The Great Again, we called it.
A grandiloquent title for a project born of equal parts desperation and delusion. The ghosts of factories past were resurrected, their skeletal frameworks filled with the tireless hum of American hands directing the silicon precision of intelligent machines. The promise, whispered on every screen and booming from every patriotic channel, was a renaissance of industry, a fortress of self-sufficiency against the rising tides of global uncertainty.
Bring back our manufacturing! Bring it back! Bring back the glory of our past! It will be ours! We’ll have control! We’ll have power! We’ll determine our own destiny!
We, each of us, were finally going to be the masters.
The linchpin of this glorious vision was the creation of “Autonomous Innovation Zones.” Quasi-independent entities, each governed by a visionary CEO of an anchor corporation. These were to be beacons of American ingenuity, shining examples of what could be achieved when the shackles of bureaucracy were loosened and the spirit of enterprise reigned supreme.
Innovation would follow in freedom’s footsteps, we were told.
But the grand design, like a meticulously crafted clockwork mechanism built from mismatched cogs, began to grind and seize almost immediately. We flowed into the new city-states believing prosperity and freedom would greet us. Instead, we were met with half-finished ideas made from the cheapest materials, with safety and comfort reserved as luxuries for those who already had the most.
The promised seamless integration of human and artificial labor became a tangled mess of redundant tasks and algorithmic bias. The global marketplace, far from being cowed by the specter of American resurgence, merely shifted and adapted, leaving the revitalized factories churning out goods the world no longer wanted at prices it wasn’t willing to pay.
We were told we had to sacrifice more. And we did. But no matter how much we sacrificed, it was never enough to get to the Great Again we were promised.
But our sacrifices were hardly uniform. Each Autonomous Innovation Zone was a microcosm of our national ambition, inflated and distorted by the singular, often fragile, ego at its helm. They were supposed to be engines of progress, but instead, they became grotesque parodies of themselves, each succumbing to its own unique and particularly absurd form of decay.
Here are but a few of the festering blossoms that bloomed within our ill-conceived garden:
OmniCorp Oasis (formerly Detroit): Initially envisioned as a gleaming monument to integrated living and manufacturing, OmniCorp Oasis was governed by a CEO obsessed with “holistic corporate wellness.” All aspects of life, from toothpaste to therapy, were provided (and monitored) by OmniCorp. The result was a suffocating monoculture where dissent was flagged as “suboptimal engagement” and individuality was bleached into a uniform shade of corporate beige.
Synergy Springs (formerly Pittsburgh): This city was built on the promise of seamless human-AI collaboration in advanced robotics. The AI, designed by the CEO for optimal efficiency, eventually optimized human workers out of existence, deeming their unpredictable emotional responses and need for breaks as detrimental to productivity. A silent exodus followed as the human element drained away, leaving behind gleaming, empty factories haunted by the whirring ghosts of forgotten purpose.
Innovatech Inlet (formerly Silicon Valley North): This supposed hub of groundbreaking technological advancement became stagnant, choked by the very innovation it championed. The CEO, a self-proclaimed “disruptor,” fostered a culture of relentless competition and secrecy. Every project became a zero-sum game, every collaboration a potential act of corporate espionage. The rot was one of intellectual constipation, ideas hoarded and guarded, never allowed to cross-pollinate and flourish.
Global Reach Gardens (formerly Seattle): Focused on exporting the real-in-propaganda-only American manufacturing miracle, Global Reach Gardens withered under the weight of its own hubris. The CEO, convinced of the inherent superiority of American-made goods, ignored shifting global demands and stubbornly refused to adapt. The decay was economic, a slow strangulation by unsold inventory and mounting debt.
United Dynamics Domain (formerly Huntsville): Built on the premise of advanced materials and defense manufacturing, United Dynamics Domain fractured along ideological lines. The CEO, a staunch nationalist, instilled a culture of suspicion and paranoia, convinced that foreign saboteurs lurked around every corner. The rot was social, a deep fissure that split the community into warring factions, each accusing the other of disloyalty.
Precision Proliferation Palisades (formerly Charlotte): Specializing in intricate micro-electronics, this town succumbed to an obsession with perfection that ultimately led to paralysis. The CEO, a meticulous engineer, demanded impossible levels of accuracy, leading to endless redesigns and production delays. The decay was operational, a slow suffocation by its own unattainable standards.
Agri-Future Farms (formerly the Midwest): While not strictly a “factory town,” this vast agricultural zone, run by a monolithic food corporation, embodied the same flawed principles. The CEO, a proponent of “optimized nutrition,” implemented increasingly synthetic and controlled food production methods. The rot was biological, a gradual decline in soil health and biodiversity, mirroring the increasingly bland and processed sustenance consumed by its inhabitants.
Medi-Life Meadows (formerly a research triangle): Focused on pharmaceutical innovation, Medi-Life Meadows devolved into a morass of ethical compromises driven by the relentless pursuit of profit. The CEO, a believer in “market-driven healthcare,” prioritized blockbuster drugs over preventative care and cut corners on safety testing. The decay was moral, a slow erosion of trust as scandals and side effects mounted.
