DISPATCHES FROM DR. MARCUS TAYLOR.
Entry #1
I don’t really know how to begin this, as personal writing has never been my forte. When it comes to academic journals, grants, or endless lines of code, I’m a machine, but for some reason I have a block when it comes to writing about me, even though me is the only person I’ll ever be. My daughter, though, always emphasized the importance of getting your thoughts and feelings on paper (or digital interface, as it were) while there is still time, and as I begin this project, I am acutely aware of the fragility of life and just how fast our time can slip away. I’m writing this to you all to forge new connections at a time when so much feels broken, but it’s also perhaps an attempt to make sense of everything that has happened – to leave behind a record of my thoughts and experiences as I’ve navigated these unprecedented times.
With that in mind, it feels fitting to begin at an end.
All my life, I have devoted myself to my work, with the hope of creating a legacy that would endure long beyond my departure from this world. I’ve never believed in heaven, hell, or any grand hereafter. The only testament to our existence lies in what we leave behind. Almost 700 years on, Galileo and Copernicus loom large in the annals of science. The works of Da Vinci and Bach still stir the soul in a world those two men would find practically unrecognizable. We can even sense the wonder and curiosity of the most ancient humans as we gaze upon the cave paintings in Lascaux. Although life doesn’t last forever, our impact on the world seemed like it could.
So imagine my surprise when I outlasted the world.
The Collapse, as it came to be known, happened on New Year's Eve, 2181. Mount Sidley, a volcano in Antarctica long thought dead, woke up. "Erupted" is a woefully inadequate term for what happened. It was more like a gaping wound was torn through the planet, and hell itself poured out of it. And I know I said that I’ve never believed in hell, but on that day, I was there. We all were.
The eruption sent millions of tons of water vapor, smoke, and ash into the atmosphere, disrupting weather patterns and blocking out the sun. The sheer force of the seismic upheaval reverberated through fault lines along the Ring of Fire, unleashing earthquakes and volcanic eruptions across Asia and the western Americas. Tens of millions of people died in the initial cataclysm, and millions more who survived the quakes were swept away by colossal tsunamis born of deep-sea aftershocks. And that was just the beginning.
Category 5 hurricanes, heavy with acid rain formed from melted ice and toxic volcanic emissions, ravaged the planet. These storms obliterated crops and contaminated an enormous portion of the global water supply. Ash and dust from the eruptions plunged the world into darkness. Ancient pathogens, long entombed within the Antarctic ice, were unleashed upon an already devastated world. With resources rapidly dwindling and governments more or less totally collapsed, the violence began.
And yet, even amidst that chaos, the thread of human unity remained intact. As perverse as it feels to write down now, we survivors were connected by a shared experience – every single one of us had all lost everything. Although humanity was reeling, it was somehow not yet broken. Against the darkest backdrop of unrelenting tragedy and incomprehensible horror, a spark of hope still glowed, dim perhaps, but defiant and fighting to grow.
There is an instinct in humans, I think, to connect and collaborate, even when faced with the most dire of circumstances. Although there were some who lashed out and resorted to their ugliest, most repulsive instincts, many more of us came together to create a new chapter for humanity and, hopefully, eventually save the world itself. And it’s all thanks to Sunil Ramachandran, the man who looked the apocalypse in the eye and decided to fight back.
More soon,
Dr. Marcus Taylor.
Entry #2
It’s difficult to describe Sunil Ramachandran to those who haven’t met him – not his physical appearance, which is fairly standard, but the feeling of being around him, the weight of his presence. The term “charisma” falls short of capturing this phenomenon. When Sunil enters a room, the air itself seems to become charged, like he is a magnet bending reality itself toward him without having to say a word.
The fact that he’s the world’s first trillionaire may have something to do with it, but whereas many other people of his stature I’ve interacted with exude a palpable yearning for adoration that’s simply insecurity masked by opulence, Sunil is different. It doesn’t seem like he wants to be noticed at all, but that those in his orbit are simply compelled to do so. I suspect that he would have the same electricity even if he’d been a shopkeeper like his grandfather instead of the founder and CEO of the largest technology conglomerate on Earth. He was practically a force of nature.
In a way it’s fitting, then, that this man, so much like a force of nature himself, would be the one to rally the world around a plan to fight back against the natural disaster that threatened to doom us all.
I was in Pleasant Hill, Ohio, when it happened. I’d gone there to spend Christmas with my cousin Rachel and was planning on staying through the new year. It’s hard to convey now the surreality of those first weeks. Images of widespread devastation in movies and television have always flickered across our screens, but The Collapse eclipsed even the most vivid dystopian fantasies. The helplessness as the power went off and all our modern comforts were reduced to useless bricks. The terror of the constant sirens that blossomed into something worse when they faded away and we realized that no more help was coming. The sense of doom that hung over every moment like a blanket. The stench.
