Mason stood up slowly, shaking his manager's hand, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.
He appreciated the kind words, but they felt hollow.
The reality was, video generation software utilizing AI had reached a point where the industry he had built his career around was crumbling beneath him. What had once seemed like niche technologies were now powerful tools that could perform the very tasks he had spent years perfecting, and they could do it faster, cheaper, and with less effort.
Generative models and AI didn't eliminate all human involvement in visual effects, but they drastically changed the roles required.
Big studios still needed project leads, concept artists, and a handful of generalists, but the specialized artists like Mason—those who focused on individual asset creation—were becoming obsolete. As larger companies adapted, smaller ones downsized, restructured, or simply went under.
Mason had tried to keep up, trying to adapt to the shifting technological landscape. But his job demanded his full attention, and now, it didn't need him at all. Over the next year, he searched for new opportunities, but each one seemed to slip through his fingers.
His prospects were bleak, and he ended up taking on freelance gigs, mostly one-off projects for clients outside the film industry. In between, he picked up barbacking shifts, three or four nights a week, just to survive.
He had two choices: relearn an entirely new field of visual production, or walk away. But both options felt impossible. His bitterness grew with each rejection, each failed attempt.
He felt like a failure, unsure of who he was anymore or what he was even capable of. His sense of self-worth evaporated as he faced the reality that he might have wasted his time on a career that had become irrelevant.
In his darkest moments, Mason turned to writing. It became an outlet for his thoughts, his frustrations, and his fears. Fiction, particularly speculative science fiction, gave him a sense of control in a world that seemed determined to leave him behind.
Writing about potential future technologies and their effects on human experience allowed him to explore a future he could shape, even if it wasn't real.
As time passed, Mason became consumed with writing a speculative science fiction novel. He dreamed of getting a publishing deal, and he poured his heart into the project.
The process was grueling—he faced 26 rejections from literary agents, then 38 more from publishing houses.
Finally, a small independent publisher offered him a deal. The novel, centered around the rise of electrical brain stimulators and their addictive effects, was published after 3 years of hard work.
By the time the book came out in 2034, the concept felt outdated. The technology he had written about was already a reality, moving faster than Mason had anticipated.
The book, once an exciting venture into speculative fiction, now seemed like an afterthought. It did poorly. Mason felt like a fool—again.
But in the midst of this failure, Mason realized something: his story wasn't unique.
It was becoming more common. Many people were facing the same struggles, the same sense of disillusionment.
And so, Mason had one more idea for a book, one that reflected his own journey—a novel about a futurist author whose ideas became obsolete as technology raced ahead.
Years later, in 2037, Mason found himself sitting across from Steven, the host of The Long Form Podcast.
Four cameras were trained on them as Steven asked, "Why don't you tell us a little bit about the book? It came out in 2037, and it's obviously been a huge hit. I believe it's been a bestseller on several platforms—that has to feel good, huh?"
Mason smiled, though it was tinged with irony. "Yeah, it's about a popular futurist author named Agne. She rises to fame in the mid-2020s, but by the late 2020s, things start to change. The world is moving too fast for her to keep up. Her books, once on the cutting edge, now feel outdated the moment they're published. And eventually, her identity as a futurist author becomes unsustainable."
Steven nodded. "That's fascinating. I understand you've also been in an industry that's gone through a lot of obsolescence and change in recent years. What's the key to staying relevant?"
Mason leaned forward, his voice steady but tinged with regret. "I got lucky, that's it. I spent my life believing I could be anything I wanted, just by working hard. But that's not how it works. The truth is, time and circumstances are like a spinning roulette wheel. No one knows where it'll land. You can work as hard as you want, but sometimes, it just doesn't matter. The world will move past you if it has to."
Steven looked at him, unsure how to respond. "That's a pretty fatalistic view, don't you think?"
Mason shrugged. "Not really. What I'm saying is that your career, what you do, doesn't define you. We're not just what we do for a living. There's more to life than success and ambition. What matters more are your connections—your friends, your family, your health. All of that is at least as important as anything you achieve in your career."
Steven paused, clearly processing Mason's words. "So, what's next for you?"
Mason smiled again, but it was a different kind of smile—one that came from a deeper understanding. "Technology is a double-edged sword. It opens up amazing opportunities for expression and connection, but it also brings risks—obscurity, bad actors, unforeseen consequences. I'm not sure what's next, but I do know one thing: you have to be careful about how much you let the world shape who you are."
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