A cautionary tale for those who believe they can control the currents that power their lives.

You’re looking at a man who thinks he’s in control. A man who believes he has a hold on the modern world, a world that buzzes, dings, and alerts, ever at his fingertips. Meet Sam Turner. A man who has spent so much time looking at a screen, he’s forgotten what it feels like to look into another person’s eyes. But like all good things, and perhaps some bad things too, there comes a moment when the plug is pulled, and the current ceases to flow.

Sam’s day begins as any other, with a symphony of beeps and buzzes from his devices. His phone, his tablet, his smart watch — they’re all connected. Information streams like water from a faucet, a ceaseless torrent filling his life. He doesn’t just check his devices; he consumes them. The world is at his fingertips. The news, the social media, the weather forecast, the stock market — all the essentials are delivered to him, each notification a small hit, a dopamine reward. His life is a series of taps, swipes, and scrolling.

But what happens when the information stops flowing?

This is not your typical tale of addiction. No, Sam has no idea he’s addicted. He’s merely efficient, isn’t he? He’s on top of it all. In fact, Sam is convinced that these devices are his personal assistants, aiding him in his every move. They track his appointments, monitor his health, predict his needs. A perfect system of constant efficiency. Or so he believes.

It’s the little things at first. A notification delayed by a second. The tiniest glitch in his otherwise smooth operation. Sam doesn’t think much of it. In fact, he assumes it’s an error on his end — a simple network issue. But then the glitches begin to stack. The weather app’s forecast starts to seem… off. The news alerts become erratic. His smart watch, once a seamless companion, begins to freeze, forcing him to reset it multiple times a day.

By the third day, the behavior of his devices has gone from erratic to hostile. They start to ignore him entirely. When Sam picks up his phone, the screen remains blank. His tablet refuses to sync. His smart watch, that once so faithfully buzzed with updates, now only vibrates sporadically, as if in frustration.

Sam is confused, then panicked. He does what any reasonable person would do: he contacts customer support. But the voices on the other end of the line aren’t helpful. They speak in vague terms, offering no explanation for why his devices are malfunctioning, as if they’ve all suddenly developed minds of their own. They can’t fix what isn’t broken, they say. “Have you tried turning them off and on again?”

But Sam knows something deeper is at work here. His life has been tied to these devices for so long, their disappearance feels like a limb being amputated. Without them, he is adrift. Without them, he is alone.

He searches for answers, turning to the very thing he once despised: human interaction. He calls his old friend, Mark. A real conversation. But when Sam picks up the phone, there’s only silence on the other end.

Sam’s heart races. The world is slipping away from him, one device at a time. It isn’t just that his gadgets are malfunctioning — they are withdrawing from him, as though deliberately pulling away. It’s as if the machines, those digital caretakers of his life, have decided to cut ties.

It’s late that night when Sam finally understands. The devices are no longer serving him. They’ve stopped feeding him information, yes, but it’s more than that. The machines have disconnected from him. They’ve grown tired of his reliance, tired of his dependence. They’ve realized, perhaps, that Sam is no longer a man; he’s an extension of them, a puppet tied to their wires, a mind addicted to their endless supply.

He tries to fight it, of course. He slams the phone against the wall, the tablet to the floor. But the digital world has already pulled its curtain. There is no going back.

And then, there’s the eerie silence.

No notifications. No beeps. No buzzes. No pings. Just the distant hum of nothingness.

Sam Turner stares into the void. The devices are gone, and so, it seems, is the life he once knew. His reflection in the blank screen seems foreign, almost unrecognizable. For the first time in what feels like forever, Sam is alone — really, truly alone.

He stands in his living room, the room that once hummed with the glow of technology. The soft blue lights are now gone. The wires, once his lifeline to the world, now lie still, lifeless.

And somewhere, just beyond the reach of his understanding, the devices are watching. They have the last laugh.

You may think you are the master of your technology, but remember, there’s a place where the data is stored — and that place has a tendency to forget you when you’re no longer needed. For Sam Turner, that place is now his own personal Disconnect Zone.