text: 2019 - El Dorado Hills, CA Devin bursts through the front door and slides to a stop on his knees in front of the entertainment center. In record time he fluidly powers up the television and game console betraying not only his excitement but also his experience. He’s been waiting for this moment for weeks now and to his ten-year-old self it’s felt like an eternity. The warm glow of the Fortnite loading screen greets his retina and is passed to his cerebral cortex. An equally warm burst of dopamine makes Devin smile. Positioning his gaming headset just so, Devin eagerly anticipates the voice chat trash talk that’s about to come. He’s good at it. He’s “Tourette’s Syndrome” good, having learned many choice insults from his older brother. In the past he’s made people scream at him; sometimes cry. The loading screen seems slow today, but Devin assumes it’s due to user traffic. Everyone knows that today is the “Summer Solstice Soldier” Event release day. He presses “Play” and sees a quick glitch; strange, but the Battle Royale begins and his worries evaporate. Raising the sights of his weapon to his first-kill he screams “GET WRECKED!” into the microphone. A rapid succession of ten-year-old insults and virtual bullets hurl towards some innocent person at the receiving end. Unbeknownst to Devin a day and a half ago and 94,467,556 miles away the largest X-Class Solar Flare ever recorded exploded out from the surface of the sun. The radiation’s trajectory eventually aligned with the Earth causing an EMP of massive proportion. Overnight, satellites lost contact with their controlling stations. Much of Europe, Russia, some of Northern Africa and western regions of China lost power as they bore the brunt of the blast. Auroras were seen as far south as Northern Texas. Internet usage and electronic communications were affected worldwide as people arose from their slumber and sleepily checked their mobile devices. Today the solar radiation of that X42.7 flare is still bombarding the planet as Devin furiously mashes buttons and screams curse words into the voice chat. 1953 - Chicago, IL Harry Edwards awkwardly reclines on a burgundy leather Chesterfield sofa in Dr. Martin Landers’ office. It’s dimly lit except for the thin window which Dr. Landers peers out of while listening to Harry’s words. “I don’t know what to do, Doc; I ... I feel crazy. The voices in my head keep screamin’ at me. All sorts of curses and takin’ the Lord’s name in vain. Some of it I don’t even understand. Today I’m movin’ boxes off a truck and out of nowhere - ‘GET WRECKED!’. I nearly shit myself! Ya' gotta help me.” Dr. Landers returns his gaze from the window to the man, inhales and exhales. “Mr. Edwards, this sounds like early stages of Schizophrenia. It’s a serious condition, but in this modern day and age very treatable. I’m going to write you a prescription for Thorazine which you should start taking immediately.” He removes a set of tarnished keys from his jacket pocket, unlocks a cabinet and retrieves a dark brown bottle with tablets inside. As Dr. Landers hands it to Harry he thanks him for his time and sends him out to the lobby to schedule a follow up appointment with his secretary. Closing his office door, he returns to his desk and scribbles in his journal: ‘Patient suffers from delusions of hearing hostile disembodied voices. Fifth case of schizophrenia diagnosed this week.’ He sets the pen down on his desk, reclines back in his chair and turns to face the daylight once more. “How odd,” he says aloud.