New technology: a threat or a promise?

Katie R
Horndean Technology College
England, United Kingdom

'You can't catch me!'
'Wanna bet?'
'Hey, that's not fair!'

The joyful voices of playing children echoed around the old building – Brent and Alex Dewford, two brothers living in the year 2008. Their father, Lionel Dewford, worked under the Prime Minister Gordon Brown, as a very high up and well respected MP. They had moved into an old mansion several minutes away from the heart of London, and were having a ball tearing out every drawer and rummaging through every cupboard they could find.

'C'mon Alex, you slowpoke!' Brent teased, accelerating as he passed his brother in a race down the long and dreary corridor. 'Brent, wait up!' Alex cried, breathing heavily as he attempted to catch up with him. 'Hey look! There's a door in the end of this hallway.' Brent pointed out as he skidded to a halt beside the thick, iron bolted oak door. 'Creepy.' Alex said, studying it with his beady eyes.

'I dare you to go inside', Brent said, smirking. 'B-but what if it's haunted?' Alex retorted, his voice hinted with fear and desperation. It's a dare. And if you don't do it, I have an even worse one in mind . . .' Brent said, with an evil grin.

'F-fine…' Alex said. His small hand reached out and clasped the iron doorknob; the cold of the metal sent a shiver down his spine. He turned it forcefully, hearing an eerie click and the old wood moaned and creaked as the door swung open.

The furniture was covered with white sheets, and cobwebs and dust hung thickly in the air like fog.

'Ugh! It's dusty!' Alex spluttered, stifling a cough as he waved his hand in front of his face in an attempt to clear the air. 'Eww, gross.' Brent said, pointing to the fungus that grew up the walls and across the floorboards. 'Hey, look at this', Alex said, raising a hand to point at the centre of the room.

A mahogany table, not covered with a white blanket like the others, and not laden with dust or fungus, stood lonely in the space where Alex pointed. A tiny radio device was placed in the middle of it, crackling and hissing ever now and then.

'Weird. What's a radio doing in an old place like this?' Brent said, cautiously approaching it. 'Hello? Hello?' it hissed, and the two boys jumped backwards. 'What the-?!' Brent said, raising an eyebrow. 'It's alive!'

'This is a radio transmission.' The radio said again, and Alex pulled a confused face. 'Please if there is anybody out there, listen closely…'

'The year is 2023. I'm lost, well, more like stuck, in the middle of the largest terrorist attack the world has ever seen. First, they wiped out the electricity. No lighting, no computers, no telephones, they even managed to down the satellite signals to mobiles. Practically no contact besides letters, but they even cut off the postal lines, too. Then the gas – no cookers, heating, hot water, and so on. Then the water . . . that was the worst blow. I don't understand how I'm still alive. Am I … magical? A freak of nature? I haven't drunk anything clean and unpolluted for three weeks; I've been living off of river water from the Thames, just nearby, and yet I haven't come across any illness or such so far.

Everyone's gone. Well, not everyone, but most of the whole population of England has been wiped out. Occasionally, there's a face here and there, hiding in the floorboards of wrecked supermarkets, or making a desperate dash across the road to swipe a piece of bread from a lucky passer by, now unlucky.

The closed shops nearby still have some decent food in them, but not much. It's going off quickly and most of the things we few survivors eat are contaminated or mouldy. It's hard to believe that anything like this could happen but it did.

It started in America, 2019. A gang of computer geniuses, naming themselves the Black Angels got a bit too cocky and big headed and decided to show-off. They dared each other to do stupid and dangerous things, like change the details of weather forecasts and turn the internet off for a few seconds before turning it back on. Then it got serious. The dares got worse and worse, harder and harder, before the big dare came. To hack into the FBI and CTU databases. They did, and Michael Horner, the leader of the Black Angels and the brightest spark in the fire, was dared to destroy the world, country by country. So, he did.

This was all done through technology. When technology was first brought up, it was thought to be a saviour for all the world's problems; quicker access to information, quicker ways to contact someone, and more. But it's killed us. Every country in the world is suffering from this. Just as this mess began, the American police were stupid enough to arrest the Black Angels, and they all died in prison. Because they downed the satellites, the FBI and CTU systems are now corrupt and practically inaccessible, so nothing can be changed back. Everything must stay this way. No one can help us. No one is out there with the power to stop this.

So hear me, past-dwellers, do not let technology take over your lives and corrupt your being. It's a marvellous thing, but it's a terribly dangerous thing, too. Prevent this from happening. Save yourselves before it's too late…

Kaya Wilson,
UK Armed Forces
2023
Over and Out.'

The pained voice faded into a desperate gasp, and then the radio fuzzed and screeched for a bit before it all went silent. The two boys looked at each other, eyebrows raised, and picked up the small device.

'C'mon. We have to get this to Dad.'

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