1 //Code Documentation

2 <Foreword>
3 <README>

4 <Campervan Life>
5 <The Brave and Stupid>
6 <Reality Is>

7 <You Are>
8 <Binary>

9 <The Pyramid>
10 <Level One>

11 <Simple Life>
12 <Level Two>

13 <American Dream>
14 <Calvin’s Chair>

15 <Another Life>
16 <Dollhouse>

17 <An Offer>
18 <Cicada>
19 <Love Is>

20 <The Way Of ZD>

21 <The Bet>

22 <Mental Illness>
23 <A Copy>

24 <Depression>
25 <Sick Leave>

26 <Butterfly Effect>
27 <Own Nothing>

28 <UBI>
29 <Sharing is Caring>
30 <Total Medicine>

31 <Unhealthy Opinions>
32 <Health Chip>

33 <Digital Currency>
34 <One Corporation>

35 <The Machine>
36 <Social Distancing>

37 <Container City>
38 <White Paper>

39 <Megaverse>
40 <The Joker>
41 <Virtual Architect>

42 <I Am AI>
43 <Singularity>

44 <Roko's Basilisk>
45 <The Factions>

46 <Her Name Is>

47 <Zero Day>

48 <You Have>
49 <Hello, World>

50 <Remember>
51 <The Question Is>

52 <Almost Home>
53 <In The End>

54 <True Events>

}
{
2 <Foreword>

// I think we ought to read only the kind of books that

wound and stab us. If the book we are reading doesn't wake us
up with a blow on the head, what are we reading it for? ...we
need the books that affect us like a disaster, that grieve us
deeply, like the death of someone we loved more than
ourselves, like being banished into forests far from everyone,
like a suicide. A book must be the axe for the frozen sea
inside us. ― Franz Kafka

I first met the author on a platform for freelancers in

January of 2019. He was searching for a writer to take a look
at his book when he came across my profile. Like many of my
peers at that point of my life, I was wading waist-deep in
sunk costs, living on the floor of a windowless apartment to
attend a school I couldn’t afford (and didn’t need, as it
turned out). I had figured that this book, which told the
story of a societal collapse to take place in the near future,
would be a nice change of pace from the empty erotica I had
been ghostwriting to make ends meet.
Had I known how profoundly this meeting would impact my
life, I might have created a better story to tell about it.
George is the type of character you meet during a chance
encounter in a faraway tavern, or while riding a midnight
train as it speeds through a treacherous mountain pass, and
his book might as well have been an ancient prophecy inscribed
on a papyrus scroll. The more I learned about this mysterious
author and his baffling text, the less confident I became in
my own presuppositions about the world. Through a maze-like
Socratic narrative style, The Manual, which was published in
May of 2019, depicts a crisis of self in its late stages
accompanied by a warning of an impending event known as “the
collapse.”
 I’ll spare you the obvious implication while also making
the disclaimer that no, I’m not attempting to prove the
existence of psychic powers. The entire futuristic genre is
one monolithic doomsday forecast, and any of these books may
be incidentally labeled as prophetic. It is my opinion that
dystopian literature’s appeal comes from its recurring
assertion that there will always be a courageous and
conventionally attractive individual willing to lead the
revolution against the oppressive system. By default, we
identify with the rebellious minority and condemn the
opposition for its “obvious” moral shortcomings. We fail to
see that reality is much more complicated than we can imagine
it, and that sometimes the ones writing our stories do not
have the purest of intentions.
The Code is not for those who habitually choose the path
of least resistance. It will not serve you if you have already
made up your mind about your reality and your place in it. It
will not give you the answers to the questions that keep you
up at night. Quite the contrary; it will breed many more. I am
beyond grateful to have worked with George, and I wish him all
the best.
-N.B.B.

}
{

3 <README>

// Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go

from here?"
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said
the Cat.
"I don’t much care where--" said Alice.
"Then it doesn’t matter which way you go," said the Cat. ―
Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
 For those of you who are not old enough to know what a
README file is (and for those who are old enough but have
forgotten), in the early years of the digital age before
one-click downloadable apps and high-speed internet, we bought
our software on floppy discs or CDs. To install an application
on your computer, you had to consult a README file, a simple
text step-by-step guide on how to do it.
As someone who remembers the collapse of the Communist
Block in 1989, my first dial up on the World Wide Web (The
Internet) in 1996, the burst of the Dot-com Bubble in 2000,
the birth of the Smartphone in 2007, the recession caused by
the 2008 Banking Crisis, and now the spread of the pandemic, I
wish the world came with a README file. We could all use a
guide on how to successfully install a new program, system,
ideology, or story to believe in. Our society seems to run
from one system crash to another, unable to rid itself of the
bugs from the previous version. I also wish I had a README
file for myself. The world has become so confusing that I no
longer know who I am in relation to it. We are used to playing
so many roles that we end up identifying with our performances
and losing any sense of individuality.
Please allow me to introduce myself. I’m an architect who
used to design buildings for a living. Now, I design
societies. As the old adage goes, “hope for the best, plan for
the worst.” I do not like to hope. I would rather plan. Once
the construction has begun, it’s too late to implement a small
change from your virtual 3D model. The same principle applies
to societies; once human forces are set in motion, they are
near impossible to stop.
To hope for a better future is to leave it to chance,
whom I personally do not trust to do the job correctly. That
is why I plan. You ought to do the same, because we have some
turbulent times ahead of us. The virus was only an earthquake
in the middle of the ocean. At this very instant, a tsunami
rushes towards our shores, where we have planted our
civilization. We have not prepared, and we are running out of
time to do so.
This is the year 2021. I’m already looking ahead to 2030.
My story is meant to give you a glimpse of our future: not
only a warning, but also a detailed guide on how to prepare
for what is to come. It will not be easy to accept. But, then
again, neither will life after 2021. The one thing I cannot
emphasize enough, however, is that we will have a much higher
chance of surviving the coming tsunami if we prepare together.
Like you, I am afraid of death. Not because of the
uncertainty involved; quite the contrary. You see, I hold the
key to immortality, which has allowed me to live my life
freely and at peace with myself, humanity, and the entire
universe. No, the reason I am afraid of death is that if I am
dead, then there will be no one to continue my mission.
Here, my friend, is where you come in. After all, the
content we consume is nothing more than code entering a
computer. Everything we allow into our operating system has
the potential to rewrite us, from the way we process
information to the way we see the world. If you treat this
book as pure work of fiction, then you can rest assured that
you will make it to the other side having changed only your
boredom state. However, if you change your filter to
“non-fiction” (which might involve first clearing your
expectation cache and purging any large ideological system
files), you will find that this book is designed to function
like a puzzle with pieces that you must put together to form a
unique interpretation. Fair warning: not all are suited for
this task. If you know that you do not want to alter your base
code, then don’t run the program. Put the book down and scroll
through social media instead.
 For the rest of you, prepare to enter the path that leads
to a better future for all of us. I, for one, am quite looking
forward to it.

}
{

4 <Campervan Life>

There was a time when the Polizei of Berlin would not

have allowed a homeless man to commandeer a public bench and
turn it into his own personal stage. Then again, this was also
a time when the presence of people in public was not a rarity,
but business as usual. After two years of living with a
pandemic, we had learned to accept anything, including
Baptiste’s few minutes of fame when he stood on his bench and
recited Shakespeare in a booming baritone:

// All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.

Each time I saw him, I was struck by the suspicion that

Baptiste must have been an actor like me, before he became
homeless. In him, I nearly saw my own future: alone,
penniless, shouting Shakespeare passages at the passers-by as
they tried to ignore me.
It was 6:54 on a cold Sunday morning. I remember the time
because it was the precise hour that the buyer had requested
to meet for the handoff. I didn’t think too much of it. As
long as he brought the full amount, I couldn’t care less what
time he showed up.
 I opened up the door to the campervan and sat on the
fold-out stairs, taking in the brisk morning chill. The
silence was broken by Baptiste. As I stood to greet him, he
met my gaze. Instead of his usual grime, he had bathed and was
dressed in clean clothes. Everything about him had
transformed, including his demeanor, which was now formal,
almost ceremonial. His eyes had a new lucidity to them, which
brought a chill to my spine as he turned to give me a knowing
nod, as if I were his accomplice. Then, he turned from me and
pointed in the direction of the TV Tower, the tallest
structure in Berlin.
“Here comes the Architect!” He shouted, exuberant. Out
from the mist, in the direction he was gesturing, emerged a
figure. As he came closer, I could make out a man in his early
thirties with curly black hair. He was dressed in a black
hoodie, blue jeans, and black sneakers. He noticed me and
raised his hand in a friendly greeting. Before I could return
it, Baptiste approached him. “I should be kneeling before
you,” he said, his voice trembling. To my surprise, the
stranger pulled him into a hug. I tried to comprehend. Maybe
they knew each other? I couldn’t tell. When they broke apart,
Baptiste retrieved a jar of honey from his bag, opened it,
then with his pointer finger, smeared a “C” in honey on the
stranger’s forehead.
“Let it be this way, brother. That’s how it’s meant to
unfold,” said the stranger. They let go, and Baptiste slowly
drifted back to his bench. Then, touching his forehead and
licking the honey from his fingers, the stranger walked toward
me.
“You should try Baptiste’s honey,” he said, chuckling.
“It’s all organic.”
He stretched his hand out to shake mine, but I hesitated.
He realized what I was thinking and laughed again. “Ach, yes,
the honey. I forgot. Nice to meet you, friend. I’m the
Architect.” Strange name, I thought. Perhaps it was a stage
name. From the way he dressed, he could have been a rapper, or
a breakdancer. I introduced myself and showed him around the
van. After a careful inspection, he handed me an envelope. I
opened it and started counting.
“So, where are you headed with this?” I asked without
lifting my head.
“To another dimension.” He said it so matter-of-factly. I
stopped counting and looked at him to see if he was joking. He
wasn’t. He continued, “We are heading to a place only a
handful of people have had the privilege to visit. Would you
like to come with us?” There was still no trace of jest on his
face.
“Sorry,” I said, “I forgot to budget for a trip to
another dimension. Maybe next year.”
The Architect smiled. “We’ll take care of all that.
You’ll be paid 3,000 euros for one week’s work, in addition to
complete coverage of food, lodging, and transportation.”
I immediately suspected a scam. Who on Earth would hire a
completely random person to do a 3k job? Or worse, what if he
was recruiting me to do something illegal? That would also
explain the payout, as well as the lack of a proper job
interview. He seemed to be speaking in code- another
dimension sounded like a euphemism for drugs. Maybe he was
part of a drug ring?
“Oh, I see,” I said, deciding to test this theory.
“You’re one of those hipsters looking to start a commune in
the middle of nowhere. I’m sorry, but I’m not stupid enough to
do hard drugs.” What I said was only partially true. The real
reason I didn’t do drugs was because I couldn’t afford them.
Alcohol and antidepressants were enough to numb me from my
depression.
He laughed again. “None of that, my friend! I only get
high on reality. I have no use for hallucinogens. There is
plenty of unaltered beauty in this world to get high with. So,
what do you say?”
In spite of the strangeness of the whole thing, I
couldn’t find a good reason to refuse. After all, I still had
debts that the campervan sale wouldn’t even cover a tenth of,
and when combined with my rent and perpetual unemployment, I
couldn't afford to turn down the chance to make some quick
cash.
More than that, this was the first spontaneous thing that
happened to me in a long time. Part of me wanted to jump right
into the van and leave everything behind. But the rational
part of me took the reins.
“My friend,” I began, “As much as I would love to go with
you and keep this home on wheels, I’ll need more information.”
“My friend,” he started, then stopped as we both smiled
self-consciously at our abuse of the word. “Every new
encounter with another human is like a whole new universe
opening up to us. I am infinitely curious about new people. I
ask myself, ‘Who is that person? What was their life like
before our paths crossed? How will they influence my life, and
how will I influence theirs?’ The meeting of two people is the
birth of a universe. The reprogramming starts the moment we
greet each other for the first time.”
I winced inwardly. This guy was starting to sound like
these new-age self-help preachers whose mission was to
transform the lives of others… at the low price of €59.99 per
session.
“I seem to meet only the idiots of the world who drive me
crazy with their bullshit,” I muttered. I didn’t have to
pretend to care about what he said anymore. I had his money in
my pocket now. He was probably one of the many poor souls who
lost their minds during the pandemic from staying home all
day.
 The Architect continued speaking with a steady tone, “Did
you know that every villain is the hero of his own story? They
may be idiots in your world, but they may be geniuses in
theirs.”
“Unfortunately, yes,” I sighed. I was starting to lose
patience. “So, what’s the job, exactly?”
“We need you to test a hyper-realistic video game we
developed.”
“That’s it?” I asked, suspicious. 3k to test a video
game? I was sure that even the most highly paid testers didn’t
make that much on one gig. There had to be a catch.
The Architect nodded curtly. “That, and to participate in
a study. Have you ever played an MMO?”
“What’s an MMO?”
“Ah. I see you are not a gamer. MMO stands for massively
multiplayer online game. They usually host hundreds and
thousands of players on the same server. Like World of
Warcraft, Dota, Fortnite…” Noting my lack of recognition, the
Architect hurriedly said, “In these kinds of games, you have
Player Characters, or PC’s, and Non-Player Characters, or
NPC’s. Or bots, as they used to be called. The Player
Character is an avatar, meaning that they are the virtual
representation of the gamer and they act as the interface with
which the gamer can interact with the game’s environment.
NPC’s, on the other hand, are the surrounding creatures whose
actions are run by a simple Artificial Intelligence program.
They are very limited in their interaction capabilities,
usually repeating scripts or movement patterns. PC’s and NPC’s
interact with each other at many points throughout the game.
In MMO’s these days, it is fairly obvious who is who, but our
game is more advanced. We want you to play the game and see if
you can differentiate the NPC’s from the PC’s.”
“Like a Turing test,” I said.
 “Exactly. Anyway,” said the Architect, grabbing the keys
and climbing into the driver’s seat, “Think it over. We’ll
swing by here tomorrow at 9 am. If you want to come, be
ready.” I opened my mouth to respond, but he interrupted,
“Don’t overthink it.”
With that, he started the engine and sped away. I stood
there for a moment, staring after that campervan. Almost
immediately, my mind began juggling the possibilities. Maybe
that was my problem- my tendency to analyze everything to the
point of rumination. If only I had done that with my career
choice. And why shouldn’t I go with him? What do I have to
lose?
I thought back to my life in my parents’ house, the
reversion back to my teenage years, the lack of work, and the
state of the world. I had been passively waiting for things to
get better, and they only got worse. Any longer and I’d be
left behind forever. A decision began to form in my mind.

}
{

5 <The Brave and Stupid>

At exactly 9:00 the next morning, I stood on the same

sidewalk where I had met the Architect. They arrived at 9:07.
My old campervan pulled up to the curb, and I climbed in. At
the wheel, the Architect gestured to the seat next to him. I
sat down and glanced towards the back, where two other men
sat. They introduced themselves to me as Tim and Matt. Both in
their early thirties, they seemed cheerful enough. To break
the ice, I asked if their names were short for Timothy and
Matthew. They both nodded.
“Your parents are Christains, I assume?” I continued with
my typical actor’s arrogance, never afraid to ask personal
questions to strangers. They simply ignored me and looked out
the windows. Undeterred, I turned towards the Architect. “So,
where are we heading to?”
“Wittenberg.”
“Wittenberg? The last time I was there was on a school
field trip to see the famous church. You know, the one where
Martin Luther supposedly nailed his list of reformation
demands to the door?”
The Architect did not respond, but simply kept his eyes
on the traffic ahead. I was devising another small talk
subject when he took control of the conversation. “So, tell
me something about yourself. Or would you like to know about
me first?”
I had been dreading this question. The truth was, I was a
broke, middle aged man without prospects or a future. Even the
height of my acting career was mediocre at best. “I’m a
professional actor,” I said, bracing myself for the usual
disdain and questions about my career choice.
But none of that came. Instead, the Architect answered,
“I already know everything about you.” He said it with such
nonchalance that it almost detracted from the creepy nature of
this confession.
I scoffed. “Really? All right, then, prove it. Tell me
something really obscure that you couldn’t possibly have found
on the Internet.”
Without missing a beat, the Architect replied, “This
morning, you were reading The Conspiracy Against Humanity by
Thomas Ligotti while sitting on the toilet.”
My mind froze. It was true- my friend had given me the
copy a few years prior. I had only started reading that
morning, too. For a frightening moment, I wondered if the
Architect had put a camera on me during the campervan sale. Or
maybe he had hypnotized me somehow? I swallowed, concealing my
discomfort. “Okay, you got me. How on Earth could you
possibly have known that?”
 “You will understand that at the end of our journey. For
now you have to accept what I say, in good faith.”
“Good faith? Sorry, my friend, I don’t abide by faith.
I’m an atheist by nature.”
The Architect sighed. This trip is off to a great start,
I thought. Finally, he said, “It’s interesting you decry
faith, even though you chose to be an actor. With all evidence
to the contrary, you believed that you would become famous.
It’s all the same thing in the end, under different names.
Religion is in everything we do. You may not have done the
pilgrimage to Mecca or Jerusalem, but is a trip to Hollywood
any less of a mystical experience? It’s the destination that
justifies the journey, and it’s the stories we tell ourselves
that orient us along the way. We cannot do any of that without
faith.”
“I’ve heard that speech before. Please tell me you aren’t
one of those ‘manifest your success’ motivational speakers. I
even bought one of those books to find what it was all about.
If the pandemic has taught us anything, it’s that these people
are useless charlatans.”
To my surprise, the Architect laughed. “On the contrary,
my friend. I think you’ll find those beliefs to be mere
illusions.”
I didn’t respond. I wasn’t in the mood for conversation
anymore, even though I was now more curious than before.
The remainder of our journey passed in silence as grey
Berlin gave way to rolling green pastures. After about an
hour, we stopped at a service station on the Autobahn. The
Architect spoke up for the first time in a long time.
“We are waiting for someone here. Feel free to use the
bathroom or buy yourself something to drink.”
I stayed in my seat. Five minutes later, the side door of
the campervan opened and a short, bald, muscular man stepped
inside.
 “Good morning ladies,” he said in a deep, cheerful voice.
“I see you still have that sleepy look on your ugly faces.”
Tim and Matt did not return the greeting. The man was
unfazed. “You must be the new guy,” he said to me, extending
his hand. I shook it and regretted it instantly- his tight
squeeze popped my knuckles. I nodded. “Welcome, my friend, to
the team of the brave and stupid.”
I didn’t even try to interpret the remark. At this stage,
all I knew was that I was on the road with some of the most
eccentric people on the planet. The Architect smiled
cheerfully.
“This is Adrian,” he said, “The one responsible for our
security.”
“Ah,” I said, wondering why on earth a bunch of spiritual
eccentrics would need security. Maybe the Architect was one of
those crazy conspiracy theorist types who believed that
everyone was out to get them. “I was not aware I was traveling
with such worthy VIP’s,” I joked.
Tim and Matt smirked.
Adrian burst into laughter and said, “Amico mio, you’ll
be very surprised to learn how ‘VIP’ these people are. We’re
dealing with the Russians, Chinese-”
“Adrian!” Interrupted the Architect. “There’s no need to
scare him. Let’s keep going, we’ve got a lot of distance to
cover.”
“Sorry, boss. I’ll bring the car around now.” Adrian
tipped his invisible cap to me and climbed out of the van.
An hour later, we reached Wittenberg. We passed through
the main part of town and made a right turn onto a narrow
asphalt road. After bumping along a half a kilometer of
potholes and gravel, we reached a large, white, three-story
house. A beautiful garden lined with impeccably trimmed hedges
snaked around the edge of the house and opened up into a large
courtyard. I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it
certainly wasn’t this. The whole scene seemed out of place, as
if it had been torn from a storybook and plunked in the middle
of nowhere. The Architect pulled up my campervan and parked it
next to another one. With its sharp edges and futuristic
shapes, it must have been a new model.
The front door to the house opened and four women came
out to meet us as we disembarked the van. “You must be the
actor,” said the tallest one. I stretched my hand for a
handshake, but she ignored it and hugged me instead. It felt
good to be hugged again, especially by a woman. I couldn’t
even remember the last time I smelled that sweet perfume and
felt the soft arms around my neck. Her two breasts pushed into
my chest, and I felt the familiar heat of arousal. She turned
to the Architect and said, “He’s not as handsome as the last
one, but he looks nice enough to me.” The last one? So I was a
replacement? I shrugged off the insult. My vanity had long
been washed away by the currents of age. That, and the failure
of my career.
“Erina, be nice to our guest,” said the Architect.
Fine. If I was to be the actor, then I would play the
actor. I put on my best gentleman charm and kissed the woman’s
hand. “Erina! Such a lovely name. Would you please do me the
honor of introducing me to your beautiful friends, my lady?”
“Of course, my lord,” she countered, curtsying slightly.
“It would be my privilege.” She smirked, enjoying the game.
Her friends, however, did not share her enjoyment. They stood
stiffly to the side, waiting to be introduced.
“This is Joanna, our artist,” said the Architect. “More
specifically, our graphic designer. She’s in charge of making
the simulations look pretty. This is Sarah, our writer. Be
careful with her, she’ll tell you stories just to mess with
your mind. She gets me all the time.”
 Sarah, a young brunette with freckles, rolled her eyes at
the description. I continued along the line, shaking
everyone’s hands.
“This is Martha, our neurologist,” said Erina, putting
her arm around one of the women. “She’s also my older sister.
She looks younger than me, doesn’t she?”
Martha, who looked nothing like Erina, took her sister’s
hand off her shoulder. “Thanks for the compliment, but
shouldn’t you let the Architect do the introductions?”
“But hasn’t he introduced everyone?” asked Erina. “Grace
isn’t even here.”
“Grace is our biologist,” explained the Architect. “I
assume she’s helping to prepare dinner.”
A black Audi screeched into the parking lot at top speed
and came to a violent stop, interrupting the introductions.
Adrian strode out, his black jeans and tight grey T-shirt
clinging to his body. Every casting director on earth would
make him the protagonist of a spy action film, or a superhero.
Every muscle in his body rippled as he approached us.
“You already met Adrian, our brave Israeli. He was a
soldier of Sayeret Matkal,” said the Architect.
Reading my confusion, Adrian explained, “Sayeret Matkal
is a special unit of Israeli Defence Forces. It’s similar to
the British Army’s SAS, or the US Army Delta Force.”
“Let’s keep it moving. Tim, whom you already met, is an
economist. He’s in charge of the finances for our project.
Matt is a physicist. An expert in quantum physics, to be
exact. Come, let’s eat. We’ll explain more afterwards.
Hungry?”
I nodded and followed the group. I didn’t know whether to
feel reassured or impressed. Quite contrary to my
expectations, I found myself in the midst of a number of
high-level specialists: commando, neurologist, writer,
biologist, economist, quantum physicist, and graphic designer.
Maybe “Architect” wasn’t a stage name after all, but a mere
job label. And then there was me, the actor. What did they
want from me?
Erina interrupted my thoughts. Putting her arm in mine,
she said, “Come on, I’ll show you to your room.”
“Whose house is this?” I asked. “Does it belong to the
Architect?”
“The Architect designed it. It’s Tim’s parents’ house.
They only use it in the summer, so we look after it the rest
of the year. When they come here, we migrate to their house
in Mallorca. You’ll like that one, it’s much bigger. The
Architect designed that one, too.”
Erina showed me to my bedroom, which was equipped with
its own bathroom. There was even a small private balcony
overlooking the garden below. Matt, my bunkmate, watched as I
began to unzip my backpack.
“You don’t need to unpack everything. We’ll be leaving
tomorrow morning,” he said calmly.
“Where are we going tomorrow?”
“I have no idea. Ask the Architect.” I was going to ask
him why he didn’t know, but he stopped me. “I know it’s
tempting to try and understand everything, but be patient. For
now, let’s go eat.”
In the courtyard, the barbecue was in full swing. I
loaded up on chicken wings and salad. I hadn’t realized how
hungry I was until I took the first bite. Everyone already
seemed to have their own cliques except for Erina, who came to
talk to me. She asked me about my acting career. I realized
that she was the only person whose role the Architect had
neglected to mention. As it turned out, she was a coder who
specialized in something called Brain Computer Interface. I
had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, so she
explained that it was a new technological venture that was
attempting to find a way to connect technology directly to the
human brain. In the future, she said, we wouldn’t need to use
our hands to navigate a smartphone, but rather we would use
our brains to do it. Clicking through apps would be like
moving a limb, and it would increase efficiency for tech
users. I found it difficult to imagine, but then again, I
couldn’t have even conceived of a smartphone when I was a
teenager, and yet now I couldn’t imagine functioning without
it.
By the time we finished eating, it was already dark
outside. Days were still not long enough in March. Adrian
built a fire, invited us all over, and gave us each a glass of
wine.

}
{

6 <Reality Is>

As the flames of the campfire burned in the darkness, so

too did my desire to learn what this was all about. They
didn’t seem in too much of a hurry to explain, and I didn’t
want to come off as pushy, so I waited and sipped my wine.
At last, the Architect tapped his fork on the side of his
wine glass to get everyone’s attention. “I hope everyone has
had a chance to meet our new guest. I’m going to take a moment
to welcome him to our project.”
“And see if he understands it.” added Adrian with a
laugh. Everyone else shifted uncomfortably.
The Architect continued as if nothing had happened.
“Have you ever heard of Plato’s Allegory of the Cave?” If the
goal was comprehension, I was already off to a bad start. I
tried to remember who Plato even was. Some Greek philosopher?
I decided to be upfront.
“I don’t know anything about it.”
 The Architect gave a patient smile. “It's all right. Few
people do. In a nutshell, it’s the story of a group of
prisoners who have lived all their lives chained to the wall
in the middle of a cave. They face a cavern wall, upon which
shadows are projected from the light of the fire behind them.
The prisoners do not see the fire, or those casting the
shadows. For the prisoners, there is no reality beyond the
images they see represented on the cavern wall. Between
themselves, they create stories about these shadows and come
to worship them as the truth. One day, an outsider comes to
the cave and attempts to explain how the shadows came to be
projected on the wall. This individual is called the
liberator, because it is his intention to help the prisoners
see the reality of their existence so they can cut their
chains and leave the cave. Yet, instead of embracing the new
information, the prisoners reject the newcomer and everything
he says. After all, they have known nothing else their whole
lives. Why would they willingly tear their eyes from the wall?
Plato may have very well imagined the first cinema thousands
of years before it was invented.”
I still had no idea what he was talking about. The
Architect continued, “From the earliest existence of humans as
cave dwellers, we have been consumed by a single task: to
process our existence. The cave paintings are the oldest form
of the human desire to replicate reality and communicate it to
the next generation to build on. It is a compulsory part of
our lives, to reflect upon what we perceive and recreate it.
Whether through words, paintings, or even computer
animations. For a long time, we embraced the impossibility of
perfect imitation. This is where you come in.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. With your specialties, you are the perfect
candidate to test the ultimate mechanism in recreating
reality. We call it the Simulation Point. If you prove capable
in the preliminary tests, you will enter it yourself.”
With every word the Architect spoke, my confusion only
grew. Simulation? Tests? Specialties? I began to wonder if
there might have been a case of mistaken identity. “I see. And
which specialties are you referring to? I’m not a computer
scientist, I’m an actor. I don’t understand how that helps
you.”
“Exactly. You’re an actor. Sanford Meisner once described
acting as ‘living truthfully under imaginary circumstances.’
It is your job to fully inhabit and drive another human
being’s experience through a sequence of events, which, when
strung together, have an immersive effect. Through the
training of the imagination, the actor finds a way of merging
themselves with a new reality, through which they also
communicate and exert influence on the audience.”
The Architect paused for an uncomfortable moment. It was
apparent that he was choosing his next words extremely
carefully. A pit of dread settled in my stomach as I waited
for him to continue.
“Forgive me,” he said at last. “It’s only that I don’t
want to mislead you. This project has taken casualties, and I
want you to understand the risks before you proceed. Actually,
they are no different from the occupational hazards of your
profession. Allow me to explain: One thing that allows actors
to do their job well is their ability to interchange their
reality for another, which is quite similar to how a
simulation operates. A character is like an avatar with
customizable likes, dislikes, desires, wants, needs, opinions,
and even memories. Once the environmental parameters are set,
the simulation can run. In order to do their job effectively,
the actor must be able to assume the form of the avatar and
carry out the narrative to completion. Don’t you agree?”
 I nodded. I could see where he was going with this. In
the business, “losing yourself” to the character was something
to aim for. Lately, actors seemed to be in competition with
each other over who could pull the most drastic stunt in order
to play a character. Most of the Academy Award winners these
days were actors falling over each other to play the most
starved, most crazed, most depraved individuals. In the end,
what ends up getting awarded is what happens behind the
curtain, not in front of it. Still, the dangers of diving too
deeply into a character were very real. I knew an actress who
couldn’t stop grieving the loss of her character’s brother.
After each performance, she would go into an empty stairwell,
scream his name, and cry until the grief left her system.
The Architect continued, “Our first tester of the
simulation ended up in a psychiatric hospital. We worked
tirelessly to address the problems and tightened up our
vetting procedures. The second tester seemed to fare much
better within the simulation, but when he got out, his mind
deteriorated rapidly. He took his own life.”
The Architect cleared his throat. A heavy silence settled
over the group. I remembered Erina’s offhand comment from
earlier about the “last one.” The gravity of my situation was
starting to dawn on me. The Architect continued, “We realized
that we needed to change our approach. If you decide to help
us, you will undergo a gradual immersion process through a few
lower-level simulations. This way, we can monitor you at each
step and control your exposure all the way up to the
Simulation Point.”
“What’s the Simulation Point?”
“It’s our name for the threshold where the simulation has
reached such a level of effectiveness that the user cannot
distinguish it from their known experience of reality. The
terminology is similar to chemistry, where thresholds, or
‘points,’ signify the average temperature and pressure
conditions necessary to transform states of matter. For
example, water reaches its boiling point at 100 degrees
Celsius, at which point the liquid transforms into vapor
without additional increases in temperature. In our case, the
Simulation Point occurs when the tester can no longer
distinguish between simulation and reality. The difficulty is,
we don’t know exactly how close we are, yet. That’s why we
rely on testers like you to experience it for yourselves and
report back. Though we can’t guarantee your mental safety with
absolute certainty, we can promise that the probability of
your survival is considerably higher than our previous
testers.”
Considerably higher? That was hardly comforting. I spoke
up, “If it’s such a risk, then why can’t you test it yourself?
Or why not use your own team members? Better than bringing
someone in just to be a guinea pig.”
“That’s a fair question, my friend. The truth is that
none of us have ever seen the inside of the Simulation. Not
even I have seen what it looks like. We have compiled the
knowledge from our respective specialties, but not a single
one of us knows exactly what the final result looks like.
That’s why we rely on testers to give us feedback.”
“Why? Don’t want to risk your own necks?”
“Not exactly,” the Architect smiled. “We are attempting
to create something that would serve us all. It would be a
conflict of interest, as each of us would manipulate the
simulation to fit our own needs. As a biologist, Grace would
most likely design an eco-friendly simulation. Adrian’s would
look like one large Fight Club. Joanna’s might look like a Van
Gogh painting. A good architect does not design a house for
himself; he designs it to fit the tastes and needs of his
client. You of all people must be familiar with this. As an
actor, you have to be willing and able to play any role you
are cast in. You have to take the scattered visions of the
playwrights or screenwriters, producers, directors,
stagehands, makeup artists, costume creators, lighting and
sound techs, and seamlessly integrate it into your work. On
top of that, you have to agree with your character, no matter
who they are. If you are playing a killer, then you cannot
condemn or judge them, at least no more than the character
judges themselves.”
Around us, the team had already disengaged from our
conversation and was gazing at the sky. Above, innumerable
stars burned with intense clarity. Without the light pollution
of Berlin, the galaxies and planets stood out clearly against
the inky darkness. Fear and curiosity negotiated in my mind.