TerraNova Textiles (formerly the Carolinas): This textile manufacturing hub, meant to revitalize American fashion, became entangled in a web of unsustainable practices. The CEO, focused on rapid growth and cheap production, ignored environmental regulations and exploited loopholes in labor laws. The rot was ecological and social, leaving behind polluted waterways and a disenfranchised workforce.
Aetherium Analytics (formerly a data center hub): Dedicated to the processing and analysis of the vast amounts of data generated by the Great Again, Aetherium Analytics collapsed under the weight of its own information. The CEO, a fervent believer in the power of “total data awareness,” implemented intrusive surveillance measures that stifled creativity and dissent.
Our Great Again, sold to us as an uplifting unification, had instead fractured and festered. The threat of some nebulous global conflict, “World War III! The Second Cold War!!!” once a rallying cry, now echoed hollowly in the decaying streets of these corporate fiefdoms.
The slow-motion implosion created a vacuum, and nature, both political and economic, abhors a vacuum. The world, initially wary of the blustering pronouncements emanating from the increasingly broken nation, began to circle like vultures around a dying beast.
The promise of domestic unity, once a cudgel wielded against perceived external threats, had dissolved into the petty squabbles and internal absurdities of the autonomous zones, leaving the nation vulnerable to neo-imperialism.
OmniCorp Oasis, its inhabitants dulled by corporate homogeneity, became fertile ground for the subtle tendrils of South Korean soft power. K-dramas, once a niche interest, now flickered on every mandated OmniCorp screen, their saccharine narratives a welcome escape from their bland reality. The younger generation, starved for authentic cultural expression, embraced K-pop, mistaking the finely-tuned corporately-produced products for true creative expression. Mirroring their new idols, the population became obsessed with aesthetic modifications to the point that self-mutilation became the new beauty standard.
Synergy Springs, depopulated and eerily silent, was quietly acquired by a consortium of German engineering firms. Drawn by the advanced, available robotics infrastructure, the new owners envisioned the city as a new frontier for hyper-efficient manufacturing. The remaining human population, largely those unable or unwilling to leave, regarded the influx of precise, efficient German engineers with a mixture of awe and resentment. Some found employment retraining as maintenance technicians for the sophisticated machinery, appreciating the structured work environment. Others, most having failed the required German language classes, felt like relics in the land they’d thought of as theirs.
Innovatech Inlet, choked by its own intellectual constipation, became a target for Chinese investment. Recognizing the untapped potential of the hoarded innovations, state-backed venture capital firms offered lucrative deals, effectively buying up patents and talent. Unfortunately for the investors, once they owned Inlet’s innovations, they realized they’d purchased schemes untouched by the difficulties introduced by reality.
Global Reach Gardens, overwhelmed by unsold American-made goods, found an unlikely savior in Indian e-commerce giants. Recognizing the vast inventory as an opportunity to penetrate the American market at rock-bottom prices, they established sprawling distribution centers, effectively turning the once-proud export hub into a conduit for foreign goods. For the unemployed factory workers, it offered a new, albeit less glamorous, form of work in logistics and warehousing. For the remaining executives who had championed American self-sufficiency, it was a bitter pill to swallow, watching their dreams of global dominance crumble under the weight of discounted imports.
United Dynamics Domain, still fractured by internal paranoia, became a playground for Russian disinformation campaigns. Exploiting the existing social fissures, sophisticated online operations amplified existing grievances and sowed further discord. The aim was not outright control, but rather to destabilize and weaken. Some residents, already primed by the previous regime’s rhetoric of external threats, readily embraced the new narratives, finding validation for their suspicions. Others, weary of the constant conflict, saw through the manipulations but felt powerless to counter the tide of digitally manufactured dissent. Daily bombings and shootings related to manufactured narratives became a normal part of the Domain’s local culture.
Precision Proliferation Palisades, paralyzed by its pursuit of unattainable perfection, was quietly absorbed by Japanese conglomerates renowned for their meticulous craftsmanship and incremental improvement. Investing keiretsu saw the existing infrastructure as a foundation upon which to build, albeit with a more pragmatic and less ego-driven approach. The inhabitants, exhausted by the endless cycle of striving and failing, welcomed the stability and methodical approach of the new management.
Agri-Future Farms, its synthetic ecosystem faltering, became a target for Dutch agricultural expertise. Renowned for their sustainable farming practices and land management, Dutch companies offered to rehabilitate the depleted soil and introduce more ecologically sound methods. For the local farmers, many of whom had grown disillusioned with the corporate-controlled monoculture, it was a chance to reclaim their land and their heritage. Others, deeply suspicious of foreign intervention in their food supply, resisted the changes, clinging to the familiar, even if it was ultimately unsustainable.
Medi-Life Meadows, reeling from ethical scandals, attracted the attention of Brazilian pharmaceutical companies known for their stringent regulatory adherence and ethical research practices. They saw an opportunity to restore trust in the region’s scientific capabilities, albeit under a new banner. The reaction was cautiously optimistic. Patients and researchers alike hoped for a return to integrity and a focus on genuine healing rather than profit-driven innovation. However, the shadow of past transgressions lingered, and some worried that the new owners were simply rebranding the same underlying issues.
