Welcome to your future.

Spaceships. Jet packs. Laser guns. 


Fifty years from now, the future will still be shaped by the mundane, the stupid, and the petty, living side by side with the Big Ideas. Dirty, shining, poor, glorious, filthy, and wonderful. 50.YFN is where we tell our future's story, hangover and all.

In its short life,
50.YFN has already become a very sharply defined setting, with unique language and history. Because of the ongoing storylines and broad geographical setting, we strongly recommend using the archives and category tags before throwing yourself in the deep end. Read the guidelines, take a look around. There's a truly talented pool of creators breathing life into our world Fifty Years From Now.

You are welcome to be a part of it.

And remember:

This is not a land-grab. There's no turf.  If you're a new writer, you have the same access to Brooklyn as I do, and as much an opportunity to leave your imprint on it. Don't be intimidated. Leave your brand on the future alongside everyone else. It's your world too. 


Applebaumology Part I

by Rabbi Ben Newman, The Bronx, NYC, NY

Manendra Applebaum sat at his cubicle desk. His computer interface, the electronic desktop superimposed over his normal vision, flickered that it was 9:25 am. He reached for his paper tea cup holding a macha-ocha blend. He sat back and mentally scrolled through his video and text messages. Twelve from the Mayor in the past week cluttered up his in-box. All of them were asking for modifications of Chu's Artificial Intelligence computer advisor, SOPHI. A full year of this dreck. Why won't this guy leave me alone!?

Manendra blew on his hot green tea. The smoke momentarily fogged up his vision and obscured the visual desktop. Every message from the Mayor was a request for a new Belief Subroutine. When he initially designed her program, before the Mayor was sworn in, he used a Buddhist model when programming the spiritual subroutine, thinking that the philosophy of the Middle Path perfectly suited the needs of an AI of this manner. Then, the Mayor began having a 'relationship' with the Construct, seeking its council, and getting angry at it for not giving the advice he wanted. First Manendra reprogrammed the construct to hold the beliefs of Sun Tsu, then it was Hinduism, then Christianity, then Judaism, then back to Buddhism, Satanism, Pragmatism, Existentialism, etc...until he exhausted pretty much every philosophy in the book. At first it was difficult for Applebaum to untie the knots in the program to insert a whole new belief system. After a few times through, however, he developed a shortcut. He knew that he would probably have to come back and do it again, so he found a way to make the Belief Subroutine a detachable function of the overall program, and though a bit less stable over time, it successfully changed the subroutine with only a week's effort. He would have loved to walk away from this particular job but his boss would fire him on the spot--So he continued detaching and reattaching new beliefs to SOPHI. The Mayor of NYC is crazy, he thought to himself. I can't handle this on my own. I'm just a programmer. I need someone who can help me make sense of all this. He scrolled down, and opened the first message he saw that was not from the Mayor's office. He gently sipped at the paper cup containing the bright green liquid. It was a text based message. It read:

To: IHS Employees
From: IHS Management
Subject: New Mental Health Coverage Benefits

Message: Due to the increase in funding we have received from the city, we are now able to provide every technician in the company with full metal health coverage. Any visits to metal health professionals will be reimbursed by the company's insurance company only upon receipt of the doctor's bill and diagnosis. All information will be held confidentially and will not in any way effect an employee's standing.

Thank you for your continued service to our company,

The Management.

Why not give it a try,
he thought, drinking heartily from his cup. He wiped the green residue from his lip as he metally scrolled through listings of psychologists in the NYC area. He dialed the first listing-- Aardard, Dr. Sean. An IA receptionist designed by his own company picked up the call.

"Dr. Aargard' office, how may I help you today?" inquired the affable electronically generated image of a brown haired girl.

"Hello. I'm Manendra Applebaum."

"Oh, Manendra." the computer offered, "I remember you. How may I help you today?"

Manendra put down his cup.

"I'd like to make an appointment." he said.

* *

The office of Dr. Sean Aardard was nestled into the basement of an old brownstone on 77th st. and Broadway, amid high end shops, bars and restaurants. Only the priviledged few could pass the subway security checkpoints to enter this part of the city. Only the elite minority could afford to shop there. Ordinarily, Applebaum was neither, but now, due to his recent relationship with the Mayor, and the success of IHS, he was able to pull some strings with his very grateful boss, Mr. Braithwaite, and obtain a priority level security rating on his Metrocard.

Manendra swiped his card at the turnstile, a green light went on, and a poorly synthesized electronic voice sounded for him to proceed.

He descended the steep steps to Dr. Aardard's office and rang the bell, looking up at a small security camera. The door buzzed, Applebaum opened it, and walked into a short corridor, at the end of which was another door. As the buzzer continued to sound, Manendra quickened his step for fear that it might stop before he got through the second doorway. As he turned the knob and walked through, the buzzing stopped. He found himself in a living-room type atmosphere. Comfortable couches and side-tables brimming with magazines lined the walls. A short blond woman sat at a pine desk with US Weekly in her hand. A small name-tag with the name Mrs. Theresa Bishop engraved on its surface rested on the desk.

"Mr. Applebaum, I presume?" She inquired, barely looking up at him.

"Yes. I'm..." Manendra bit his thumbnail absently. Maybe this was a bad idea. he thought.

"Here for your three o'clock?" she pulled out a piece of chewing gum and began masticating.

"Uh. Yeah..."

"Dr. Aardard is with another patient now. Sit on one of the couches and I will call you when he's ready."

Manendra picked out a fuzzy brown couch, and sat down. He engaged his ocular implant, and began scrolling through his electronic mail. After a few minutes, Mrs. Bishop spoke his name.

"Manendra Applebaum!" she called out, as if she hadn't actually met him before, 5 minutes earlier.

"Yes." he stood up and gathered his backpack.

"The Doctor will see you now." she said, and went back to her US Weekly, and fruity gum.

* * *

Dr. Aardard's office seemed more of a small museum of antiquities to the technician Applebaum, rather than what he had imagined a shrink's office to be. African tribal masks, strange looking pipes and swords were littered about on tables throughout the dark room. Dr. Aardard, a blonde haired Norwegian looking man in a blue pin-striped suit sat at one of the tables. He looked at Manendra inquisitively, and gestured to a comfortable looking chair.

"Please, sit, Mr. Applebaum," he said, "make yourself comfortable."