In the near future, addiction to technology is at an all-time high—yet dangerously scarce. Devices are being seized and recycling is mandatory. Whispers of forced roundups echo across the country.
Behind it all is the Go Back regime, a radical movement backed by the U.S. President. Publicly, they're selling a utopia: digital detox centers disguised as luxurious spas. Privately, they're imprisoning citizens and profiting off confiscated tech.
Enter Sarah Grimes, a sharp, unrelenting journalist determined to expose the truth. With help from a conflicted Go Back sergeant named Olivia, Sarah finally publishes a damning news article—just before she’s captured and thrown into a Center herself.
Drugged and cut off from the outside world, Sarah reunites with Chris, a man she connected with before the crackdown. With Olivia’s secret map, they make a daring escape, heading for The Garden, the rumored headquarters of the resistance.
But survival on the run means dodging armed Sweepers, crossing moral lines they never thought they’d cross—and discovering that the resistance may have its own hidden agenda.
As Sarah faces impossible choices and loyalty is tested, she must decide whether to trust the movement, forge her own path, or risk everything to finish what she started.
In the near future, addiction to technology is at an all-time high—yet dangerously scarce. Devices are being seized and recycling is mandatory. Whispers of forced roundups echo across the country.
Behind it all is the Go Back regime, a radical movement backed by the U.S. President. Publicly, they're selling a utopia: digital detox centers disguised as luxurious spas. Privately, they're imprisoning citizens and profiting off confiscated tech.
Enter Sarah Grimes, a sharp, unrelenting journalist determined to expose the truth. With help from a conflicted Go Back sergeant named Olivia, Sarah finally publishes a damning news article—just before she’s captured and thrown into a Center herself.
Drugged and cut off from the outside world, Sarah reunites with Chris, a man she connected with before the crackdown. With Olivia’s secret map, they make a daring escape, heading for The Garden, the rumored headquarters of the resistance.
But survival on the run means dodging armed Sweepers, crossing moral lines they never thought they’d cross—and discovering that the resistance may have its own hidden agenda.
As Sarah faces impossible choices and loyalty is tested, she must decide whether to trust the movement, forge her own path, or risk everything to finish what she started.
IT BEGAN LIKE A BARELY BURNING FLAME with embers nearly
invisible to the naked eye. Then, the flames fanned out, singing
more and more people, until it became a blizzard of societal change.
We couldn’t stop it.
I never thought people would give up their tech, but they did.
I did.
Some did it willingly. Others, including myself, were forced.
Everyone remembers their location when we first learned the
news. I was at a concert at the Elephant Ear in downtown Austin,
Texas. I’d been working twenty-eight days straight, and I needed a
break. Music had always been my solace, and as I rounded the corner
of the club’s dark abyss, the low, pulsing beat thumped against my
chest. I’d always loved that sense of anticipation right before a show,
when you can feel the music before hearing it, and this night was no
different.
Before I entered the concert womb, a goth woman with a
septum piercing and a raven tattoo on the left side of her long neck
had asked, “Checking any tech?” I had always wanted a tattoo and
envied her ability to ignore the permanence of it. I could never
1Go Back
decide what to get. Plus, the pain factor. I had been too scared of
the IV sedation process, so they had to put me under to get my
wisdom teeth out.
As I nodded, the goth woman snatched my cell phone from
my hand and placed it inside its numbered slot. Like an idiot, I had
forgotten to leave it at home. They no longer allowed us to take
photos or videos at live events. Artists said it helped with fan
engagement and prevented live streaming. No live streaming
equaled more people at shows.
Personally, I hated the rule. I needed my phone as a periscope.
Being only 5’1” had its disadvantages.
The Elephant Ear had several stages in three different rooms.
I headed into the medium-sized room—the one that hosted
regional acts; hence, no VIP lounge—only a bar and some three-
level aluminum bleachers against one wall for the few fans who
wanted to sit during an eardrum-blasting performance.
No more than fifty feet in front of those bleachers, bodies
thrashed freely in the heat of the mosh pit and bounced to the
pounding music. I decided to go in. What did I have to lose? I longed
for human connection, which I hadn’t had for some time—because of,
you know, work, but I didn’t feel like talking. The black metal railings
just managed to keep me and the other moshers upright. sound waves
rattled my ribcage. The smell of smuggled smoke I’d have to scrub off
at home filled my nostrils. Every few minutes, someone jumped, and
either surfed or landed head-first on the floor.