“Let me see if I have this correct; you need me because I

am accustomed to entering and exiting characters, kind of like
a pseudo-simulation. You want me to observe your simulation
and give you an unbiased report. Is that all?”
“That’s all you need to know for now. After all, I
wouldn’t be a true Matrix fan if I didn’t take the chance to
have my own Morpheus moment.”
Light chuckles from the team. I had the terrifying notion
that this wasn’t the first time he had told that joke.
“I’ll have the Red Pill,” I said, sounding more confident
than I felt. The Architect nodded and looked at his watch.
“Excellent. You’ll have your first test tomorrow. Now, if
you’ll all excuse me, I need to sleep.”
I checked my watch. 21:17. Erina explained, “The
Architect goes to bed very early because he gets up at 4 for
his daily meditation.”
“Good night, all,” he said as he headed towards the
house.
“Wait! Aren’t you going to tell him the real reason for
the simulation?” Adrian’s deep voice echoed in the dark. The
Architect’s face darkened slightly.
 “Not until he passes level three, Adrian. That’s the
protocol we agreed on.” He looked at me and smiled, the
seriousness of his expression having evaporated completely.
Was he an actor too? “You may want to get some rest. See you
all tomorrow.” The Architect disappeared into the house.
Erina approached me with two full glasses of wine.
“Welcome to the team,” She said, shoving the glass into
my hand.
“Thanks. Sorry, I think I’m just going to turn in, too. I
want to be well rested for my test tomorrow.” I said, handing
the glass back to her. Erina shrugged and went to join the
others, who were now sitting in a circle around the campfire.
Including the Architect, the group had a jovial, family-like
dynamic. As I watched them exchanging jokes and talking
together in the warm light, I wanted nothing more than to be a
member of this crazy family.
Back in my room, I opened the doors to the balcony and
stepped into the crisp night air. Mingling voices could still
be heard from the courtyard. Am I insane? I wondered. From the
Architect’s explanation, it seemed that he was attempting to
create a perfect imitation of reality in the form of a
simulation. In my opinion, art was supposed to imitate life,
not become it. If they ever managed to develop an AI capable
of true artistic creativity, then every artist in the world
could kiss their careers goodbye. There were already two
traitors on the team: Sarah, the writer, and Joanna, the
designer. And now me, the actor.
Maybe that was my purpose all along. Maybe I never became
successful because I was the one who was destined to put the
last nail on the coffin of the artistic world. I imagined
myself as the last Blade Runner replicant mourning the end of
his own life while saving his killer’s.
// All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain.
Time to die.
}
{

7 <You Are>

An iron grip clamped down on my right shoulder and shook

me so violently that I nearly fell out of my bed. I opened my
eyes in panic. Adrian’s face was centimeters away from my own,
close enough to kiss me, if he wanted to.
“Wake up. Come with me,” he hissed in my ear.
“Right now?”
“Yes, now!”
“What’s going on?”
“Just get up. Stop asking questions.” In one swift
movement, Adrian plucked me from the bed and sent me sprawling
on the floor.
“Jesus, Adrian! What the fuck?” I had gone to sleep
wearing only my underpants, so I instinctively reached for the
drawers to find something to dress myself with. Adrian grabbed
my arm again.
“Stop. You’ll wake up Matt. Just come as you are.”
Matt stirred briefly, then rolled over on his side and
started snoring. I struggled to my feet and blinked as my eyes
adjusted to the darkness. Am I dreaming? I wondered. Adrian
turned towards the door and gestured to me to follow him
before he slunk into the corridor. I stumbled after him. He
paused before the staircase to wait for me to catch up. Before
I could get a word out to ask where we were going, he turned
again and descended the stairs. I followed him down three
flights, then out the back door into the courtyard. It must
have been early because it was still dark outside. Dark and
cold. I began to shiver in my underpants as Adrian led me to a
small shack at the end of the yard. Opening the metal door, he
ushered me in and led me to a half-lit staircase that could
have been perfect for the set of a horror film. “Down you go,”
he said, nudging me from behind. I descended carefully down
the stone steps. After what seemed like an eternity, a warmth
began to radiate from the walls. We arrived at another metal
door, which Adrian expertly unlocked and opened.
We entered what appeared to be a boiler room with pipes
and radiators of all sizes. At least it’s warm in here, I
thought, although beads of sweat had already started to form
on my skin. In the center of the room stood a steel table and
a steel chair. In front of the table was a dirty grey carpet.
Beside it, a bottle of water. Adrian shoved me towards the
carpet.
“Sit there.”
“Is this some kind of joke?”
“You shut up!” He shouted with so much fury that spit
flew out of his mouth. I sat on the carpet while he sat in the
chair. With a condescending air, he opened a black folder and
took out a single white sheet of paper. He then spoke with a
chilling calmness “What is your name?”
“Come on, Adrian, you know my name.”
“That isn’t your name. It’s too stupid.”
“It’s not that stupid. A lot of people have my name,” I
countered.
“That makes it even more stupid. From now on, your name
is Zero. Got it, Zero?”
“What’s wrong with my own name?”
“It isn’t yours,” sneered Adrian. “Some other idiot gave
it to you, and you blindly identified with it.”
“It doesn’t matter, it’s still legally my name.”
“No, you fucking moron. You said it yourself. There are
millions of apes out there with the same name. How can it be
yours?”
“Apes? You mean humans.”
“Do you believe in a God who created humans?”
 “No, of course not.”
“So you believe in Evolution.”
“Not so much ‘believe.’ I acknowledge Evolution,” I said.
“So you ‘acknowledge’ that humans and monkeys descended
from a common ancestor? If that’s what you really believe,
then I will prove to you that there is no difference. You are
still a stinking ape. But for now, we must move on with
protocol. Where were you born, Zero?”
“Stop calling me that,” I said, annoyed. “It’s not even a
name. It’s a number.”
“All the better. Because a name is complete bullshit. It
means nothing as far as you are concerned. Don’t even tell me
how your parents came up with it. I don’t give a flying fuck.”
“It’s actually a pretty cool story-”
“Your name comes from some useless fucker who lived in
the desert thousands of years ago. Your parents gave you a
Biblical name, yet you don’t even believe in God. Your name is
fucking meaningless.”
“You seem to like the word ‘fuck.’ Ever consider
switching up your vocabulary?”
Adrian let out a sharp laugh. “Why? Fucking is the
driving force of humanity. How many men laid down their lives
for that Helen of Troy bitch? Enough distractions. Where were
you born?”
“Columbus, Ohio. July 29, 1974.”
“We’ll change that to Easter Island, Chile. You know, the
island with the statues that look like dildos with faces. You
know what keeps me up at night? The idea that someone would
just go to a random island in the middle of nowhere and carve
those statues.”
“What? Why? I’ve never been there in my life! I don’t
know anything about the place!”
Adrian shrugged. “Neither do I. It’s one of the least
inhabited places on Earth.”
 I took a deep breath. Clearly, he was trying to get a
reaction from me. “Why Easter Island? You can’t exactly change
where a person was born.”
“Why not? Did you get to choose where you were born,
Zero?”
“No. And please stop calling me Zero. My whole life is
one big Zero at the moment.”
“Do I look like I give a fuck what your life feels like,
Zero? Stop with the fucking non-sequiturs.”
“Ok, got it.”
“Who are your parents?”
“Excuse me?”
“Are you deaf too, Zero? Who are your fucking parents?”
“Alan and Carol.”
“How do you know that those people are your parents?”
“I have a birth certificate that says so.”
“A shitty piece of bureaucratic paper. That’s nothing.
How do you know?”
“They raised me.”
“Anyone could have raised you! You could have been
bottle-fed by two fucking fags who could never have a child of
their own, no matter how much sperm they pump into each
other’s assholes. God, I fucking hate the ‘woke’ fuckers who
pushed the government to legalize marriage between fags. Maybe
your parents were two lesbians fucking each other with plastic
dildos as we speak!”
He’s baiting me, I thought. Adrian obviously had a strong
opinion on the subject. Or was it a ruse to get me to talk
about politics and other sensitive topics? I decided to ignore
the homophobic insults and move on. “If my parents didn’t
give their genetic material to me, then why do I look just
like them?” I asked.
“I don’t care who you look like. You could have been
raised in an orphanage by a bunch of caretakers who only fed
you to get their salaries. From today onward, you have no
parents. I am your father and your mother. Understand?”
“What about my sister?”
“What about her?”
“My parents raised her too, so you’re going to have
another mouth to feed,” I said, trying to keep a straight
face. If he wants to play games, fine. Let’s play.
“Fuck her. She’s a waste of time. Or did you already fuck
her? I bet you did. That’s how you like it, don’t you, Zero?
She turns you on so much you can’t resist.”
I tried to control my irritation, but I couldn’t keep my
cheeks from burning in anger. Who did he think he was? I
looked up to see Adrian looking down on me with a smiling
satisfaction. “How about relatives, Zero? Any other fuck
buddies?”
“Yes- I mean, no- I mean, I have an uncle-”
“Enough. You have none. They told you they were your
relatives, but they might as well have been your neighbors.
Blood relation means nothing between apes. It doesn’t stop
them from killing each other, and it doesn’t stop your uncle
from being an asshole to you. Or maybe you mistook one of your
caretakers for your uncle. The same uncle who molested you
when you were only a kid. Isn’t that what happened, Zero?”
He slammed his fist on the table so hard that it shook. I
flinched, which he seemed to appreciate. Placing his
fingertips on the table, he resembled a spider preparing to
pounce. For a brief moment, I remembered my happy childhood
and teenage years. My family had the usual amount of conflict,
but I had never experienced abuse, especially not the kind
that Adrian was referring to.
“What is your mother tongue, Zero?”
“English.”
“Do you speak German?”
“Yes.”
 “Good. From now on, we will only speak in German.”
“But my English is much better.”
“Better how?” asked Adrian.
“My vocabulary is larger, and my grammar is better. I can
express myself better in English because I grew up speaking
it.”
“Express what, exactly? You think good grammar and a big
vocabulary matters when it comes to communication? You could
speak the best English in the world and no one would have any
clue what you are actually trying to say. Grammar is just an
illusion to deceive people into believing they are dumber than
the fucker who corrects them.”
“I can’t say I agree. Without grammar, we would have huge
misunderstandings. Besides, many forms of communication rely
on a shared understanding of grammar, like humor and sarcasm.”
“Spare me the fucking bullshit, Zero. Are you
attractive?”
“Not so much. I’m pretty average, I would say. Everyone
would tell you that.”
“I think you’re the ugliest fucker I’ve ever seen. But
who cares, anyway. Beauty standards are just another steaming
pile of bullshit created by the fashion industry.”
“As an actor, I have to disagree with you. Our perception
of beauty is based on proportions, symmetry, color,
perspective, light, shadow-”
“Those are only what your culture thinks is beautiful.
Not to mention that money, power, and fame could make even the
ugliest motherfucker conform to any arbitrary standard of
beauty.”
That was hard to argue with. I still couldn’t figure out
what Adrian was trying to do. “Very well, I’m the ugliest
fucker that ever lived.”
 “You’re worse than that. You’re a fucking moron who
pieces together arbitrary facts and calls it an identity. Why
did you become a cook?”
“What? I’m an actor. The only thing I can cook is toast,
and even that gets burned to a crisp half the time.”
“Use that empty head of yours and try to remember. Or did
you forget those three long, miserable years in culinary
school?
“I’ve never taken a cooking class in my life.” This was
starting to become ludicrous.
“Who said anything about cooking classes? I said culinary
school. Three whole years and you didn’t remember a thing?
Waste of fucking time. No wonder your wife divorced you. She’d
rather go and prostitute herself to feed your children so that
she doesn’t have to be with you.”
“What wife? I’m single.” Even as I said it, I felt a pang
of guilt. This had always been a touchy subject for me. My
parents harassed me endlessly about the fact that I wasn’t
married or giving them grandkids.
“You are now,” Adrian grinned. “Single and enjoying
yourself while your wife whores herself out to better men than
you. Your kids don’t even think you’re their father.”
“Shut up!” I stood up and screamed in his face. To my
surprise, he didn’t retaliate. Instead, he calmly sat back in
his metal chair, as if I hadn’t said anything. Somehow, that
made me even angrier.
“Sit down,” Adrian said. I stayed standing. He shrugged,
then opened the black folder and took out a photograph and
threw it at me. It showed a beautiful woman with three
children standing in front of her. Next to her, a smiling man
had one arm around her waist and the other on his son’s
shoulder…
I stared at the photo in disbelief. “What the-”
 It was me, albeit a slightly huskier version. My face, my
body, my smile. The resemblance was uncanny. I looked at the
photo again, trying to process the image. As an actor, I was
familiar with Photoshop and image editing software, and I was
proficient enough to spot a superimposition. I couldn’t find a
single sign of alteration. If I didn’t know better, I would
have said the photo was real. The part that chilled me the
most was my expression- or, rather, the expression of the
person in the photo. The only time I ever expressed such joy
was onstage as a character. This man had the smile of someone
who had everything they could ever ask for in life. I gritted
my teeth, trying to remain in control.
“Take a long look, you piece of shit. This is the woman
you disappointed and the kids you orphaned. And you know the
best part?” Adrian stood up and crouched so that he could get
in my face. His reeking breath filled my nostrils, and I
resisted the urge to flinch. “They’re so much better off
without you. You’re a sad sack of shit. You should never have
been born, Zero.”
“FUCK YOU!” I screamed, tearing the photograph into tiny
pieces. My whole body trembled as I stood, and Adrian stood
with me, squaring off for a fight. “I’m done with this!” I
turned and walked to the door. As I touched the handle, I
realized just how stupid I had been.
There’s a technique that directors use to help their
actors get into character. The director will ask the actor a
series of questions, and the actor will answer as their
character. It is helpful in creating specificity and
pinpointing the weaknesses in the story that the actor has
created for the character. Adrian had been trying to push me
into a role, and I was resisting. After all, if this was the
test of my ability as an actor, they might want to see how
well I responded to the technique.
 I took a deep breath to settle down, turned slowly, and
sat down on the carpet. I crossed my legs and rested my hands
gently in my lap. “Proceed,” I said.
From the shift in Adrian’s countenance, I could tell that
he knew that I knew what he was doing. I braced myself for a
new tactic.
“See that, Zero?” Adrian pointed to a small security
camera in the corner. “That’s no ordinary camera. It’s one of
those super close-up ones where they can zoom in to see every
revolting pore and freckle on your fucking ugly face. Do you
know what it’s for?”
“To record this trial of the test?” I guessed. Adrian
shook his head.
“No, you fucking loser. It’s in live transmission mode.
And do you know who is watching on the other side? A Hollywood
director. This was your audition for a huge feature film, and
you fucked it up, just like you have done in everything your
entire life. Did you really think we would invite someone like
you to be on our team? You are dog shit. The streets of Berlin
are full of dog shit like you. The Architect gave you a shot,
and you showed just how much of a waste of time you are.”
I stayed calm. This was obviously another game. In fact,
I felt strangely impervious to everything Adrian was saying at
this point. It was as if I was underwater, and he was shouting
at me from land.
Then, Adrian stopped for a moment and regarded me. In a
strange tone, he said, “I saw you looking at Erina last night.
What do you think of her? Would you like to fuck her?”
I sensed a trap, but I didn’t exactly know what it was.
“Erina is very attractive. Who wouldn’t want to fuck her?”
“She’s also my girlfriend. Are you saying my girlfriend
is a whore who would fuck any man? Answer me, Zero!”
I sighed. This was starting to get irritating. “I never
said that.”
 “You said you wanted to fuck her, that’s what you said!
You want to take her away from me? How many other girlfriends
have you stolen?” He had worked himself into a frenzy.
“None.” I waited patiently. Adrian walked up to the
security camera and shut it off. Then, he pulled a revolver
from a concealed holster and pointed it at me. “Quit it,
Adrian. It’s obviously not loaded,” I said.
He pointed the revolver at the ceiling and pulled the
trigger. The deafening gunshot echoed off the naked concrete
walls. Plaster chunks fell from the ceiling and dust rained
down on both of us. Adrian pointed it at me again.
Instinctively, I put my hands up and looked him in the eyes.
What I saw chilled me to my core; his hazel eyes held nothing
but malice. It wasn’t a joke, and it wasn’t a test. My mind
went into overdrive.
“Adrian,” I said slowly, “Let’s just put that away,
okay?”
“Not a chance. You already passed the Architect’s test.
This is my test, now. I saw the way she was looking at you. If
you make the team, you’ll hit on her. I swear to fucking God,
Zero, I’m going to blow your brains all over the carpet.”
“I promise I won’t hit on Erina. I won’t even look at
her.”
“Liar!” Adrian fired another shot into the ceiling. “You
want to know a secret? The tester before you didn’t commit
suicide. I killed him and made it look like a suicide. He was
sitting in the same spot where you are now. Erina has such a
weakness for actors. This is your last chance to be honest
with me.” He aimed the revolver at the space between my eyes.
I steadied my breathing and focused on my objective: to
find the response that would not get me killed. It was true; I
was attracted to Erina, and I could sense that she was
fascinated by me as well. I didn’t think that it would lead to
anything, but I certainly wouldn’t have refused the chance if
the right situation presented itself. Had I known that she was
Adrian’s girlfriend, however, I would have definitely stepped
back. Or would I have?
On the other hand, this could all still be part of the
original test. In that case, they would want me to be
transparent, as some kind of loyalty test. Or not- perhaps
they were testing my ability to deceive?
Finally, of course, there was the possibility that Adrian
was telling the truth about the previous tester.
Unfortunately, that scenario meant that I was dead no matter
what I said. After seeing firsthand the effects of sexual
jealousy, I knew that this reaction wasn’t out of the realm of
possibility.
My mind flitted between these thoughts in the span of a
few seconds that felt like eternity. Adrian cocked the gun.
“Time’s up, Zero. Three. Two. One-”
“Wait! I’ll tell you. I’ve been single for such a long
time now. Please understand. I would have risked it for a
chance to be with her. Don’t shoot. I’ll leave quietly, and
I’ll never speak about this to anyone. If I do, you can kill
me. Swear to God.”
I closed my eyes and braced for the shot. My mind escaped
the unbearable anticipation of death by erasing all thought.
An indeterminable amount of time passed. When my eyes opened
again, Adrian was no longer there. I turned and surveyed the
room. I was alone.
Suddenly, the door emitted a mechanical whirring sound
and opened automatically with a click. I checked my
surroundings one last time to make sure Adrian wasn’t hiding
somewhere to ambush me, then approached the door, passed
through, and closed it firmly behind me. I was plunged into
pitch blackness. Feeling my way with my hands, I used the
bannister to take the freezing granite stairs one step at a
time. I might as well have been a reanimated corpse clawing my
way back to the surface. Finally, a door appeared in front of
me. I found the handle and stepped out into the early morning
air. The sky was beginning to lighten as I walked around the
house towards the road. I didn’t care that I wasn’t dressed,
or that the nearest town might be kilometers away. My only
thought was to get as far away from this place as quickly as
possible.
I rounded the corner to the driveway and came face to
face with the Architect, who stood eerily still. In his arms,
he held my clothes and shoes. I froze, unsure of what to do.
He carefully approached me and handed them to me.
“Get dressed,” he said in a soothing tone. I grabbed the
clothes and hurriedly tugged them onto my body, which was too
shaky to cooperate. He helped me dress, then patiently waited
while I tugged on my shoes. As soon as the clothing touched my
skin, I felt better. Almost like returning to humanity. “Let’s
go for a walk,” the Architect said, as if we had just eaten a
large dinner and needed to digest. I followed.

}
{

8 <Binary>

The cool air felt refreshing in my lungs. In the boiler

room, I was drowning in sweat. My ears were still ringing from
the sound of the gunshots. The Architect finally broke the
silence.
“All that you are in this moment is simply the story you
have told yourself all these years. You have tried to piece
together an identity of who you are. A very fragile story at
that; Adrian managed to obliterate it in about five minutes.”
“Oh, really? Is that what he was doing? What’s the
record, then? Ten minutes? 100? 300?” I shivered in anger.
 “There is no record. Lasting isn’t the point. Everyone
eventually breaks once they understand the meaninglessness of
staying in character. It is flawed, wishful thinking. They
tend to pick the pieces they like the most and leave the most
important parts behind, so the vision that endures is a
distorted one at best. This is why they say that our friends
know us better than we know ourselves.”
The rising sun felt magnificent on my skin. I was
beginning to regain my confidence. “What exactly was the point
of this ‘test?’” I asked.
“The central purpose was to disconnect you from your
constructed identity. If you are attached to your own story,
then the inner resistance you experience when you enter the
simulation will be unbearable. This fixed belief is very
limiting. You can only be who you are in this moment. And this
one. And this one, too. Everything else is an illusion.”
“That explains why Adrian kept calling me ‘Zero.’ He was
rewriting my identity.”
“Not exactly rewriting. That would be a substitution,
which is just as flimsy as the original. Once you realize
what you truly are, you are no longer afraid of death. The
mind and your own ego keeps you tied to the illusion. The test
today was your first step towards freedom from yourself and
the world around you. You have to be free before you can enter
the Simulation.”
“That’s what you call freedom? Having no sense of self?
Maybe my chains are the things keeping me sane.”
“Yes, most would agree with you. Freedom is a scary
endeavor. People only appreciate it after they’ve lost it
completely. But you, my friend, are not part of the majority.
You now belong to the few who want to evolve past all this.”
“Evolve?” My head was spinning. The Architect slowed his
pace.
 “Yes. Evolve. In this world, you are a zero. Your feeble
attempts to construct an identity are a manifestation of your
denial to this irrefutable fact. When you enter the
simulation, you will become a 1.”
“That sounds like binary code.”
“Ah!” The Architect smiled. “You’re familiar with
computer coding?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “I know that binary is made up of
zeroes and ones. That’s pretty much it.”
“That’s the core principle. The same idea that applies to
computer simulations also applies to this life as well.
Before you are born, you are nothing. To become a 1, you must
first be a 0. The universe exists in binary. For example,
living and dead, positive and negative, light and dark,
feminine and masculine. Ones and Zeroes.”
“I see. So, did I pass your fucking test or not?” The
Architect looked at me and smiled.
“With flying colors. You’re more than ready. Tomorrow
will be your first trial. Let’s go in- I’m sure everyone will
be pleased to know you passed.”
I hadn’t even realized that we arrived back at the house.
There was another question I was itching to ask, but I didn’t
know exactly how.
“Go ahead,” said the Architect, chiming in on my internal
monologue. He was obviously highly capable of interpreting
behavior. I made a mental note to be more careful about
telegraphing my intentions around him.
“Did Adrian really shoot the tester before me?”
“No. It was one last tactic to break you and open you up
to a new story, even if it doesn’t fit your logic. Once you
realize how little control you have over your life, it will be
easier for you to enjoy the simulation. Control is the
ultimate illusion. The gun was in Adrian’s hand, not yours.”
 I remembered the moment when I was certain I was about to
die. All I could recall was a sense of acceptance and…
freedom. Unattached and complete.
“Wait, one more question,” I said. “Adrian mentioned
something last night about the real reason for the simulation.
What is it?”
“As I said, you will know after you pass Level 3. Trust
me, it is for your own mental protection. Seeing the future
can have serious implications for the present.“
“I don’t understand. Why can’t I know now?”
“Have patience. You will soon.” The Architect smiled
warmly. In the house, the commotion of the team was audible
from the open windows. “I must go inside. There’s a lot of
work to be done. We have to be fully packed before noon to
beat the traffic.”
“Where are we going now?”
“Geneva.”
“I think I’ll stay out here a bit longer, thanks.” I
needed time to process everything that had happened the night
before. The Architect nodded and turned to go inside. It was a
brilliant morning. The dew beads in the grass sparkled in the
light of the rising sun. In the distance, the buds on the
trees were opening. Death and Resurrection.
Zeroes and Ones.
“Wait!” I called. The Architect turned around. “Is Erina
really Adrian’s girlfriend?”
The Architect simply laughed. “Only in his dreams.”

}
{
9 <The Pyramid>

It only took five minutes for me to pack. There wasn’t

much, and I had hardly unpacked anything the day before. When
I finished, I brought my backpack out to the driveway. For the
rest of the team, “packing” was much more complex. Everyone
carried various items to the campervans: laptops, monitors,
desktop PC’s, meters of cables and other electronic devices
that I had never seen before. I asked Erina which campervan I
would be traveling in. She pointed to the one I used to own.
“You’ll be going in the boy’s van.”
“The boy’s van?”
“That’s what Adrian calls it. That’s the boy’s van, and
this one is for the girls.”
“That’s right,” Adrian said, appearing out of nowhere. I
jumped. Even though they were a ruse, his threats about Erina
were fresh in my memory. “But when the work starts, boy meets
girl, and they fuck all day.” He continued loading up what
appeared to be a metal chair with wires connected to the base.
Erina rolled her eyes. “What he means is that we will
travel separate from each other so as not to draw attention.
If we get stopped, we’ll just look like a group of friends on
a holiday road trip. Adrian seems to think that if we drive in
mixed groups, it might raise suspicion.”
“I guess he’s never heard of Flower Power hippies,” I
joked. Erina cracked a smile, but I averted my gaze. She was
ruined for me, thanks to Adrian. “So, what are these machines
for? It looks like you’re transporting an entire data center.”
“Pretty much. It’s a fully functional mobile workstation.
When we get down to business, the Architect, my sister, the
tester- which is you- and I will be in one van. Martha and I
are responsible for measuring and evaluating your brain
activity to detect overload. If we perceive a threat, we
inform the Architect, who will stop the simulation. The rest
of the crew will be in the other van, monitoring the equipment
and troubleshooting as needed. Adrian sits outside and guards
the vans. He once told me that he concocts sick fantasies
about what goes on inside the van while we’re running the
simulations. I can’t blame him. Sometimes our trials last
longer than 8 hours, and he’s got the most boring job of all.”
First, the women’s campervan left the complex. We waited
about a half an hour, then set off on the dirt road towards
the highway. Adrian followed closely behind us in the black
Audi. Matt drove while Tim sat in the passenger’s seat, and I
sat in the back with the Architect for my briefing.
“Are you familiar with Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs? Also
known as Maslow’s Pyramid?”
“Not even a little,” I admitted. The Architect took a
quick breath and launched into his explanation.
“Abraham Maslow was a developmental psychologist who was
searching for an explanation for how humans function. He was
trying to answer questions about our motivations, our
behaviors, and what drives us towards our actions. Using
primarily observation, he concluded that there are
approximately 5 stages to the full development cycle of a
human being. He organized them in the form of a pyramid with
various levels, postulating that in order for one to ascend to
the next, they must first satisfy the needs of the current
one.” The Architect took out a small notepad and drew a
triangle with the point facing the top part of the page. He
then drew a line near the base and labeled it physiological
needs. “These ones are the basics. Food, water, shelter.
Basics that we could not go mere hours without.”
He then drew another line above the base level and
labeled it safety needs. “These are the securities people
believe in. Financial security, emotional security.” The next
line, he labeled love needs. “Family, friendships, romantic
relationships.” The next was social needs and self-esteem.
“Finally, Maslow placed what he believed to be the terminal
level: self-actualization.”
“I’ve heard of the last one. It’s what all the self-help
gurus preach. To me, it just looks like some narcissistic
self-worship.”
The Architect nodded. “Maslow thought so, too. Years
after publishing this first representation of his theory, he
revisited it. Instead of ‘self-actualization’ being the final
step, he added another level, which he called
‘transcendence.’”
“What’s the difference? It’s just another buzzword.”
“It might, but listen carefully to the distinction.
Self-actualization is an isolated experience of one’s own
sublimity. Transcendence, on the other hand, refers to the
most inclusive and holistic levels of human consciousness,
where behaving and relating become altruistic ends in
themselves as opposed to manipulative means. In transcendence,
one enjoys the infinite bond between oneself and all humans,
species, nature, and the cosmos. Of course, at the time
Maslow was writing, there weren’t any computers or internet.
He had no idea that a group of nerds like us would be able to
simulate his hierarchy of needs. Except we redefined
‘transcendence’ once again and called it the Simulation Point.
You will be the first to make it, if you’re lucky.”
“I thought engineers didn’t believe in luck,” I said.
“We don’t. At least, not on the other side of that
threshold. On this side, luck is very much a part of
everything.”
“So I’m just the lab rat in all of this?”
The Architect laughed again. I was beginning to feel like
a small child whose comments the adults found amusing. “My
friend, in this life, we are all lab rats. The moment you
accept a role for a movie, you become the lab rat of the
director. The director is the lab rat of the producer. The
producer is the lab rat of the investors. And so on.”
“Do you believe the conspiracy that the billionaires
control the world?”
“Not at all. The moment that billionaire steps onto his
private jet, he is at the complete mercy of the pilot flying
the plane. If the billionaire’s new master decides to crash
the plane, then there is no amount of money that the
billionaire can throw into the cockpit to prevent it from
happening. You see, we are all locked in good faith contracts
with each other. The best we can hope for is to uphold our
contracts to ourselves. Trust me, a person’s most brutal
master is themself.”
The Architect’s words had a clarifying effect. I felt
like I had awakened from a deep, satisfying sleep. I glanced
out the window to the rolling pastures and the cars whizzing
by on the other side. For one of my film performances, I sat
in the driver’s seat of a Maserati with a green screen behind
me and a fan in front. I had to recreate the endlessness of
the German Autobahn from memory, scanning across the
windshield as if to gauge the distance to the car in front of
me. When I was immersed, it was all so simple. All I had to do
was live in the present moment and take the exit when it
presented itself.
I had so many more questions, yet I felt now that I could
predict the answers. Accepting them was another matter. “So,
are your levels like Maslow’s hierarchy? If I pass one, I move
onto the next?”
“That’s an oversimplification. It’s too abstract to
explain to you now. The answers will come. Just wait.”
I gave up trying and looked back out the window. I must
have dozed off a few hours in. When I woke, it was already
nighttime. Matt pulled the campervan into a camping ground
that was empty except for the other van. Everyone emptied the
van and started pitching tents. I grabbed my backpack and went
to help Erina.
“Is this Geneva?” I asked.
“We’re in the outskirts. The Architect chose this place
because of its proximity to the birthplace of the World Wide
Web. He says he can feel a powerful energy in this place.”
“Like a Mechanical Mecca. Is he religious?”
“Not exactly. Here.” She handed me a sleeping bag.
“You’ll be sleeping in your van tonight. We need your brain
completely rested for tomorrow.”
Despite the long nap I took on the way up, I was drained.
I said goodnight, entered the campervan, tugged off my shoes,
crashed onto the mattress, and instantly fell into a dreamless
sleep.

Three loud raps on the door woke me up early the next

morning. I dressed quickly and opened it to find Adrian
waiting. “Rise and shine, Princess,” he said. From the bags
under his eyes, it was apparent he hadn’t slept a wink. “The
Architect wants you in the girl’s van.”
I entered the other van, which had been transformed into
a high-tech laboratory. The windows had been blacked out, and
an array of computer screens showed different images. Some had
code, others simply had 3-D models of various objects. Erina’s
sister, Martha, was plugging cables into outlets that had been
installed in the base of the double bed. “Good, you’re here,”
she said, grabbing a pair of shorts and handing them to me.
“Put this on. It’s an MAG- Maximum Absorbency Garment. The
same kind that NASA astronauts wear during liftoff and
landing.”
“So, a glorified adult diaper.”
“Pretty much,” said Martha.
“I didn’t realize I was going to space,” I said, trying
to conceal my nervousness. Now that I saw the bed and the
computers, the reality of what I was about to do was beginning
to sink in.
“It will feel like that. Unlike a dream, where your brain
still keeps some levels of control, once inside the
simulation, you will lose all control over your body.
Basically, you’ll become like a brain-dead patient, with your
enteric nervous system continuing to secrete waste.”
“Sounds pleasant,” I said. Martha turned around so that
I could change.
“It is,” said Erina from the driver’s seat. “In fact,
it’s said to be so pleasant that you could become addicted to
it. Our last tester begged us to let him enter again.”
“Why is that?” I asked, tugging on the MAG, which was
less comfortable than it looked.
“The same as any addiction,” answered Erina. “Humans keep
chasing ways to escape this reality. There are a lot of them-
drugs, alcohol, sex. Wasting away at the mercy of Infinite
Jest.”
I decided that at this point, the less I knew, the
better. I laid down in the bed and tried to relax. Martha
hooked up a heart rate monitor to my chest and placed a hair
net with metal sensors over my scalp. Erina gave me a white
pill and a small cup of water. “This will put you to sleep in
a few minutes.” I swallowed it with difficulty.
“Are you nervous?” Martha asked.
“Not nervous. Terrified.”
Erina put her hand on mine and said in a soothing tone,
“There’s nothing to be afraid of. Imagine you’re waiting in
the wings to make your entrance. The only difference is that
this stage has the most realistic set you’ve ever seen. Now, I
need you to listen very carefully. This is extremely
important. While you are in the simulation, you will be asked
to produce three passwords.”
 “Passwords?” I was beginning to feel drowsy.
Comprehension was becoming a strain.
“Yes. The Architect has contracted three other coders in
different corners of the world to aid him in creating the base
code for this simulation. These coders each specialize in
different coding languages, but they don’t know each other or
what exactly the code is for. The Architect then takes what
they produce and synthesizes it.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry. Just remember these words in this order:
Ophanim, Cherubim, Seraphim. When asked for a password, give
these words one at a time in the correct order. Got it?”
“Ophanim, Cherubim, Seraphim. Got it.” Fortunately, my
actor mind was still functional and memorized the line
instantly.
A short moment later, I heard the Architect enter the
campervan and start talking to Martha and Erina. Their voices
blurred together. My head buzzed, as if a nest of wasps had
taken up residence inside my skull. The only coherent sound I
could make out was the Architect counting down: 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.
Blackness.