In hindsight, I was fortunate not to be in San Francisco when it occurred, as everything I later heard about what went on inside the city were nightmarish, but as the weeks passed and things got worse than any of us had ever thought possible, all I could think about was how to get home. My entire life was back in California – archives, books, photos… my dog, Bosco, who I’d left with a sitter. I’d never see any of those things again.
It was early February when Sunil’s helicopter arrived to collect me. I have no idea how he even knew where I was, but I suppose having infinite resources makes infinitely anything possible, even in the face of the apocalypse.
In those dark days, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the horror, I had retreated into a state of almost mechanical survival. The journey aboard Sunil's helicopter as it whisked me and Rachel to a clandestine refuge in the heartland was a blur of numb acceptance. In a reflection of just how small I was thinking at the time, I envisioned hiding and fortifying ourselves for the long, frigid night. Little did I grasp Sunil's true design, a vision that transcended mere survival – we were embarking on a mission to rebuild the entire world. Sunil was assembling the ARK.
More Soon.
Dr. Marcus Taylor.
Entry #3
Sunil’s helicopter swiftly transported us to a heavily fortified bunker nestled beneath an unassuming field outside of Davenport, Iowa. It was only later that I fully grasped the bunker’s magnitude – big enough to comfortably house thousands – but in the whirlwind of activity upon our arrival, there was little time to absorb such details.
When we landed, I expected a moment to collect and orient myself, but almost immediately I was escorted to a conference room deep within the twisted corridors of what would become my new home. Time was a quickly dwindling luxury, after all, and we had none to spare.
Inside the conference room, a tension in the air set my nerves on edge. It felt oddly electric, and it took me a moment to realize that the 31 other people in there with me were all holograms, projected in from the different locations around the world that they’d taken refuge in. There was Sunil, of course, along with Hyungi Lee, the Korean entertainment mogul, Sir Phillip Tindall, a minor member of the British Royal Family and head of the largest construction firm in the world, and Friday Adeyemi, the Nigerian tech wunderkind/gleeful internet provocateur, among other luminaries of science, technology, academia, and the arts.
This bizarre collection of public figures and private minds from across geographical, political, and professional spectrums was a testament to just how unprecedented this moment in history was. Many of us never would have crossed paths, let alone collaborated, under ordinary circumstances. I suppose the end of the world makes strange bedfellows indeed. Yet despite our differences, one thing was abundantly clear – each of us was at the pinnacle of our respective fields.
Sunil wasted little time with pleasantries – most of us knew at least peripherally who each other were anyway – choosing instead to get straight to business. This gathering of the world’s greatest living minds would be figuring out a plan to save the world. And in a nod to the apocalyptic flood myths that have appeared across most major cultures and religions, our little group would be called the ARK – a lifeboat of sorts for the next stage of human history.
Looking back now, I have an amazement bordering on embarrassment at how quickly I was caught up in the moment. I’ve always prided myself on my ability to move beyond the emotional trappings of a situation and examine things logically, identifying and interrogating all the angles. And yet there, in that room with that collection of incredible minds, my analytical nature was overwhelmed by an urgent desperation to forge a path through the chaos that had consumed the world and find a fleeting glimpse of hope amidst the horror. I never stopped to think about the motivations of everyone Sunil had gathered. Ask myself just who among us should be trusted. Perhaps if I had, I could have caught the warning signs of the trouble to come before it festered into the corruption that threatens to destroy everything the ARK has built.
More Soon.
Dr. Marcus Taylor.
Entry #3
Sunil’s helicopter swiftly transported us to a heavily fortified bunker nestled beneath an unassuming field outside of Davenport, Iowa. It was only later that I fully grasped the bunker’s magnitude – big enough to comfortably house thousands – but in the whirlwind of activity upon our arrival, there was little time to absorb such details.
When we landed, I expected a moment to collect and orient myself, but almost immediately I was escorted to a conference room deep within the twisted corridors of what would become my new home. Time was a quickly dwindling luxury, after all, and we had none to spare.
Inside the conference room, a tension in the air set my nerves on edge. It felt oddly electric, and it took me a moment to realize that the 31 other people in there with me were all holograms, projected in from the different locations around the world that they’d taken refuge in. There was Sunil, of course, along with Hyungi Lee, the Korean entertainment mogul, Sir Phillip Tindall, a minor member of the British Royal Family and head of the largest construction firm in the world, and Friday Adeyemi, the Nigerian tech wunderkind/gleeful internet provocateur, among other luminaries of science, technology, academia, and the arts.
