Eben X. Scrooge, the reclusive tech titan and visionary behind the world’s most addictive virtual reality platforms, saw Christmas as an inefficient relic of human sentiment. From his sprawling glass skyscraper, a monument to progress perched high above the city, Scrooge lived a life free of emotional entanglements. His creations had reshaped human connection, or so he believed, rendering the messy inefficiency of physical gatherings obsolete. Christmas, with its carols, lights, and cheer, was an unnecessary distraction from his quest to perfect his virtual utopias.
This year, however, Christmas Eve was anything but routine. Scrooge sat alone in his vast, sterile office, immersed in debugging a critical line of code for his next VR realm. The air hummed with the quiet whir of servers until it was interrupted by a sudden flicker. Before him materialized the shimmering hologram of Jax Marley, his late co-founder and once-closest confidant. Unlike the tormented soul from Dickens’ tales of old, Marley’s digital avatar glowed with cascading chains made of brilliant, intertwining Christmas lights. Each link pulsed with life—memories of joy and regret, laughter and tears, that Marley had neglected in life but now cherished in death.
“Eben,” Marley intoned, his voice both familiar and distant. “You’ve forgotten what it means to live. You’ve traded the richness of connection for sterile control. Tonight, three spectral entities will guide you through the story of Christmas—past, present, and future—to show you what you’ve lost and what you still stand to save.”
Scrooge frowned. “Another glitch,” he muttered, dismissing the apparition as a malfunction of his experimental AI. But before he could issue a reset command, the room dissolved around him, replaced by a swirling vortex of light and sound.
The first specter arrived in the form of a swirling nebula, its shifting form composed of starlight and primordial shadows. Without words, it extended an ethereal hand, pulling Scrooge into an immersive simulation of Christmas’ distant roots. They stood amidst prehistoric revelers dancing around a massive bonfire, their faces alight with awe and unity as they celebrated the winter solstice. The air was thick with the scent of pine and burning wood, a symphony of ancient drums echoing under a canopy of stars.
Scrooge marveled at the raw beauty of these gatherings. “They knew nothing of algorithms or networks,” he said, his voice tinged with disbelief. “Yet they found meaning in this.”
The specter nodded, whisking him forward to witness centuries of evolving traditions: the solemn hymns of medieval choirs, the bustling joy of Victorian markets, and the quiet, candlelit moments of families united by love. For the first time, Scrooge felt a faint ache—a longing for something he had never sought.
The second spirit, a vibrant figure cloaked in shimmering pixels, greeted Scrooge with a mischievous grin. It transported him to the heart of the modern city, bustling with life. They floated above a homeless shelter where volunteers served meals with genuine warmth, then into a family’s cramped apartment, where children gleefully unwrapped secondhand gifts. Scrooge saw his own technology at play too: in virtual gatherings that reunited loved ones across continents and digital classrooms where children sang carols together despite physical distance.
But the spirit also showed him the darker side: lonely individuals lost in the abyss of his virtual worlds, their only light the glow of a headset. In a crowded plaza, a young girl handed her last few coins to a struggling musician, her smile radiant despite her threadbare coat.
“She doesn’t even have enough to spare,” Scrooge muttered.
“Yet she gives,” the spirit replied. “Your technology connects many, but it cannot replace the warmth of a hand held or a heart touched.”
The final spirit, a towering silhouette shrouded in static and flickering code, led Scrooge to a stark and desolate future. The city was devoid of laughter or song, its people immersed in Scrooge’s perfected virtual utopia. Humanity had abandoned the traditions of Christmas, their celebrations reduced to sterile digital simulations. In this cold world, connection was efficient but empty, and joy was a programmed response.
Scrooge saw himself as a forgotten relic, his name remembered only in the annals of technological progress. He watched in horror as a child reached out for a hug in the real world, only to find no one there.
“This is the legacy of your indifference,” the wraith intoned. “But it is not too late to change.”
Scrooge awoke in his office, gasping for breath. The weight of what he had seen pressed on him, but it was accompanied by a spark of determination. He leapt into action, channeling his wealth and genius into rekindling the true spirit of Christmas. He ordered his company to create technology that enhanced, rather than replaced, human connection. He donated fortunes to community projects, funding shelters, schools, and celebrations that brought people together.
On Christmas morning, Scrooge appeared in the city square, surrounded by the people he had once ignored. He handed out gifts, listened to their stories, and joined in their laughter. His skyscraper—once a cold fortress of isolation—became a beacon of light, adorned with dazzling decorations and open to all. He even hosted a worldwide virtual Christmas event that seamlessly blended digital innovation with the warmth of tradition, ensuring no one, anywhere, would ever feel alone.
Eben X. Scrooge’s transformation became legend. His name, once synonymous with detachment, now embodied the boundless spirit of giving. Through his efforts, the magic of Christmas endured, proving that even in an ever-evolving world, the essence of the holiday lies not in machines, but in the hearts that beat with love and generosity.
MADD FICTIONAL 