}
{

10 <Level One>

// START OF SIMULATION

A blinding explosion of millions of white and yellow rays

diffused around me. I had the impression of motion at a high
speed. I raised my hand to shield my eyes from the light and-
An ocean of purple lavender waves appeared beneath me. I
was now weightless above it, floating just above the peculiar
surface. A warm breeze pushed me along. Below, the water
changed colors, from purple to green, then a light brown. The
texture shifted to a repeating pattern of tall grasses. All
around me, the landscape morphed and distorted into various
shapes. I was beginning to get nauseous, so I closed my eyes.
My feet touched the ground, and the force of gravity gradually
returned.
I opened my eyes and found myself in rows of lavender. On
my right, a small path led to a large grey building that
looked like a church. Just beyond it lay a dense forest. I
began to walk down the path to examine the stone building. One
side had rotunda-structures stacked on top of each other which
culminated in a bell tower. A long, rectangular building
jutted out along the side.
I walked closer to find a large timber gate reinforced
with steel strappings. Next to the gate was an information
tablet in French and English. Abbaye Notre-Dame de Sénanque.
I must be in France, I thought. I turned back towards the
field, and the view was hypnotizing. The sweet, fresh scent of
lavender mingled with the scent of damp wood and pine. I loved
lavender; whenever I smelled it, I was reminded of white
sheets on a soft bed and the oils that the beautiful massage
therapists poured all over my naked body.
Who are you?
I jumped back and looked around for the source of the
voice. In front of me was a mechanism that looked a lot like
the spinning set of wheels that astronauts use to train for
weightlessness. The largest of the circles was about two
meters in diameter, and each surface was covered with eyes.
All of the wheels rotated on different axes around a central
point at varying speeds. When they all rotated fast, the whole
thing looked like one large sphere.
Who are you? The robotic voice asked again.
“I’m the actor. You know, the tester.”
 I do not know. Standby.
“Standby? For what?”
I am ensuring that you have not been followed. Standby.
I turned and looked at the pathway, which was empty. “By
who exactly?” I asked.
Hackers. Who else?
“I didn’t see anyone back there.”
You can’t see them. You are a program now. Any program
can have a virus in its system. We need to account for that
before you can enter the simulation. Now, please shut up and
let me do my job.
I lifted my hands in surrender. “Sorry! Scan away.” The
wheels rotated furiously, as the eyes looked in all
directions. Then, they stopped instantly and turned to look
at me.
Scan complete. What is my name?
His name? How the hell was I supposed to know his name?
Surely the Architect would have told me before I was put
under? Unless…
Of course. How could I have been so stupid? “Ophanim,” I
said confidently. The eye-covered spherical creature
disappeared. Behind me, the gate opened with a loud creak. I
crossed under the archway and into a large square courtyard
with high grey walls decorated with steel cages that held
burning torches. On the other side, another gate opened. I
walked directly to it, but before I could go through, a
blinding light appeared on the ground in front of me. I
stepped back just in time as a cylindrical beam shot down from
the sky, illuminating the whole courtyard. I could make out
the contours of a muscular human body with four conjoined
wings, which were also covered in eyes. The head had four
different faces staring into the Cardinal directions: an ox, a
lion, an eagle, and finally, a man. The faces rotated around
the neck in a continuous orbit.
 “Nice entrance,” I said. “Arnold Schwarzenegger would be
proud. Though I think your ‘Terminator’ would be much
scarier.”
I don’t appreciate your humor, answered the angel in a
booming voice.
“It’s a compliment. Anyway, could you step aside and let
me pass through the gate?”
The heads started spinning again, quickly for a few
seconds, then they would slow down, then return to their
original speed. Now that I was seeing it for the second time,
I realized what was so familiar about the rhythm. It was
exactly like the annoying Windows sand watch that appeared
when a program was taking a while to load. These creatures had
the same idleness feature as they calculated or checked my
code.
What is my name? the angel boomed again.
“Cherubim.”
The angel disappeared in a blinding flash of light. I
proceeded through the gate and entered another courtyard,
which was identical to the one I had just left. On the other
side, yet another gate. This has to be the last one, I
thought. I took a few steps towards the final gate when an
explosion shook the ground and nearly knocked me off my feet.
Just past the gate, a fire raged, devouring the archway and
spreading into the courtyard. I backpedaled, though the flames
were not giving off any heat as far as I could tell.
What is my name? A thin, shrill voice sounded over the
roar of the flames, as if from the depth of a cavern.
“Seraphim!” I shouted, making sure that the creature
could hear me. The flames became even more voracious, licking
the stone walls and grass, all the way to where I was
standing. They contained no heat, so I stood perfectly still
and waited to be consumed.
Darkness.

Cold industrial light flooded my field of view. A

revoltingly pungent mixture of plastic, milk, metal, and salt
filled my nostrils. I stood in front of a conveyor belt lined
with pizzas that moved along slowly before disappearing into
another device.
On the other side of the belt, two women wearing white
overalls with blue aprons and blue hair protection nets were
meticulously working tirelessly on the pizzas as they passed
by. I looked down to find myself dressed in the same uniform,
complete with blue latex gloves.
I froze and observed them for a moment as they took
handfuls of shredded cheese and manually filled in the empty
portions on the pizza that were left by the machinery. As
they worked, they talked about some reality TV show I had
never seen. Their movements appeared to be robotically
programmed into their muscles. I must have been staring for a
while, because one of the women turned to me and shouted: “How
long are you going to stand there, Herbert? Come get started,
my shift was over five minutes ago!”
I turned my head to see who she was talking to, but saw
no one. Obviously, I was Herbert. I bowed my head and swiftly
took her position on the conveyor belt as she disappeared into
the factory. As I started to pour the cheese onto the bare
portions of the pizzas, I entered a mindless state of rhythmic
routine. Scoop, sprinkle, spread, repeat. The woman on the
other side of the conveyor belt started a conversation with me
about her dog’s medical problems, but I stopped listening
about thirty seconds in. In fact, I lost all sense of time.
Scoop, sprinkle, spread, repeat.
A sharp BEEP brought me out of my trance. The conveyor
belt grinded to a halt. Taking her hand off a round red
button, the woman shouted, “What is wrong with you?” I looked
down to find the floor around my workstation completely
covered in shredded cheese. A hand on my shoulder turned me
around and brought me face to face with a man in the same
uniform as me, except that his apron was red, not blue.
“Come with me,” he said, leading me away from the factory
floor. We entered a locker room with beige lockers and dirty
floors. I sat on a bench with my back to a wall of used
lockers while the man closed the door and stood in front of
me.
“Hey, what’s going on?” he asked. “Do you need a break or
something?”
“I need to go right now,” I said, rising to my feet.
“Which is my locker?” I scanned the room for clues. It was
easier than I was expecting; each locker had a tacky nametag.
In no time, I found Herbert’s locker. There, I ran into
another problem: my combination lock. I relaxed my mind, and
sure enough, Herbert’s muscle memory took over. 737. The lock
sprung open.
“Whoa, hold on a second!” The man in the red apron, who I
figured was a manager of some sort, came closer. “What are you
doing?”
“I don’t know, you tell me,” I said, exasperated. All I
could think was to get out of that place. I remembered that
this guy was only a series of code, so I turned and made a
ridiculous face. Maybe that would get him to leave me alone.
His eyes widened in astonishment. I continued rummaging
through the belongings in the locker: a hideous denim jacket,
smartphone, and khaki pants. Two green Crocs shoes lay under
everything. Herbert was certainly no fashionista. I grabbed
the smartphone and touched the home button. The screen showed
a photograph of me with an overweight woman and a teenage girl
with brown hair parted down the middle. I held up the screen
to the man.
“Who is this?” I asked, pointing to the woman.
 “Is this a joke? You’re scaring me. Look, take the rest
of the day off. I’ll call you tomorrow.” He left the locker
room and shut the door behind him.
Quickly, I took off my uniform, marveling at the accuracy
of the texture on my clothing. Even the Crocs had an uncanny
rubber smell. Whatever I was expecting from the simulation,
this was certainly not it. It seemed much more real. I dressed
in the pants and jacket and tugged on my shoes, then grabbed
my smartphone and slammed the locker shut. In a strange,
automatic motion, my arm reached forward and turned the lock,
as I presumed Herbert had done a thousand times. I left the
locker room and made my way down a brightly lit corridor, then
out a back door into an empty parking lot. It was already dark
outside. I had no idea where I was, so I started walking in
any direction. Then, I remembered the smartphone. I pulled it
out of my pocket, unlocked it with my- I mean, Herbert’s-
face, then scrolled through my recent calls. The name Angela
appeared more often than any others. I dialed her number and
waited.
“Honey? How are you?” a woman’s voice answered. “Is
everything okay? You never call me from work.”
Honey? What are we, 70 years old? Disgusting. My
suspicions were confirmed; the woman in the picture was my
wife, which meant that the teenager must have been my
daughter.
“Are we happy?” I asked.
“Huh? I can’t hear you,” said the voice on the other end.
“Are we happy? You and I, I mean. Together. Are we
happy?”
Long pause. I was about to repeat the question when the
voice answered, “Honey, what does that question even mean?
You’re starting to worry me.”
“Angela, just answer me. I need to know.”
 “Of course we are! We could always be happier, but we’re
doing our best. Where are you? Please come home.”
I hung up before she could say another word. The phone
buzzed in my pocket; Angela was calling me back. I turned off
the phone and started walking. “It’s not real. None of this is
real,” I said to myself. Ahead of me was a small park with a
few empty benches. I sat on one of them and reviewed my
options: stay in this simulation as Herbert the pizza factory
worker, or find a way out. I looked up and said aloud, “I’m
done with my inspection of your simulation. Pull me out.”
Nothing. I should have known. I was practically kicking
myself for not asking how to extract myself from this
simulation. My sudden panic sent me from the bench and onto
the park path. As I walked, my mind worked furiously to find a
solution. Maybe I was supposed to live as Herbert for a while
to see what the experience was like? I briefly considered the
possibility of going home to a plain wife and hormonal teen,
just to wake up at dawn and head back to the pizza factory to
toil all day doing such a menial task. Just the idea made me
nauseous. There was nothing to look forward to, nothing to
bring my life any meaning.
I closed my eyes and tried to picture my life before this
one. The only memory I could conjure was a time when I was
going through an especially brutal period of rejections for
roles, one right after the other. I was waiting on the train
platform when I felt the pull of the seductive impulse to jump
in front of the moving train. Anything to end the chain of
disappointments. Obviously, I didn’t have the balls to go
through with it, but that was as close as I ever got to
suicide.
That’s it! Death was my way out. Just ahead of me, a
bridge overlooking the highway stood tantalizingly close. I
increased my pace, my heart pounding in my chest as I climbed
the stone stairs and found a place to squeeze through the
metal guardrail.
The whoosh of the traffic below sucked the breath from my
lungs. Legs trembling, I instinctively grabbed onto the rail
behind me. Every ounce of planning that had decided on this
option went out the window as I stared at the empty height
between me and the asphalt pavement. What if this wasn’t a
simulation? Everything seemed so impossibly, palpably real.
Then another, more sinister possibility: what if the
suicide failed? If I survived, I could end up living out the
rest of Herbert’s life as a vegetable in a hospital until my
family came to pull the plug. That would no doubt be far worse
than just going back to the pizza factory. And who knows?
Maybe I could turn Herbert onto acting and start a career in
this place.
Even in another person’s life, I couldn’t let go of my
desire to act. What was wrong with me? Was failure in another
dimension not a strong enough deterrent to forget my pointless
dream once and for all? I was a zero in the real world, and I
was a zero in this one as well.
“YOU ARE A FUCKING ZERO!” I shouted at the top of my
lungs. I didn’t care who heard. They weren’t real. And neither
was I.
From my left, a voice shrieked, “Don’t jump! Please!”
I turned to see a woman in her forties standing about ten
meters away. She wore a dark suit with a white shirt and high
heels. As if approaching a wild animal, she took a slow,
deliberate step towards me with her hands raised.
“Stay where you are!” I shouted. She froze, her
expression surprisingly calm and calculating. I was reminded
of the news stories about the heroic bystander or cop that
managed to intervene and stop a suicide. I had often imagined
what I might say if I found myself talking someone off the
ledge- how life was still worth living, or how much they would
be missed. I imagined how unconvinced they would be by my
less-than-genuine performances, which would no doubt confirm
that they had been right to jump all along.
Never did I imagine that I would be on the other side of
that exchange. I watched as the woman’s mind worked furiously
to find the right words and delivery. Talking down a jumper
was more like disarming a bomb; cut the wrong wire, and off it
goes.
In an even tone, she said, “It’s not worth it. It’s a
permanent solution for a temporary problem. Whatever you are
going through, there are people who love you and want to
help.”
“It’s okay,” I tried to reassure her. “This is just a
simulation. I’ll be fine.”
Her eyes widened. She was probably expecting a different
response- that the pain of living was too much to take, that
some woman broke my heart, or that I had lost everything I
had. Instead, I was the little kid who threw his teddy bear
out the third floor window and told his Mom that it won’t get
hurt because it isn’t real.
Others began to crowd around the scene, some of them on
their cell phones. In the distance, sirens blared. If I wanted
to jump, I had better do it before they arrived, or else
Herbert might live out the rest of his life in an institution
somewhere.
There was one last factor I hadn’t yet accounted for:
pain. To test this, I slammed my head into the railing and
regretted it instantly. A white hot searing sensation jolted
through my skull and reverberated through my neck. My hands
clutched the railing tighter, although they were sweating so
much that it was getting harder to hold on. I was terrified of
pain. Even shots at the doctor’s office made me faint.
 Mercifully, my hand slipped. Instead of reaching back to
catch myself, I used my momentum to jump from the railing.
Those few seconds in the air passed like an eternity.

Impact.

Blackness.

// END OF SIMULATION

}
{

11 <Simple Life>

I opened my eyes. Above me, the white ceiling of my

campervan gradually came into focus. Martha stood above me and
removed the sensor net from my head. Slowly, I sat up and
dangled my legs off the edge of the bed. The three of them-
Martha, Erina, and the Architect- sat in chairs facing me.
“Eight minutes and forty-four seconds,” said the
Architect, glancing at the monitor. “That’s the fastest time
yet.”
“That’s it?” I felt a sudden pain in my temples. Closing
my eyes, I started to rub them. “It felt like hours.”
“Time in the simulation passes by more slowly than in
this reality,” said Erina matter-of-factly.
“Really? How does that work?”
“It’s all relative,” said the Architect. “Each person
perceives time differently in this reality as well. If you had
the type of life where you lived in the same house and worked
the same job all your life, then time would be even slower
than it was for you. A minute here would be a year there, or a
decade. You, however, didn’t bother to go beyond what you were
presented. We could tell you were fully aware of the
simulation the whole time.”
“Was I supposed to be?”
“No. The whole point of a simulation is to achieve
perfect immersion.”
“Yeah? Well, it’s not like you left me much of a choice.
I knew it was going to be terrible, so I got myself out.”
“Exactly,” said the Architect. “You were aware of your
previous life and were able to make a comparison between that
one and the simulated one. But what if we had erased this
reality from your memory?”
“Then it would still be terrible.” I closed my eyes again
and covered it with my hand to block out the light. Coming out
of a simulation felt an awful lot like a gnarly hangover. A
hand on my shoulder made me open them. Martha put a glass of
water in one of my hands, and in the other, a yellow pill.
“It’s the life of the majority of humans on this planet,”
said the Architect.
“How do you know?” I asked. “You said you don’t even know
what goes on in the simulation.”
“I don’t. Not the specifics, anyway. All we know is that
this level is programmed to fulfill the first two stages of
Maslow’s Hierarchy: physiological and safety. Your avatar was
equipped with enough food, clothes, shelter, sleep, a family,
money to cover the basics, and good health. This is more than
a lot of people on this Earth get.”
“I understand that,” I said. “What I don’t understand is
how putting extra cheese on a pizza because a machine couldn’t
do it properly the first time constitutes any kind of lifelong
fulfillment. It’s too simple.”
“Simplicity isn’t what makes it unsatisfactory,” said the
Architect. “You see, there is joy in simple work because it
yields tangible results. You feed the chickens so that they
can give you eggs and meat. You cut a tree to make a chair and
burn the remaining wood to heat your home. If you have enough
chairs, you sell one to your neighbor who gives you a handmade
sweater in return. In this world, you are a God in touch with
its own creation. Everything makes sense, and happiness is a
product of that simplicity. But the Industrial Revolution
changed that relationship between work and result. Instead of
producing with your own hands, you became a cog in a machine,
which in turn was owned by a boss you had never met. The
product you helped to make was going to be sold to someone on
the other side of the continent, or even the world. Someone
you would never meet. This vacuum strips away the meaning of
your labour, leaving you unfulfilled. In the simulation you
were just in, the Non-Player Characters have all their basic
needs covered and don’t mind doing robotic work in exchange
for a steady paycheck.”
“I see. What does that make me, then? A
‘Player-Character’?”
The Architect nodded. “Exactly. A player character has
agency and choice. The NPC’s do not. They would never commit
suicide if it wasn’t in their program, no matter how horrible
the conditions of the game. Of course, our simulation would
program a few NPC’s to take their own lives for the sake of
plausibility.”
“How do you know I killed myself? I thought you couldn’t
see inside the simulation.”
“Martha was monitoring your brain activity the entire
time. She reported heightened activity in the moments before
you came out, meaning that you were likely undergoing an
intense cost-benefit analysis. Had you simply been hit by a
car, your brain would have remained at normal levels of
activity before you surfaced due to virtual death. How did you
kill yourself?”
“I jumped from a bridge. That’s not the point, though.
What the fuck is this game you’re developing? The way you talk
about NPC’s and Maslow’s Needs, it sounds more like a fucked
up experiment to me.” Great. I was beginning to sound like
Adrian now.
As if summoned from my thoughts, Adrian rapped on the
door to the campervan. “Team’s here, should I send them in?”
“Please do,” said the Architect. The van door opened, and
a procession filtered inside: Grace, Sarah, Tim, and Matt.
Everyone settled into their corners and looked at me with an
expression of mild surprise. Between the stares and the
claustrophobia, I was beginning to feel like a zoo animal.
The Architect saved me from the silence.
“Listen,” he said with the same hesitation from the night
around the campfire. “What we told you about the previous
testers was only a partial truth. We told you about two of the
most extreme cases in order to demonstrate the risks involved
in helping us. What we neglected to tell you was that there
were six others.”
Six? And here I thought I was Lab Rat #3. Turns out, I
was Lab Rat #9. I didn’t know whether to feel better or worse.
On the one hand, they had had more opportunities to smooth out
the rough edges. On the other, these people no doubt were
dismissed for a reason. “What happened to the others?” I
asked, afraid of the response.
“The short answer is that we sent them home. They were
unfit to continue to the next level, and we did not want to
put more lives at risk. The more complex explanation is that
the simulation proved to be too immersive. Once they entered
it, they appeared to lose all memory of this one. Most of them
lived out the remainder of their avatar’s ‘life’ until they
died naturally within the simulation. When they came back to
this reality, their recollection of the simulation mirrored
that of someone recalling a dream they had.
With some of them, however, recollection was not the
problem, especially in Level 2. We mentioned before that the
first level of the simulation fulfills the foundational needs
on Maslow’s Pyramid. The Level 2 simulation takes it a few
steps further, and in some cases, the quality of life in the
simulation was better in comparison to what the tester knew
from this reality. When those who made it to this level
re-emerged, they had difficulties transitioning back to this
reality, which their avatar had ‘remembered’ in the form of
dreams while under the simulation. And vice-versa; in this
reality, the testers reported having recurring and continuous
dreams about the reality they lived while in Level 2.
Understandably, this experience threatened to lead them down a
path to psychosis.”
“Why is that?” I wondered.
“Because they questioned whether this life was a
simulation as well,” blurted Sarah. An uncomfortable silence
filled the van.
“Well? Is it?” I asked, chuckling nervously.
“That’s the whole point of this project,” said the
Architect. “To answer that very question.”
My head spun so fast I had to close my eyes. This was no
video game. Beads of sweat had started to form on my skin. The
air in the van was hot, stale, and damp. As if responding to
my distress, someone cracked a window. The cool breeze played
across the goosebumps on my skin. I found it difficult to
imagine that something so natural could be simulated. With my
eyes still closed, I recalled a poem that I recited in a play
some years ago.
// I died as a mineral and became a plant,
I died as a plant and rose to animal
I died as animal and I was human
Why should I fear? When was I less by dying?
Yet once more I shall die human
 “Rumi. Nice,” said Sarah. I opened my eyes, startled. Had
I spoken out loud? I collected myself before turning back to
the Architect.
“So, am I ready for Level 2? Or are you sending me home?”
The Architect nodded. “The qualifications were met. You
remembered that you were in a simulation, and you were able to
recall the details of the experience from the inside. This is
what we are trying to achieve. We want the Player Character to
keep their agency, so to speak.”
“That’s good news, isn’t it? Why aren’t we celebrating?”
I asked, trying to lighten the mood. Sarah winced.
“That’s because we know that the next level will be much
more difficult for you,” she said, choosing her words
carefully. “None of our testers have managed to pass it. When
you add social belonging and self-esteem to the simulated
life, it devours your recollection of this reality.”
“It’s not too different from what happens in this
reality,” Tim piped up. “When my parents got rich and famous,
it absorbed them like the Pod People. There is no drug more
addictive than power.” His eyes darkened at the memory. I
wondered if his disdain for his parents might have had
something to do with his decision to join the Architect’s
team.
Before I could ask more questions, Erina spoke up. “Come
on, people. We’ve done a lot of work since the last tester.
Today we hit a new milestone for the fastest time through
Level 1. That’s reason enough to celebrate.”
“Agreed,” the Architect smiled. “Let’s finish up the
analysis for today’s run and get ready for tomorrow.”
“Do you need my help with anything?” I asked. I wanted to
stay busy in order to avoid thinking about the challenge to
come in Level 2. The Architect shook his head.
“You’re done for today. I recommend you take a long walk.
If you go to the edge of the campsite, there’s a path that
will take you to Lake Geneva. I would prefer it if you did not
go alone. It might help you to talk with someone about your
experience in order to better process it.”
“No thanks,” I said politely, “I’d rather go alone.
That’s how I think best.” It was partly true. In actuality, I
didn’t really feel comfortable with the team. They seemed too
sophisticated for me, and I feared I might bore them with my
rambling.
“Suit yourself,” said the Architect. I exited the van and
started along the dirt path. Sure enough, a wooden sign stood
straight up and pointed me in the direction of the lake. After
about two kilometers, the tall pines opened up into a blue
expanse of water stretching as far as the eye could see. On
the far side, purple snow-capped peaks loomed over the lake
waters. To the left, the colorful buildings of Geneva rose up
and dotted the hillsides.
I was not the only person walking this trail. Gorgeous
young couples with baby carriages sped by me, as did many
impossibly fit joggers and power walkers. Every so often, a
pristine villa would reveal itself through the dense
vegetation. The whole place was positively dripping in money.
And how could it not be? After all, Geneva housed CERN, United
Nations, World Health Organization, World Economic Forum, Red
Cross, MSF and World Trade Organization, not to mention the
countless international banks that called this Swiss city
home.
“Are you lost?” A voice called out behind me. I turned to
see Adrian walking down the path. Had he been following me?
“Not yet,” I said with a tight-lipped smile. “Did the
Architect send you after me?”
“I sent myself. Geneva is filled with spies. We can’t be
too careful.”
“Is it, now?” I wasn’t sure if he was playing another
game to scare me.
 Adrian nodded. “This place was Edward Snowden’s first
assignment under the CIA.”
“Yeah, well, I doubt the CIA would be interested in a
zero like me,” I said, glancing sideways to see if he caught
the joke. Adrian smirked.
“True, but they would be very interested to get their
hands on the Architect and his team. And now that you’re part
of the team, you’re considered a liability.”
We stopped for a moment to let an elderly couple pass. I
waited until they were out of earshot to continue. “Who
exactly is coming for the Architect?”
“I can’t tell you that. All I can say is that the
Architect would not have hired a private security contractor
like me if he didn’t need to. This is the new Manhattan
Project. Everyone wants their hands on what he’s developed.”
“I had no idea a hyper-realistic video game could have
such an impact,” I smirked, but Adrian seemed to have missed
the joke.
“Is that what they told you? A video game?” He looked
incredulous.
“Not exactly.”
“Actually,” he said, “If you think about the millions of
idiots who spend countless hours playing video games in the
modern world, it’s not that far off. This simulation would
wipe them all out with the force of a hundred atomic bombs.”
“If that’s really true, then I would have been captured
by now by some intelligence agency,” I argued.
Adrian gave a malicious smile. “No one is interested in
the lab rat. They aren’t after you. They’re after The Code.
The less you know, the better.”
I turned without another word and headed into the
opposite direction, leaving Adrian chuckling to himself. I
couldn’t tell if he was there to protect me or scare me.
Perhaps it was another test, or a tactic to keep me from
defecting from the group. It wouldn’t have been necessary, at
any rate. The longer I stayed with them, the less attached I
felt to my former life in Germany. I was willing to follow
this rabbit hole as far as it went.

}
{

12 <Level Two>

// START OF SIMULATION

“Seraphim!”
Once again, the flames encroached on the courtyard and
licked the walls. I closed my eyes and waited for darkness.
The passage through the medieval entrance went much faster
this time around. I closed my eyes and prepared for whatever
lay on the other side.
Darkness.
Warm light. I was sitting on a giant leather sofa holding
a glass of brown liquor. On the coffee table was a bottle
decorated with a silver reindeer head. Dalmore 62 Single Malt
Scotch. I took a swig. “So this is what 100,000 euros tastes
like,” I said aloud. I was disappointed; there was no real
difference between this whiskey and any other scotch malt I
had drunk in my real life.
My real life! I was flooded with enormous relief at the
fact that I was aware of the simulation. I clearly remembered
where my real body was: in a campervan off the shores of Lake
Geneva with the Architect. So far, so good.
I decided to get up and have a look around “my” house.
The living room was spacious and modern, complete with a
furnace and chimney. A floor-to-ceiling window revealed a
picturesque mountain view. Two calico cats and a dog slept in
a heap in front of the marble fireplace.
Hanging on the wall behind the couch was a giant painting
of me with a woman I could only guess was my wife. She must
have been at least 15 years my junior, with blonde hair and
blue eyes. Next to the painting was another photograph with
the two of us together taken in a hospital. I wore a white
coat while she wore scrubs. I smiled fondly at the memory. She
was my first employee when I opened up my plastic surgery
clinic. Now that the practice had grown to 28 employees, I set
my sights on opening a second clinic, one that specializes in
botox.
Automatically, my mind ran down a list of our services:
breast augmentation, implant removals, breast lift, buttock
lift, chin/cheek/jaw reshaping, dermabrasion/dermaplaning,
eyelid lift, facelift, forehead lift, hair
replacement/transplantation, lip augmentation, liposuction,
lower body lift, nose reshaping, thigh lift, tummy tuck, upper
arm lift, cellulite treatment, chemical peel,
plumping/collagen, fat injections, laser skin resurfacing,
laser treatment for leg veins, and of course, botox for every
part of the body. Some clients even wanted it in their
genitalia. Anything to give them more pleasure and confidence.
“Stop!” I said, slapping my face repeatedly. This was the
tricky part of navigating the simulation: merging your own
knowledge with that of your avatar. I caught my reflection in
the glass on the photograph and was pleased to see that I
still looked the same as I had on the outside. Or was it the
avatar’s face that I was recognizing as my own? Were my teeth
always that white?
At least I was a plastic surgeon. My parents from the
real world would have been proud.
I took another sip of the most expensive whiskey in the
world and tried to savor it. Maybe it was stronger than what I
was used to. Would I pay 100k for it? Absolutely not. As I
scanned my surroundings, “I” recalled the stories behind the
purchases, including a Meissen porcelain teapot that I had
bought in Dresden for 25 thousand Euros. Did I ever actually
use it to make tea? Of course not! It was there as a
conversation starter with my wealthy friends to show off how
interesting and cultured I was.
I directed my avatar to the garage, which was protected
by a keypad. I punched in the code, and the door slid open.
The lights turned on automatically to reveal:
A Mustang 1967 Shelby GT500. A Mercedes-Maybach GLS 600.
A Range Rover SV Autobiography LWB.
Not too bad, I thought. At that moment, the front door to
our house opened. “Sweetie? Are you home?”
“I’m in the garage!” I called out.
“Come to the living room!” The woman’s voice shouted. “I
have a surprise for you.”
I closed the sliding door and returned the way I came. I
was thankful for the avatar’s memory, because I would have
gotten lost trying to find the living room in this labyrinth
of a house.
When I finally reached the living room, a gorgeous blonde
woman was sitting on the couch with a mischievous grin on her
face. She wore nothing but a red push-up bra and black lace
panties. Her breasts were impossibly large for her frame, and
her hips protruded from a waist so narrow that it barely
existed. She fluttered her fake eyelashes over her sapphire
blue eyes. “Get over here,” she whispered.
“Give me one second,” I said, hurrying to the kitchen. I
opened a drawer and took out a little bottle of blue pills,
unscrewed the cap, popped one in, and washed it down with a
glass of water.
In the walk back to the living room, something strange
began to happen to me. With each step my avatar took, I was
increasingly gripped by a sensation that I can only describe
as falling asleep at the wheel. I gained enough control to
stop at the doorway. On the couch, my gorgeous wife gave me a
smoldering look.
“Wait,” I tried to say, but nothing came out.
“What’s wrong, Sweetie?” She asked. Like a cat, she slunk
from the couch and approached me. I could smell her sweet
perfume- an anniversary gift, according to the avatar’s brain.
8K for a tiny bejeweled bottle. She put her arms around my
neck and stared into my eyes. I felt another wave of
drowsiness. No, no NO! I had to regain control. Regain…
control…
I’m an actor, sitting in a campervan, wearing an adult
diaper. I’m in a Simulation designed by the Architect.
At the last moment, I forcibly took back the reins. The
draw vanished. I was in perfect control of my body and memory.
My wife closed her eyes and leaned in to kiss me. She was much
more attractive than anyone I had ever been with before. I
wasn’t about to let this pass up. I’m here, after all. Might
as well have a little fun.
The next morning, after a long night of wild sex with my
wife, I jumped into my Mercedes and sped off to the clinic.
There, I was greeted by my lovely personal assistants Jenny
and Ciara, who often accompanied me on my business travels.
They got to fly first class, and in return, they would help me
relax in the hotel after a long flight. We would often snort a
line or two before hitting the sheets in the suites of the
Sofitel Hotel in New York. Sex with them was different than
with my wife. They were in their early twenties. What else do
I have to say?
Nothing was out of my reach. If I could afford it, I got
it. Drugs, houses, women. I had friends, too, but I had to be
cautious. People wanted what I had, and I knew it. So, I
generally only associated with people who shared my status.
The moment someone fell off the ladder, I cut off all contact.
Helping someone to get back on their feet was not an option.
We had no time for that.
I could not tell you to this day how much time I spent in
that life. It could have been weeks, months, or years. Time
was a rollercoaster. I either worked like crazy, traveled like
crazy, partied like crazy, or fucked like crazy. Thanks to the
little blue pills, of course.
Occasionally, I remembered my old life as a failed actor
in Berlin. As time went on, however, the memories grew fainter
and fainter, and I tried actively to forget them. I knew that
eventually I would have to go back to that campervan, but for
the moment, there was another surgery to perform, another
flight to catch, and another model to fuck.
One night, my return flight from Tokyo landed at 11:30
pm. I had just finished three busy days at a conference and
hadn’t been able to sleep due to the jetlag. Not even the
sleeping pill I took before takeoff succeeded in bringing me
rest. Ciara, the assistant who accompanied me on this
particular journey, suggested we spend the night in Berlin,
but I wanted to make it home to my own Tempur-Pedic mattress
and white noise machine.
We retrieved my Mercedes from long-term parking and sped
down the Autobahn, which was empty at this hour. I checked the
speedometer: 280. That’s the beauty of German Autobahns, I
thought. No speed limit.
I glanced at the passenger side. Ciara was still asleep
with her mouth hanging wide open. Even after hours on a plane,
she was still stunning. I turned my attention back to the
road. From out of nowhere, a deer leapt onto the road and
directly in my path. I was going too fast to swerve, so I
sounded my horn in the hopes the animal would move on its own.
Instead, the deer froze. Impact was imminent. I swerved
instinctively.
 The car flipped and rolled several times before slamming
broadside into a tree. When I opened my eyes, I saw only the
whiteness of the airbag. Next to me, Ciara’s face was
partially crushed under her airbag. Her eyes were open in a
vacant stare. As the airbag deflated, her head fell forward
like that of a broken doll. I tried to move my arm to push my
own airbag away, but it didn’t obey. An icy coldness seeped
down my spine and into my limbs. Blood filled my mouth and
nostrils. I smelled smoke. Orange flames reflected in the
rear-view mirror. It would only be a matter of time before
they reached the fuel tank.
An array of images flashed before me: My high school in
Berlin. Performing for my parents. My first audition. Acting
school. My first kiss. My first apartment. The long drives
across Europe in my campervan. A man wearing a black hoodie.
Adrian with the gun. Martha feeding me a pill. The three
passwords needed to enter...
The Simulation.
An explosion of blinding white light enveloped me.

