Episode Thirty One - shadows of reality
And the devil died screaming, a cyberpunk graphic novel
Neon veins pulsed along the metal walls as I slammed my palm against the graffiti-scarred console. “Have you ever stopped to consider that the Ultra-High Reality network might not just be another layer on top of our messy connections, but an entirely different beast?” My voice cracked, a raw urgency vibrating in the cramped loft.
They sat cross-legged on a tattered couch, one eyebrow arching beneath the brim of their carbon-fiber cap. Their gaze was ice—did they doubt me or pity me? “Explain.”
I leaned forward so close our foreheads almost touched. The smell of solder and hot circuits leached from the console behind me, our breaths mingling in the stale air. “Ultra-High isn’t a simple upgrade. It’s a fully charted, quantifiable matrix where flesh and code, neurons and data streams weave into one seamless tapestry.”
They let out a harsh snort, mouth curling. The wisp of smoke from their cigarette curled toward the cracked ceiling. “So?”
My throat tightened. I pressed my fingertips into the scuffed wood of the coffee table. “So here’s the thing: there is no ‘here’ without ‘there.’ Every heartbeat, every keystroke ripples through both realms. This isn’t just about hacking protocols—it’s existential. Alter Ultra-High, and you alter the world that birthed it.”
They uncrossed their arms, the snap of their leather jacket sharp in the hush. “Theoretically.”
A spike of frustration shot through me; my pulse hammered in my ears. I reached for a chipped mug and took a ragged sip of cold brew. “Theoretically? You—once a god among mortals—should know that every thought, every willful gesture carves reality itself.”
Their lips curled into a sneer, ash falling onto their palm. “Oh, please. New Thought, Chaos Magick, The Secret—those are pseudoscientific fairy tales.”
I bit back a retort and forced a smile that tasted of desperation. “Fairy tales? Science borrowed the language of magick and rebranded it. You helped write that language—maybe even invented it. That’s why, before Ultra-High emerged, anyone whispering those ideas was silenced.”
For a moment, their eyes flickered—respect, or the closest thing to it I’d seen in weeks. They tapped ash into an empty data-chip tray. “It works. It was both my sword and my downfall. If it’s so potent, why isn’t there a full-blown uprising inside and outside Ultra-High?”
I sank back against the console, guilt weighing my shoulders. The hum of server racks thrummed under my elbow. “Some resist. But most stumble blindly, rewriting code they don’t understand and mistaking that for true power. They never realize they’re marionettes, so they never cut the strings.”
They tilted their head, lips curling. “A hollow Low Magick.”
I slammed my fist on the table, rattling empty cups. “Exactly! They think they’re masters of their fate while we—yes, we—pull every lever. If only they could see the bars of the cage.”
Their tone sharpened, leaning forward. “And how does one break free?”
My eyes darted to the shattered mirror in the corner reflecting tangled cables. I swallowed. “When I said I guided souls to enlightenment… I meant unlocking a spark of purpose, a Viktor Frankl–style will to meaning, even within the confines of Ultra-High.”
They narrowed their eyes, studying me. “Not nirvana. Not pure transcendence.”
“No,” I whispered, voice barely above the server hum. “It’s a flicker—a quiet defiance. Enough to remind someone they’re more than pixels, more than commands.”
They leaned back, exhaling smoke rings into the glow of the holo-projector. “Could meditation, shamanic journeys, High Magick—anything—pierce the system’s veil?”
My fingers danced over the table’s rough grain. “Outside the technocrat elite—those who navigate both worlds—almost no one glimpses past the neon illusions. A handful awaken, but expose too much and you trigger a ruthless lockdown.”
Alarm sharpened their gaze. “Then what have you actually done?”
I wrapped my fingers around the mug, knuckles whitening. “Not salvation. I gave people a reason to defy the script—just enough rebellion to keep the flame alive.”
They murmured, voice soft as confession. “Even if it’s all fabricated?”
“It is reality,” I shot back, standing so quickly my chair screeched. My boots skidded across the stained floor. “Reality is perception. Hoffman proved that. He mapped consciousness, and from his work Ultra-High was born. With this knowledge, we stand at the edge of human evolution—VR as our chrysalis.” Fear trembled in my chest that these truths, once unleashed, could become weapons.
They rose too, the couch creaking under their weight. “Is this humanity’s next leap?”
My breath hitched, but I spoke anyway. “Not for the masses. The tech that promised liberation has mutated into an instrument of elite dominion. True ascension is reserved for those who slip between worlds.”
They laughed, a brittle sound that echoed off bare pipes. “Freedom in a fabricated labyrinth?”
I planted my feet, voice steel. “Free will is a code—a carefully engineered illusion in both realms. Purpose is simulated, enlightenment a programmed myth. Welcome to the greatest deception ever spun.”
Their face remained unreadable, but their fingers twitched. “So it’s all a colossal lie?”
I offered a slow, sad smile and ran a hand through my tangled hair. “Has it ever not been? Since Eden. The serpent whispered raw truth: knowing good and evil comes with a curse—freedom tastes like agony.”
They exhaled, shoulders sagging. “Choice breeds pain.”
I nodded, the single neon tube overhead flickering. “Nailed it. Without forbidden fruit, what is temptation? Idle desires untested are meaningless. The spark of rebellion ignited long ago—and it still burns, hidden in the shadows of Ultra-High and the world that spawned it.”
We stood there in the humming glow, two conspirators caught between the seductive pull of forbidden truth and the terror of its price.