Clinging to the rail, I craned my neck to the right to get a better
look at the lead singer. That’s when I noticed a man standing center-
stage, right hand wrapped around a brown beer bottle. His thin red,
plaid shirt looked to have been washed a thousand times. He glanced
back and nodded. Was that approval of me or of the band? I had never
excelled at deciphering the intentions of men. Plus, meeting a potential
significant other “in-person” instead of on a dating app was so Gen-X.
As the opening act ended, the noise died down, and the next act
started setting up, I stood there, deciding bar, band, or boy, when I
noticed he stood next to me.
“Good crowd,” he said in a sarcastic tone.
“Yeah,” I said, trying not to sound too shocked that he had
started the conversation. “You seen these guys before?” He couldn’t
2Emily Wagner
have been much older than me, maybe early thirties, but his aquamarine
eyes looked like they’d seen much more than three decades. His
smooth, wide hand grasped his beer bottle.
“I’ve seen them live like eight times at least.” He squinted and
looked off to the left in thought. “So much I get in free now. Crazy.”
“Wow,” I said. “That’s cool.” He nodded, almost like I’d embarrassed
him. “My name’s Sarah.”
“Chris. Nice to meet you,” he added and took the last gulp of
his beer. “Want one?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
He hailed a server, and ordered me an Amstel Light, himself an
IPA with a lizard on the label. When the next band started up, Chris
bobbed his head up and down to the music. I chuckled and joined
along. Something about him transported me back a decade, to a time
when others’ opinions couldn’t sway my decisions. We laughed and
sang along with the band, standing together as the crowd swelled
around us. If only we’d had our phones to take selfies.
In between songs we yelled commentary.
“It’s so loud,” I said with cupped hands to amplify my voice.
“Did you see that guy?” Chris yelled back, and a guy leaned
back into the crowd from the stage, but no one caught him.
“Ouch,” Chris said, smiling.
The sensation of temporarily escaping the outside world, even
for a brief period, was immensely enjoyable. Go Back attempted to
strip us of our immediate connection, but in instances like these, I
didn’t find it bothersome. The crowd thinned, but Chris and I stood
next to each other, our beers long gone. Despite looking tired, he still
had the post-show buzz and probably wanted to stay up due to the
ringing in his ears.
After I picked my cell phone up at the entrance, we made our
way out into the open air to the ride share pick up point. No one
drove anymore. Too many texting and driving accidents only
added to the GB’s public health threat initiative.
“Thank you for protecting me back there,” I said, realizing we
had just finished our first date.
“Don’t worry about it,” Chris said, then asked, “So, what do
you do? Professional concert-goer?”
“Worse. A journalist.” We both chuckled.
3Go Back
Journalists had become the bottom feeders of American
society. Ever since the early 21st century when politicians decried
us as the Fake News, we never recovered.
“But,” I said, “I’m not like an excellent journalist or anything.
My writing focuses on topics such as the latest tech craze or the
new zoo baby. Basically, I answer the phone a lot.”
Chris smiled. “Don’t sell yourself short,” he said and looked
down to kick at gravel. “At least you have a job. I got laid off last week.
The I.T. sector is crap now.” His hand ran his hand through his dark,
wavy hair. It almost brushed his shoulders. The wind also gave it a
more tousled appearance. I kept trying to push away the feelings of
desire, not only for him, but for how things used to be. Boy meets girl.
Boy asks for girl’s number. Boy takes a girl out on a date. They sleep
together and never see each other again or hold out and make it last.
But now things were so much more complicated.
Rideshares came and went, and the last rest of the crowd shuffled
to their cars or rides, leaving Chris and I in our long, drawn out, awkward
goodbye. The warm Central Texas air brushed against my face and
ruffled my hair. I held up my phone to order my ride through its smart
app, “Mira, I need transport for one at 223 Smith Street outside of the
Elephant Ear Club.” Last time I ordered a ride, it took an hour because
Mira couldn’t hear me over the background noise.
Chris cleared his throat, looked down. “Want to grab some coffee?”
he asked, revealing a perfect smile minus a crooked upper eye tooth.
I couldn’t see any reason not to.