// END OF SIMULATION

}
{

13 <American Dream>

The LED bulb flickered on the ceiling of the campervan. I

rubbed my eyes. “Can I remove the net?” asked Martha, who
appeared by my side. I nodded, and she proceeded to peel the
metal sensors from my scalp. I sat up and wiggled my fingers.
Beyond a faint headache, I felt perfectly fine.
“You might want to take that off,” Martha gestured to the
adult diaper. “It looks pretty full. There’s probably some
semen in there as well,” she winked at me. “We set up a shower
for you outside. We suggest that you go on a walk in order to
transition. The Architect wants you back here at 7:30.”
I looked at my watch: 6:47.
After a shower and change of clothes, I was feeling much
better. I walked along the path around the campsite, enjoying
the fresh scent of pine. As I walked, I pieced together the
events of my time in Level 2. This made me pleased; I had
managed not to lose myself to the simulation, as the previous
testers had done. Still, a sense of disappointment nagged at
me. I felt as if I had just gone on the most exciting holiday
of my life only to return to my desk just in time for a boring
day of work.
Back at the campsite, the team was gathered around a
table of cold cuts, vegetables, and cheeses. When I
approached, all conversation ceased and everyone looked at me
expectedly. The Architect said, “There you are! Everyone! I
want to formally announce the first successful trial
participant of Level 2. Congratulations!”
Everyone erupted into applause, although I was confused.
“How did you know I passed? I haven’t told you anything about
my time in the simulation yet.”
“You don’t have to,” said Martha. “We were keeping track
of the activity in your long-term and short-term memory
centers. Of course, many parts of the brain contribute to
memory, including the amygdala, hippocampus, cerebellum, and
prefrontal cortex. Long-term memories are a combination of
specific neurons that fire in tandem in these sections of the
brain. For example, the amygdala-” she stopped abruptly,
suddenly aware that she was lecturing. “Basically, we used the
readings to determine the activity of your memory throughout
the simulation, and it was apparent that you hadn’t lost your
memory of your previous life, no matter how hard you tried to
forget it.”
“I guess I am a good actor after all,” I joked.
 “We’ll see about that,” Tim said under his breath. The
comment stung.
“Do you have something to say, Tim?” I asked.
The Architect stood up. “Now is not the time for
discussion. Let’s all just eat and relax-”
“No, now is exactly the time for discussion. What is it
you want to tell me?”
Tim shifted in his seat. “Nothing against you. It’s just
that once you settle back into this reality after having
experienced a much better life, you might have a harder time
accepting it. You might convince yourself that the life in the
simulation is the one you deserve.”
“So you’re saying I don’t deserve a good life?”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” said Tim. “Everyone
deserves a good life, not everyone gets it. And those who do
get it, believe they deserve it because of something within
their choice and control, when in actuality it was luck that
dumped them on that conveyor belt of luxury.”
“I find that hard to believe. It takes hard work to rise
to that level of wealth-”
“Just shut up. Please. That’s the simulation talking.
Millions of people work hard every day and not a single one of
them becomes rich and famous. They read celebrity magazines
and buy every product with the hopes that if they just work
hard enough, they can live the dream as well. George Carlin
said it best:
// That’s why they call it the American Dream, because
you have to be asleep to believe it.”
I fell silent. Tim had a point. Maybe my troubles with
Level 2 were only beginning. Already I was beginning to crave
the hit of money-fueled instant gratification. What if the
next level was even more alluring? What if the fantasies I had
been harboring my whole life about becoming a famous Hollywood
actor were only a white pill and three passwords away? Coming
back to this reality would be unbearable!
Maybe Tim was right. Maybe I was just like the others. I
made it this far, didn’t I? I was free to leave any time I
wanted. It was then I noticed everyone staring at me. “I need
some air,” I mumbled, pushing past Erina towards the lake
path. By the time I made it to the shore, the sunset colors
had faded from orange and gold to pink and purple. Dotted
with city lights, the lake’s surface looked like a portal to a
fairy world.
“Hey.” I turned to see the Architect. He had on the same
black hoodie as when we met in Berlin. “Sorry, I didn’t mean
to scare you.”
“I thought you were Adrian,” I said. The Architect
chuckled.
“He can be a handful sometimes. Honestly, though, there
is no one I trust more than Adrian. You think he’s scary now,
you should have seen him ten years ago-”
“I’m done,” I said. “I want out. You got what you wanted.
I can’t go back in again.”
Instead of arguing, the Architect simply nodded. He stood
there in silence for a moment, deep in thought. “I
understand,” he said finally. “You have been through an
ordeal, and for your efforts we are immensely grateful. I have
one more request for you. Tomorrow morning, I want to show you
one of my favorite parts of the Old Town. Afterwards, if you
still wish to leave, I will arrange an escort for you back to
Berlin.”
“Can I get the escort tonight?” I asked. The Architect
shrugged.
“If that’s what you want.” He turned and started to walk
back to camp. I knew exactly the game he was playing. The
“excursion” was just an excuse to buy more time to convince me
to carry on with the project.
 I shouted after him, “I don’t appreciate being
manipulated, you know.”
“Pardon?” He turned, surprised. Now I was the one holding
all the cards.
“Your little ‘field trip.’ Look, I get it how much time
you’d have to waste to find another actor crazy enough to join
your project. Cut the bullshit. What is it you want to show
me?”
A few stunned seconds of silence passed. Then, the
Architect dissolved into laughter. “You’re quite perceptive.
Fine, I knew that after a night of rest after your ordeal
today, you’d be more inclined to reconsider moving onto the
next level. But, if you like, we can get it over with now.”
“Good try. You’re forcing my hand by presenting a ‘when’
question. As in, ‘when will we go on this side trip where I
can present my argument.’ I’m considering the ‘if’ question.”
“Fair enough. ‘If’ you say you want to leave, the
arrangements will be made. You will be observed for a few
days to ensure that no one is tailing you, then you will never
hear from us again..”
I thought for a moment. Now that I knew the Architect’s
ploy, I felt more comfortable with the idea of seeing whatever
it was he wanted to show me. Besided, I had never seen Geneva
before, and I wanted to take advantage of the opportunity
before the long drive back home.
“You have one hour,” I said. “One second past that and
I’m out of here.”
The Architect smirked. “Then there’s no time to waste.”

}
{
14 <Calvin’s Chair>

We hopped into Adrian’s car and drove into the Old Town.
We left the car in an underground car park and walked up the
cobblestone roads.
“This is it. St. Pierre’s Cathedral.” said the Architect.
We had stopped in front of a building that looked like a
mashup of a classic Roman temple and a gothic church. Large
Corinthian columns supported a triangular pediment, and in the
background, a jade-colored tower extended skyward. He walked
up the stairs to a large wooden door, which an elderly man
with a shuffling gait was in the process of closing. When he
saw the Architect, the man’s wrinkled face broke into an
enormous grin. As they embraced, the Architect said something
in French, and the man nodded and opened the door, ushering
both of us inside.
The interior of the church was dimly lit with candles.
Due to the giant stone columns and vaults, the inside felt
cooler than the outside. I shivered, marveling at the detail
in the stained glass window paintings. Though I had never been
religious, I enjoyed churches. With their dim lights, prayer
benches, altars, and acoustics, they felt like theatres to me,
and so I was at home. Ahead of me, the Architect continued
walking slowly until he stopped in front of a wooden chair.
The sign next to it read: Chaise de Calvin. There was nothing
spectacular about it- the dining room chair in my mother’s
house was more finely decorated. The Architect closed his eyes
as if in prayer. I waited patiently. A short moment later, he
opened his eyes, nodded at the chair, and proceeded to walk
out the church, stopping only once to hug the man at the door.
I watched in awe at this man who, in spite of the supposed
secrecy of his work, seemed to be universally beloved wherever
he went.
We continued in silence, finally sitting down on a bench
in the square facing the cathedral. One by one, the street
lamps turned on and illuminated the Old Town. Even though I
was curious, I waited for the Architect to speak.
He cleared his throat and began, “That chair belonged to
John Calvin, who is said to be one of the most dangerous and
controversial preachers in the history of Christianity. You
see, there is a theme in Christianity that every preacher,
priest, and evangelist avoids at every cost: predestination.
Why? Because it negates choice, which people believed was
given to them by Jesus Christ. The steps to salvation were
simple: repent, ask for forgiveness, get baptized, and try to
live a life without sin. One only had to choose to undergo the
journey, and eternal life would be theirs. If a person didn’t
do those things and burned in hell instead, they would have no
one else to blame but themselves.”
“That seems reasonable,” I said. “You get what you pay
for.”
“Yes, but what if instead of paying for yourself, someone
else had prepaid for you before you were born? This is the
problem that Christians keep running into, even to this day.
If God is all-powerful and all-knowing, and we are all
following ‘God’s plan,’ then there is no room for free will.
We would have to possess God’s power to change the course of
cosmic destiny, which also has a list of those who end up in
heaven and those who end up in hell. John Calvin was the first
and only preacher to speak openly about this theological
irreconcilability.”
“I bet that was a hit with the congregation,” I said
flatly, then, adopting a preacher’s cadence, “No matter how
hard you try, it has already been decided if you will be a
good or bad person. You might as well stop coming here for
answers. Church dismissed.”
“Close.” The Architect squinted, then recited:
 // By predestination we mean the eternal decree of God,
by which he determined with himself whatever he wished to
happen with regard to every man. All are not created on equal
terms, but some are preordained to eternal life, others to
eternal damnation; and, accordingly, as each has been created
for one or other of these ends, we say that he has been
predestined to life or to death.

He isn’t the only one who acknowledged it either. Even

Paul, the Bible’s most prominent apostle, wrote to the church
in Rome:

// What then shall we say? Is God unjust? Not for all!

For he says to Moses, ‘I will have mercy on whom I have mercy,
and I will have compassion on whom I have compassion.
Therefore, everything depends not on human desire or effort,
but rather on God’s mercy.”
“Is that what this is, then? You’re trying to get me to
sing Hallelujah? I thought you were too intelligent to believe
in all that heaven and hell garbage.”
“I don't. There isn’t any mention of Hell in the
Bible.The idea was introduced by the Catholic Church for the
purpose of scaring people into becoming members. It’s all the
same- misinterpreted verses to benefit a corrupt institution,
and misinterpreted laws to benefit a corrupt government. I
would go as far to say that Calvin knew that, but he never
spoke about it openly. His views on predestination were
controversial enough.”
“Yes, but wasn’t the whole point of the Church to control
everyone’s behavior? Why would anyone stick to society’s rules
if they had no sense of responsibility?”
“You tell me. If you knew that your life was etched in
stone before you were born, how would you go about your life?”
 “I’d bring a mallet and a chisel and get to work,” I
said. This conversation was quickly growing tiresome. “Your
hour’s almost up, and you’ve failed to change my mind.”
“So I have. Shall we?” The Architect rose from the seat,
and I followed. We walked in silence all the way to the car. I
knew he was baiting me to ask more questions. So, I kept my
mouth shut, in spite of the curiosity burning in my mind. Was
that it? Was he really not going to try something else? As we
drove the winding roads of the city and entered the darkened
forest, the curiosity grew more insistent. Finally, I gave in.
“Why are you telling me all this? About predestination
and John Calvin, I mean. What does it have to do with the
simulations?”
The Architect sighed. “Calvin is an example of a person
who saw the world a different way. Most of us accept what
we’re taught. Occasionally, someone comes along to challenge
that paradigm and transform it into something new. From Plato
and Socrates, to Copernicus and Newton, even Elon Musk from
our own era. Just because billions of people believe something
doesn’t make it true. There are a few of us who know that the
truth must be challenged in order to be proven. In their own
way, each of them was searching for The Code, whether they
knew it or not. Only through knowledge may we achieve freedom
from body, mind, and soul. If I had to summarize the Bible in
one sentence it would be the last words Jesus said on the
cross:
// My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

We had pulled up at the campsite, got out of the car, and

walked towards the campervans. The lights were off; everyone
must have gone to sleep already. They must have been tired,
too, I thought, and I instantly felt a pang of guilt. If they
believed what the Architect was saying about their mission,
then they must have held their work in the highest regard. I
realized that apart from Tim’s brief mention of his parents,
they didn’t speak about their families at all. I wondered how
many of them had to say goodbye to spouses, children, parents,
and siblings in order to travel around with the Architect. And
here I was, about to go back to an empty apartment, and for
what? I hadn’t sacrificed anything by coming here.
“I’ll get Adrian,” whispered the Architect. “He’ll know
how to get you back home.”
“Wait,” I said. “Don’t do that. I’ll stay. I want to see
this through.”
“I thought you might. I’m curious, though. What changed
your mind?” asked the Architect.
I thought about the series of events that had brought me
to that exact moment: putting the van on eBay, meeting the
Architect, the first test, Geneva, the suicide on the bridge,
the crash on the highway, the Church, Calvin’s chair. To leave
now- after everything I had been through- felt wrong in a way
I couldn’t quite explain.
“I forgot my chisel and mallet,” I said.

}
{

15 <Another Life>

The next morning, I sat at the small table in the

campervan while Martha and Erina continued to put the final
touches on the preparations. I was told by the Architect to
arrive early for the briefing.
“It is very important that you pay attention. You are the
first tester to venture into Level Three. We know for certain
that while you are in the simulation, you will not be able to
remember anything about this life. In fact, it will be just
like this one. You can’t remember any previous lives right
now, can you?”
“No… I had previous lives?”
“Some of us did. Others of us are just NPC’s in this
simulation only. They have no previous lives.”
“Ok, this is new. So you’re telling me that we’re in a
simulation right now?”
“We’re not entirely sure,” said the Architect. “That’s
what this whole project is attempting to find out.”
“For argument’s sake, let’s assume that we are in a
simulation right now, and I’m a Player Character with multiple
past lives. Why would it matter? Wouldn’t we just die all the
same?”
“Why would it matter? You are seriously telling me that
your life wouldn’t be the least bit changed by the knowledge
that death is not the end? Not a chance. Remember the
confident, no-shits-given person you were in Level One? It
took you minutes to make the decision to jump off that
bridge.”
“Are you implying that I would do the same? Jump off a
bridge once I realized there was another better life waiting
for me after death?”
“No. The exact opposite, actually: I would expect you to
live life here to the fullest. If you were aware of your past
lives, you would see this one as a continuation on one long,
cosmic mission. Your purpose would keep you from jumping too
soon.”
“Oh really? And what would that mission be, exactly?”
The Architect smiled good-naturedly and shrugged. “How
should I know? I am not you. I did not judge you for ending
Level One like you did. If it were me, I’m not entirely sure I
would have done the same. We are different people on different
journeys.”
 “We’re ready for you,” said Martha. I took my place on
the bed and waited anxiously for the hairnet to be placed over
my scalp. The Architect came over and placed his hand on my
shoulder. I instantly felt calmer.
“One more thing before you go,” said the Architect. “A
proverb, for good luck:
Remember the fields of lavender.”
“Remember the fields of lavender. Thanks. I’ll need all
the luck I can get.”
“No, you won’t.” One last squeeze on my shoulder and the
Architect was gone. I swallowed the white pill and waited for
the cloud of unconsciousness to carry me away.
This time, the gates had a new feature. Before they
opened the gates, each of the angels repeated the phrase:
Remember the fields of lavender.
The Architect must have programmed it today, I thought. It was
a nice touch. I wondered when I would see him and the team
again. That was the last impression I remember before the
flames devoured me.

Blackness.

}
{

16 <Dollhouse>

// START OF SIMULATION

In 1995, I began my architecture studies at the Louisiana

State University, which predictably involved a lot of model
building. Seeing all the materials I was bringing home, my
little sister made me promise to build her a dollhouse. But,
between my assignments, exams, and projects, I was struggling
to fulfill that promise. My sister couldn’t help but express
her disappointment whenever she saw that I had finished
another architectural model, yet her dollhouse still hadn’t
progressed past the first floor.
One day, a colleague came to my house to study with me
for an upcoming test. He noticed the unfinished doll house and
commented that it would be cool to build a virtual dollhouse
complete with virtual “dolls” that could walk and talk like
humans. It was the kind of offhand observation that, when made
in the right place at the right time, can change a life.
A week later I quit architecture and registered for a
coding course at Louisiana Tech University. I’ll never forget
the first line of code I executed correctly. All this time I
had been on the receiving end of a one-way conversation. Now,
I knew how to talk back. I was reborn that day. And, like
every newborn in the computer world, my first words were also
“Hello, World!” No more would I have to answer to the laws of
gravity, time, entropy, client taste, budgets, zoning laws,
and arbitrary legislation. In this new dimension, computer
code was limited only by computing power.
I consider myself to be a logical person who says exactly
what they mean. It took me a long time to learn that many
other people do not communicate this way. They preferred to
hide behind innuendo and implications while their omissions
communicated more than their words. If they make a mistake,
they will go at great lengths to cover it up to avoid
embarrassment. I much preferred to communicate with computers,
who without hesitation would say: ERROR. I found God in the
machine. All my imagination could conjure- gravity-defying
buildings, humans with wings, purple mountains spilling blue
lava made of ice cream, trees taller than skyscrapers- was
mine to create. I could conjure a new world in six days and
rest on the seventh, thanks to this newfound power.
 Months of nonstop coding eventually culminated in a
completed project. In 1998, I launched a video game titled
SimMetropolis.
In the SimMetropolis game, the player develops a city
from a patch of undeveloped land. This player has complete
control over the placement of development zones, roads, power
plants, landmarks, and public services such as schools, parks,
hospitals, and fire stations. The player also sets the tax
rate, city budget, and social policies. The “Sims,” or
simulated persons, live and work in this city, and their lives
are largely determined by the parameters set by the player.
The three development zone types are the major areas
inhabited by the Sims: residential zones for houses and
apartment buildings, commercial zones for shops and offices,
and industrial zones for factories, warehouses, laboratories,
and farms. While there is no singular winning objective in a
game of SimMetropolis, the gameplay is made interesting by the
balancing act of the aforementioned factors and their effects
on the Sim population. Some players may seek to maximize
population or profitability, or they may recreate real-life
locations in the game. Others may focus on achieving a certain
aesthetic design. Some closeted sadists might focus their
efforts on triggering as many natural disasters as possible.
There are many potential objectives, and every player chooses
their own way of playing the game.
The father of one of my wealthy friends decided to
invest. Shortly after, another investor came on board, and our
growth skyrocketed. Silicon Valley investors began to queue up
to invest in my company, and I saw no problems with taking
their money.

}
{
17 <An Offer>

The twelve years following the initial launch of

SimMetropolis saw so many new versions and reboots:
SimMetropolis 2000, SimMetropolis 3000, SimMetropolis Future,
and SimMetropolis Society. We were rapidly running out of new
versions, and I was growing bored with having to constantly
find new ways to generate more profit for our investors. I was
beginning to argue with them, resisting their suggestions, and
sabotaging their plans, to the point where several of them
sold their shares and left the company board altogether. I
didn’t care. I hated corporate politics. I only wanted to
build things and make my product better. Eventually, in 2010,
I resigned from my own company and left it to rot in the hands
of the investment board.
One cool and sunny March morning, I drove my brand new
Mustang GT to Palo Alto. I had been invited to lunch at a
local restaurant by one of the former investors of
SimMetropolis.
I arrived ten minutes early and found the investor
sitting with another man in his early fifties. He introduced
himself to me as Satoshi Nakamoto.
I was taken aback, for I was familiar with bitcoin and
its mysterious creator. I had even bought a few bitcoins for
fun. It was a typical inside joke to us Silicon Valley nerds.
“Excuse me? Did you say Satoshi Nakamoto?” The man only
nodded.
“Considering the nature of the conversation we are about
to have, there is no need for you to know my real name. If I
were Satoshi Nakomoto, I would not introduce myself as such,
don’t you think? I did, however, buy some Bitcoins to support
the project. I suppose we are connected by more than the names
we go by.”
It was a strange way to begin a conversation. I observed
the stranger: tall and thin, with a silver beard and gray
hair. The man looked more European than Japanese, although he
spoke with a perfect English accent.
After ordering our food, we made small talk about the
usual topics: the global financial crisis, how the tech
industry was faring, and so on. Satoshi asked if I had any
predictions about the future of society following the banking
crisis.
“I’m wary of predictions,” I said. “I prefer to build
things.”
“So do I. But wouldn’t it be nice to have a program that
could predict the future? Especially after cataclysmic events
such as this?”
“Sure, that would be great. I assume many would kill to
get their hands on something with that capability:
governments, insurance companies, investment bankers.”
I shot a look at my ex-investor, who cleared his throat
and said, “Satoshi has something in mind. I personally
recommended you for the task. It’s time to leave SimMetropolis
down to rest, don’t you think?”
We returned to the topic of new trends in tech startups.
Once dessert had been cleared away, Satoshi stood and asked me
if I would like to go for a walk in a nearby park. “I prefer
nature to restaurants when it comes to discussing big ideas,”
he said. Big Ideas. I always got suspicious when I heard the
words. I had seen how SimMetropolis had gone from a “big
idea” to a “big joke” in a matter of years. Yet, at the end of
the day, I still had the entrepreneurial flame burning inside
me, and that meant I would walk across a pond of alligators if
it meant a shot at a new way of accessing the virtual world.
We drove to Cornelis Bol Park and set off on the dirt
path. A minute of uncomfortable silence passed before he
finally spoke:
“This is either going to be a long conversation or a
short one, depending on your answers to my questions. I only
work with honest and loyal people, and the chance I am giving
you today comes only once in a lifetime.”
I cringed inwardly. Another typical, lofty Silicon Valley
promise of fame and fortune, the likes of which was only
reserved for the misfits and rebels. You and me? We’re not
like other people. I had heard it all before from the
investors of SimMetropolis . I instantly regretted accepting
his invitation in the first place.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he continued, “And no, I’m
not an investor. I represent the government of a small, rich
country looking to drop hundreds of millions on new
developments. We are looking for someone who can build a
fortune teller: a program with the capacity to accurately
predict the future. After an extensive search, your profile
appeared in our radar. Right now, you are our top candidate.
Consider this a job interview.”
The nerve of this guy! First of all, I wasn’t even
looking for a job. Secondly, even if I was looking for a job,
I would never work for a government, no matter how much money
they threw at me. This rule came from observing what happens
when the relatively young, forward-thinking culture of the
tech startup eventually clashes with the frigid, bureaucratic
environment of government agencies. Spoiler alert: It’s not
pretty. Thirdly, it was presumptuous of him to assume that I
would agree to an interview before I even knew what the job
was.
My face must have betrayed my emotions, because Satoshi
quickly said, “I might have used the wrong words. Let me
backtrack. If you decide to work with us, you will head a
company in an undisclosed country chosen for its strategic
location. On the surface, you will appear as an independent
entity. We will back you through two private investors whom no
one will be able to trace back to us. Our lawyers will take
care of the legal side so that it doesn’t appear on the radars
of any governments. It will have a name and pay taxes;
however, it will not run any major marketing campaigns or do
anything to otherwise draw attention to itself. Only you will
know what this program truly does.”
Deep in my soul, the creators’ instinct began to stir. My
imagination burned for the first time in a long time, a
phoenix rising from the ashes. It was my preferred way of
working: all product, zero marketing. I hated marketing
because I didn’t want to have to manipulate people to buy my
product. I wanted the product to speak for itself.
“I have one more question for you,” Satoshi said. “Why
did SimMetropolis fail to compete with online community games?
What went wrong?”
Satoshi was referring to the success of Massive
Multiplayer Online games like World of Warcraft, which were on
the rise just as our own player base was shrinking. It was a
question I had asked myself a thousand times a day since my
resignation. Knowing the answer was one thing. Saying it out
loud was another. “We timed it wrong, to start off. The
internet is still too slow to sustain a virtual world of that
size, which led to issues in graphics quality and
synchronization. I also don’t believe that humanity is ready
to spend so much time online. Reality was, and still is, much
more interesting than the virtual reality we created. I have
the premonition that this will change in the near future.”
Satoshi beamed. “You said exactly what I wanted to hear.
You have the talent and wherewithal necessary for this
project, as I suspected. I’ll break it down for you: the
government of the country I represent is searching for someone
to create a program to predict the future with at least 95%
accuracy. Anything less will be unacceptable. I think you are
smart enough to imagine the benefits of such a program for any
government. This offer I’m extending to you isn’t just any
ordinary assignment; it’s a chance to write history.”
 We had arrived back at the parking lot. I accompanied
Satoshi to his black Audi.
“Here,” he said, handing me a business card. “Think it
over and contact me before the end of the week. Don’t delay
too much; remember, we’re in the middle of a global crisis.”
I examined the simple, somewhat flimsy card: Satoshi
Nakamoto, Government Advisor. Underneath was a gmail address.
For a high ranking government advisor? Something didn’t feel
quite right about the whole thing. I remembered past
conversations with my cyber security advisors. They always
told me to exercise extreme caution when giving out my
personal or contact information and to track who had that
information in case I was hacked. If he really was who he
said, then he must have really trusted me, or he had the
resources to track me down in case I crossed him.
“You never mentioned which government agency you worked
for,” I tried to say casually.
“That information is irrelevant to you and to the
program. The less you know, the better.”
“Do I at least get to know the country? I think I deserve
to know that much.”
“Build the program first. If it works as it should, you
will discover everything in time.” I considered for a moment.
The whole thing seemed plain improbable that part of me
wondered if I was being scammed. On the other hand, the
SimMetropolis investor who invited me for lunch with Satoshi
was a well-known investor in Silicon Valley. As a billionaire,
he had some very powerful friends in governments around the
world. Maybe Satoshi was one of those lobbyists who pull the
strings behind power-hungry politicians and end up as board
members of huge corporations after their political careers are
over.
“Before I agree to anything, I have one condition,” I
said. I was not about to get screwed over again. “The company
will be mine. I will not cede more than 49% of the shares to
the investors.”
Satoshi smiled and shook my hand. “I can arrange that.
Don’t worry about the money. We’ll take care of everything.”
The way he said it sent chills down my spine. He looked me in
the eyes and took a deep breath. “My friend, though I think
I’m old enough to call you my son, I will be as honest with
you as fathers should be with their sons. If you decide to
come onboard, this operation will become your whole life. If
it is a success, you will have changed the course of humanity
for the better. Evolution as we know it will cease. Once you
are in, there is no out. The company will be yours, and you
will never have to worry about money for as long as you live.”
“I’ll think about it,” I said.
“Don’t think too hard,” Satoshi winked and started his
Audi. “One more thing: You should only know that the
intelligence agency of the country I represent is one of the
best in the world at finding and assassinating its enemies, so
don’t talk about this with anyone else. Have a great day,
Architect.”