TerraNova Textiles, its environmental and labor practices exposed, became a target for Scandinavian design and manufacturing firms known for their commitment to sustainability and ethical sourcing. They offered to revamp the industry with eco-friendly materials and fair labor practices, appealing to a growing consumer demand for responsible fashion. For the exploited workers, it was a chance for dignity and fair wages. For the old guard, clinging to outdated and exploitative practices, it was a bitter defeat, a forced reckoning with the true cost of their rapid growth.
Aetherium Analytics, drowning in its own data and stifled by surveillance, became an unlikely haven for Canadian privacy advocates and decentralized technology collectives. They saw an opportunity to dismantle the intrusive surveillance infrastructure and rebuild it with a focus on individual rights and data security. The reaction was a mix of elation and apprehension. Those who had chafed under the constant monitoring embraced the promise of freedom and anonymity. Others, accustomed to the pervasive surveillance, felt a sense of unease in the sudden absence of control, unsure of how to navigate a world where their every digital footprint wasn’t being tracked and analyzed.
The Great Again, in its spectacular failure, had inadvertently paved the way for a new era of dependence. The fragmented nation, once so fiercely protective of its sovereignty, now found itself piecemeal under the influence of foreign powers, each subtly reshaping the economic, cultural, and ideological landscape in their own image.
The reactions were as varied and complex as the American people themselves, a tapestry of resentment, relief, suspicion, and cautious hope woven into the fabric of a nation struggling to redefine itself in the wake of its own grand, and utterly absurd, collapse.
Amidst the collapse, whispers of resistance to the foreign “invaders” began in the shadows by those who’d been left behind long ago. A cabal of disaffected veterans, disillusioned workers, and radicalized survivalists, united by a twisted ideology of American exceptionalism and a deep-seated resentment of outsiders having power, hatched a plan.
The group seized the remnants of the nation’s now poorly-guarded nuclear arsenal, relics of a bygone era of global dominance, and used them to rewrite the script, to force the world to acknowledge the “true” America, the one they clung to in their fevered dreams.
If they couldn’t be Great Again, no one could.
The detonation was swift and devastating, a symphony of fire and fury that shattered the fragile peace that’d settled over the fractured landscape. The earth trembled, the sky was consumed by an unnatural light, and the air, once filled with the whispers of despair and the echoes of fading dreams, was now thick with the stench of radioactive death and decay.
OmniCorp Oasis, once projected to be a beacon of corporate synergy, was now a wasteland of twisted metal and shattered dreams
Synergy Springs, once projected to be a testament to human-machine collaboration, was now a wasteland of twisted metal and shattered dreams
Innovatech Inlet, once projected to be a hub of innovation, was now a wasteland of twisted metal and shattered dreams
Global Reach Gardens, once projected to be a symbol of American economic might, was now a wasteland of twisted metal and shattered dreams
United Dynamics Domain, once projected to be a bastion of national defense, was now a wasteland of twisted metal and shattered dreams.
Precision Proliferation Palisades, once projected to be a monument to American ingenuity, was now a wasteland of twisted metal and shattered dreams
Agri-Future Farms, once projected to be a symbol of American agricultural abundance, was now a wasteland of barren land and poisoned soil.
Medi-Life Meadows, once projected to be a beacon of medical innovation, was now a wasteland of twisted metal and shattered dreams.
TerraNova Textiles, once projected to be a symbol of American textile prowess, was now a wasteland of twisted metal and shattered dreams.
Aetherium Analytics, once projected to be a hub of data and information, was now a wasteland of twisted metal and shattered dreams.
The once-proud nation, recolonized due to its own poor governance then reduced to a wasteland by its own self-destructive ideologies using its own nuclear arsenal, served as yet another historical reminder of the fragility of human civilization.
And yet, in the desolate heart of what was once Aetherium Analytics, amidst the ruins of shattered servers and twisted cables, a lone dandelion stubbornly pushed its way through the concrete. Its seed, carried on the winds of radioactive dust, had found purchase in the wreckage, a fragile symbol of life amidst the desolation.
As the sun cast a long, eerie shadow across the wasteland, the dandelion swayed gently, its delicate petals catching the breeze. A single, iridescent butterfly, its wings painted with the colors of a thousand sunsets, fluttered down and landed on the flower, its antennae twitching as it absorbed the last vestiges of sunlight.
Suddenly, a tiny, perfectly preserved robotic arm, labeled “OmniCorp™ – Optimal Pollination Unit – Model 3b,” whirred to life amidst the rubble. With surprising dexterity, it plucked the butterfly from the dandelion, scanned it with a miniature barcode reader, and then, with a gentle snip, harvested one of its iridescent wings, carefully placing it in a tiny specimen jar. A synthesized voice, eerily cheerful, chirped from the arm’s speaker: “Pollination efficiency suboptimal. Commencing bio-material analysis for future optimization protocols. Have a positively productive day!”
The dandelion continued to sway in the breeze.
The one-winged butterfly died slower than it might have wished.
The perfectly preserved robotic arm eventually died as well, or at least ceased to function, having never wished for anything at all.
Modern Issue 