined the hall. Some more outlandish avatars were also dotted about, including what looked like a Ninja Turtle, or at least some type of giant walking reptile.

They found their way to the designated viewing area, and within minutes, the hall fell silent. A row of masked faces appeared center stage. The show had begun. Students began showcasing content they created in their Content Creation Module, a module added to the national curriculum as part of Laya’s 5-Step Modernization Program.

About 30 minutes in, Mia’s digital twin came on dressed in a tutu. Mia had tweaked the color scheme and appeared black and white, almost film Noir-esque.

She stood center stage and took a ballet pose, as she softly moved, a black bar appeared at the bottom of Laya’s vision. Bach - Air on the G String, Suite No. 3, BWV 1068 gently scrolled across in a small white font. The haunting sound of a stringed orchestra rose through Laya’s ears as her daughter gracefully began moving with the music. As she moved, her fingers would leave brush strokes behind them, hanging in the air.

Mia danced beautifully, the changing colors flowing out from her hands as she did. Dark blues, a deep green, violet, gold, blacks, whites—a palette of colors drifted out from her hands staining the air. At the piece’s crescendo, Mia struck a pose in front of the picture she’d just birthed. From a thousand seemingly random lines and colors, a vision of Vincent van Gogh’s The Starry Night had formed.

Mia bowed to the audience. Cheers and whistles swelled from the crowd, with the occasional digital firework being let off too. Laya jumped up in excitement, waving like a madwoman to her daughter on stage who, thanks to a family setting on the avatar filter, could see her mother and gave an excited handwave back.

Laya had missed this. She’d missed being around when her kids did incredible things. With a smile on her face, a single tear slowly rolled down Laya’s real cheek, catching in the reservoir where her headset meets her face.

Laya kept cheering for her daughter, but eventually, the crowd settled, and the next student came on.

Laya moved out of the viewing area, and having beckoned a door, she went backstage. Unable to see her daughter in the crowd of frantic students and teachers, Laya pulled open her menu—a rather simple trick achieved by winking your right eye—and invited Mia to a private chat. As Mia accepted, their avatars were compelled together and the surrounding sights and sounds darkened.

“I’m so proud of you, sweetie,” Laya told her daughter. The pair chatted for a while about the show, the song, the whole thing. They’d obviously missed each other and were in dire need of some mother-daughter time.

Right in the middle of their celebrations, the red flashing light appeared once more. It’s Ae again. Hiding her annoyance in front of her daughter, she apologized and answered. “Does this need to go through me, or can Daryl handle it?”

Ae explained how Sweden had just announced the same education reforms that Laya was working on. They’d just secured a contract with one of the tech-goliaths to supply all Swedish schools with the latest headsets and lidar systems and even build the Swedish government a metaverse embassy, something all governments were beginning to do.

Mia stood there watching her mother speak with an invisible person, Mia’s enthusiasm slowly fading as she remembered why her mom’s job annoyed her so much. Laya looked at her daughter knowingly. She gestured her hand and muted Ae, midway through a breakdown on the details of the Swedish deal.

“I’m so sorry darling. You did so well today. I’m super proud. I’ll see you at home later.”

They exchanged loving emojis, and Mia disappeared back into the crowd. Laya unmuted her mic. “Save the details for later, Ae. Can you locate my other one? Zack should be finishing school soon.” Within moments, Ae had a position.

“He’s in the Pondbox,” Ae reported, her tone preempting Laya’s disappointment.

Pondbox was a newer region of the metaverse. She had told Zack, her 12-year-old son, not to go there as the whole area was Non-GAC Protected. GAC was Government Anti-Cheat software.

The region had hundreds of new experimental game types, content, and NFTs, but it lacked any guidelines or rules. It reminded Laya of the internet in the early 2000s, when she used to scroll sites like FunnyJunk and the earliest version of YouTube. And just like the internet back then, there was a boatload of bots and catfish phishing for passwords and a whole lot of unrestricted adult content. It was not exactly a place a parent wants their 12-year-old to hang out.

