Scenario:A startup led by a former Google engineer, Sarah, introduced a neural implant that let people record and replay their dreams. The technology spiraled when people started confusing dreams with reality. Psychological disorders now.
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A startup led by a former Google engineer, Sarah, introduced a neural implant that let people record and replay their dreams. The technology spiraled when people started confusing dreams with reality. Psychological disorders now.
"What did you dream about?"
he asked me.
I struggled to remember, but the memory was already slipping away from me like sand through my fingers.
"I don’t know," I said at last.
"It’s gone."
"You were saying something about it being too complicated. That you didn’t understand how it worked."
He paused, then added gently, "That’s okay, Sarah. It doesn’t matter if you don’t understand how it works. What matters is that it does work. And now you can show your investors that we’re ready for the next phase of testing."
The next phase of testing meant we could finally bring this product to market—and finally start making some money off of our years of hard work and research.
I smiled up at Mark, grateful for his steady presence at my side throughout this entire process.
"Thank you," I said softly.
He nodded, still smiling down at me.
"Get some sleep, Sarah. You’ve earned it."
I let my eyes drift closed as the anesthesiologist adjusted the flow of the drugs into my IV.
As I slipped back into sleep, another dream overtook me.
This time, I was sitting in a small, dimly lit office.
Mark was sitting across from me, his hands folded on top of his desk.
"The surgery was successful," he told me.
I could feel myself grinning like an idiot, but I didn’t care.
We’d done it—we’d actually done it.
I reached out to shake Mark’s hand, but then everything went fuzzy and I woke up again.
This time, Mark was standing by my bed in the recovery room, looking down at me with concern etched on his features.
"It’s in there," he said quietly.
I raised a hand to my head and felt the bandages over the incision site.
It had all been real.
We’d developed an implant that could record dreams through neural signals, and then replay those dreams so that someone else could experience them as if they were their own.
Mark had been in the operating room with me, looking through his own dreamrecording device so that he could see what I saw from my perspective during the surgery.
My dream about Mark telling me that everything had gone smoothly wasn’t real—it was just another dream.
But at least this time, I knew that it had been a dream .
. .
I think .