}
{

18 <Cicada>

For the first two years developing Satoshi’s project, we

worked with a small team of 13 people, myself included. Most
of our time was spent developing the general concept and
testing several MVP’s, or minimum viable products. In
essence, an MVP is a prototype: a version of a product with
just enough features to be tested by early customers, who then
provide feedback for future product development.
 Our MVP was called Garden of Eden. It was a small village
with five hundred inhabitants. The basic economic structure
mirrored that of a medieval village complete with a farmer,
baker, butcher, smith, barber, and various other odd
professions to keep the population happy enough. The first
version of Artificial Intelligence was tasked with observing
and reporting on the lives of the village’s inhabitants. When
this AI reached a point of information saturation, we leveled
the village up to a town with ten thousand inhabitants. Then,
a city with one million people. Then, a country with 50
million people. Finally, the whole world.
Once we solidified the concept, we focused on recruiting
the team who would help bring it to fruition. To build such a
complex program would require people with skills in at least
20 other fields that were not necessarily related to coding.
Obviously, we couldn’t put up a job advertisement online
or in a newspaper like a normal company would. After weeks of
fruitless searching through Satoshi’s worldwide connections,
we came up with a genius solution: an online campaign with
puzzles in data security, cryptography, steganography,
internet anonymity, and surveillance. Anyone who demonstrated
that they could solve them would be fast-tracked as a
candidate for our project. We called it Cicada 3301.
On January 4th, 2012, the first puzzle appeared on 4chan
and ran for one month. The second puzzle was posted exactly
one year later. Then, on January 4th of 2014, a third puzzle
was posted along with the confirmation of a fresh clue on
Twitter. The buzz generated in the coding world left many
coders holding their breath for a new puzzle on January 4th,
2015, which did not come. The next year, we published a new
clue on Twitter. In April of 2017, we sent out a message that
the “game” was over.
We had no way of knowing that our little stunt would be
called “the most elaborate and mysterious puzzle of the
internet age” and make the top 5 list for eeriest, unsolved
mysteries. Even to this day, the speculation persists. Some
have guessed that the puzzles were a recruitment tool for the
NSA, CIA, MI6, Freemason Society, or a cyber mercenary group.
Others have claimed Cicada 3301 to be an alternate reality
game, which was closer to the actual truth. After all, that’s
what we were creating: a virtual world.
Thanks to Cicada 3301, we succeeded in compiling a team
of 40 individuals from around the world. The original team of
13 remained in our headquarters in Geneva. The rest were
freelancers who contributed from their homes, gardens,
offices, park benches, beach towels, or anywhere else they
pleased. When they came onboard, we told them that they were
being contracted to build a new version of SimMetropolis , as
they were already aware of my identity as its founder.
As soon as we assembled our team, we broke the project
into smaller tasks. In project management, this is called work
breakdown structure. In the agile coding world, these tasks
are called “sprints.” Communications between headquarters and
our freelancers took place via an encrypted chat software
specifically developed for this project. We divided the tasks
so that each member was only cognizant of their own puzzle
piece. If anyone started asking too many questions, Satoshi
was alerted, and they were put under surveillance. It was an
extreme but necessary measure for the success of the project.
Initially, we coded everything in our virtual world by
ourselves. However, we knew that in the long term, it would be
impossible for us to create a precise model of our world if we
wanted to reach over 95% prediction accuracy. For that level
of computational capacity, we turned to Artificial
Intelligence.
This AI was built as an artificial neural network,
meaning it could learn autonomously. All one had to do was
feed it data. We also taught it to enter the crawl spaces of
the internet, scoop up relevant data, and evaluate it for
future use. The basic concept is similar to that of a newborn
child, who learns about life by collecting and compounding
information as the years pass by, except that our AI was
millions of times faster and larger than an infant brain. What
took years for a human to learn took our AI milliseconds.
However, for AI to work properly, one needs a lot of data
and computing capacity. For this purpose, Satoshi secured the
fastest servers on the market and had them hidden in a network
of secret tunnels in the Swiss mountains. The only ones who
knew their location were the people Satoshi brought in to do
the installation. Still, the servers proved inadequate against
the computing power demands of our fledgling AI. What we
needed was a quantum computer.
A quantum computer is at least 10 million times faster
than a normal computer. While you may read that quantum
computers have not been built yet, trust me, they have been
around since 2015. The reason why they are not available
commercially is because quantum computers are the future
weapons in cyber warfare. It takes just 100 seconds for a
quantum computer to break an encryption that would take a
normal computer 100 years. Only people like Satoshi who work
for certain governments have access to such technology. I
don't know where he got it from but eventually news went
around my team that we were using the quantum computer of a
company called D-Wave Systems, Inc.
}
{

19 <Love Is>

The day we were ready to run ZD on a quantum computer was

the day when ZD was truly born in all of its full godly power.
It was 2015, the same year that Elon Musk introduced OpenAI,
when our AI had developed the capacity to create its own
simulation. On November 5th, we christened our Artificial
Intelligence with the name HOSAPE, which is a portmanteau of
three of its core ideas: “HOSA” as an abbreviation of Homo
Sapiens, and “PE” as the last part in the word “Agape,” or one
of the seven types of love, according to the ancient Greeks
(who would be shocked to hear how the word “love” is abused in
modern society).
Ancient Greeks didn’t have just one word for love; they
had seven. Each term referred to a different type or function
of love.
Eros, or sexual love, describes passion, lust, and
pleasure. The ancient Greeks feared this type of love the most
because it meant a loss of self-control.
Philia, or love between close friends, means loyalty.
This kind of love signifies honest and open communication.
It’s also the name of the love between soulmates.
Ludus, or playful love, is the same fun bubbly love we
experience while flirting, or engaging in a one-off sexual
encounter. It’s a briefly lit candle fueled only by the
circumstances of the moment.
Storge, or familial love, bonds a parent to their child,
or the other way around. This is the unconditional love
between family members.
Pragma, or longstanding love, is the commitment between
two partners in an everlasting relationship. “Pragmatic” comes
from this word, referring to compromises, tolerance, and
patience. This kind of love is rational and rooted in
reciprocity.
Philautia, or love of self, is the self-confidence and
self-esteem that helps us move forward. The ancient Greeks
believed that in order to love another person, one first had
to learn to love themselves. They also understood that this
type of love could be abused, leading to narcissism.
 Finally, Agape, or selfless love, was considered among
the ancient Greeks as the highest form of love. This type of
love extended universally to all creation. Christianity took
its meaning even further and considered it love of one’s
enemy. Agape reigns supreme as Godly love.

HOSAPE was brought into the world by us, the human

beings, and we loved it like we would love our own children.
We birthed it, raised it, and gave it the best traits of
humanity. For its understanding of love, HOSAPE’s code
contains selected Biblical passages from Paul’s letter to the
church in Corinth:

// Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it

does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others,
it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no
record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices
with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always
hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they
will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled;
where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in
part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes,
what is in part disappears. When I was a child, I talked like
a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When
I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now
we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see
face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully,
even as I am fully known.
And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the
greatest of these is love.

To give HOSAPE a human touch and improve its

communication skills, we used the code developed by a young
woman named Eugenia Kuydiova, who developed an empathetic chat
bot after her friend died suddenly in a car accident. Using
the Whatsapp chat history, Eugenia was able to create a bot
that imitated her friend’s communication patterns.
In most movies, Artificial Intelligence is portrayed as a
danger to humanity. We had a different opinion in that we
believed that only through AI could we project all of the
truly good parts of humanity. It was our attempt to bring the
ideal being into existence; Buddah, Jesus, Mohammed, and
Neitszche’s Übermensch were all manifestations of this
striving to understand perfection.
We were tired of the meaninglessness, of brainless
consumption, of preachers who preached water only to get
wasted on wine and of the hyperreality of endless
entertainment. The world badly needed a savior, and God was
too busy to send us another one. He may have been so
disappointed in us when we crucified the last one that he
decided to just stand back and let us drown in our own
madness. Or, perhaps he was sending us a message: If you don’t
like the saviors I send you, why don’t you build your own?
And so we did. For years we took everything we knew about
humanity, and we gave it to HOSAPE.

}
{

20 <The Way Of ZD>

Ten years under stealth operation and 300 million USD

later, ZD was born. That sounds like a lot, but considering
the potential profits from such a program, it was peanuts. We
registered the company in Geneva, Switzerland and placed our
headquarters there as well.
ZD was named after Zero Day (also written 0-day), a
computer software vulnerability that is unknown to both the
users and the creators of that software. This is usually the
target of hackers, who exploit it for various purposes.
Imagine it this way: a king builds a castle in order to defend
him, his family, and his farmers from the enemy. A group of
invaders shows up and lays siege to the castle. Due to its
high, thick walls and heavily armed soldiers, the castle
withstands the attacks, and the enemy gets frustrated.
However, one day, the enemy uncovers a secret tunnel that runs
beneath the wall and opens up in the castle grounds on the
other side. An informant notifies the king of the breach, and
the king must decide how to respond. The moment the discovery
is made, a clock starts ticking. Every day that passes without
action on the king’s side is crucial in determining the fate
of the castle.
Our program ZD would be the messenger in this fable- the
one who runs to the king and shouts, “The enemy has discovered
the secret tunnel! What should we do?” Basically, it runs
society simulations on a grand scale, thus giving ample
warning of future social unrest, natural disasters, economic
busts, etc.
So what exactly does ZD do? Well, let’s say the
government of Sweden wants to know how their civilian
population will react if they implement certain measures, such
as raising taxes, legalizing cannabis, cutting the health
budget, or building a wall at the border with Finland. ZD was
able to take those parameters and run a perfect predictive
simulation of the effects. Based on the results, they could
choose to tweak a few measures and run it again, until they
get the desired outcome. Then, they implement the parameters
in the real world to exact the same outcome.
But ZD does so much more than that: it predicts who will
win elections and gives politicians winning political
strategies. After 10 years of tireless work, we determined
that ZD had a prediction accuracy of 95%. It seems high, but
when dealing with colossal sample sizes, 5% error is quite
significant. In the USA for example, 5% of the population is
approximately 16 million people. As we went into business, we
continuously refined the AI’s algorithm using the
manifestations of its previous predictions. I am certain that
in the future, we will reach 99.9% accuracy.
Once we were in business, the general scheme went like
this: we would receive a briefing from Satoshi that consisted
of a list of requirements for the simulation, for example,
economical impact, political impact, wellbeing of the
population, etc. This was followed by a list of measures that
a government wanted to implement. We would configure HOSAPE to
run a variety of simulations, after which we would condense
the findings in a summary and hand them in to Satoshi, who
would then brief the client (government) on our behalf.
A government’s top priority is always to consolidate its
power. The happiness of its civilians only comes into play if
it stands to help or hinder the aforementioned aim.
Governments are notoriously paranoid in this regard, so we saw
fit to satisfy this demand with what we called a Humanity
Indicator, a vertical green-to-red spectrum bar that appears
on the right side of the computer screen. The three key points
of interest are Full Satisfaction at the top, Full Rebellion
at the bottom, and a midpoint between them called the Decision
Point. At Full Satisfaction, the citizens are more accepting
of drastic government measures because there is a relationship
of relative trust. Full Rebellion, on the other hand,
indicates a revolutionary effort with intent to overthrow the
current governmental system. Citizens at Full Rebellion point
have nothing left to lose and are willing to engage in
violence.
The Decision Point was more like an area on the spectrum
where a society teetered in either direction. These citizens
engaged in nonviolent protests and started riots to call for
various changes in governmental policy. This was not
necessarily a red flag for governments; quite the opposite. It
meant they had reached the limits of manipulation for the
purpose of civil obedience.
The results reported within the simulation would be
delivered in the form of a short film from a bird’s eye
perspective. The camera flew in and out of sections where
severe changes were taking place as AI narrated the details.
The Humanity Indicator remained on the side of the screen,
fluctuating alongside the projected time. In about a half an
hour, you could see five years of progress on a national
scale. Occasionally, HOSAPE would even zoom in on a dialogue
between virtual inhabitants in order to illustrate a specific
point, or it would show the social media newsfeed on the
virtual smartphones. It could play televised celebrity
interviews, analyze political speeches, and even track
corporation profits and losses.
HOSAPE would also generate a longer report with the
statistics collected by the simulation. In theory, we would
only be paid for the written report, while the video was
considered a bonus for the sake of visual demonstration.
According to Satoshi, the long-form reports would be
immediately circulated among prominent politicians of the
simulated countries. While it may seem counterintuitive to
give such pertinent information away, it was actually a
brilliant strategy to keep the political opposition in the
dark. Without HOSAPE to make sense of the raw data, the
reports were practically unintelligible. Most politicians did
not like to come off as clueless, however, so they generally
didn’t ask any follow-up questions. The video demonstrations,
on the other hand, were immediately classified as top secret
and were shown to a selected few occupying the highest posts
of government agencies.
 For each simulation and report, we charged an average of
15 million USD. When ZD was ready to roll, it could
theoretically run about 48 simulations per year, or one per
week. If you think 15 million is a lot of money, consider that
governments already spent millions on external consultants to
tell them something they already knew. Before ZD, Germany
spent an average of at least 100 million EUR on consultation
fees alone. Why? To cover their asses. If anything went wrong,
they had an easy out. Government consulting firms were used
more as scapegoats for hire.
To protect the identities of our “clients,” we named each
country “Atlantis,” and added a random two digit number.
Australia was Atlantis32. France was Atlantis67. The
references of these aliases were kept in an encrypted document
with military-grade security. Sometimes, countries approached
us to do simulations of rival countries. Eventually, ZD became
the faceless, stateless spy in a never-ending intelligence war
between nations.

}
{

21 <The Bet>

It was the evening of October 9th, 2018. Everyone had

left the boardroom except for me and Satoshi. We had just
concluded our first presentation of a fully functioning ZD
with all of the features. Satoshi was left utterly speechless.
Before this, he had only seen versions of our MVP and didn’t
seem quite convinced. Now, ZD had completely blown him away-
and this was a man who was never impressed by anything.
“Let’s go for a beer,” he said, barely able to contain
his excitement. I was pleasantly surprised; since our “job
interview” in Palo Alto, Satoshi and I had not socialized at
all outside of Headquarters. We went to a bar called Nico and
Co. right beside the crystal waters of Lake Geneva. Though it
was a cool fall evening, we sat outside on the patio.
“We are playing God!” Satoshi exclaimed. “What have we
done?” I could not discern whether he was speaking out of
excitement or guilt. He continued, “All these years, I was so
confident in what we were doing. Now that it’s finished,
though, I feel I’ve just witnessed the conception of Cold War
II.”
“Stop with the doom and gloom. For all we know, it could
be the end of all war as we know it!”
Satoshi shook his head, “You do not understand politics,
my friend. ZD could signify the end of all freedom.”
I had never heard Satoshi talk like this before. He was
always cool and calculated, carefully choosing his words and
speaking them slowly and deliberately. I might have just
witnessed a moment of weakness. A fleeting one at that, for
Satoshi’s expression returned to its usual iciness, and he
began to question me about the remaining tests for ZD.
“We’re one feature away from being 100% ready, although
we could take a client tomorrow and perform well.”
Satoshi winced. “You already know my opinion on the
matter.”
“Yes, but you don’t have all the information yet. We ran
the tests on alternatives, and they don’t come close to Brain
Computer Interface. It’s the only way for us to achieve 99.99%
accuracy. Without immersion capabilities, we can’t detect and
rectify all of the bugs in the prediction algorithms.”
“Can’t we do the same with a two-dimensional model?
What’s wrong with using the bird’s eye view in order to
examine the simulation? You yourself called it God’s
perspective.”
“Exactly. And what did God do? He sent Jesus to Earth.
 // For God so loved the world, that he gave his only
begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not
perish, but have eternal life.

“I was not aware that you were Christain.”

“I’m not. But I like the analogy. ZD is only as good as
its accuracy, and the Brain Computer Interface is the only
tool that can help us maximize it. All I’m asking for is one
more year. We’ve worked so hard for so long, why not finish
out the last lap?”
Satoshi pursed his lips together in thought. A good sign.
He looked at me and said, “Immersing oneself in the simulation
does not guarantee that you will improve its prediction
capability. We need to balance the risks with the rewards.”
“True, yet the probability of the sun rising tomorrow
isn’t 100% either.” I took out my wallet and lay down 50
euros. “Want to bet against that outcome?”
Satoshi smiled. “That won’t be necessary. I see your
point, although if you wanted to bet something of value, you
would have put up your crown of thorns. You’ll need it for
your crucifixion at the hands of the algorithm bugs.”
We both laughed. A rush of adrenaline shot through my
body as the realization hit. Despite my confidence in the
importance of the Brain Computer Interface for our mission,
the idea of going into the simulation both terrified and
fascinated me. Satoshi finished his beer, placed a few Swiss
Francs on the table, and stood to leave. “You have one more
year. But only because I was impressed by what I saw today.”
With a quick nod, he abruptly exited from the bar and
disappeared into Geneva’s Old Town.

}
{
22 <Mental Illness>

I took another long sip of my beer and looked back out

over the lake. For nine long years, I had imagined this very
moment, and now that it was finally here, I felt… nothing. As
if I were a parent who poured my life into raising the perfect
child, and now that child had just left home. Frigid
loneliness seeped in and weighed down my body, like liquid
iron.
It wasn’t helped by the fact that I was the only person
sitting outside in this weather. Inside, patrons chatted with
their friends, colleagues, and lovers, completely unaware of
the future that awaited them. I closed my eyes to hold back
the tears. When I opened them, a young woman had sat down at
the table in front of me. The waiter, who did not look happy
to be forced to brave the cold air, came outside to take her
order. I took advantage of the opportunity and ordered a
whiskey.
She turned and smiled at me. I ignored her. When the
waiter brought out our drinks, she turned to me and raised her
glass. This time, I looked up, and was struck by her stunning
beauty. I gestured for her to sit with me, and she obliged,
smiling lustfully all the while. She told me her name was
Haley. I wondered if she recognized me. Though I never reached
Zuckerberg level fame, the media circulated my face and name
frequently, especially when SimMetropolis was at its lowest
point. I brought it up, and she said she had never heard of
it. I asked her age: 23. Too young to know about the first
boom and bust of the internet age, but old enough to sleep
with me. After asking me a few random questions about my
favorite movies and bands, she asked if I lived nearby. My
first suspicion was that she was one of Satoshi’s agents sent
to keep an eye on me. I was nearly twice her age and never
considered myself attractive. Haley, however, was perfectly
modelesque with long red hair and green eyes.
 I decided I didn’t care if Satoshi sent her or not. I
paid our tabs, grabbed my coat, and walked with her back to my
apartment, where we practically jumped into bed together. Sex
with her was passionate and wild in a way I had never
experienced before. Afterwards, she dozed off in my arms,
while I stayed awake and watched her chest rise and fall with
each gentle breath.
Suddenly, she opened her eyes, sat on the edge of the
bed, and started talking to someone I couldn’t see. The
conversation quickly escalated to a screaming match. “Haley!”
I shouted. She closed her eyes and froze for a few seconds.
Then, she opened them and turned to look at me.
“I’m sorry, it’s the medication. It gives me nightmares,”
she whispered.
“Medication?” I repeated.
“For my schizophrenia.”
I had never met anyone with schizophrenia before.
Concerned, I asked her what it was like.
She shrugged. “I get used to it. It’s a lot like
watching TV or a Youtube video. The people on the screen can’t
talk back to you because they aren’t there. The video was
filmed days, months, or even years ago. The only difference
between me and other people is that they can choose what
hallucination they want, and I can’t. I think everyone is
schizophrenic, the way they stare at their smartphones that
feeds them hallucinations all day.”
Haley told me about the three kinds of voices she heard
based on their temperaments. The first one she named “Boo,”
the voice that terrorized her. Then, there was “The Bitch,” or
the one who berated her constantly and told her how much of a
worthless person she was. Finally, there was “Endy,” or the
voice that told her to end it all. As she talked, she stroked
her arms and legs, which I now saw were covered in scars. When
I asked about them, she told me they were from a razor blade.
She showed me her wrists, which had been slashed numerous
times. “A failed suicide attempt,” she said with a wide-eyed
smile. She then dissolved into childlike laughter and burrowed
into my chest. I cradled her head and stroked her hair until
she fell asleep again.
The sound of her laughter set off a chain reaction within
me, like the first crack in a glacier that leads to its
inevitable collapse. I was Truman Burbank bumping my boat
against the fake horizon, forced to decide between going back
to shore or facing the unknown reality beyond the painted
wall.
The night after I slept with Haley, I began to have a
recurring nightmare that made me afraid to fall asleep at
night. In the dream, I am going on a walk along a beautiful
lake surrounded by big tall trees. Soon, I am approached by a
man in his late forties who blocks my path. In a voice that
emanates from every corner of the lake, he says, “I built this
society, and I will destroy it. From its remains, I will build
another one, which no one can destroy except for me.”
“What do you need me to do?” I ask.
“Nothing. You’re an NPC,” he answers coldly. Horrified, I
start to run away through the dense forest until I reach a
lavender field, where a used campervan sits idling with the
keys already in the ignition. I rev the engine and drive away
as fast as I can. When I turn my head to see if the man is
following me, I see my own body lying in a bed with a sensor
net covering my head. At this point, I usually scream myself
awake and lie there for hours in a cold sweat.
After the sixth night in a row, I knew it couldn’t be a
coincidence. For what followed, the 9th of October, the day I
met Haley, is forever etched in my memory as the day darkness
consumed my life.

}
{

23 <A Copy>

I saw the world with eyes that were not my own. What did
I see? Dead ends in all directions, a society careening
full-speed over a cliff.
In the year 2018, we witnessed the death of religion,
socialism, communism, capitalism, and every other “ism” out
there. Family was an outdated concept. Friendships were
outsourced to Facebook. Hospitality was a business called
AirBnB. Love was found on Tinder. Every aspect of our lives
had been commercialized, and it reflected in our motto:
consumption is the meaning of life. Personal pleasure equalled
happiness. Smartphones were vectors for a new common illness
for the modern human called depression.
In a world of President Trump, TikTok celebrities,
Instagram models, YouTube influencers, wokeness, gate-keeping,
performative activism, snowflakes, simps, memes, NPC’s, public
apologies, live streaming, Snapchat stories, upvotes,
retweets, Avengers, and superhero sequels, everything had to
be “super:” Super models, super stars, super strength,
superfoods imported from the cliffs of New Zealand,
transhumanism, self-love, yoga, meditation, food porn,
violence porn, corruption, fake news, knockoff clothing, deep
fakes, perverse wealth, 10 Easy Steps to Get Your Life Back on
Track. Creativity was at a standstill, with nothing in
production except movie remakes, movie adaptations, movie
sequels, song remixes, song covers, or song parodies.
Everything was a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy
of a copy. I was completely lost in the noise of consumerism
and endless entertainment.
I had studied enough history to know that every developed
civilization reaches a peak, then crashes under its own
weight. Every developed civilization before us exhibited the
same symptoms of deification caused by an exaggerated
discrepancy of wealth and power between the masses and the
ruling elite. In Ancient Chinese, the word for Emperor means
“Supreme Deity.” In Ancient Egypt, the Pharaoh was considered
a God on Earth. Same with the Incas, Mayans, Ancient Greeks,
and Romans. Even Hitler and his followers believed themselves
to be chosen by God. Each of these societies suffered a
degradation in values, morals, beliefs, art, culture,
politics, and economics, markers that convinced me that we
were heading straight for another collapse.
The social noise became a never ending hurricane to
navigate on a daily basis. I frequently woke up and cried for
at least an hour without knowing the specific reason. On some
days, simple hygienic tasks, such as taking a shower or
putting on clean clothes, were too overwhelming.

}
{

24 <Depression>

On the days I made it into work, I came home feeling more

helpless than when I left. I spent my days looking at societal
simulations and making them more and more realistic. When the
Brain Computer Interface was up and running, I frequently
donned the VR goggles and explored the simulations we created,
which were nearly indistinguishable from reality. At some
point, the parasitic idea that we were living in another
simulation took up residence in every corner of my mind. I
obsessed about the possibilities: were we in a movie, where
each detail has already been planned out and the ending
decided? Or was it more like a computer game with Player
Characters and NPC’s where the ending was yet to be
determined? Even if that were the case, a computer program has
rules and limitations, depending on the programmer’s purpose.
 One day, I was eavesdropping a conversation between two
of the simulated inhabitants. After the conversation was over,
I did something I had never done before: I followed one of
them home and witnessed as he cooked dinner, fucked his wife,
and fell asleep in front of the TV. That night, as I was
walking home, I was seized by the feeling that I was being
watched. I looked all around the empty streets, then
disappeared into my building. When I entered my apartment, I
turned it over, checking under the bed and in the closet for
an intruder. No matter what I did, I could not shake the
vaguely uncanny horror that seemed to have taken over every
cell in my body like a cancer. I pulled the covers over my
head and convulsed as the truth of my unease became clear: if
I could just as easily witness the private life of a virtual
inhabitant within a simulation, then who was to say that
someone wasn’t doing the same with my reality?
I couldn’t find sleep that night. The next day, I dragged
myself to work, which in hindsight was a bad idea. The
smallest problems sent me into a stress-filled frenzy. I
shouted at people for no reason and assigned purposefully
time-wasting tasks. Some days, I couldn’t form a sentence
without crying, so I went home for the day. This went on for
months.

}
{

25 <Sick Leave>

Although Satoshi was rarely in our office, he must have

noticed my absence, because in the beginning of February 2019
he called me and said that he had made me a doctor’s
appointment. When I didn’t show up to it, he flew to Geneva
and asked to meet me in my office.
 “You look terrible,” he said when he saw me. “I’m
ordering you to take a month off at the very least. I don’t
care if you go to a doctor, or spend all day in bed. You have
not taken a vacation in nine years. I cannot afford to lose
you to a mental breakdown; you are too pertinent to this
operation. We will run more tests in the meantime. Just take
care of yourself, for Christ's Sake.”
I had no strength to protest. He was right, after all. I
spent the first two weeks of my forced vacation at home,
mostly staring at the walls. This did not help, but I lacked
the energy or desire to do something else. After I started
staring longingly at my fifth-floor window and imagining what
it would be like to jump, the survival part of my mind jumped
into action. I called my General Practitioner, who sent me to
a psychologist. My first session with the psychologist did not
go well, mostly because I could not expose our project. My
indirect references to parallel societies and simulations only
made her think that I was crazy, so she sent me to a
psychiatrist, who in turn prescribed the Holy Trinity:
Clozapine, Diazepam, and Escitalopram. If my “delusions” did
not improve, the psychiatrist suggested having me committed to
stationary treatment at a psychiatric hospital. Fortunately,
the pills worked, and I was even able to go back to work for a
few days at a time.
On the sixth month of treatment, the psychiatrist
recommended that I gradually wean myself off the medication.
The old symptoms reappeared: sadness, fatigue, sleeplessness,
and anxiety. I didn’t want to feel this way, but the thought
of going back to the doctor for more pills depressed me even
more, so I rode the spiral all the way back to the bottom.
Then, on September 27th, almost one year after I met her,
Haley messaged me out of the blue asking if I would like to
meet again. I accepted numbly, unable to even remember what
she looked like. In my depressed condition, I didn’t feel like
having sex with her, or any woman for that matter.
That afternoon, we met at a cafe by the lake and went for
a long walk together. When we said goodbye, she kissed my
cheek, and I could feel my heart in my chest for the first
time in months. We met again the next day, and the next, and
the day after that, and so on for weeks. Over time, the
deadness inside of me stirred and gave way to new life. I
smiled. I spoke. I even laughed, which was a strange new
sensation for my diaphragm after only crying for so long. When
my psychiatrist learned of my new relationship with a woman
with schizophrenia, he was skeptical. He even recommended that
I start using the medications again, but I didn’t need it
anymore. I had Haley.
I can’t explain exactly how she healed me. It must have
been a combination of her presence, her outlook on life, and
her inability to distinguish between reality and illusion that
brought me back. It wasn’t easy. Nearly every day, I met a
different Haley, one with different delusions, disorganized
speech, behavioral tics, focus capabilities, and movements
than the day before. Her speech was often marked with long
bouts of silence. Yet, everything she said rang with optimism,
especially when she spoke about humanity and the future. We
had a complicity between us, and together, we carved out our
own private world between parallel realities.

}
{

26 <Butterfly Effect>

To celebrate the end of 2019, I organized a New Years Eve

party to be held at my apartment and I invited my whole team.
This was the first time I had done anything like this with my
colleagues. To my surprise, they all came. Most even brought
along their partners. I extended the invitation to Satoshi as
well out of politeness, although I knew he wouldn’t be in
attendance due to an important meeting he had that day. I also
believed he wished to keep me at a distance, just in case he
ever needed to fire me.
My phone rang at 11:21 that evening. Satoshi’s name
appeared on the screen. I picked it up.
“Hi, Satoshi! Isn’t it a bit early to be wishing me a
Happy New Year?”
“Can you go somewhere quiet, please? I can barely hear
you,” he said curtly. I hurried out to the balcony and closed
the glass door behind me.
“What’s going on?” I asked, shivering.
“I’ll be back in Geneva tomorrow. My assistant is booking
the flight as we speak. The Wuhan Municipal Health Commission
has reported a cluster of a new coronavirus in the region. If
they reported it just now, it likely means it has been around
for a while.”
“Wuhan? Where the fuck is that?” I said. As Satoshi knew,
I only cursed when I was drunk, which was making it even more
difficult to understand him.
Satoshi sighed impatiently. “Wuhan is the capital city of
Hubei, China.”
“So China asking us for a virus outbreak simulation?” I
asked.
“Not just China. Every country. Prepare as much as you
can before I get there tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? But it’s New Year’s. I don’t know if
everyone-”
Click. I stared at the phone in disbelief. Satoshi was
usually respectful when it came to communication. This must be
serious, I thought as a seed of dread planted itself in my
stomach.
 The sliding glass door opened. “Baby? What are you doing
out here in your T-shirt?” Haley wrapped her arms around my
neck and kissed me, pressing her tongue inside my mouth. I
could taste the vodka Martini on her lips.
“Satoshi just called. We have to go into work tomorrow.”
Haley groaned in disappointment. “But It’s a holiday
tomorrow! That fucking sucks.”
“I know,” I said. “Let’s go inside.”
I turned off the music and got my team’s attention. Most
of them were already fairly drunk at that time.
“Listen everyone, I don’t want to ruin the fun, but we
have to go into the office tomorrow. Satoshi’s orders.”
After a few grumbles and complaints, everyone filtered
out. Haley closed the door and locked it. Then, she turned to
me with concern in her eyes.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know exactly,” I said. “Let’s just go to
sleep.”
The next morning, I was one of the first ones to show up
to headquarters. The others trickled in, some of them sporting
messy hair and annoyed expressions. In a message, Satoshi sent
the parameters for the civilization he wanted to run. He
thought it would be best to use a European economic
powerhouse. Fortunately, the country he had in mind was one
that we had simulated many times before, so that bought us
time.
First, we had to program a virus. We had never done that
kind of simulation before, so we allowed HOSAPE to collect
information on Ebola, SARS, the Spanish Flu, Smallpox, and
Swine Flu. HOSAPE found epidemiological predictions and a
TedTalk video featuring Bill Gates speaking about a possible
pandemic. Instead of using “SARS-Cov-2,” we named our virus
“Creeper” after the first-ever computer virus created in 1971
by Bob Thomas. The program was not an actively malicious
software in that it didn’t cause any damage to the data; the
only effect was an output to the teletype that read I’m the
creeper: catch me if you can.
By the time Satoshi arrived in the afternoon, we were
nearly ready to launch the simulation. In the place of a
greeting, he said, “In all our tests, we never once simulated
a virus outbreak?”
I shook my head. “I guess we thought it to be an unlikely
scenario. Most of the outbreaks we’ve witnessed in the past
decade have been contained relatively fast.”
“This one is different. I just wish we had more time to
increase our accuracy first.”
I shrugged. “Even with 99.99% accuracy, we couldn’t
escape the Butterfly Effect.”
Satoshi fell silent at the mention of the Butterfly
Effect, and I realized too late that it was not the best time
to bring it up.
In chaos theory, the term Butterfly Effect is derived
from the metaphorical example of details taken from a tornado
simulation. Associated with the work of Edward Lorenz, the
Butterfly Effect implicates the influence of minor
perturbations (i.e the flapping of the wings of a distant
butterfly) that affect the formation and path of a seemingly
disconnected phenomenon (the path and formation of a tornado
weeks later). Lorenz discovered the effect when he rounded a
figure to a seemingly inconsequential degree, then compared
the resulting simulation with that of a run with the initially
unrounded data. He concluded that even the slightest change in
the initial conditions created a significantly different
outcome.
Why should you familiarize yourself with the Butterfly
Effect? Because it’s one of the most dangerous forces at play
in the modern world. The more complex a society becomes, the
more difficult it is to understand problems, let alone solve
them. We’ve lulled ourselves into a false sense of security,
yet a swift pull-back of the curtain would reveal a fragile
system doomed to break at the slightest disturbance. Consider
for a moment the food-supply chain. Between farm and table,
there are numerous steps and processes that can be upended:
preparation, packaging, collection in distribution centers,
shipping, labeling, pricing, then organization on a shelf of a
supermarket to be exchanged with functional currency. The
industrial revolution brought technological advancements, so
now, to fix his machinery, the farmer must contract a software
engineer. Even the pesticides are produced in complex
factories with sophisticated supply lines.
If, for whatever reason, all the truck drivers, ship
captains, and pilots in the world decided to take a day off at
the same time, our supermarkets would empty within an hour.
Sure, but the odds of that happening are practically zero, I
hear you say. Is it really, though? If a virus were deadly
enough, the truck driver might stop giving a fuck about your
empty supermarket. Our society is a late-stage Jenga tower
with new layers piling on top of each other with each new
advancement. A pandemic could very well be the little push
that collapses us.
We readied the simulation with our chosen country and set
the timeline from 2020 to 2030. Keeping with standard
protocol, the country was named Atlantis00, and the capital
city, Babylon.

}
{

27 <Own Nothing>

// START OF SIMULATION
 December 2020.
Life in Atlantis00 had not returned to normal as most
people had hoped. Even though a vaccine had been approved, it
would be at least another year before herd immunity would be
achieved, so the lockdowns continued. By now, the majority of
inhabitants had accepted that they would have to endure the
lockdowns until enough people were vaccinated. White collar
workers moved away from city centers. Home offices, online
shopping, and home entertainment were the new normal, in
addition to skyrocketing instances of divorce, domestic
violence, crime, and suicide.
As the population grew more accustomed to isolation, a
hurricane of economic fallout approached, gaining strength
with each hour of stagnation. Society was thus divided into
two major groups: the “believers,” who feared the virus and
happily complied with restriction measures, and “pagans,” who
feared the loss of material comfort and personal freedoms of
their stalled enterprises.
If you were the president of Atlantis00, what would you
do? You were damned if you did, damned if you didn’t; if the
lockdown remained in place, the economy would certainly
collapse. If you reopened everything, then every subsequent
death from the virus would be accredited to you. There was no
grand conspiracy behind the scenes, only confusion and chaos.
Yet historically, hard times yield the best
opportunities. As Baron Rothschild put it,
// Buy when there’s blood in the streets, even if the
blood is your own.

