Facebook are an amazing team, a brilliant team. It's a technology

Host: The rain fell in thin, shimmering lines against the windows of a modern co-working space, its glass walls reflecting a dozen glowing screens. The city lights outside blurred into streaks of silver and gold, like data streams running through the night.

It was nearly midnight. Only two people remained in the open-concept maze of desks and monitors — Jack and Jeeny.

Jack sat in front of a laptop, his face half-lit by the blue hue of the screen, the faint reflection of social media icons dancing across his grey eyes. Jeeny stood by the window, a mug of coffee in her hands, watching the storm with quiet wonder.

Somewhere between the hum of the rain and the soft pulse of technology, Bono’s quote echoed in her mind: “Facebook are an amazing team, a brilliant team. It’s a technology that brings people together.”

Jeeny: “You know, I think Bono was right. For all the noise, all the chaos… technology does bring people together. Look at this — we’re connected to billions. People who’d never have met now share their lives across oceans.”

Jack: without looking up “And yet everyone feels more alone than ever.”

Jeeny: turns toward him “You don’t believe in connection?”

Jack: “I believe in wires. Algorithms. Behavioral metrics. Connection? That’s branding. They don’t connect us, Jeeny — they manage us.”

Jeeny: smiles faintly “That’s your cynic voice. You always sound like a man allergic to hope.”

Jack: shrugs “Hope is expensive. Especially when it’s sold in 4K resolution and tracked by cookies.”

Host: The light from the monitors flickered across Jack’s face, carving his expression into something sharp, almost mechanical. But behind his sarcasm lay fatigue — the kind born from too many screens, too many half-hearted scrolls through other people’s curated happiness.

Jeeny: “You think connection is fake because it’s digital. But what about the moments that aren’t? I’ve seen people find support groups for grief, strangers helping each other through depression, fundraisers saving children’s lives — all through a post. That’s not data. That’s humanity, Jack.”

Jack: “And for every child saved, there’s a thousand people wasting hours comparing their lives to others’. You call it connection — I call it surveillance with emojis.”

Jeeny: “You really think it’s all manipulation?”

Jack: leans back, eyes cold “Of course it is. You think they made Facebook to bring the world together? No. They built it to sell the world to itself. Every like, every share, every tear — monetized. Humanity turned into analytics.”

Host: The storm outside intensified, the rain pounding the glass like applause from a world that no longer knew whether to cheer or mourn. Jeeny’s fingers tightened around her mug, but her voice remained calm — soft, but strong.

Jeeny: “Maybe you’re right about their motives. But does it matter why the bridge was built if people still find their way across it? You can’t erase the good just because it came wrapped in greed.”

Jack: “Greed corrupts the good. That’s the point. Every connection comes with a price — attention, privacy, truth. We traded authenticity for convenience.”

Jeeny: “And yet you’re still on it. You post, you scroll, you read the comments. Maybe you’re not as immune as you think.”

Jack: half-smiles, half-sighs “Maybe I’m just addicted to watching the downfall in real time.”

Jeeny: “No, Jack. You’re addicted to belonging. We all are. That’s why it works.”

Host: The rain softened, and the room fell still — the kind of silence that hums between two people standing on opposite ends of the same truth.

Jack: “Bono said it brings people together. Maybe that was true once. Back when the internet was a dream — before it became a mirror for our worst impulses.”

Jeeny: “Dreams still exist, Jack. Even corrupted ones. Do you know how many long-distance friendships survive because of that mirror? How many soldiers talk to their families through it? How many refugees stay connected to home? You can’t call that illusion.”

Jack: pauses, his voice softening “I’m not saying it’s all illusion. I’m saying it’s fragile. Like glass. One wrong click and it cuts deeper than we expect.”

Jeeny: “Maybe connection’s supposed to be fragile. That’s what makes it real. It’s not perfect, it’s alive.”

Host: The glow from the monitors flickered again — reflecting in both their eyes, making them seem connected by light itself. The sound of the rain became softer, rhythmic, like a heartbeat under dialogue.

Jack: “You know what I miss? The way people used to talk before all this. Words used to mean something. You’d hear a story face to face, not through a caption.”

Jeeny: “You mean before the world got too big for living rooms? Before letters took weeks to arrive?”

Jack: smiles ruefully “Yeah. Back when distance was real.”

Jeeny: “Distance still is, Jack. It’s just measured differently now. We can send words across the planet in seconds, but we still need courage to make them honest.”

Jack: looking at her, quietly “So you think technology hasn’t killed intimacy — just changed its grammar?”

Jeeny: “Exactly. We’re still learning how to speak human in a digital language.”

Host: Her words hung in the air like music — simple, resonant, true. Jack’s expression softened, his eyes glancing at the glowing notifications on his phone. One unread message. From his sister. He hadn’t replied in weeks.

Jack: “You ever wonder if maybe this—” he gestures to the screens “—isn’t the problem? Maybe it’s us. Maybe we forgot that behind every profile, there’s a pulse.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Finally. You’re talking like a believer.”

Jack: “Don’t get excited. I’m still a skeptic — just a skeptic with Wi-Fi.”

Jeeny: “You don’t have to believe in the company, Jack. You just have to believe in the connections people make through it. That’s the difference between a tool and a trap.”

Jack: “And you really think this tool can save us?”

Jeeny: “No. But it can remind us that we still want to be saved.”

Host: The sound of her words filled the small office like a hymn built on circuitry — something sacred woven through the mechanical. Jack’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, uncertain.

Then, quietly, he opened his messages. Typed something. Stopped. Then typed again.

Jeeny: watching him “Who’s that?”

Jack: “My sister. We haven’t talked since the funeral.”

Jeeny: softly “And?”

Jack: hesitates, then presses send “And maybe Bono was right. Maybe this thing still brings people together — if we let it.”

Host: Jeeny smiled, her eyes glistening as she turned back toward the window. The rain had stopped, but the city lights shimmered brighter now — reflected on every wet surface, connecting rooftops, streets, and faces like threads of light across the dark.

Jeeny: “You see, Jack — technology’s not the miracle. People are. The screen’s just a window.”

Jack: “And the view’s still beautiful… when you look up from the reflection.”

Host: The camera panned out slowly, rising above the office — above the rain-washed streets, above the glowing web of the city.

Billions of tiny lights, each one a person, a heartbeat, a story, all pulsing in quiet unison beneath the same digital sky.

And somewhere between them, two small lights flickered side by side — proof that even through circuits and code, connection was still possible.

Because, as Bono said, it is amazing what technology can do — when it remembers that what it’s bringing together is not just data, but souls.