Words disrupt their ears.
"We're all looking towards lines-lines that aren't even there," ZYN says, as if spoken by a chorus of selves, their voice oddly layered to those present. The visitors cast sideward glances, wondering if the strange muttering is really brilliance or delirium. As ZYN speaks, the outside world seems to distort and collapse at the horizon inward, as though the curvature of the Earth now wants itself to be revealed in real time. On it, the visitors look toward windows-the entire ocean looking as though it climbs. "I'm talking about unity," ZYN continues, their gaze far away yet sharp. "Not between countries. Between time. Between thoughts. Between everything you think is separate." The days that follow only increase the murmurs. Every gesture and every broken sentence is scrutinized by the analysts. Theories arise; ZYN's disjointedness in speech and erratic focus translate to a cognitive condition. For the first time, the world faces a question that has never been truly reckoned by it: What does it mean to be neurodivergent? Well, divisive as the arguments go, ZYN's opponents are not short of the usual calls for mental fitness testing, but an unlikely coalition of disability activists shows up on the opposite end of the debate. "This is bigger than ZYN," says one activist on national broadcast. "It's about breaking barriers. A neurodivergent breaks stigma around mental health and cognitive difference." ZYN, apparently unperturbed by the debates, declares, "What we're talking about is resonance. The kind of resonance that whales dream about when they sing." "It's a thing you thought was about me," s/he continues. "But it has always been about you. About all of us. The lines are gone. The map is no longer flat."
From a crack in the sky, the world lets out an undecided breath, unsure whether it is waking up or falling more deeply into a dream.