This bizarre collection of public figures and private minds from across geographical, political, and professional spectrums was a testament to just how unprecedented this moment in history was. Many of us never would have crossed paths, let alone collaborated, under ordinary circumstances. I suppose the end of the world makes strange bedfellows indeed. Yet despite our differences, one thing was abundantly clear – each of us was at the pinnacle of our respective fields.
Sunil wasted little time with pleasantries – most of us knew at least peripherally who each other were anyway – choosing instead to get straight to business. This gathering of the world’s greatest living minds would be figuring out a plan to save the world. And in a nod to the apocalyptic flood myths that have appeared across most major cultures and religions, our little group would be called the ARK – a lifeboat of sorts for the next stage of human history.
Looking back now, I have an amazement bordering on embarrassment at how quickly I was caught up in the moment. I’ve always prided myself on my ability to move beyond the emotional trappings of a situation and examine things logically, identifying and interrogating all the angles. And yet there, in that room with that collection of incredible minds, my analytical nature was overwhelmed by an urgent desperation to forge a path through the chaos that had consumed the world and find a fleeting glimpse of hope amidst the horror. I never stopped to think about the motivations of everyone Sunil had gathered. Ask myself just who among us should be trusted. Perhaps if I had, I could have caught the warning signs of the trouble to come before it festered into the corruption that threatens to destroy everything the ARK has built.
More Soon.
Dr. Marcus Taylor.
Entry #1
I don’t really know how to begin this, as personal writing has never been my forte. When it comes to academic journals, grants, or endless lines of code, I’m a machine, but for some reason I have a block when it comes to writing about me, even though me is the only person I’ll ever be. My daughter, though, always emphasized the importance of getting your thoughts and feelings on paper (or digital interface, as it were) while there is still time, and as I begin this project, I am acutely aware of the fragility of life and just how fast our time can slip away. I’m writing this to you all to forge new connections at a time when so much feels broken, but it’s also perhaps an attempt to make sense of everything that has happened – to leave behind a record of my thoughts and experiences as I’ve navigated these unprecedented times.
With that in mind, it feels fitting to begin at an end.
All my life, I have devoted myself to my work, with the hope of creating a legacy that would endure long beyond my departure from this world. I’ve never believed in heaven, hell, or any grand hereafter. The only testament to our existence lies in what we leave behind. Almost 700 years on, Galileo and Copernicus loom large in the annals of science. The works of Da Vinci and Bach still stir the soul in a world those two men would find practically unrecognizable. We can even sense the wonder and curiosity of the most ancient humans as we gaze upon the cave paintings in Lascaux. Although life doesn’t last forever, our impact on the world seemed like it could.
So imagine my surprise when I outlasted the world.
The Collapse, as it came to be known, happened on New Year's Eve, 2181. Mount Sidley, a volcano in Antarctica long thought dead, woke up. "Erupted" is a woefully inadequate term for what happened. It was more like a gaping wound was torn through the planet, and hell itself poured out of it. And I know I said that I’ve never believed in hell, but on that day, I was there. We all were.
The eruption sent millions of tons of water vapor, smoke, and ash into the atmosphere, disrupting weather patterns and blocking out the sun. The sheer force of the seismic upheaval reverberated through fault lines along the Ring of Fire, unleashing earthquakes and volcanic eruptions across Asia and the western Americas. Tens of millions of people died in the initial cataclysm, and millions more who survived the quakes were swept away by colossal tsunamis born of deep-sea aftershocks. And that was just the beginning.
Category 5 hurricanes, heavy with acid rain formed from melted ice and toxic volcanic emissions, ravaged the planet. These storms obliterated crops and contaminated an enormous portion of the global water supply. Ash and dust from the eruptions plunged the world into darkness. Ancient pathogens, long entombed within the Antarctic ice, were unleashed upon an already devastated world. With resources rapidly dwindling and governments more or less totally collapsed, the violence began.
And yet, even amidst that chaos, the thread of human unity remained intact. As perverse as it feels to write down now, we survivors were connected by a shared experience – every single one of us had all lost everything. Although humanity was reeling, it was somehow not yet broken. Against the darkest backdrop of unrelenting tragedy and incomprehensible horror, a spark of hope still glowed, dim perhaps, but defiant and fighting to grow.
There is an instinct in humans, I think, to connect and collaborate, even when faced with the most dire of circumstances. Although there were some who lashed out and resorted to their ugliest, most repulsive instincts, many more of us came together to create a new chapter for humanity and, hopefully, eventually save the world itself. And it’s all thanks to Sunil Ramachandran, the man who looked the apocalypse in the eye and decided to fight back.
More soon,
Dr. Marcus Taylor.