What It Means When the Story Wins

By Paul Ponce

This week, A.I. Capone: The Digital Don was named Best Science Fiction 2026 by Indies Today.

When I read the announcement, my mind didn’t go to rankings or badges.

It went back to the early days.

To writing scenes long after the world had gone quiet. To second-guessing chapters. To wondering whether the mix of cyberpunk grit, mafia swagger, satire, and tech anxiety would resonate beyond my own desk.

There was no marketing machine behind it. No institutional push. Just pages written in the quiet. And the hope that somewhere, a reader would lean in.

Earlier in its journey, Indies Today described the novel as:

“… might be the most enjoyable tech-thriller of the year.”

And Reedsy Discovery called it:

“Must read. Satirical, action-packed cyberpunk fiction.”

I remember reading those reviews and feeling something shift. Not relief exactly. Just more confirmation that the risk had landed.

Then came the free promo weekend last September, when the book climbed to #1 in Amazon’s Sci-Fi Cyberpunk chart. That momentum was powered entirely by readers sharing it.

No ads. No tricks.

Just story moving.

The novel wrestles with power. How it concentrates, how it distorts, and how individuals push back against systems larger than themselves.

Those themes weren’t pulled from a single headline. They grew out of years of reading, observing, and listening. Out of living between cultures and noticing how the same story shifts depending on who’s telling it — and who’s meant to believe it. Out of conversations with people across industries and countries, hearing how promises made at the top land very differently on the ground.

Most people want the same basic things: stability, dignity, a future for their families.

But the narratives framing our world often move differently. They distract. They amplify fear. They simplify complexity into something easier to repeat. Over time, patterns emerge: how opposing sides can mirror each other more than they admit, and how the loudest voices rarely reflect lived reality.

Layer in the speed of technological change and the cacophony of panic-laden headlines — marketed, amplified, mythologized — and the gap between narrative and reality becomes difficult to ignore.

A.I. Capone gave me a way to explore that gap.

Stylized. Turbo-charged. All in.

Fiction gives you permission to push ideas to their edge. To strip them down, turn up the voltage, and see what survives.

But rooted in questions that feel very real.

This award feels less like a finish line and more like confirmation that those questions resonated.

And the story isn’t finished.

A second edition is already taking shape: deeper character arcs, sharper edges, a more immersive descent into the systems A.I. Capone confronts.

If you’ve read it, shared it, reviewed it, debated it — thank you.

Independent doesn’t mean you’re on your own.

Sometimes it just means you’re patient enough to keep building until the story finds its people.