• • •
The lights inside the 24-hour coffee bar were too bright, so we
opted to sit outside where the whoosh of vehicles and the Metro filled
the air. I’d been there many times after shows and usually ordered
something like a hot toddy to warm my throat worn scratchy from
all the concert singing and cheering. This time I stuck with some iced
tea with lemon.
“It’s nice outside,” I said and wondered why I had. The air
gave the sensation of snuggling with a warm blanket in a sauna.
“Really, now?” Chris nodded. Damn, I couldn’t get over those
blue eyes. “So, where are you from?”
4Emily Wagner
“Here. Attended Northwestern, though.”
“Oh! Ivy League!”
“It’s not Ivy League! And you mentioned you’re in IT … or were
… sorry. So, you’re no slouch yourself,” I said.
Chris looked away for a moment and stroked his chin. His hands
looked strong and smooth. “I’m self-taught. Never went to college. Or,
well, I did for a semester. Community college. Just didn’t work out for
me.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” I said with a smile.
“I see what you did there. Well, what do you do when you’re
not investigating?”
Some loud teenagers walked by, their voices bleeding together
in a cacophony. Then my phone buzzed, and a message appeared.
EMERGENCY ALERT
This weekend, the United States government, in cooperation
with the Go Back movement, will begin a cell phone restriction
initiative. Officers will be assigned to enforce the initiative,
which lasts from 8:00pm to 6:00am each day for all citizens.
The purpose of the enforcement is to extend the life of the
devices due to a shortage of Rare Eare Elements, as well as
ensure public safety following the disclosure of elevated
health risks of cell phone tech, including brain cancer. More
information is available at whitehouse.gov/news.
Chris smiled at me. “Well, isn’t that grand?”
I let out a loud sigh. “You know about the rumors, right?”
He nodded, then shrugged. “We’ll see.”
Yes, we will.
“Anyway, I enjoy going to shows, reading, hiking around Enchanted
Rock, hanging with my sister when she’s in a good mood.”
“Ha! Same! I love Enchanted Rock. You know it’s haunted, right?”
Chris’s eyes lit up like a teenager. I noticed some scruff on his square
chin, also a few freckles on his slender nose.
We chatted for about another hour about random things like
growing up and a little about the show, favorite foods. Chris drank
at least three decaf lattes.
“Well, I’d better get going. Thanks for the drinks,” I said,
pushing aside thoughts of the impending technological apocalypse.
5Go Back
We walked to the patio exit. Chris leaned down to unhook the
gate latch. Our arms brushed against each other, and I felt the
tingle of new romance like static pulling on my arm hair.
“Yeah. Nice to meet you.” He looked down and shuffled his feet.
Seconds later, my ride share arrived. “Hit me up on the socials,
before it’s too late,” I told him over my shoulder.
In Go Back, Emily Wagner presents a chillingly plausible future where digital freedom is sacrificed in the name of public safety and control. Set against a backdrop of increasing technological scarcity and governmental overreach, the novel explores themes of surveillance, resistance, and human connection with both urgency and nuance.
The narrative is driven by two distinct yet intertwining perspectives: Sarah Grimes, a sharp-tongued journalist determined to expose the truth, and Olivia, a conflicted soldier for the authoritarian Go Back movement. Through their dual voices, Wagner crafts a story that is both personal and politically charged, raising questions about autonomy, control, and the cost of truth in a post-truth society.
What makes Go Back particularly effective is its razor-sharp opening—immediate and immersive. From the first sentence, the writing commands attention, striking a careful balance between speculative intrigue and grounded emotion. Wagner’s near-future world feels eerily plausible, not only because of its well-conceived technological landscape but also because of its deep psychological insight. Her depiction of Sarah’s longing—for truth, for love, for normalcy—gives the story heart amid its dystopian grit.
The emotional core of the novel lies in the relationships: fragile, intimate, and often painfully real. Sarah and Chris’s connection, sparked in a mosh pit and tested under pressure, brings levity and tenderness, while Olivia’s internal conflict adds moral complexity to a world drawn in ideological extremes. The story’s tension isn’t just in the chase or the tech—it’s in the quiet moments, the whispered doubts, and the choice between comfort and conscience.
With strong pacing, compelling characters, and passages that provoke genuine reflection, Go Back is more than fiction—it’s a meditation on what we risk when convenience eclipses connection. Wagner's debut feels eerily timely and deeply human, asking readers not just where the line is, but what happens when we’ve already crossed it.