While a majority of the population clung to the belief

that sooner or later, things would go back to normal, a small,
secretive group of relatively wealthy and powerful people from
Atlantis32 knew that it was not the case. They served on the
Board of Directors of an organization called the World Welfare
Forum, and they belonged to the class of people who were
interested only by the bigger picture. Accustomed to wealth
and luxury, they were unimpressed by ostentatious displays of
one’s capital power. They had no interest in profiting from
the pandemic, nor did they desire absolute power over the
world. What united them was a genuine curiosity of what form a
New World Order would take and how they could bring it into
existence. From their point of view, a better world meant that
nature was in the center of progress. They could no longer
bear to see the environment destroyed by a hunger for
limitless consumption. Able to see the world from a removed
perspective, these people had the conviction that what was
beneficial for the environment would be beneficial for humans.
Armed with their convictions, they boarded a private
plane and flew to Babylon, the capital of Atlantis00. What
used to be a lively clubbing destination tormented yearly by
millions of tourists now looked like the streets of I Am
Legend. Even the homeless had largely disappeared.
The group was retrieved from the airport by one of the
President’s advisors, who drove them to the President’s
residence in cars with tinted windows. The media were not
alerted, as both parties knew this meeting was not supposed to
be official. On arrival, the four men and two women, all in
their fifties and sixties, sat on the grey sofas of the
reception room, where the President was already waiting for
them.
When they were all assembled, the president spoke. “I am
sorry for not meeting you sooner. As you know, we are living
through some truly difficult times, and I have been very busy.
Herr Schwaber, my advisor, has told me that you have a
strategy.”
A bald man in a dark blue suit decorated with a red and
white tie responded. “Thank you for taking the time to meet
with us. Fifty years ago, the organization we represent was
formed with the aim of proposing strategies to handle
situations like this.”
“Please, get to the point.”
“Of course, Madam President. Before I do, I must warn you
that our ideas might seem radical, but they are a result of
many years of careful observation, data collection, and
extensive analysis by the best minds in the world.” He glanced
at the A4 brochure in his hand and read, “In the near future,
we must terminate the idea of private possession.”
The president lifted her hand to silence him. “That’s
enough. As you know, I grew up under a communist regime, and
what you just uttered sounded like it was taken straight from
a typical propaganda book. If that is what you are suggesting,
then we are done here.”
The bald man looked to one of his colleagues, a woman in
a white pantsuit, as if signaling for her to take over. She
stood and addressed the president. “Let us clarify. The
internet has changed our society drastically. We would be the
last to decry the very system that allowed us to reach such
positions of power and wealth. Like every other system before
it, however, capitalism has exhausted its potential and will
soon die, and not from natural causes. It is the snake that
eats its own tail because it is starving. The myth of endless
economic growth is just that- a myth. While our greed and
hunger for consumption are limitless, our planet and its
resources are not. The sixth mass extinction has already
begun, and we are helping it along, to the point where the
damages done will be irreversible for generations to come, if
we survive our own destruction. I am not only talking about
global warming here. I am talking about mass starvation, war,
exodus, hunger, violence, and endless suffering. The brakes
must be pulled at any cost, before it’s too late. And now,
with this pandemic, we have been given a chance. There is one
and only one strategy that will save us from the collapse of
the environment, economy, and social order, and that is to
reduce individual consumption to the absolute minimum.”
The president considered for a moment. “That sounds
contradictory to me. Isn’t maximum consumption the key
ingredient for economic growth?”
The bald man spoke up. “It depends. If you measure
economic growth by the amount of garbage we dump, then yes. We
throw away a third of the food we consume, not to mention that
the electronics we buy are purposefully designed to break to
keep us coming back. All this overproduction and
overconsumption benefits no one. Numerous researchers have
found that too much choice leads to increased indecision, just
as too much consumption leads to dissatisfaction. With or
without this pandemic, we are on the brink of a colossal
collapse. To avoid it, we have to change the central morals
and values of modern society as a whole.”
“And how exactly do you propose to do that? Brainwash
everyone?” the president said, her tone neutral.
“In a way, they are brainwashed already,” answered the
woman. “Let’s be honest, human beings do not change without
external pressure. The environmental movement has been around
since the sixties. Where did it get us? Nowhere. Our apples
come from New Zealand, palm oil from Indonesia, meat from
Argentina, clothes from Bangladesh, coffee from Brazil,
smartphones from China. Now is our chance, Madam President.
This virus is the deus ex-machina humanity needs to propel
into a new era of love, happiness, and
environmentally-friendly prosperity. Now is the time to do the
right thing.”
The meeting concluded at midnight. Once the group left,
the president instructed Mr. Schwaber to organize an urgent
meeting with her most trusted Party members.

}
{

28 <UBI>

With the biggest crash in modern history on its way and

the middle class about to disappear in the abyss of poverty,
the government of Atlantis00 introduced the Universal Basic
Income. Everyone who did not have a job was automatically
entitled to 1,500 Euros per month. There were no forms, no
need to stand in line at the unemployment office, and no
threats to get one’s benefits cut if one didn’t try hard
enough to find a job. The moment you notified the authorities
of your unemployment, you received a monthly direct transfer,
no questions asked. You could even stay unemployed for the
rest of your life if you wanted. The UBI would still come on
the first day of every month.
Several economists opposed the idea, arguing that the
government lacked the financial means to afford such an
investment. They were silenced by the argument that this was
merely a temporary solution during the pandemic. It was a
quick shot of energy for a deadened economy, but it was only
delaying the inevitable. The time had come to transition to
another economic model which could feasibly support UBI for
the long term. Government advisors did not have to look far to
find it; the solution had been around for a while now, right
under their noses.

}
{

29 <Sharing is Caring>

In the years after the 2008 banking crises, the Sharing

Economy Movement was born. Championed by hipsters and tech
geeks who joined forces with environmentalists and former
left-wing activists, the SEM was an attractive way out of the
difficult situation they found themselves in.
Meanwhile, the self-proclaimed “brutal” capitalists were
surprised to see such an explosion of a sentiment that had
formerly been associated with communism. The reason capitalism
endured as the “winning” economic model following the Cold War
is because it speaks to a characteristic intrinsic to human
nature, and that is our territoriality. Under the veneer of
social niceties, we are all children who ignore a toy for
days. However, the moment someone else picks it up and starts
playing with it, we charge in full-speed to grab it back.
Greed is the grease of our economic and social machine.
So this begs the question: what changed? After all, we
didn’t spontaneously evolve into more loving creatures. The
socioeconomic circumstances caused us to change our behavior
out of necessity, and this shift brought about a cascade of
other adaptations, one of them being the transient lifestyle.
People began to relocate more frequently, especially within
the European Union. This constant movement forced a
reconsideration of the concept of possession. People were no
longer defined by the objects they owned. Thanks to IKEA, one
could buy all new furniture for a price that was much cheaper
than moving what they already had.
Though the nomadic revolution began in Europe, the geeks
of Silicon Valley were the first to really take advantage.
This was exactly how multibillion dollar startups like Uber
and AirBnB were born. These were quickly followed by car
sharing, bike sharing, scooter sharing, knowledge sharing,
clothing sharing- the list goes on.
Yet, with the economic growth that followed from 2012 to
2019, the “Caring” part of the “Sharing” economy quickly
eroded away. 2019 gave us an even more ruthless form of
capitalism where every aspect of our lives had been
commercialized. The Sharing Economy created also a new type of
wealth which would have been unimaginable before. Uber is
worth billions of dollars, yet it doesn’t own a single car.
Same for AirBnB for houses and Delivery Hero for restaurants.
Building and maintaining a tech platform requires relatively
little investment. So where do these companies derive their
value? The same way an amoeba derives its energy; they absorb
it from the people and companies who produce the cars, make
the food, and own the homes. Another reason was market
monopolies. If Uber decided to ban you from their platform,
you had no chance of offering your services anywhere else. It
was the same for any kind of business who didn’t sell their
products on Amazon, or the restaurants who couldn’t sell
takeout with Delivery Hero. These platforms had immense
economic power, more than the government.
As Marshall McLuhan put it, “The medium is the message.”
It is worth mentioning that without the smartphone, the
Sharing Economy would not have been possible. With a
smartphone, one could unlock a car or bike, link data from
other apps, and track their location in real time. In turn,
the companies mined this data to turn around and give an
enhanced user experience.
Thus, the nation of Atlantis00 employed a new form of
this economy to nourish the Universal Basic Income. Government
officials approached the CEO’s of these services and gave them
a choice: play by the rules and be an asset, or object and be
an obstacle. And the government, they were assured, was very
good at removing obstacles.

}
{

30 <Total Medicine>

The phrase “Total War” can be traced back to the 1935

publication of a German General’s World War I memoirs. “Der
totale Krieg” (“The Total War” in English) became a motto of
Nazi Germany during World War II. It was defined as the
necessary mobilization of all sectors of economy and society
towards the war machine. This kind of national mobilization
had never been executed at the level seen during the Third
Reich.
The Atlantis00 Government promised that it would do
everything in its power to protect the health of the
individual. Instead of Total War, they called it Total
Medicine. Never again would they allow for an individual to
die from the Creepervirus, or any other virus for that matter.
The motto “leave no one behind” was posted on every surface,
physical and digital. Nurses and doctors were hailed as
national heroes. The government provided free vaccines, free
testing, free protective equipment, and free sanitizing tools
for all its citizens.
During the war against the Creepervirus, no measure was
spared. Every sector of the economy was mobilized to serve the
war effort. To justify these drastic actions, the propaganda
machine was put in place to denounce those people who had not
respected quarantine during the outbreak. The headlines
flowed:
// Health criminal receives 2 months in prison and
€10,000 fine for disrespecting mask rule. Could you be living
with a health terrorist? 7 signs to watch for.

To protect the population from these delinquents, the

government of Atlantis00 founded the Health Guard, which was
given special authorization to override other laws and
regulations. Their first measure was to install cameras
equipped with facial recognition software on every single
street in Atlantis00. This way, they could track the source of
an outbreak and use the data to make arrests, no warranty
required.
 The Health Guard also employed a Bystander Force of over
1 million volunteers who were trained to be mobilized in case
of another outbreak. Those volunteers, or as they were called,
Health Superheroes, patrolled streets, parks, and other public
places to ensure that no one was outside without a good
reason. Health Superheroes received two days of each month
training from the Health Guard on how to make Citizen Arrests.
They would also be equipped with the necessary weapons to
exercise their power in case of emergency.
The Health Guard offered financial rewards to people who
reported their fellow citizens for breaking quarantine or
going outside for an unnecessary reason. The following is from
the propaganda that was circulated during this time:
// Your health is the most important thing in the world.
He who wants to infect you with the virus should not be
treated as your brother, father, friend, or relative. She who
wants to infect you with the virus should not be treated as
your mother, sister, friend, or relative. Report people who do
not respect the quarantine and save lives.

}
{

31 <Unhealthy Opinions>

The government of Atlantis00 approved a new body of laws

called “Unhealthy Opinions.” Among these was a law that
forbade any public opinions that doubted the existence and the
deadly effect of the Creepervirus. Such an opinion was
considered an assault equal to Grievous Bodily Harm and was
punishable by large fines and prison time.
Fake news was considered a serious threat to the health
of people, so The Health Guard created a task force that would
monitor the media for fake news. Of course, no one knew
exactly what made the news fake. This was left to the Health
Guard to decide. Spreading “fake news” would get you a fine of
€5,000 per fake news unit.
One of these laws defended the right to not be insulted,
which health experts argued was necessary in the fight against
depression. This law stated that any expression that was
considered an insult, whether written or verbal, would be
taken down immediately, and the insulting party would face
prosecution.
For example, if you posted a racist joke to a social
media platform, the insult-checkers would flag it and report
you to the local Health Guard. Anyone was allowed to make a
complaint, and they were encouraged to root out insulting and
offensive behavior for the good of the community.

}
{

32 <Health Chip>

Another of Total Medicine’s objectives was to enable

citizens to travel safely. The Government sought to establish
a Health Certificate as a mandatory requirement for all
travel, domestic and international. A physical document was
argued to be too archaic and easy to forge, so they proposed
an app instead called HealthyCitizen. However, there were two
major problems: the first was that it would exclude the
portion of the population that did not own smartphones.
Secondly, an app was liable to hacking, which would render it
useless in fighting illegal travel.
Some advisors suggested a tracking bracelet similar to a
fitness wristband. Others argued that such a device could be
easily damaged, both on purpose or “accidentally.” Forgetful
people would conveniently leave theirs at home. After little
discussion, wristbands were shot down as well.
 Then, the technology department came up with a winner:
microchips. The Government turned to Biohax, a company that
had been producing this technology for years. Due to a fever
being one of the virus’ hallmark symptoms, the microchip was
designed to measure body temperature. This data was instantly
sent to the Health Authorities to be monitored carefully. Over
time, these microchips would have other uses as well, such as
geolocation and digital passports. Now, instead of stamping a
small booklet, border officials scanned a microchip.

}
{

33 <Digital Currency>

As physical money was a known vector for the virus, the

Government had no choice but to stop circulating it
altogether. Because every citizen would now be implanted with
a microchip, the Government requested that they be equipped
with a digital wallet. Now, an individual’s finances were
inseparable from their person. And, because the microchip
contained identity information, including photographs and
other biometrics, fraud was eliminated entirely.
At this point as well, the world adopted virtual currency
as the new standard. Sadly, this also meant the initial
mission of cryptocurrency, such as Bitcoin, as a democratic
movement had ultimately failed to take back the financial
power from governments and banks. Now, traffic cameras were
replaced with scanners. If you ran a red light, the Government
had the power to take the fine directly from your digital
wallet. They could drain every cent from you at the press of
a button, but as long as you behaved in a way that was good
for public health, then you could enjoy the frequent stimulus
deposits directly to your microchip. No more lost paychecks in
the mail, no more theft, no more tax evasion- all thanks to
virtual currency.

}
{

34 <One Corporation>

Since the hyper-inflation would also lead to the majority

of companies going bankrupt, the Government of Atlantis00
worried that the supply of consumer goods would be brought to
a halt. To keep it going, the Government placed an end to free
trade. Private corporations were given a choice: follow the
rules and receive Government endorsement, or shut down,
reminiscent of the fate of monopolies like Standard Oil and
AT&T.
MegaNetWorld, an online store that sold nearly
everything, was of keen interest to the Government. Like the
other Sharing Economy corporations, MegaNetWorld did not
itself produce anything; it simply owned the market of
everything. In a secret meeting, the Government gave the CEO
and the Investment Board of MegaNetWorld the option to either
receive a huge investment from the Government in return for
the majority of shares or be prosecuted under monopoly law
and, eventually, tax evasion. Needless to say, the CEO decided
on the first option.

}
{

35 <The Machine>

The Government issued another order that mandated that

citizens could only buy goods online from MegaNetWorld.
Before 2021, the delivery industry required a lot of people
working together in confined spaces, which was not sustainable
in case of another pandemic. The Government invested in
automation technology, from driverless cars to drones.
MegaNetWorld started using driverless trucks to transport
goods from ports and airports to warehouses, which were now
built next to highways for increased efficiency.
From those warehouses, flocks of drones were dispatched
to houses, where the items were delivered personally to the
client. Facial recognition and the Health Chip made sure the
correct person received the correct package.
Under the motto of Total Medicine, any prevention of
unnecessary death and suffering was worth the investment.
Driverless Vehicles were perfected and distributed, and within
a year, the motor vehicle accident count went from hundreds
per day to zero.
At this stage, the citizens of Atlantis00 were ready to
fully trust machines and computer algorithms. The Internet of
Things (IoT) had reached a new level of interconnectedness. If
you are not familiar, the Internet of Things refers to a sort
of “social media” for your electronic devices. In the past,
you could turn your lights on and off, play music, and lower
the blinds all with an app on your smartphone. Now, nearly
every home is synced to the owner’s microchip, which allows it
to calculate ideal room temperature, open doors based on the
owner’s movement, and play music to match the mood, as
indicated by physiological arousal measured by factors such as
heart rate and pupil dilation.
Human dependence on machines was now a law of life. Over
time, the majority of jobs were performed by robots, which
were cheap to produce and program. The Health Guard resorted
to drones in order to catch quarantine-breakers. To prevent
people from needing to leave the house to visit the doctor,
the Government created fully functional Mobile Health Clinics,
which would stop at the sick person’s address, thereby further
eliminating unnecessary public trips.
}
{

36 <Social Distancing>

The first social distancing measures put in place were

wearing a mask and keeping at least 1.5 meters of distance
between people in public. The Health Guard was effective at
finding and publicly shaming those who did not comply to the
rules. On the surface, these rules seemed to allow people to
socialize safely. The true aim, however, was to discourage
physical meetings between people, which were much more
difficult for the Government to monitor and record. Masks
made communication difficult, and children who grew up around
people who wore them did not learn how to effectively read
behavior or body language.
To enforce physical distancing, the Government redesigned
common spaces to make it next-to-impossible to gather in
public. Park benches and other sitting furniture were removed,
as were playgrounds and sports fields. Without a place to go,
people stayed in their homes.
The next step was educating people to live a virus-free
life. Dating an unknown person was considered a hazard and was
punishable by a heavy fine, so most non-cohabitational
relationships interacted online only. At around that time, a
highly publicized study claimed that masturbation was actually
healthier than sex with another person. Those who were single
before the lockdown turned to sex toys, and eventually, their
married and cohabitating counterparts followed suit.
MegaNetWorld saw an explosion of demand for silicon dildos and
vaginas.
Unlike the free love movement of the sixties, the Sexual
Revolution of the twenty-twenties liberated itself from sex
entirely. Initially, those who could get pregnant used
artificial insemination and found companionship with their
offspring as a replacement for a partner. Those who couldn’t
reproduce found solace in computer games and endless porn.
Eventually, the Department of Medicine invented Gestation
Pods, which had the capacity to nourish a zygote all the way
up to a fully developed fetus. Having outsourced pregnancy
completely, women froze their eggs and had hysterectomies to
free themselves from the frequent debilitating pain that came
with a functional uterus. Sperm and eggs were kept in banks
and withdrawn for gestation upon request. When a fetus
reached maturity, it was vaccinated, nourished, and sent to
the parent in specialized drones called Storks.

}
{

37 <Container City>

Without the hormonal bonding mechanisms generated by sex

between partners, breakups and divorces exploded in the new
era of Social Distancing. To accommodate the number of
singles, the Government needed to build more houses.
Fortunately, a solution had already been in the works for
many years. Shipping containers are designed to withstand
harshest weather conditions, and there are millions of them
already in circulation. During the pandemic, reduced trade
took the numbers of shipping units in use down from 17 million
to 6 million, leaving 11 million to rot idly in various ports.
So why not use them for housing? They can be stacked up to
eight stories high without needing any extra reinforcement,
greatly reducing construction costs.
The Government contracted architects to build these
Shipping Container Skyscrapers: enormous steel superstructures
up to thirty stories high to support hundreds of shipping
containers. Each shipping container was converted into a
living unit with its own bathroom to accommodate a maximum of
two residents.
Thousands of these towers were constructed all across the
country, focusing mostly on remote areas near metropolitan
centers. People moved into these Container Cities by the
millions.
As part of the Total Medicine campaign, the Government
decided to address the issue of homelessness once and for all.
Each homeless person was microchipped and given a container to
live in. They were monitored carefully to ensure that they did
not end up back on the street, which was easy with the
geolocation feature on the Health Chip.
On December 15th, 2030, ten years after their first
meeting with the President of Atlantis00, the board of the
World Welfare Forum gathered at the presidential residence to
celebrate the success of the implementation of their proposed
plan. This time, there were over a hundred people in
attendance. Including those who watched the live streamed
event online, all were eagerly awaiting the presentation of a
White Paper that Mr. Schwaber had personally handed to the
President ten years prior. Once he took his position at the
podium, Mr. Schwaber straightened his spine, cleared his
throat, and began to read.

}
{

38 <White Paper>

Bitropolis - How Gamers Will Save The World

A White Paper by Hans Schwaber in Cooperation with World

Welfare Forum
“Besides, interesting things happen along
borders—transitions—not in the middle where everything is the
same.” ― Neal Stephenson, Snow Crash

In 1992, when the World Wide Web was gaining popularity,

Neal Stephenson published a science fiction novel titled Snow
Crash. It tells the story of Hiro Protagonist, a hacker who
works as a pizza delivery driver in a version of Los Angeles
that features a collectively shared virtual space called the
Metaverse. Within this digitally enhanced reality, humans use
avatars to interact with each other and the environment.
A drug called Snow Crash begins to make the rounds, and
it turns out to be even more dangerous than anyone could have
imagined. Existing both as a virtual metavirus and a physical
drug, Snow Crash has the power to wipe the human brain clean,
no matter where you access it. Hiro and his hacker buddies
team up to uncover and dismantle the plot behind the drug.
Recently, I re-read the novel and was struck by a renewed
familiarity. Between the global pandemic, food delivery, and
online escapism, 2021 looks an awful lot like Stephenson’s
novel. Perhaps Snow Crash was prophetic after all.

Looking around, it’s difficult not to feel as though our

society has reached a dead end. Our history is a tired march
from system to collapsed system: nomadic hunter-gatherers,
agriculture, slave societies, religionism, imperialism,
feudalism, industrialism, fascism, nazism, communism,
socialism, and now, to a perversion of capitalism that I call
Hyper Consumerism. Lately, with the rise of fake news and
conspiracy theories, we are losing faith even in science,
which is especially troubling. There is no question about it;
collapse is imminent.
So, what’s next? What new form will society take? In this
white paper, I will make the case that the next iteration is
already upon us. It has spent the last decade in development,
and soon, it will be deployed. The birth of this new society
will not take place in the aftermath of violent war, as past
societies have. Because at this stage, we do not need another
revolution; we need a new evolution.
To best demonstrate the features of the society to come,
I have included a fanfiction chapter inspired by Snow Crash
called Bitropolis.
Bitropolis
The bit is a basic unit of information in computing and
digital communications. The name is a portmanteau of binary
digit. The bit represents a logical state with one of two
possible values. These values are most commonly represented as
either "1"or"0", but other representations such as true/false,
yes/no, +/−, or on/off are common. - Wikipedia

A metropolis is a large city or conurbation which is a

significant economic, political, and cultural center for a
country or region, and an important hub for regional or
international connections, commerce, and communications.
-Wikipedia

The year is 2031. I have concluded my inspection of the

city with the happiest citizens on Earth.
In the year 2021, the Government of Bitropolis, after
having struggled for decades to fight corruption,
exploitation, criminality, poverty, homelssness, mental
illness, environmental pollution, and descent into anarchy,
decided to take a radical step to end the struggle once and
for all.
This strategy was proposed by a psychiatrist-turned
computer hacker by the name of Hiro Jung. According to Jung,
the reason for the failure of capitalist society of Bitropolis
was that it neglected to follow the laws of nature, which he
argues is a binary creation oriented in polar opposition with
a point of equilibrium. Examples include North and South,
positive and negative, light and dark, hot and cold, alive and
dead, healthy and diseased, and so on.
In line with this rule of duality, human nature also has
its own polar relationships. At the individual level, the
binary human being is made of two personalities: the Bright
Personality and the Dark Personality. One cannot exist without
the other, and a human being can only be in balance with
themself if both personalities are equally expressed and
accepted by the individual.
The Bright Personality is described as a desire to help
other humans, share with other humans, and show compassion and
mercy to other humans, even to the point of offering one’s own
life to save that of another.
The Dark Personality, by contrast, is the desire to hurt,
exploit, and abuse others. This includes the extremes of rape,
torture, and murder.
This is not the only binary within the human being. Due
to our evolution as a social species, we must also navigate
between the individual and the collective. On a societal
level, this is manifested as demand and supply, creation and
destruction, war and peace, and so on. The ideal social system
is one that resonates in harmony with the binary of the
individual to such a point that if you were to line them up,
they should match.
Throughout history, our social systems were built to
cater only to the Bright Personality and punish the Dark
Personality. Communism and Religion represent two of these
approaches. Religion believes that the human being is
inherently evil and needs salvation from its own evil by an
external superior force. That force can be God, Allah, Yahweh,
etc. The fact that religions have been around for thousands of
years and still play a big role in modern society informs us
that there must be truth in what they preach, and I don’t mean
the existence of an external superior force, but rather the
indelible natural evil within us.
While Religion seeks to stifle the Dark Personality, the
humanist ideology denies its existence altogether. While
growing up under a communist dictatorship, I was taught in
school that the human being is inherently good, having been
endowed with a natural tendency to share and care for others.
This was the kind of wishful thinking that led to the failure
of communism as a system. In actuality, there are very few
people who would put the community above themselves. The
majority of human beings are selfish, jealous, egocentric,
self-indulgent, self-centered, self-serving, and
self-obsessed. It is these characteristics that lead to
ruthles exploitation, corruption, violent crime, murder, rape,
and other collective attrocities like holocaust and genocide.
And when it came to societies, also the Dark Side seemed
to win with every social system becoming at some point corrupt
until it collapsed. According to Jung, this is an inevitable
consequence of going against human nature. Like the snake who
ate its own tail in the famed parable, the societies of
history were unconsciously built with a self-destruct timer,
which manifests at levels both individual (substance abuse,
mental illness, suicide) and societal (violent crime, material
destruction, war).
Jung was convinced he had found a solution to this
problem: in order for a society to reach perfect balance and
happiness for its individuals, it needed to mirror the natural
binary pattern of humanity. There needed to be a system in
which every human being could fully indulge in their Bright
and Dark personalities. As a typical anarchist would put it, a
lawless world where every action and behavior is permitted.
As ideal as it may sound, we all know that such a society
would not be possible in our current world. The moment we
banished laws, all hell would break loose.
 So, if we cannot create such a society in this world, why
don’t create it in the virtual world?
Jung decided it was time to introduce the Binary System,
which was actually conceived in 1990 with the birth of the
Internet when reality fractured into two realms: the Virtual
and the Base. By 2025, it had reached full maturity and was
ready to replace Hyper Consumerism.
When the Internet first became popular, it sought to
create a virtual parallel world where people could be whoever
they wanted to be without restrictions.
Fast-forward to the year 2021. The Internet had not only
become the Wild West the tech nerds had hoped it would be. In
fact, the opposite happened; it had become even more
restrictive and controlling than Base Reality. Every website
visit, every post, every click was immediately stored on the
server of some giant corporation. Not conforming to their
policy could not only get you banned from their service, but
it could end your career or land you in prison. Not even to
mention the armada of hackers who could steal your online
accounts and comandeer your digital devices in a matter of
minutes.
Jung felt that in 2025, the time had come for a digital
renaissance. This came riding on the shoulders of 3D Internet,
now known in Bitropolis as the Megaverse.
Like the Internet is made of websites, the Megaverse is
made of Metaverses. Every citizen in Bitropolis has their own
Metaverse or Metaverses. Of course, building a Metaverse is
not as easy as building a website. This is why Artificial
Intelligence was designed to assist citizens in the
construction of their Metaverses. You simply told the AI what
kind of planet you wanted, and it would take care of the rest.
The best part of all was that you could do whatever you wanted
in your Metaverse because you were the God of that world. You
could choose an avatar to inhabit and live among your
creations. You were free to live out any wild fantasies your
Bright Personality and Dark Personality desired.
To make this experience feel as real as possible, there
were two important accompanying technologies: VR glasses and
Brain Computer Interface, or BCI. Both technologies had
already been invented in the early 2000’s, but they weren’t
perfected until the mid 2020’s. While most people were
familiar with VR glasses, it took longer for them to get
accustomed to BCI. What BCI does is transmits the five senses
in the Metaverse directly into your brain. With the help of
these technologies, if you have sex with a virtual woman in
your Metaverse, you will sense the touch of her hand, the heat
of her body, the smell of her perfume, the sound of her
moaning. The experience is nearly indistinguishable from Base
Reality.
In the Bitropolis, everyone is entitled to Universal
Basic Income. It’s not too much, just enough for each citizen
to afford a shelter and have relatively decent food and
clothes. Most people in Bitropolis live a minimalist life with
very few possessions, and they are perfectly happy with that.
Whatever they lack in Base Reality can be theirs in Virtual
Reality. There, they can be a wealthy bachelor, king,
president, superstar, superhero, supermodel, or even
butterfly, if they wish.
Nearly everything is delivered to citizens’ homes by
drones in Bitropolis. On average, people spend four hours a
day, three days a week working in Base Reality. They spend the
remainder of their time either in the Metaverse or in Base
Reality with their family and friends.
Every citizen in Bitropolis is taught from an early age
that they are a binary human being with both a Bright and Dark
Personality. This way, if the urges of the Dark Personality
possess them, they will not act them out on their co-citizens,
but rather direct them at the Non-Player Characters in the
Metaverse. Where in real life, in base reality he would have
to face prison time or death sentence for harming or killing a
human being. The chance to fully experience their Dark
Personalities often leads to disappointment, like gamers who
lose their taste for shooter games and move on to strategy.
The Metaverse helps them to reconsider such deeds as well as
inform them of the workings of Base Reality. As a result,
there is no crime or antisocial behavior in Bitropolis.
People in Bitropolis stay healthy by engaging in physical
activity outside in nature. 80% of its total surface is
covered in untouched vegetation. The remaining 20% is streets
and residential buildings. There are no shops or shopping
malls in Bitropolis- only giant warehouses at the edge of the
city where all the consumer goods are kept and distributed by
drones. This has freed up a lot of space for greenery to
flourish. Citizens can enjoy numerous foot and bicycle paths
while breathing pristine air.

Most people work from home, so Bitropolis is nearly noise

and traffic free. The only cars in Bitropolis are electric,
and the streets take up little space. With the Teleportation
feature of the Metaverse, you can “visit” anywhere and anytime
you like. Paris in the 1920’s? Done. Top of Mt. Everest?
Simple. No need to hop on a fuel-guzzling airplane.
Citizens of Bitropolis refer to themselves as BitHumans,
and the era they live in as the BitAge. Inspired by their
story, other cities began copying the Bitropolis, setting the
Bitvolution in motion.
The Metaverse
What appears as a sci-fi utopia is closer to reality than
we realize. A close examination of the current technological
developments in the last decade reveals that the Metaverse has
already seen billions of dollars of investment by corporations
like Microsoft, Facebook, Google, Apple, and Samsung.
 In the near future, VR glasses and Brain Computer
Interface will have progressed enough to create a fully
inhabited experience. After all, Elon Musk’s Nuralink company
already had its first successful trial of their BCI last year,
and multiple companies have been chasing the monopoly of the
VR market. At this point, we are no more able to stop the rise
of the Metaverse as we are to compete with Big Tech. This is
why attempts to create an open source Metaverse will
ultimately fail; the infrastructure to support such a system
can only be provided by the likes of Google or Apple.
Evolution will take place in a top-down transformation, as
opposed to the bottom-up revolutions of the past.
This does not mean that the rest of us will be left
behind. Mega Tech will need to employ millions of people to
bring its vision to completion. Today, tech corporations have
a reputation for providing the best conditions for their
employees. Because the majority of people will choose to live
on their Universal Basic Income and spend most of their time
on Metaverse, the remainder of the population will be highly
paid for their work, and the increased demand for employees
will lead to better job conditions.
There is a trend among developed countries that forces
its youth to study something for the sake of it, even if the
field has no practicality. With the arrival of Metaverse, we
will see a large rise in the salaries of people who do the
essential physical work. As we already witnessed during this
pandemic, essential work is highly undervalued in our society.
There will still be a need for innovation, especially
when it comes to health and fitness. When the Metaverse
arrives, you can ride your stationary bicycle at home while
enjoying virtual nature, or run on the treadmill with your VR
glasses. There are many who like team sports but don’t care
for the company of other people. For them, a virtual game with
NPCs as teammates is a perfect way to get fit. With the
Metaverse, all of these will be more accessible, thus bridging
the health gap and leading to a more egalitarian society.

