The world is connected.

I hate that. There's no escape from... well, anything. It's more of a pandemic than anything Covid could hit us with, yet there's no mask or vaccine that can cure us of its ills. You want to look at cute kittens? There's a gazillion. Same with puppies and pornography. Fill your boots, or fill your happy socks.

Social media has made the world unsociable, and people are quicker to pull out their phones to record an accident than they are to help. They probably would help, but only after it's posted and they've had a ton of likes.

Likes. They're not real. They're tags to say 'I've seen this'. Some people just run through their doomscroll clicking the thumbs up on everything they see in the hope a small percentage will be returned. It's the law of diminishing returns, unless you're ultra photogenic or loud, yet still we plough on through.

And don't get me started on the fake news. Conspiracies. Drama!

And... breathe.

Once upon a time, that was all me. My phone was an additional appendage, and I could cry if I saw the battery drop below fifty percentage, or the signal drop even one bar. Except, for me, the likes weren't something I craved. It was the ones who pursued them that I, myself, pursued. They were lost to the real world. To reality, itself. All they knew was what they saw. What they were told. What the internet said, because it just had to be true.

And they'd share and repeat and believe.

I had to educate them. Not being particularly photogenic and certainly not being outgoing, posting my point of view would be pointless. Besides, I'd be wanting it to be exactly what I was preaching against. I'd need views and likes and shares for my voice to be heard.

So, I had to show them.

I started with one. Brandon. I took him at night. He was walking, his eyes intent on the glare from his phone screen. I walked past him deliberately to see if he'd notice me. Of course, he didn't. He probably didn't feel needle in his neck.

For eight days, I did my best to convince him. I started with depravation, removing all technology from him. I talked to him. Reasoned. Shouted. Did everything I could think of just to get through to him. To persuade him there was a whole new world out there he was missing. It was in vain. I could tell from our discussions, however violent they became, he remained committed to the ideal that his phone was his window to the only world he needed, however false it might be.

I buried him in a remote forest. There would be no technology out there. Perhaps dead, he might finally understand.

I realised, then, there was no dissuading them. People. It was ingrained into them. Their reflections came from a Black Mirror. I had no choice. I had to continue, so I did.

Ninety-four is the most recent count. Brandon has plenty of company, now, and I hope they all understand. It's work I know will never be complete, however long I live, and I also know, when my time finally comes, I'll not join them in whichever hereafter they find themselves. Where I go, it'll be far warmer, no matter how illustrious my work is.

I do have one advantage.

There's no free WIFI in Hell.