Brain chip

Something didn’t fit, and it wasn’t Father A’s newest brainchip. Something was eating me.

A timorous sibling tched softly within striking distance of the breakfast head of the Harpe in command of the great ark in orbit around Trencher with its stuffing of deepsleeps snoring through their brainchip tasks.

“Did you just enter my brain?” / “Your brainchip. Not your brain. I can’t read thoughts. Just brainchips.”

Given that most governing authorities have not shown themselves to be either fair or straight throughout history, the most serious predicament with the wholesale distribution of brainchips will be similar to the problem around today’s culture of official fact-checkers and censorship but inflated to momentous levels. In the same way that not having a digital ID could at some point make it almost impossible to function in society, turning down a brainchip will leave a disenfranchised and probably despised underclass pushed to the fringes, while the compliant get on, happy enough with their distractions as long as their basic needs are met – the very kind of dystopia truthers find abhorrent.