If you bought a Samsung Galaxy Note7, Samsung really, really wants you to stop using it. How much? The company plans to push out a software update next week to the potentially explosive Note7 devices in the U.S. that will prevent them from charging or connecting to a mobile network—effectively rendering them useless.

In a surprise twist, at least one U.S. carrier is balking at this decision, flexing its muscle as the gatekeeper of its network. Verizon issued a flat refusal to push out Samsung's kill-switch update in the middle of the holiday season.

Apparently, Samsung's statement that it was working "together with our carrier partners" was more wishful thinking than an actual plan.

It's tempting to cheer on Verizon for its newfound consumer advocacy—but it should also strike us all as more than a bit unsettling that titanic corporations are having a tug-of-war about the phones in our pockets.

Imagine being the citizens of Metropolis get whenever Superman trades fisticuffs with a massive, outsized villain like Brainiac or Doomsday. It's a cool spectacle, sure, but the outcome affects them directly—so they'd much rather have a say in who wins.

Who owns tech?

This is only the latest public example of how technology's changed our entire notion of ownership. Time was when you bought something, it was yours, and you were free to use it however you want. Just bought a book? Mark it up, doodle on the cover, rip out the pages. It's yours, for as long as you want to own it.

Note7 owners are surely keeping their phones with eyes wide open about the risk.

Computers have traditionally embodied that same spirit of ownership. If you buy a PC or a Mac, you can install whatever software you want—or refuse official updates—and still know your machine will work. You can usually still get IT support if you need it.

But mobile and connected devices changed the game. We got our first hint of this back in 2011 when Google used its Android "kill switch" to detect and remote-wipe malware apps from users' devices.

It was a preemptive move made in the name of security, to ensure malware didn't spread—but the incident had Orwellian undertones.

Five years later, Samsung wants to essentially force a kill switch on the remainder of Note7 owner (even though it's already convinced 93% of them to comply). The remainder are surely keeping their phones with eyes wide open about the risk.

The Note7 probably isn't the best test case for the new digital nanny-state. A faulty battery doesn't just pose a risk to the device owner—innocent bystanders could get hurt, too. That risk may be small—the fires only affected roughly 0.005% of devices sold—but it was big enough that it got airlines to ban the device, and at this point the perception of risk is almost worse than the problem.

Carrying a Note7 now will provoke fear and reprisals, so you may as well just not.

Ownership rights and fights

But the battle over the Note7 can still be seen as a wake-up call about ownership in the 21st century—and how nebulous the concept has become when it comes to connected devices.

Devices have always come with a sell-by date for software support, after which you're completely on your own. But the emerging future of constant over-the-air updates is also a future where our lives are at the whim of short-term corporate interests. Samsung wants to purge itself of any liabilities, so your Note7 gets bricked. Verizon doesn't want to piss off a bunch of customers right before Christmas, so they say "no" to Verizon.

And Note7 owners who just want to be left alone at this point can only sit back and wonder if they'll still have a working phone in a week.

Anyone who bought a Pebble smartwatch is probably experiencing similar bewilderment now that the company's been sold to Fitbit, though, at least those watches should still work. For now.

Not so anyone who bought the Revolv, which Nest (a Google company) bought and shut down. As connected-home devices, existing Revolvs need continual network support to work. That simply wasn't happening after Nest decided to kill the product.

The world—and our devices—are growing more and more interconnected, enabling incredible experiences, some borderline magical. But the Note7 saga shows the ugly underbelly of that connectivity: that your rights as an "owner" of a product are nothing when stacked against the power of the platform it runs on.

And depending on the whims of executives in Seoul or Cupertino, Mountain View or Redmond, that power can shift in a heartbeat.