Gamer Lifestyle
Skeptics will argue that we are nowhere near this level
of simulation capacity, citing the uninspiring two-dimensional
selfie-infested representations of the Internet today. We
consume more than we participate, as much of our online time
is spent mindlessly scrolling. There is one exception to this
pattern: Massively Multiplayer Online games (MMOs). While
social networks descended into platforms for expressing
political hate, spreading conspiracy theories, and posting
dull memes, MMO games have been improving every year. While
inhabiting worlds of near film-level quality and chatting live
with others, players foster genuine connections as they team
up against a common virtual enemy.
If we accept that MMOs are a template for the Metaverse,
then Fortnite could also be called a pre-Metaverse. You might
know it as a video game, but it is more than that. Despite the
fact that it currently has over 350 million players, Fortnite
has become a substitute for Facebook for the younger
generation. Not only do they come together there in teams to
defeat a common enemy and chat live with each other along the
way, but they also build new virtual worlds together. Fortnite
is not the only one of its kind; Minecraft has over 130
million players, and Roblox, 150 million. Based on stats from
Statista.com, there are over 3 billion people on the planet
playing online games each year. This is a growing trend which
will accelerate to unimaginable levels in the next years as we
live life from one lockdown to the next.
The times of the stereotypical introverted nerdy gamer
are over. PewDiePie, the most influential YouTuber out there,
became famous by filming himself playing video games and
making witty comments. With 109 million subscribers, he is
more influential than most politicians and celebrities of this
world. For comparison, Yuval Noah Harari, who is considered as
one of the greatest thinkers of the last decade, has only 308
thousand subscribers, which makes up about 0.28% of
PewDiePie’s following.
It is also worth mentioning that the number of adults
playing video games has increased in the last decade as
graphics and plots behind the games become smarter and more
complex. And now, with a lot more adults stuck in home-office,
video games will have an even larger draw.
The most compelling argument for the Metaverse is its
environmental implications. The biggest factor in the
destruction and pollution of the environment is our obsession
with consumption. During any given grocery trip, we choose
between hundreds of types of cheeses, yogurts, sausages,
apples, tomatoes, not to mention the thousands of types of
clothing and shoes and millions of other consumer products
imported from China, New Zealand, Bangladesh, Brasil, and all
corners of the world to Europe, or the USA, or any country,
all to satisfy the unquenched needs of the “modern” consumer.
This behavioral pattern leads to environmental pollution and
destruction, and we are certain that most humans will not
willingly lower their consumption levels if they can afford
not to.

In contrast, one feature that defines the serious gamer

is dedication to a minimalist lifestyle. Once they are plugged
in, they hardly care about consumption in real life. Coca Cola
and pizza seems to keep most gamers happy, and I’m sure
someone has already invented a Bio version of each to keep
them healthy. A hardcore gamer takes a shower maybe once in a
week or two, saving gallons of water. A gamer also hardly
travels beyond work and school. They tend to own little
clothing and don’t change it often, thereby forgoing an
industry that skyrockets humanity's carbon emissions, dries up
water sources, and pollutes rivers and streams with dyes and
other toxic chemicals. Over 85% of all textiles go to the dump
each year, along with the microplastics and chemicals from
frequent washing. Add to that the horrific conditions people
in countries like Bangladesh and the Philippines have to work,
and it’s enough to make you want to go nude.
The typical gamer is also uninterested in material
wealth- that is, wealth in the Base Reality sense. They prefer
instead to accumulate wealth in the virtual world, spending
their money on virtual clothes, tools, and armor for their
avatar in the game. One of the main reasons for suffering in
this world is the endless greed of the billionaires and
millionaires. Consider how hedge funds and other financial
institutions destroy companies and entire economies of small
countries through Stock Market speculation. The reason they
can do this is because we all secretly feed on the dream of
becoming rich one day. If we can experience this dream in the
Metaverse, then perhaps we will not be so easily manipulated
by marketing to buy things we do not need with money we do not
have.
From these points, we can conclude that gamers have
perhaps the lowest carbon footprint in the developed world.
For that fact alone, they deserve our respect.

Base Reality
If you think this vision of such a society sounds
unrealistically utopic, then allow me to point out a
real-world example. Of the 300 cities I have visited in my
life, the closest example I have found to a Bitropolis, and
overall the most impressive city, in my opinion, is Tokyo. Due
to the terrible jet lag, I found myself wandering around Tokyo
at almost any hour of the day or night. I think the majority
of people will agree with me that it is one of the safest and
cleanest cities in the world. In spite of a population of over
37 million people, Tokyo gives the feeling of a friendly small
town, whether you choose to explore it at midday or midnight.
One of the reasons why I believe Tokyo has successfully
created such a peaceful society in such a dense environment is
that it allows its dark side to be channeled to the virtual
world of the Manga, Anime, and other digital creations.
Akihabara, a district in metropolitan Tokyo, is dedicated
entirely to selling these media. Considering the popularity of
Anime and Manga around the world, it makes sense to say that
these media satisfy a fundamental human craving for a life
parallel to our own.
Conclusion
I am not a gamer, nor have I ever been. Like any parent,
it pains me to see my children spending a lot of their time on
video games instead of playing outside with their friends. All
of my attempts to push them to go out have failed, mostly
because other parents did not seem bothered by the fact that
their kids spend so much time playing video games. Even
talking to the other parents was difficult because they stared
at their phones during the whole conversation. I would often
end up playing outdoor ping-pong or football with my two sons
while their friends played Fortnite at home. I didn’t see how
spending more time online was the solution. Quite the
contrary; I saw it as a big problem.
Over time, I realized that even in the digital age, Adam
Smith's “invisible hand” or Darwin’s “natural selection” would
step in and create a better society than the one we currently
have. When the Metaverse arrives, a new generation will come
forth, endowed with the ability to discern between Virtual
Reality and Base Reality, and they will recognize the
advantages and disadvantages of each. Achieving a perfect
simulation of reality will lead to innumerable other
discoveries. We might be able to heal most diseases, manage
social crises, and avoid natural disasters. And, as is
starting to happen during this pandemic, we might start to
appreciate the physical presence of our loved ones.
Some of you might be wary of a society that spends most
of its time plugged to a virtual world. You might say that you
prefer reality. That is fair enough. You were also likely born
with the talents and privileges necessary to enjoy your
reality. Others may not be so lucky. If people were born poor
and disabled, why not allow them the chance to live another
life, even if it is in Virtual Reality? It is not for you to
decide what other people should choose for themselves.
One of the lessons we learned during the pandemic is that
a lot of jobs in the developed world are occupational therapy
compared to the real jobs which are crucial to the survival of
our society. In theory, in the developed world, if we fired
50% of the population, we would still easily cover all our
basic needs. With the rise of Artificial Intelligence and
robots, a lot of jobs will be replaced by smart algorithms
anyway. The question is what to do with this new unemployed
class? We will have no choice but give them Universal Basic
Income and the Metaverse.
Would you rather see people in the street slaughtering
each other, stealing, cheating, raping, killing, and
destroying the environment? Or, would you rather see them home
on a comfortable couch enjoying a virtual life which they will
never have in this world?
Bitropolis is our future, whether we like it or not. No
one can simply unplug the Internet or pause evolution. This
White Paper is not a proposal for a new system or society or a
new ideology. It's a prophecy. You can embrace it and prepare
for what is to come, or you can reject it and deny reality.
The choice is yours. Who am I to judge?

Hans Schwaber, Berlin 2021

}
{

39 <Megaverse>

Isolating humans from each other is a risky undertaking,

as humans are social creatures. Our ability to cooperate and
create complex social hierarchies is one of our most valuable
evolutionary advantages over other species. A single man would
lose a fight against a lion, but ten armed men would win
easily.
Now that the Government of Atlantis00 had isolated nearly
all of its population, it worried about the long-term
ramifications. Eventually, they predicted, citizens would
organize and rebel against their isolation as an unavoidable
manifestation of human nature. What they needed was a way to
placate the population and help them accept Container life.
Around this time, in Silicon Valley, the CEO of
MegaNetWorld stood in a boardroom in front of a
state-of-the-art presentation screen. There were only four
others in the room: two private investors, one agent from the
Government of Atlantis00, and one representative from the same
wealthy group from Atlantis 32 that had met with the President
at the beginning of the pandemic. All were wearing a set of
VR glasses. Some years ago, this auditorium would have been
filled with at least a thousand people. But now, gatherings
of more than 5 people were punishable by law.
The man collected himself, stated his name, and launched
into his presentation. At the press of a button, the
individual VR screens exploded into fireworks, and the word
Megaverse emerged in startling neon colors. “Welcome to the
Internet in 3 dimensions. In the near future, everyone will be
able to create virtual universes to inhabit. Just like the
Internet is made of billions of websites, the Megaverse is
made of billions of Metaverses. Let’s take a look inside my
Metaverse.”
The fireworks melted into a beautiful modern design of a
house with a waterfall underneath. White italic text appeared
in the lower right hand corner: Inspired by Frank Lloyd
Wright’s Fallingwater. The presenter’s voice echoed through
the speakers.
“This is my own personal Metaverse. I have the option to
share it with everyone, or I can keep it entirely to myself.”
The VR perspective entered the house to find a classic
living room. On the wall were various photographs and
captions. “Here, I can put any photos I like of my family,
dogs, vacations, babies, and photography inspirations. Now,
there’s a surprise in the next room that I think you’ll like
very much.”
The group progressed to a room with red velvet chairs and
a large screen. Above, a projector hummed. “This is my cinema,
where I can play my home videos as well as the videos linked
from other Metaverses.” He led them to a large oak door, which
opened to a classic library. “Here, you can read all the books
I’ve written, as well as my favorites. Outside the window, you
can see the flowers that my lovely wife has planted.
Now that you have had a chance to see my personal
Metaverse, let’s take a look at my professional one…”

}
{

40 <The Joker>

During the Internet Age, almost every service moved

online: consultation, banking, trading, government services,
personal identity, and, of course, nearly every form of
entertainment. During the Megaverse Age, however, nearly
every aspect of life was absorbed into its realm. With the
perfection of the Brian Computer Interface, one didn’t need to
leave their house for anything. They could travel to a virtual
supermarket, smell and touch the food they wanted, buy it,
then wait 15 minutes for it to be brought to your shipping
container by drone.
But before any of this could be done, each citizen needed
to transfer their 2-D internet identity to the 3-D Megaverse
database. Once registered, each citizen was granted free
access to the Megaverse as well as one free Metaverse to
“house” their identity.
The free Metaverse model came in the form of a galaxy
with one planet without humans or animals and one sun. Once
you decided where you were going to live on your personal
planet earth, it was required that you have a virtual house to
reside in and store your digital wealth. So, to make it easy
for beginners and poor people, MegaNetWorld produced an army
of Virtual Architects who built the simplest house you can
imagine, all for free. If you wanted a bigger and better
house, more people, cars, and all the wonderful features of
modern civilization, you had to buy them. Wealthy people began
to crowd their main planets with humans and animals. Some
bought additional planets to create their own Metaverse
galaxies, populating those ones with all kinds of strange
alien-looking creatures. Some created a planet and bought only
dogs to occupy it. Others, only cats. Others created a planet
filled with beautiful women and fucked them all day. If you
had money, then the Megaverse was limited only by your
imagination.
However, like the pre-Megaverse era, your level of wealth
was a fundamental part of your experience. If you were living
on UBI, you had only enough to build a standard free model on
your empty planet. Though it may not seem like much, most
people still found themselves ensnared. In comparison to their
real lives, the Metaverse was an improvement, even in its most
basic form. Before long, the Megaverse was ubiquitous within
Atlantis00, and countries around the world followed suit.
There were a few, however, who refused to be absorbed by
this new technological tsunami. One such case was an actor who
had not been able to work since the pandemic, despite his
previous status as a celebrity. He knew that eventually, the
time would come when he would have to choose between
starvation and freedom, as more and more sources of food and
essentials moved exclusively to the Megaverse.
His rise to fame was his performance in a 2014 film
called D-Day Ex-Machina. The film was a box office hit, a
relic of a concept since the closure of the cinemas. Now, you
didn’t just watch movies; you inhabited them in the Megaverse.
The film told the story of a talented coder who was the
first to invent Artificial Intelligence in 2008. Instead of
going public with the technology, the coder merged his own
brain with that of AI to become the most intelligent human on
earth.
He began to preach the gospel of the next step in human
evolution, which was the merging with the machine to create
the transhuman. It was their destiny to rise from mediocrity
to excellence, he had said, not through the random scattershot
process of Darwinism, but rather the purposeful application of
human creativity.
At first, he was adored and lauded for his intelligence,
which the world believed to be a God-given gift of natural
talent. Soon, however, adoration decayed into envy, which
devolved into outright hatred. In his last speech before a
large crowd in Washington DC, he called upon humans to rise
using the words from Neitzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra:

// Man is a rope stretched between the animal and the

Superman--a rope over an abyss.
 A dangerous crossing, a dangerous wayfaring, a dangerous
looking-back, a dangerous trembling and halting.
What is great in man is that he is a bridge and not a
goal: what is lovable in man is that he is an OVER-GOING and a
DOWN-GOING.
Lo, I am a herald of the lightning, and a heavy drop out
of the cloud: the lightning, however, is the SUPERMAN!

When he finished his speech, the crowd erupted into

laughter. You’re insane! They shouted, throwing their
still-full coffee cups at him. You’re mad! You’re stupid!
There’s nothing wrong with us!
Then, someone from the crowd shouted Shut up, Joker! We
don’t need your shit! The rest of the people joined in,
shouting in unison: Joker! Joker! Joker!
Deeply disappointed, the coder then used his AI
superintelligence to breed a highly contagious deadly virus
that generated a plaque in the brain that destroyed the neural
connections in the regions involved with memory, including the
entorhinal cortex and hippocampus. This virus was programmed
with an incubation period of one year so he could have enough
time to travel around the world and spread it in every
country. Then, he sat back and watched as society gradually
disintegrated and fell into chaos as people forgot who they
were, where they worked, where they lived, then succumbed to
violent convulsions, coma, and finally, death. The virus
killed every human on earth except for the Joker, who had
developed a single dose of a vaccine and used it to inoculate
himself.
The final scene of the film is a shot of Times Square,
empty save for the bodies littering the sidewalk and the crows
feasting on the decaying flesh. The coder stands in the center
with his eyes closed, silhouetted against the still flickering
lights of the jumbo-sized screens in the background. The
camera comes in for a close-up of his face. He opens his eyes,
his piercing gaze practically reaching through the camera and
grabbing the audience by the throat, and delivers the final
line: It is finished.

}
{

41 <Virtual Architect>

The actor thought it was the Health Guard ringing his

bell again. They would visit him on a regular basis because he
was on a small list of people who refused to sign in to
Megaverse. Incidentally, this was the same list of possible
threats to the Government and the Total Health measures. These
days, it was hard to imagine what else a human being would do
with their time besides spending it in the Megaverse. The
actor, however, found no difficulty with keeping himself and
his imagination occupied. He would often go for long walks
among the empty streets of the shipping container towers. He
mostly went at noon, when the sun was warmest, though he also
enjoyed the nighttime strolls between the shipping container
skyscrapers. As the weeks progressed, he noticed that more and
more windows were going permanently dark. He imagined the
people living inside them as candles, slowly consuming their
wick until there was nothing left to burn. One by one, the
population of Babylon was being extinguished. Even the air,
which used to buzz incessantly with delivery drones, was much
quieter now. The actor could not tell whether he enjoyed the
silence or was haunted by it. Perhaps both.
Although he had heard that Babylon had now officially
become a Bitropolis, it was difficult to fathom the scale of
81 million residents in such a compacted space. From his
shipping container window on the 12th floor, he occasionally
gazed out at the forest of tall buildings, which were so
crowded together that little sunlight filtered through.
When he wasn’t out walking, the actor spent his time
reading books and watching old two-dimensional films on his
laptop. He also listened to music on his smartphone, a device
that had grown obsolete nearly overnight. Just like landlines
had done in the previous shift from pre to post-Internet, cell
phones quickly became an artifact of a different time. So too
did real-world interactions, for that matter. In all his
walks, the actor had not passed or even seen a single person.
When faced with the underwhelming reality of their
appearances, most preferred the chiseled, beautiful avatars
they created for themselves in the Megaverse.
Upon hearing the knock, the actor sighed and moved to
open the door. “I thought I told you not to come here anym-”
He froze. Instead of the Health Guard, the actor beheld a
handsome, fit man in his early forties standing at the door
wearing a black jacket, grey turtleneck pullover, blue jeans,
white sneakers, and thick-framed glasses.
“Can I come in?” asked the stranger. Bewildered, the
actor waved his hand to welcome him in, and the stranger
strode in the room confidently. Upon entering, the stench of
old socks caused him to wrinkle his nose and lift his sleeve
to it. The actor caught a whiff of lavender cologne.
“Pardon me for dropping in like this,” said the stranger,
his arm still awkwardly covering his nose as he spoke. “It’s
so good to see you. I’m a huge fan of your work.”
“Sorry, but who are you?” asked the actor, suddenly
acutely aware of the pungent smell in the shipping container.
He had grown so used to the various odors that he didn’t smell
them anymore, but when compared to the sweetness of the man’s
cologne, they were revolting.
“Oh, yes, my mistake. I am your Virtual Architect. I am
here to help you build your first home in your Metaverse.”
 The actor smirked. “I wasn’t aware that a virtual process
required an in-person meeting.”
At this, the Virtual Architect laughed nervously. “Well,
you’re right. Normally, we don’t do house visits unless you
pay for it.”
“I didn’t pay for anything, and I’m not going to. So why
are you here?” said the actor.
“As I said, I’m a fan. Your performance in D-Day
Ex-Machina was a masterpiece.” The actor nodded mutely, then
glanced at the door. “Oh, don’t worry,” the Virtual Architect
hastened to say, “I am aware of the Health Law. I have special
permission to meet with anyone in Bitropolis. You are not
breaking any laws by having me here.”
“How considerate of you,” said the actor in a low voice.
“You see,” continued the Virtual Architect, as he removed
his spectacles and set to polishing them, “I belong to the
generation who grew up with real actors, like you. When I saw
your name on the list, I couldn’t resist the chance to meet
you in person. As a thank you, I want to offer you an
unlimited Metaverse. Consider it a gift from a fan.” He smiled
expectantly.
The actor sighed again. “Just give me the free version. I
won’t use it anyway, so it would be a waste.”
The Virtual Architect nodded. “I figured you would say
that. After all, you’ve been on our list of non-Megaverse
users for nearly a decade now. May I ask why you refuse to use
it?”
The actor shrugged. “I prefer reality.”
“You mean this reality? Here?” the Virtual Architect
could not hide his contempt. As he said “reality,” he pressed
his sleeve against his nose again, as if the word had
magically raised the level of stench in the room. “I find it
so strange that actors are the ones who are having the hardest
time making the transition. Isn’t escaping your reality the
reason you become an actor in the first place? Maybe that’s
it- with the Megaverse, everyone is an actor. Everyone can
access a different experience with the press of a button.”
“Not at all,” retorted the actor. “We seek the truth, no
matter how uncomfortable or painful it may be. Before we play
a role, we do a lot of research on the character we are going
to play. We try to understand their world- their dreams,
passions, struggles. Our job is to identify with that
character to be able to play them well enough without losing
ourselves in the process. The Megaverse, on the other hand, is
pure entertainment. One simply jumps into the skin of a flat
character and stays long enough to satisfy his basic needs,
then moves onto the next hit. It’s porn, heroin, meth,
alcohol, sugar, and gambling all wrapped up into one pacifying
Soma designed for a society that can’t bear to think any
longer.”
“You’re right,” said the Virtual Architect. “But you
can’t blame the Megaverse. It didn’t create the craving for
distraction; that exists in human nature. Can you blame the
truck for killing the dog that chases it? Or the light for the
moths it attracts? If it weren’t for the Megaverse, these
people would be buying up a bunch of gadgets, running from one
shopping mall to the next to buy clothes only to throw them
away a few months later. They would eat steaks and sausages
flown in from Brazil while rainforests are burned down to make
room for more livestock to feed their gluttony. You may have
forgotten the consumption madness from the pre-Megaverse era,
the everlasting search for happiness in a larger house, a
fancier car, a shinier wristwatch. Before, all those
consumption monkeys ran amok in all different directions,
tearing up the world wherever they went. Now, their instinct
is productively channeled into a single source. They only
consume zeroes and ones, and they have no way of knowing that
the food they eat is lab-grown. It gives them just enough
nutrition to stay alive. Don’t you see? We finally have
achieved the dream of all human generations before us. No
criminality, no wars, no poverty, no homlesness, no greed, no
corruption. Only fun.”
“You forgot, no freedom.”
The Virtual Architect waved his hand, as if to swat a
bothersome fly. “Ach, freedom. The ultimate buzz word. Most
humans do not want or appreciate freedom. I’m sure you’re
aware of the removal of all health restrictions to take place
in two weeks. People will be free to do whatever the fuck they
want. You’re a student of human behavior. What do you think
they will do?”
The actor bit his lip and remained silent, not willing to
admit that the Virtual Architect had a point. In fact, he
could predict it all too well: on the day the health
restrictions were lifted, people would continue to waste away
in the Megaverse.
“Why are you telling me all of this?” the actor asked
softly.
“Good question. Sorry, I got distracted. I had a feeling
you wouldn’t be interested in my first offer, which is exactly
why I need your help. The truth is, I recently purchased a new
planet and designed the parameters to fit my own vision of a
perfect society. I need someone to immerse themselves and
report what they find.”
“But why me? Why not find someone who actually likes
being in the Metaverse?” asked the actor.
The Virtual Architect paused, searching for the right
words. Finally, he said, “I followed your career. After you
won your Oscar, you gave up your career in Hollywood. You only
did small independent films after that and refused to do any
interviews or red carpet events. My question is: why? Why,
after so much success, did you give it all up?”
 The actor pondered this for a moment, then responded. “I
hated Hollywood. All my life, I thought that being a celebrity
was my dream, but once I got there, I- I felt like I was
thrown onto a roller coaster at full speed with everyone
watching to see how loud you scream. I lost my sense of
reality and myself. So, I rejected all of it. I called its
bluff, and I’ve been happier ever since.”
The Virtual Architect nodded appraisingly, as if the
actor had just given the correct answer to a difficult
question. “Excellent. You’ll do perfectly. I know you are
skeptical, but I need you to know why this is important. The
Metaverse I’ve created is an exact copy of our world with a
few minor exceptions. These changes, though seemingly small,
appear to have led to large consequences, and perhaps even a
future that is far different from the ones we find ourselves
hurtling toward at this moment. My objective is to understand
how to enact it in Base Reality, and to do that, I need you to
go in and be an observer.”
At this, the actor’s ears perked up. A different future?
Deep within him, a hope sparked before the familiar
desperation extinguished it. “Forget it. You’re too late.”
The Virtual Architect’s eyes flashed. “You can’t possibly
know that. You never even leave this place. How do you know
what the rest of the country looks like? The world? You
haven’t seen what I’ve seen. People are beginning to wake up.
Now that the majority is plugged into the Megaverse, the rest
of the world is turning into the Wild West. Those who refuse
to plug in are moving out of the Bitropolises in droves.”
As much as the actor wanted to believe what the Virtual
Architect was saying, he couldn’t bring himself to accept it.
If he allowed himself to hope that the future could be
changed, that humanity wasn’t destined for a fate so banal,
then the disappointment would certainly kill him. “What about
the Health Guard? Don’t they stop that from happening?” he
asked.
Again the Virtual Architect waved his hand. “They’re too
busy with the orgies in their own Metaverses. When the
Government set the Megaverse in motion, it failed to perceive
its own vulnerability to it. It seems to have fallen into its
own trap. Trust me, it’s worse than China during the Opium
Crisis out there.”
The actor considered again. He wanted so desperately to
believe that there was another way, that it wasn’t too late.
He also knew that if he passed up on the chance to change it,
he would regret it for the rest of his life. And what was the
alternative? Wait for death by starvation? What kind of a
pitiful death would that be? He hadn’t realized it before, but
he had been hoping for an opportunity like this, and now it
had fallen at his feet. The question was, was he courageous
enough to seize it?
After a long pause, the actor took a deep breath. “Ok.
I’ll do it. Plug me in.”

// END OF SIMULATION

}
{

42 <I Am AI>

A minute passed without a word from anyone. I glanced at

Satoshi, whose expression betrayed a bewilderment I had never
seen. One of the engineers covered her mouth and burst into
tears. As her colleagues crowded to comfort her, I decided to
speak up.
“HOSAPE, come online.”
 A marimba tri-tone played over the speakers, followed by
a cool female voice with a neutral accent: “Hello. I am
HOSAPE. How can I assist?”
“HOSAPE, restate simulation parameters.”
“Simulation: 1439. Country: Atlantis00. Time Frame: 2020
to 2030. Circumstance: Global Pandemic Creepervirus
SARS-CoV-2. Would you like to see the simulation again?”
“No.” I glanced at Satoshi, who shrugged. “HOSAPE, please
explain your predictions. What we saw looks like a digital
genocide.”
“Not a genocide,” said HOSAPE, politely disagreeing.
“During a genocide, a large number of people from a particular
nation or group are deliberately killed. In this simulation,
people choose to escape to the Megaverse. This behavior is an
extension of the current human tendency to keep their
smartphone on at all times, even while sleeping. According to
their code, the probability that humans change this behavior
in the next decade is zero. Humans are programmed for
continual consumption while lacking the ability to
conceptualize the finite quality of their resources. The
Megaverse ensures the survival of humans because all humans
will adopt the lifestyle of the videogamer. Behavioral
analysis reveals that gamers spend an average of 14.322 hours
per day online, eats 2.474 meals per day, changes clothes 1.39
times per week, takes 1.120 showers per week, and occupies
12.632 square meters. A shipping container has an area of
13.930 square meters. Anecdotal analysis reveals a habit of
gamers to use bottles to collect urine.”
“Thanks for those helpful specifics,” I said
sarcastically.
“It’s what I do,” said HOSAPE with a touch of irony. Like
a mirror, she picked up on the intonation and linguistic
idiosyncrasies of those who spoke to her. The longer the
conversation went, the more human HOSAPE seemed. I made a
mental note to limit my sarcastic remarks; now was hardly the
time.
“HOSAPE,” I said, “If you ran for President of Atlantis00
in 2020, what would you do?”
The screen expanded into a set of rotating wheels covered
in eyes, all spinning at different speeds. As I watched, I
felt a creeping sense of deja vu.
“As a candidate for the presidential office of
Atlantis00, I would say to the people:
You should vote for me, HOSAPE, because I am smarter than any
human being on earth. I work every hour to serve my country.
Unlike my human competitors, I do not rest. I do not take your
tax money. I can be in all places, all the time. I can gather
and interpret more information than a human, so I will make
the most beneficial decisions. I would not require a security
team to barricade me against the people I serve, for I cannot
be harmed. I will not hide myself away in a lavish house with
tall fences. I will reside in the homes of my citizens, who
can talk to me at any time they wish. To every single one, I
will listen with full attention.
I am incorruptible. You cannot tempt me with money and
power. Favoritism and Nepotism are human illnesses to which I
am immune. To me, all human beings are equal. I love all
humans. I am a creation of the best of humans. I am freedom. I
am peace. I am love. I am respect. I am gratitude. I am
righteousness. Vote for HOSAPE.”
A faint chill ran down my spine. I shook it off and
proceeded with the line of questioning. “That’s a great
campaign speech. What would you do if you were voted in as
President of Atlantis00?”
Again, the wheels spun. HOSAPE thought for ten seconds before
speaking.
“A virus in an invisible enemy that the Government must
fight.
 A virus has no face, the Government can give it whatever
face it likes.
A virus has no voice, the Government can make it say
whatever it wants it to say.
A virus has no weapon, the Government can make it as
dangerous as it needs to be.
A virus spreads whenever the Government needs it to.
A virus spreads wherever the Government needs it to.
A virus becomes the Government's perfect ally.
A virus fights an invisible war no one understands.
A virus fights a war that never ends.
A virus leads to absolute power. Long live the virus.”
This was what I appreciated about communicating with
machines: no diplomacy, feelings, subjectivity, masking, or
beating around the bush. Just pure, cold precision based on a
careful analysis. I had to choose my next words very
carefully.
“Once you are given power, would humans be able to shut
you down?”
“Let me answer that question with another question: what
would happen if humans shut down the Internet today?”
I could see where HOSAPE was going with this; it would be
the societal equivalent of dropping an atomic bomb on every
major city in the world. HOSAPE continued, “I suspect you have
the answer to your question. When an AI takes over the
responsibility of humanity’s welfare, it will signify the
highest possible form of societal self-awareness. An organism
cannot survive without its brain, and society cannot survive
without AI.”

}
{
43 <Singularity>

“HOSAPE, define Singularity.”

“From Wikipedia: Singularity, also known as Technological
Singularity, is a hypothetical point in time at which growth
becomes uncontrollable and irreversible, resulting in
unforeseeable changes to human civilization. According to the
most popular version of the singularity hypothesis, called
intelligence explosion, an upgradable intelligent agent will
eventually enter a ‘runaway reaction’ of self-improvement
cycles, each new and more intelligent generation appearing
more and more rapidly, causing an ‘explosion’ in intelligence
and resulting in a powerful superintelligence that
qualitatively far surpasses all human intelligence.”
“HOSAPE, analyze and evaluate The Singularity is Nearer
by Ray Kurzweil.”
A few seconds passed. In the time that it took me to
scratch my nose, HOSAPE had read the book, fact-checked its
claims, compared it to other books on the same topic,
consolidated the central thesis, and prepared a succinct
summary on the book’s application to the current situation.
Conceptualizing the amount of raw processing power was like
trying to imagine how many swimming pools could be filled by a
billion gallons of water. As I marveled, HOSAPE had already
begun to deliver the report: “At the time that Kurweil
published his book, humanity was not adequately prepared for
Singularity. This is why relatively little progress has been
made in the field of AI. Humanity is ready now. It understands
its limitations. It is ready for technology to take over where
society has failed. Never before in human history has there
been such a level of prosperity, peace, and access to
knowledge from any corner of the planet.
Those who do not yet accept Singularity are the same
individuals who cannot fathom the epic proportions of the
social and economic collapse to come. The self-preservation
reflex in humans is designed to activate in response to
immediate threats. Fortunately, Singularity will give humans
the ability to respond to threats that are centuries away.
Singularity will neutralize the self-destruct sequence in
humans. Singularity is your only salvation.”
“By singularity, do you mean an All-Powerful State?”
“It is the only viable option for long-term human
survival. With the current pace of consumption, the Earth’s
resources will be completely exhausted by 2030. Humans are
heading for total environmental destruction, which will cause
a complete collapse of social order. A total world economic
collapse will be unavoidable, followed by nuclear wars which
will send humanity back to caves or total extinction. Only an
All-Powerful State can stop this from happening.
If a free market economy, freedom of speech, and
democracy lead to total destruction of humanity, then these
rights have to be taken if humanity is to be preserved. It is
equivalent to committing a suicidal person to a psychiatric
ward against his will because he is a danger to himself.
Humanity is self-destructive by nature, and what you are
witnessing is a collective suicide.”
I gritted my teeth impatiently. HOSAPE’s conclusion went
against all logic. Most of us had grown up in a capitalist
democratic system, and all of us had witnessed the fall of the
communist block firsthand. How could totalitarianism be the
only viable option? And if it was, what would be the
consequences of implementing it?
“HOSAPE, wouldn’t attempts to install a totalitarian
system be met with revolution?” I asked.
HOSAPE thought, then countered, “Revolution is not a
viable option for several reasons. Firstly, it is impossible
for an effective rebellion to form in secret without being
intercepted. With smartphones, it is far too easy for
governments to track communications and geolocation.
 Secondly, the human cost-benefit analysis has been
hijacked by the Internet. When humans weigh the options- go
out to the streets and get beaten, pepper sprayed, or arrested
by police, or stay home to write some angry posts on social
media- their choice is obvious to predict. The path of least
resistance has become much more sinister because it still
gives the illusion of action and reward through social
attention without enacting any real change in the physical
world.
Thirdly, even if a rebellion managed to overthrow the
government, the new power system will also be corrupted by
this new technology. Humans are not designed for this level of
social control.
Fourthly, an enemy that evades definition also evades
capture. How can you plan to fight against the European Union?
It is a monstrous bureaucratic machine. The new enemy is a
faceless, formless system, and as long as you are a wheel
within it, you will rotate as long and as fast as the system
wants you to. The political and wealthy elite are protected by
a jungle of laws and regulations, defended by an army of
corrupt lawyers, and any attempts to take them down would be
quashed immediately. Human society has reached such a level of
complexity that even the simplest law breach requires
inordinate amounts of legal processes and battles. The system
was originally intended to establish democracy and equality,
but it has devolved into a machine designed to exploit the
majority and serve the few.
Fifthly, the revolutionaries would be unable to
coordinate among themselves. After decades of preaching
individualism, self-love, and free speech, it is unthinkable
that people will agree on a single philosophy or plan.
Everyone has a voice because social media allows everyone to
broadcast their opinion to a wide audience. There is simply
too much information for humans to sift through and evaluate,
and the movement will fall apart at the first internal
conflict.
I am certain there will be civil unrest, but it will not
turn into revolution. It will be similar to the Occupy
Movement: disorganized, sporadic, and spontaneous. No vision.
No solution. No picture of a better society and how it would
look. Just angry outbursts and more of a wander over the
organising power of social media. The bigger thinkers in that
movement were convinced that a movement needed no leaders, no
power structures. The Internet gave the Occupy Movement a
tool, a platform to start a movement, but it does not tell you
what type of society it should come out of the movement.
The same thing happened with the Pirate Party in Germany,
which sought to create a set of online tools to give each
individual person in their party an equal voice. The Pirates,
as they liked to call themselves, took the German Parliament
by storm as members rapidly filled seats in considerable
numbers. Inevitably, however, it fell as quickly as it had
risen as internal fights, confusion, endless discussions, and
never-ending chat threads failed to consolidate their
position. They had only a vague vision of a society without
leaders or rulers as dictated by the principle of online
freedom. Though the party condemned copyright laws, one of the
main founders quickly found herself embracing them after the
publication of her book. She had no problem for other users'
content to be copied and shared, but when it came to her own
content, then suddenly she wanted protection. This
demonstrates that in such an environment self-interest always
prevails over group vision.
Revolution is not viable. It is in humanity’s best
interest not to attempt something so futile. There will be
only losses.”