Ae had tracked Zack down to a password-protected shoot-’em-up concept a rouge programmer had dreamt up. Using her Ministerial Digital ID, Laya went straight past the password-protected door. On the other side, she saw Zack and Mia talking. The words, “Can’t you just lend me yours?” ring out just as Laya stepped through.

They all turned to face each other, Zack and Laya looking equally confused. Mia’s expression, on the other hand, didn’t alter and had a certain, almost, uncanny quality to it.

Zack hated it when his mom checked in on him. “Mom,” he explained. “You don’t need to check up on me.” Zack turned back to Mia. “Now, stop bugging me. Ask Mom.” He then turned his back to them, taking the stance of a soldier in the midst of an invisible battle.

Laya knew something was up. She reached out her left hand, freezing both avatars, and lifted her right to the panic button on her headset, opening a direct line to the M.C.P. and an emergency exit to her right. 

Back in the real world, in a nondescript building halfway across the country, a well-rehearsed parade began. A team of programmers and coders donned headsets and wrist-mounted devices. The gentle sound of a low humming interrupted by the occasional murmuring bounced off the dimly lit blue wall. The sign “M.C.P - Ministerial Cyber Police” shone dustless in the well-ventilated room.

Dragging Zack’s avatar, Laya stepped through the emergency exit. As the door closed behind them, multiple M.C.P agents appeared around the fake Mia. Laya and Zack were now in a digital twin of their own back garden, permanently set to a mid-summer’s afternoon. Laya unfroze Zack and guided him to sit in his real-world safety chair.

“Zack…,” Laya started softly, “You know that wasn’t your sister, right?”

Zack was confused at first, but his expression quickly changed into one of shame and embarrassment. Through tears, Zack confessed to his digital mom that he was going to lend Mia their home password. “She said she’d lost it,” he reasoned.

Laya comforted her son as best she could, but no words could replace a real hug. She felt a sudden sadness wash over her as she so desperately wanted to comfort her son.

“I’ll be home soon. I love you.”

Determined to get home, Laya replaced her headset with a pair of AR glasses and marched out of her office door. As she did, the red light flashed again. “This better be important.”

“Always, Prime Minister.” Ae’s normal neutral voice was now cheery. “A UN published report just announced the 2024 Supply Chain Resilience project a resounding success. Smart Contracts and a UN-backed Central Digital Currency are now firmly established.” Ae’s uncanny smile peaking slightly in the corner as she gave the news. “The WWF also published a report earlier this afternoon claiming the metaverse reduced traffic pollution,” Ae quickly added.

An hour later, Laya’s driver pulled into her family home’s tree-lined driveway. While her government-issued autonomous 4×4 could drive itself, this was one time Laya listened to her security and stuck with a human driver.

“We’re here, Prime Minister,” a tired voice announced from the front of the car.

Laya sat there for a moment, taking shelter from the bracing wind and looking in through her kitchen window. As she sat in the cold and dark, she was warmed by the sight of her smiling family. Well, her smiling Zack and Terry, with Mia was just sitting on the kitchen side, scrolling what Laya assumed was an AR social feed. Laya took it all in, soaking in this rare moment of peace.

Laya burst through the door, loudly announcing her presence to the household. Excited, Zack and Mia came running from the kitchen and embraced their mother.

“We haven’t seen you in so long,” Mia told her mother through dewy eyes.

“It was only a few hours ago.”

“Mom…,” Mia pulled back slightly to look at her mother in the face. “We haven’t seen you in 64 days. I’ve been counting.”

As the evening went on, Laya basked in the physical company of her family. Sitting around the same table for the first time in months, they regaled each other with stories from school and work. Midway through their meal and halfway through one of Terry’s anecdotes, that flashing red light appeared in Laya’s eyes. Her family knew what that meant, and a saddened silence descended on the table. Terry, trying to hide his disappointment, stood to hug his wife.

“If they need you, go. We love you.”

Laya raised her hand to her glasses but hesitated. Instead of answering, she removed them. Her family looked confused. Happy, but confused, as Laya calmly put her glasses down on the dining room table. “If it’s important, they’ll send someone.”