Welcome to Earth as it is now. Not a distant dream or a sci-fi fantasy, but the reality that our great-great-great-great-grandchildren now call home.
A world where food is limitless, disease and death no longer exist, and humans can live forever—if they choose to. Work? Optional. Money? somewhat obsolete. AI companions? Everywhere. Life? Designed to be enjoyed.
This is a place where space is no longer the final frontier, where bodies can be upgraded, and where love, adventure, and purpose still matter—just in ways our ancestors could never have imagined.
But here’s the thing—when time is endless, what do you do with it? When you can be anyone, anything, what truly matters?
I’m here to share the stories of the people living in this age (with their permission, of course!)—those who have never known disease or fear of death, those who wonder if endless life means endless meaning, and those who are still discovering what it means to be human in a world where everything is possible.
So, step into the future. Their world. Your world. The world we’ve built.
Ava’s First Day
I am Ava, and today is the first day of the rest of my life—or at least, the first day of university. My parents just left, their transport pod humming softly as it zipped back into the traffic stream. I take a deep breath, staring at my new dorm. I am pleased with the dorm decor settings I chose.
The University of J.C. Birks, one of the most prestigious institutions in the solar system, is now my home. Well, at least the Earth-based campus. The orbital campus floats in low-Earth orbit, and some students switch between the two, but I’ve never been great with weightlessness. I’d rather keep my feet on solid ground.
The first thing I do is hang up the banner my little sister made for me when I got into Uni: “Congratulations, Big Sis! Class of 2472!” It’s one of the few handmade things I own, and for that alone, it feels special. Not many people bother with physical objects anymore.
I’m buzzing with anticipation to meet my roommate, who, according to her digital profile, is into vintage books (weird), loves virtual sky-diving (cool), and has a pet AI companion that can mimic emotions (kind of creepy). Zara, born in the Martian colonies, speaks six languages, and—get this—she reads actual books. Printed, physical books!
And then there’s the biggest question: Will I meet the love of my life here? Or, like nearly half the student population, will I resort to a hologram boyfriend? AI companions are so advanced now that they develop personalities of their own. Some say they’re even better than real people. Less drama. More reliability. Personally, I’d rather risk heartbreak than have a partner I can reprogram with a settings update.
As I unpack my things, I come across an old memory cube—one of the few remaining recordings of my great, great-grandmother, who was one of the last people to die. She passed away in a time when death was still permanent.
Back then, humans didn’t have the option to upload their minds into the Consciousness Archive, nor did they have synthetic bodies to transfer into. Now, people don’t die unless they choose to. And even then, it’s more of a transition than an ending. But my great, great-grandmother? She didn’t have those choices. She just… stopped existing.
How did people cope with that? With the knowledge that every moment could be their last? I can barely grasp the concept.
Of course, that’s not the only thing that’s changed. My friend Guba is backpacking tomorrow for an expedition to study the last remaining penguin colonies in the Antarctic. The idea of traveling to such extreme environments with little to no clothing would have been impossible centuries ago, but thanks to the Adaptation Gland, humans can now regulate their internal body temperature on demand.
The first recorded case of this gland was in a child born in Serbilo in the early 2300s, and now nearly half the global population has it. People with it can walk barefoot across ice or play with fire.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t one of the lucky ones.
Instead, I was born with the Neuro-Interface Node—an enhancement that first emerged in the 2100s. With AI and digital technology fully integrated into human life, a new generation of children began to emerge—children whose parents were avid AI users or worked in AI-driven industries. Those of us with the node don’t need external devices for knowledge. We think, and we know. If I need an answer, I don’t search for it—I receive it instantly, as if I had always known it. Ask me anything on any topic and i will tell you everything about it – It’s an advantage, but it comes with downsides.
For instance? My motor skills are terrible. “Clumsy” is my unofficial middle name. Because my brain does so much computational work and downloads so much information, my body coordination suffered. That’s why my degree is in Hand Coordination and Mathematics—a program specifically designed to help people like me maintain control over our physical movements. Turns out, instant knowledge doesn’t mean much if you trip over your own feet.
There’s a reason why people with the Neuro-Interface Node are encouraged to pursue the highest levels of education possible. With infinite knowledge at our disposal, we’re expected to be thinkers, researchers, strategists. The space stations, the intergalactic trade hubs, even deep-space explorations? Those missions rely on people like us.
But honestly? Right now, I just want to survive my first week of university. I want to figure out if I can stand Zara, whether her AI pet is annoying or secretly cool, and if I’ll end up having a real relationship or if I’ll be one of those people who falls for a holographic companion. My little sister already warned me: “If you get an AI boyfriend, I will literally disown you.”
One thing is certain—the world I was born into is centuries beyond the one my great, great-grandmother knew and I intend to keep living it to the fullest!
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