Rewired

The message was insidious, a twisted perversion of reality that seeped into every corner of society: *Freedom is bondage. Follow the narrative, and you will be free.* It was the mantra broadcast across every screen, uttered by every authority figure, woven into the fabric of daily life. What had once been cherished as liberty—the freedom to speak, to think, to question—was now painted as the ultimate threat. True freedom, they said, lay in submission, in embracing the safety of the narrative, in abandoning the dangerous pursuit of independent thought.

And slowly, inexorably, the people began to believe it.

The constant barrage of propaganda rewired their minds, warping their perceptions of reality. It wasn't an immediate change; it was gradual, like a creeping fog that clouded their judgment until they no longer knew what was real and what was fed to them. The screens showed them what to believe—*you are safe in obedience, you are free in submission*—and over time, the lies felt more real than their fading memories of actual freedom. Thoughts that once felt natural—resisting oppression, desiring autonomy—became terrifying, heretical.

The pressure to conform was immense, suffocating. Any flicker of doubt, any moment of rebellion, was met with swift retribution. Neighbors turned on neighbors, quick to report those who strayed from the narrative, fearful of being labeled subversive themselves. Paranoia gripped entire communities, where once-tight-knit families and friends splintered apart, afraid to speak the truth even in private.

As the propaganda wormed deeper into their minds, reality itself became unstable. The truth shifted from one day to the next, rewritten by the state and reinforced by the screens. One day, the enemy was a foreign power; the next, it was those who questioned the regime. Facts no longer mattered—only the narrative did. To resist was to invite madness, to question was to face existential dread. People began to lose their minds under the weight of it all.

Mental fractures spread like a plague. Anxiety and depression skyrocketed. People wandered the streets, muttering to themselves, their identities splintered by the cognitive dissonance they could no longer endure. They had been taught that to be free, they must relinquish all control, all thought, all individuality—and it broke them. Some collapsed into hysteria, unable to reconcile the endless contradictions they were forced to accept. Others simply shut down, living out their days as vacant, obedient husks, devoid of any will or desire, only existing to serve the system that had hollowed them out.

The few who clung to their sanity did so in silence, suffocated by the knowledge that there was no escape, no salvation. They watched as those around them—loved ones, neighbors, friends—succumbed to the overwhelming pressure to conform. They saw the spark of life flicker out of their eyes as the message, relentless and unyielding, consumed their minds.

*Freedom is bondage. Bondage is freedom.* The screens never stopped telling them, and in the end, most had no choice but to believe it, if only to survive.