The Ascension Directive is a dystopian coming-of-age saga set in a world where progress has overtaken humanity, and technology threatens to rewrite the essence of being human. Through the dual perspectives of Catalina Restrepo and Natasha Morgan, childhood friends pulled apart by technological upheaval and ideological drift, the book explores the cost of automation, the struggle for identity, and the meaning of love, family, and choice. As their paths diverge, Catalina resisting the invasive march of artificial enhancement in Meadowbrook and Natasha chasing answers in the hyper-optimized New Avalon, the story weaves personal rebellion into a broader critique of a future that asks what we’re willing to sacrifice for perfection.

Cal Lopez doesn’t just tell a story, he excavates the emotional fallout of a society hellbent on “fixing” everything, even at the expense of its soul. His writing style is wildly unpredictable—lyrical in one sentence, brutally direct in the next—and that sharp rhythm mirrors the chaos his characters navigate. Catalina is fire: angry, unfiltered, and afraid to hope. Natasha is her counterweight: analytical, open-hearted, and grappling with the illusion of progress. I was especially struck by the way Lopez handles technology—not as a villain, but as a seductive force that feels eerily close to our own reality. I caught myself nodding, sighing, and—once or twice—clenching the book tightly.

But what really got me wasn’t the tech or the politics—it was the humanity. These characters ache. They long for lost mothers, for belonging, for freedom that doesn’t come with a barcode. There’s a part where Catalina, surrounded by perfect holograms and polite drones, just wants to feel real again—and that resonated with me. Some moments feel raw and jagged, while others are almost dreamlike. Lopez doesn’t shy away from contradictions. Instead, he leans into them, and the result is a story that’s alive with conflict and yearning.

The Ascension Directive made me feel unsettled in the best way. This book is for readers who crave more than just a cool premise—it’s for those who want to feel something. If you liked The Giver but wish it had more grit, or if Black Mirror ever made you cry instead of just freak out, this one’s for you. It’s emotional, it’s thoughtful, and it pulls no punches.

Pages: 486 | ASIN: B0F9YGQNFC