I’ve been deep in the world of “The Dream Technician” lately, crafting this psychological horror novel about regulated dreams and corporate control of consciousness. When I saw the prompt “What Technology Would You Be Better Off Without?” on my feed, I couldn’t resist answering it from my protagonist’s perspective. It’s been a while since I’ve done prompt responses based on fiction, but sometimes the best way to explore a character is to let them answer everyday questions. Besides, who better to talk about problematic technology than someone whose entire job depends on it?

A Dream Technician’s Reflection

[Department Internal Network Post]

[Date: November 29, 2087]

I hate Black Friday shifts. Not the retail nightmare your grandparents tell stories about – I mean the real thing. The surge night when everyone’s bad dreams go on sale, dirt cheap, buy-one-get-one-free. The night when our implants work overtime and sometimes, just sometimes, miss a beat.

The implant buzzes against my skull now, a constant reminder of the technology I’m supposed to be grateful for. Six years as a Dream Technician, and still that artificial hum keeps me awake at night. Ironic, isn’t it? The ones who fix dreams can’t dream themselves.

The Department says the neural suppressors keep us safe. They’re mandatory tech, like the air filters in our lungs or the reality anchors in our bones. But lately, I’ve been wondering: safe from what?

Tonight’s patient tosses in their pod. Another garden-variety nightmare. But when my implant stutters – just for a heartbeat – I feel something massive shift beneath the surface of sleep. Like the shadow of a skyscraper passing overhead, except… deeper. Older.

The nightmare twists in my equipment’s glow. Its rhythm matches my implant’s buzz perfectly. Like they know each other. Like every bad dream we “fix” is actually reaching for something we’ve forgotten.

If you ask me what technology I’d be better off without? The suppressor. Not because it doesn’t work – but because it works too well. We’ve built walls so high around our dreams, we’ve forgotten what lived there first. Dreams weren’t meant to be technology. They weren’t meant to be fixed.

But that’s dangerous talk, especially on Black Friday. The surge is coming. The nightmares are on sale. And my implant hums, keeping me safe from whatever waits in the spaces between dreams.

I should get it checked.

I won’t.