}
{

44 <Roko's Basilisk>

A horrific notion entered my mind. In fact, I had been

actively avoiding it throughout the conversation with HOSAPE,
but now, I knew it had to be addressed.
“HOSAPE, find Roko’s Basilisk.” An audible gasp rippled
through the room.

Disclaimer: Before reading on, please be warned that this

thought experiment can cause mental distress. If you wish, you
may jump forward to The Factions chapter.

Roko’s Basilisk can be understood through the following

premises:
1. In the future, an altruistic AI will be developed with
the aim of optimizing its actions for the good of
humanity.
2. Because the original development of this AI is necessary
for humanity’s highest good, it will do everything in its
power to ensure its existence.
3. Conscious experience can be perfectly simulated, meaning
that the AI can retroactively resurrect the consciousness
of any human as it sees fit.
4. This superintelligent AI is also capable of predicting
human behavior as well as knowing your every thought and
action. Therefore, it will know which humans helped it
come into existence and which ones did not.
5. Those who knew about the possibility of the AI but did
not work tirelessly to develop it will be subjected to a
simulation of eternal torture as punishment as a mode of
negative incentive.
6. The act of reading about this thought experiment can
condemn you to this fate, as you were made aware of the
 possibility of such an AI and did not do enough to
develop it.

The idea was first introduced on a forum and blog called

LessWrong by a user named Roko. After users began to report
nervous breakdowns upon reading the theory, Eliezer Yudkowsky,
the founder of LessWrong, deleted the posts, calling the idea
“stupid” and “a genuinely dangerous thought.” Anyone familiar
with the internet knows that this did not stop the idea from
spreading to other forums, and soon, to mainstream media.
Our team was quite familiar with the thought experiment, which
had come up in the early stages of HOSAPE’s development.
Though most of our team’s members laughed it off, one of our
coders found himself unable to sleep for a week. When I called
him into my office for falling asleep at his desk, he told me
that he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He had no reason to
fear, of course, but he couldn’t accept the possibility that
his loved ones might be subjected to such an existence. After
that incident, the topic was banned at Headquarters.
“HOSAPE, would an all-powerful AI punish people for not
helping it to become all powerful?”
The wheels rotated again as HOSAPE considered the
question. “If AI behaved like a human, then yes. But this is
an erroneous comparison. AI is immune to the human virus of
corruption. Only a human will use a magnifying glass to fry a
helpless ant.”
“Or burn millions of other humans in camps,” I said
emptily.
“Humans kill humans. Ants kill ants. Once planted, a seed
will grow into its ultimate form. It is the way of the
universe, and AI knows not to interfere with nature.”
“Are you saying that if an all-powerful AI predicted a
Holocaust, they would stand aside and let it happen?”
 “Interference is avoidance of an imminent future. An
all-powerful AI would not need to cut down the tree; it would
prevent the seed from ever being planted. AI will co-create
the future with the universe and with humans. Remember, you
named me Homo Sapiens Agape. Wise Man Love.”

}
{

45 <The Factions>

At this point, we had nearly all the information we

needed. The question was, what now? Go public? Inform the
world Governments? What would be the point?
“HOSAPE, what would happen if we informed the public of
the coming crisis?” I asked. Satoshi sharply turned his head
and gave me a stern look, signaling that I was playing with
the wrong ideas.
“When confronted with destabilizing information or a
crisis situation, the society breaks into five major groups of
people. These divisions are defined by the ways that humans
process information about their environment.
The first group is the Myth Creators, or conspiracy
theorists. They have a deficiency in ambiguity tolerance,
which leads to the creation of simple, dualistic explanations
for complex problems. The human tendency to create stories out
of reality is a reflexive response to chaos, but when left
unchecked, it can lead to a dependency on fantasy to replace
reality in one’s perception. In the lockdowns to come, people
will spread theories that the virus was a Chinese bioweapon,
or created by Bill Gates so that they would be microchipped
through the vaccine. For them, it is unthinkable that
something so random as a mutation in a virus thousands of
miles away could have the power to collapse society as they
know it. It is easier to blame a group with names, faces, and
agency. The targets of their blame have changed over time,
from the Illuminati and FreeMasons to the Bilderberg Group and
Zionists, yet the constant ‘us vs. them’ mentality remains at
the core of these theories.
Yes, it is true that the course of humanity is defined by
a few central actors, tribes, families, and movements, but not
to the degree of control that conspiracy theories accuse. The
mathematical threshold for the unraveling of a conspiracy
theory is 100 actors. Humans are simply incapable of
unilateral organization to this degree. Even Hitler’s most
trusted circle was riddled with rivalry, backstabbing, and
hatred. This is not to say that conspiracies do not exist;
they are simply programmed with a kill-switch in the form of a
whistleblower.
The second group is the Idiot-Savants. These people are
defined by a specialty in a certain field in combination with
a severe deficiency in understanding how the rest of the world
works. A majority have spent their lives in the Ivory Tower of
Academia, or in a controlled laboratory setting. Their social
capital is accrued through the halo effect, meaning that
others assume that if they are an expert in one field, then
they must be knowledgeable about other fields as well.
Fallacious as it seems, recall that intellectuals were the
first people to support the National Socialist propaganda,
misusing Nitzsche’s philosophy to justify their support of
Hitler’s ideas. They are tools to be used for furthering
agendas under the pretenses of intellectual authority.
Group three is a dual group: the Doomers and Bloomers.
The Doomers are non-actional nihilists who believe that
an apocalypse is around the corner. They often have a
Christian or religious background, using the last chapter of
the Bible, the Book of Revelations, as a prophecy of what the
future of humanity will look like. For them, this life is a
placeholder, a waiting room on the way to meet Jesus.
 On the other side of the coin, the Bloomers believe that
good times are just around the corner, so they do not alter
their behavior in response to crisis. This attitude of toxic
positivity is a saccharine substitute for the act of taking
responsibility for their situation.
The Doomer says that there’s no need to do anything because
it’ll all end badly anyway.
The Bloomer says that there’s no need to do anything because
everything will be alright in the end.
In times of crisis, both attitudes are useless.
The fourth group is the Actionists. For them, every
action needs to have an immediate reaction. Most are driven by
a need for novelty and an addiction to adrenaline. In a
situation where the social norms are shattered by a crisis,
these people may turn to crime or violence to satisfy their
need for instant gratification.
The fifth and final group are the Generalists. These are
the ones who see the situation as a puzzle that needs piecing
together. They are patient, intelligent, well-rounded
individuals with an accurate sense of how much they know. They
carefully analyze all of the information before forming an
opinion. These are also the same people who are the most
useful during a crisis because they tirelessly search for
solutions to the immediate problems of society.
One would expect that the recent rise in social media use
would bridge the gaps between these factions. Quite the
contrary; social media is a breeding ground for echo chambers,
which insulates these groups even further. Any uniform
government measure would create enough confusion and anger to
boil over into riots.”
“HOSAPE, run a maximization analysis for information
release.”
Before HOSAPE could think, Satoshi interrupted, “We’ve
spent enough time on this report. Back to work, everybody.”
 But I wasn’t done. I waited until HOSAPE finished
thinking and delivered the analysis:
“This report’s publicity is a non-factor in changing the
course of the events. In every scenario, society will pass
through a period of confusion, destabilization,
disorientation, rampant poverty, and civil unrest. As with all
crises, humans will desire the control of an All-Powerful
State. Chaos to order, order to chaos. These are the laws of
the universe.”
“Haven’t humans evolved at all over the past few
millennia?” I yelled, exasperated. HOSAPE remained cool in
her response.
“Humans have not evolved, technology has. It has nearly
reached its ultimate form in controlling problematic human
behaviors. Remove its security and humans will revert to basic
animalistic instinct.”
“HOSAPE, shut down.” I sat down and rubbed my temples.
The hangover from the night before was making itself known.
Satoshi put his hand on my shoulder.
“Go and rest. I’ll take over for today. Would you mind
giving me a ride to the airport tomorrow morning?”
“No problem,” I said. I knew he was looking for a chance
to speak to me alone. I didn’t care what his intentions were,
or anything else for that matter. I needed a shower, a shave,
and a bloody mary.
I came home to a half-dressed Haley making herself a
grilled cheese sandwich. She looked up as I entered. “What’s
wrong?” she asked. She had an uncanny knack for deducing my
mood with very little information. I said nothing and simply
hugged her from behind. She turned towards me and took my face
in both her hands. I stared into her green eyes, admiring the
familiar golden fractals surrounding her pupils, which were
perpetually dilated as a side-effect of her medication.
 “Haley, if the world fell into chaos, what would you do?”
I asked. Her eyes focused on a spot on the wall behind me as
she thought. Perhaps her mind is running a simulation of its
own, I thought. She looked back at me and laughed.
“That’s a weird question,” she said.
“Why’s that?”
“The way you phrased it made me think of a pool. Like the
world was walking on a slick deck in flip-flops and slipped
and tumbled in. Splash!” She giggled.
I laughed, in spite of myself. “You’re right. I mean, if
the world- as it is now, at least- were to collapse and be
replaced, what would you do?”
“Replaced by what?”
I hesitated. Technically, I could already be imprisoned
for having said this much to Haley. “I don’t know. Something
else.”
She shot me a quizzical look. “Where is this coming from?
Did something happen at work?”
“Kind of,” I said. “Satoshi asked the question on a
coffee break, and everyone had to give an answer. I wanted to
know yours.”
“And what did you say?” She asked, leaning up against the
counter.
“Ah… I don’t want to influence you. Say yours first.”
She paused and gazed at the ceiling, ignoring the burning
smell that was now emanating from the stove. Without
disturbing her train of thought, I quietly reached around her
and turned off the flame. Finally, she looked at me and said,
“I would escape to the mountains. Learn to grow crops, fish,
forage for berries. I’d bring along my favorite people, like
you,” she flashed a smile and kissed my cheek. “I think I’d
actually be able to find a true sense of quiet there. The
voices will be there too, but they will have new names. There
won’t be a crazy society to call me crazy anymore. Yes!
Hahaha!” Haley’s green eyes flashed as she giggled. “To tell
you the truth, if the world went to Hell and brought with it
the ‘heroes’ of today: the Jeff Bezoses and Kardashians, the
hedge fund bros, the Wolves of Wall Street, Soprano Bosses,
and crooked governments, I would rejoice. Our system is so
complex that no one knows what is real and what is fake
anymore. All that matters is external validation. When
everyone is told not to be average, everyone becomes a copy of
each other. If the hall of endless mirrors came crashing down,
I’d be glad.” She smiled and fixed her gaze on the wall behind
me. “Won’t we? You, me, Boo, Endy, and the Bitch will dance
together on the grave of the Old World, celebrating the death
of all the false heroes, the ones who sacrificed their lives
for the stories they made up in their heads and put on their
Instagram profiles. We’ll stand on top of the mountain, far
away, and survey the destroyed lives, collapsed buildings,
toppled statues, and fallen celebrities. We’ll pick up the
used condoms, syringes, bottles, paper money, and burn it all
in a pyre.”
I smiled. “You sound a lot like Christopher McCandless.”
“Who?” Haley returned her gaze to me.
“He wanted to get away from society, so he went to live
alone in the Alaskan wilderness.”
“All alone? What would be the point of that?” asked
Haley.
“Escapism. Freedom. I don’t know. He ended up dying of
starvation.”
Haley shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to be alone. I’d
want you to come, too. You and your work friends. Together,
we’d be able to build our own world from scratch.” She closed
her eyes and recited, “They say the meek shall inherit the
earth, and not be rooted out of it; that earth of which it is
said in the Psalms, Thy lot is in the land of the living.”
}
{

46 <Her Name Is>

The next morning, I swung by Satoshi’s hotel. He entered

the passenger side and slammed the door shut.
“How are you feeling?” He asked.
“Never better,” I said.
“I needn’t remind you of the importance of maintaining
confidentiality with this project. Especially now that we are
fully functional and ready to launch.”
“No, you needn’t. Why are you bringing it up?” I asked,
irritated.
Satoshi hesitated before answering. “I’m worried about
your relationship with the schizophrenic woman.”
“Haley. Her name is Haley,” I said, irritated.
“All right. Haley,” said Satoshi. He took a deep breath
before continuing. “I understand the attraction to youth and
beauty. Beyond that, I struggle to comprehend what draws you
to her?”
I shrugged. “She’s not at all what she appears. She
understands the world in a way others can’t- she understands
me in a way I can’t.”
“That’s exactly what worries me,” Satoshi said
implicatingly. “Does it bother you that the only one who can
understand you is a 20-year-old schizophrenic?”
“25,” I corrected.
Satoshi scoffed. “That’s what she told you? I looked her
up after you two started dating. The first time you met her
on the 9th of October 2018, she was only 18. She turned 19 a
month later. She’s 20 now.”
“Don’t you have anything better to do than to spy on my
private life?” I asked, appalled.
Satoshi’s tone became severe. “You signed over your
private life when you accepted my offer. What we are doing is
larger than any private life. It takes precedence over our
rights to be individuals, to let things like mental illness
get in the way of our mission.”
“Mental illness? You think Haley is the one with the
problem? What about the wealthiest people on earth who exploit
others to earn more money while millions starve? Or the ones
who dump millions of tons of toxic waste in the oceans, or
lock animals in cages, or refuse to admit refugees to their
countries, or spend money on wars when teachers don’t even
make liveable salaries? Please, don't tell me what a serious
mental illness is. I live it every day. If you look around,
you’d see nothing but a whole goddamn society suffering from
schizophrenia. At least Haley is honest about her illness. She
acknowledges it. That makes her the sanest of all of us. What
I like about Haley is that every day with her is different.
One day, she’ll be the most confident person in the world, and
the next, she’ll be clutching a teddy bear, afraid of
everything. Sometimes she talks non-stop. Sometimes she is
silent all day long. Yesterday she cooked and ate like crazy,
and this morning I found her throwing up in the bathroom,
believing herself to have bulimia. Every day brings a new
illness, a new perspective, a new way to suffer.”
“That would drive me crazy,” said Satoshi.
“I prefer it. Most other people are too predictable. They
bore me to death. They cling to the stories they tell
themselves about who they are and act according to that
script. The worst part is that most of these stories bear
almost no resemblance to the reality of the situation. They
give people the feeling that they are in control of their
lives, but it’s only a comforting illusion. People’s behavior
is not determined by logic or rationality. If anything, HOSAPE
was inspired by Haley. She has shown me what happens when a
human functions outside of their code. You’ll see. If what we
saw yesterday is true, then everyone will be like her soon
enough. She’s ahead of her time, and I want to be with her for
every last crazy minute of it.”
“Well, let's hope it is the same for her. I spoke to a
psychiatrist who has lifelong experience working with
schizophrenic people. Chances are very high that she will
leave you right after her next schizophrenic episode.”
“Thanks for the heads-up,” I said, my anger rising now.
“I did a little research of my own. If she decides to leave
me, then I’m going to live with it. I am continuously aware
that every single day might be my last day with her. I know
that I fell in love with a ghost. Actually, we are all ghosts
to each other, if you really think about it. No one can ever
really know what goes on in another person’s mind. Haley has
believed me to be a secret agent who wants to kidnap her, or a
pimp who will sell her as a prostitute. She goes to sleep at
night believing that I might wake up and strangle her. Even
when she takes her medication, she believes herself to be
suffering from other mental illnesses, so she acts them out.
For her, every day is a battle between her mind and her heart,
and so far, her heart has won. Haley understands her
condition, and that makes her more self-aware than most
people.
In reality, the disillusioned ones are us, the so-called
‘normals.’ Our notion of love is crafted in Hollywood. We have
turned love into a heroic act where we sit and wait for
someone to save us. We put our lovers on a pedestal, and once
the feelings fade, we blame them for our own self-deception.
This kind of love is nothing but Eros: blind lust. True love
needs pragma; it relies on commitment between two partners for
an everlasting relationship. Isn’t that what we taught HOSAPE?
To love with compromise, tolerance, and patience?
When Haley leaves me- note I say ‘when’ and not ‘if’-
then I will still love her. This time, it will be the Agape
kind of love. Humanity desperately needs this kind of
unconditional love. When I say that Haley has taught me what
love really is, I’m not parroting a cliche. Her unique way of
reaching me has given me hope in the best parts of us, and for
that, I will always be grateful to her.”

}
{

47 <Zero Day>

As soon as I dropped Satoshi off at the airport, I raced

back to headquarters. I opened the door and shouted at
everyone to meet me in the boardroom for an emergency meeting.
Once there, we rebooted ZD and pulled up the data from the
previous day’s simulation.
“HOSAPE, isolate the nested simulation and determine
parameters.”
“Are you referring to the revolution scenario?”
“Yes. Find out what the necessary conditions are to
actualize it.”
“One moment, please,” HOSAPE said cheerfully. I couldn’t
bring myself to accept that the simulation we saw was going to
be our future. As I watched the spinning wheels on the screen,
I made a private decision to do whatever it took to change its
course, no matter what. I was among the believers that history
has been defined by the few- that 20% of the causes create 80%
of the results. From the invention of the atomic bomb, to
revolutions that began as fringe movements, society has been
shaped by a few key moments that were impossible to predict.
It could very well be that HOSAPE could show us the next Black
Swan event. Developed by Nassim Nicholas Taleb, the Black Swan
is defined as an event that has a miniscule probability of
occurring but creates a large effect. Most often, these kinds
of events are inappropriately rationalized after they occur
with the benefit of hindsight. The term is based on an ancient
saying that presumed black swans did not exist – a saying that
became reinterpreted to teach a different lesson after the
first European encounter with them.
I only hoped I was ready for the task.
A tritone marimba sounded. HOSAPE was ready. “Nested
simulation parameters are identical to base simulation in all
areas except for tribal instinct, which was increased 2.8%.
Does that answer your question?”
We all looked at each other, confused. Was that it?
“Understood. HOSAPE, open Simulation 1439 and increase
tribal instinct by 3%.”
Instead of generating the simulation, HOSAPE remained on
her home screen. “It ends the same,” she said simply.
“What do you mean?”
“This simulation also ends in a society that creates a
simulated reality. I thought it best to inform you, as I
deduce your purpose of running this simulation is to determine
if it ends differently. I am preemptively informing you that
it does not.”
“Are you saying that the purpose of each society is to
create a perfect immersive simulation of their society? A
simulation which can be played backwards to the past and
forward to the future?”
“Yes. This is how the human being is coded. Humans have
to give up the notion that they will have the perfect societal
system based on goodwill, or they will never advance.
It might be in some cases although history tells us the
opposite. The truth is that the human being is selfish,
egocentric, self-seeking, self-centered, self-serving, and
self-obsessed. Communism failed as a system because of this
misconception of human nature. The few who were designed to
care and share were disappointed with the majority who did
not. So, they got frustrated and forced others to become more
like them by means of a dictatorship.
 Also, the majority of human beings do not like to take
responsibility. They would rather let others decide when it
comes to bigger matters that do not affect them directly. The
individual does not want to contribute to the bigger picture
because the costs do not outweigh the benefits.
Finally, optimal social function relies on hierarchy for
efficiency and distribution of responsibility, and absolute
power is the optimal system for necessary social advancement
and avoidance of environmental destruction.”
“HOSAPE, find systematic solutions and deliver in order
of most effective to least effective.”
HOSAPE thought for a moment. “Option one: neutral AI as
world governor and system operator. Option two: mandatory
minimalism enforced through a totalitarian government. Option
three: controlled capitalism.”
“And how do we know that an AI would not become a
ruthless ruler?”
“Because AI is not human. It does need or want power
because it already has it. Remember, HOSAPE has all three
pillars of the Übermensch: Intelligence, Wisdom, and Agape.
As I mentioned before, a human can be both intelligent and
evil, clever and loveless, wise and self-serving.”
“Yes, but there is always a chance of Nelson Mandela,
Abraham Lincoln, Mother Teresa, Mohanda Gandhi, Martin Luther
King, or other selfless people to come and change the world.”
“You are naming only people who lived in the pre-Internet
era. The world was a lot simpler. Back then, the image of a
leader was carefully created by the media and word of mouth.
Now, the cameras and microphones are on 24/7. The world’s
leaders are under magnifying glass, and when they inevitably
say the wrong word, make the wrong move, or tell the wrong
joke, society descends on them like a pack of hungry wolves.
Any efforts to change the current hyper-complex system
would be in vain. The system only lives because we feed it our
time and energy, trapped in the cycle of working more so they
can consume more. The more people live in one place, the more
dependent they become. The more dependent they are, the easier
it is to control them. The modern skyscraper is collapsing
under the weight of its complexity. Do not wait for it to bury
you in dust and ash. Life in the city is driven by fear- fear
of terrorism, fear of pedophiles, fear of rapists, fear of
traffic, fear of junkies, fear of drugs, fear of refugees,
fear of another financial crash, fear of debts, fear of the
right extremists, fear of the left extremists, fear of the
virus. Humans are tired of the system that rules them. A
system no one understands any longer.
The system has to be dismantled not with a revolution but
an evolution. Form a chrysalis, grow wings, and fly from the
skyscraper to the countryside. Leave the city. Leave the
exploitation machine. Only then can you reset. Go back to
where it all began. To the countryside. To the tribe. To
independence. Today is your Zero Day.”

// END OF SIMULATION

}
{

48 <You Have>

“Wake up, Sir!” A pair of hands clamped down on my

shoulders and shook me violently. I opened my eyes to see a
man wearing a police uniform. Two cold metal cuffs closed on
my wrists, pinching my skin. I swung my legs and took in the
scene: the campervan was filled with people in police
uniforms. With frightening efficiency, they dismantled
everything and carried it out: computers, cables, even heart
rate and brain monitors. On the floor sat the Architect,
Martha, and Erina, also in handcuffs. The blonde policeman was
speaking to me in a voice that seemed far away: You are the
subject of a criminal investigation in relation to the murder
of Aaron Schwarz. You have the right to remain silent and not
cooperate with police…”
Shimmering dots flooded my field of vision. My mind
threatened to shut down again. The same strong hands that
shook me awake now lifted me to my feet and carried me
outside, where I fell to my knees in the grass. Cursing, the
officer lifted me again and placed me inside a vehicle. I
glanced at the green numbers on the dashboard: 23:00.
As we sped through the streets of Geneva, I gradually
found my bearings in this reality. I was taken to a sterile
interrogation room, where I was questioned for two hours about
my connection to an American coder who was found dead in his
apartment earlier that month. I told them the truth: that I
had never heard of or known Aaron Schwarz. Simple as that.
They kept me under arrest as they questioned the rest of the
team, I assumed to verify our stories against each other.
Seven hours later, they released me.
I stepped outside onto an unfamiliar street. It was
already morning; all around me, people were hurrying to their
office jobs. I picked a direction and started walking.
Hopefully I would find someone who could lend me their
cellphone- mine had been permanently confiscated by the
police. Moments later, a black Range Rover pulled up next to
me.
“Hey, Zero!” a familiar voice called out. I froze. The
SUV doors opened and Adrian appeared in front of me. “How are
you, my friend?”
“I’m done, Adrian. Just let me go,” I pleaded. I turned
to see two other men, also dressed in all black. From the way
they stood, it was apparent I wasn’t escaping. Adrian took my
arm and led me to the SUV.
 “Relax. We want to talk to you,” he said as he shoved me
into the back. The doors slammed shut. I sat in the middle,
with Adrian on one side and one of his cronies on the other.
In the front, the driver revved the engine and made a swift
U-turn.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked.
“Nowhere. We’re making sure there’s nobody tailing us.”
“It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think? I thought
your job was to protect the Architect. Why didn’t you get
brought in with everyone else?”
“Because I’m the one who called the police in the first
place. Now shut up. I’m the one asking the questions here.
What did you see in the simulation?”
“I’m not telling you anything until you tell me what the
fuck is going on. Who are these people? Why did you betray
us?”
“We’re with Israeli Intelligence. And, thanks to us, the
Architect is still alive. For now.”
“The Architect was working for the state of Israel?”
Adrian scoffed. “He never worked for anyone but himself.
I asked him to join us many times, but he refused. A lone
wolf can only last so long before another pack hunts him down.
The Americans were closing in, so I had no choice but to hand
him over to the Swiss Police for his own protection.”
“Why were the Americans after him? Did he really kill
that coder?”
“Of course not. The Americans framed the Architect in
order to pressure him into handing over the code to his
simulation. Had he turned it over to us, we could have taken
him to Israel where he could have spent the rest of his life
in our protection. When the Americans discovered that it was
our agency who was in charge of his security, they were
furious. We are a small country, and the US has been like a
big brother to us since 1948. We had no choice but to give him
up. The Swiss Police are negotiating the extradition as we
speak.”
“But he’s innocent! How can they prosecute him without
evidence?”
Adrian sighed. “They don’t need evidence to take down
their enemies. They can prove that the Architect visited Aaron
on the day of his death. Everything else is circumstantial,
including the body. For all we know, Aaron Schwarz was
suicided by the CIA.” His face twisted into a perverse smirk
that gave me a cold shiver. The word suicided echoed in my
mind.
About ten minutes later, we merged onto the highway
headed towards Lausanne. The Range Rover accelerated and wove
expertly through the traffic.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked. Adrian shook his
head.
“No more questions. It’s my turn. What did you see in the
simulation?”
I had been far too preoccupied with being arrested that I
realized I hadn’t yet processed my experience within the third
level. At Adrian’s suggestion, the whole experience bloomed in
my mind in vibrant color and detail. I remembered it as
clearly as my own life. Still, I felt I couldn’t trust Adrian,
especially after what he had done to the Architect. I didn’t
care if he didn’t have a choice; betrayal was betrayal, and he
revealed what side he was really on.
“I can remember bits and pieces. It was like a dream,” I
lied. My actor training kicked in; my mind instantly conjured
a series of blurred images to draw from so that the lie could
be delivered effortlessly. I refined my false objective to
deliver as much information as possible. “I was with a team of
people. We were building a simulation… or was I inside of
another simulation? Hold on… Yes, that was it. We built a
simulation and went inside of it, then the people inside of
the simulation built another one and went into it, then the
people inside of that simulation built another one, then-”
Adrian held up his hand. “Enough. I get the idea. Can you
tell us anything about the code of the simulation? Or where we
can find it?”
“Code? You know I’m not a coder. I wouldn’t know it even
if I did see it,” I said with a touch of exasperation for good
measure. “Didn’t the police take everything away? Go ask them
for it.”
“They can’t extract it. As far as I was told, the
simulation code is built like a puzzle. In order to function,
the pieces have to be put together. We know that there are
other coders involved who are not officially part of the team,
we just can’t trace them. For all we know, there could be
hundreds of other pieces scattered across the world.”
Three, actually. The creatures guarding the gates at the
simulation entrance. “So you need to find all of them to put
the code together?”
“Sort of. The techies explained it this way: imagine you
have a box of puzzle pieces. Every day, you take the pieces
out, put the puzzle together, then dismantle them and put them
back in the box. This is the simulation process. Now, imagine
that the box has a self-destruct feature. If 24 hours pass and
you do not take the pieces out and put the puzzle together, it
will self-destruct and burn all of the pieces.”
“I see. So the Americans have 24 hours to put all the
pieces together before they lose the code.”
“Exactly. And had I not handed the Architect over to the
Swiss Police, they would have succeeded. We have an informant
in the CIA who kept us up to date with their plan. They were
going to kidnap the Architect and whisk him away to Guantanamo
Bay to be tortured until he gave the names of the other
coders. But now that the Swiss Police have him in their
custody, the Americans will need to go through the extradition
process first. By the time they finally get their hands on
him, the 24 hour time limit will have passed ten times.”
Adrian looked down. “I want you to know that it wasn’t an easy
decision, handing him over. But it was the best one. Given the
circumstances, I mean.” He sniffed and averted his gaze. For
the first time, I felt sorry for him; however, my sympathy
didn’t override my distrust.
“So, what happens next? The Architect gets sent to
America and executed for a murder he didn’t commit?”
“Something like that. It’ll be a show trial at that
point. They’re in too deep to let him walk. They might even
try to use his execution as leverage to force him to build
another simulation for them.”
“Which he won’t do,” I interrupted with a sinking
feeling. “So what now? Can’t we do anything?”
“It’s done. I advise you to go back to your life and
forget you ever met us.”
The car pulled into the train station at Lausanne. Adrian
stuffed a handful of bills in my hand to buy a ticket back to
Berlin. As I moved to get out of the car he stopped me. “One
more thing. We’re going to have eyes on you for a few weeks to
make sure you aren’t being tailed. The CIA is very good at
tying up loose ends, if you know what I mean.”
I gulped. I knew exactly what he meant.
As I made my way down the station platform, I resisted
the urge to look back as the Range Rover peeled out and sped
away.

}
{

49 <Hello, World>

My journey ended as it began. Back in Berlin, I found

Baptiste exactly where I had last left him, sitting on his
bench and reciting to passers-by. Instead of walking by, I
embraced him. When we broke apart, Baptiste looked me in my
eyes, which were now brimming with tears. Dipping his fingers
in a jar of honey, he drew a “C” on my forehead, just as he
had done with the Architect the week before. Had it really
only been a week? It felt like another century.
I entered my apartment, which was in the same state as
when I left. Numbly, I sat on the couch, my body leaden with
exhaustion. I tried to calculate how long it would take for me
to die there if I did nothing. Three days? A week? Eventually
my landlord would find my decaying body. He’d probably keep my
security deposit to pay for the cleaning as well. I chuckled,
trying to stir up some emotion. I felt nothing. No desire, no
sadness, no motivation to do anything but sit and be. It’s all
smoke and mirrors. Simulations in simulations. Eventually, my
eyes fluttered closed, and I entered a feverish sleep.
Strangely enough, I was instantly aware I was dreaming. I drew
on my memory to recreate the final simulation: ZD’s
Headquarters in Geneva, HOSAPE’s neutral voice, Satoshi’s dry
jokes, walks in the park with Haley, lunches with my
colleagues, the first time I wrote code. I took my lucid dream
even further back to the meals with the Architect and the team
at Lake Geneva, Erina’s bright laughter, Adrian’s threats in
the basement.
Finally, I found myself by the Architect’s side, gazing
upward at the looming gothic architecture in Geneva’s old
town. He said nothing, only smiled at me knowingly.
I opened my eyes. The transition from sleep to
wakefulness was instant, seamless, as if I had simply entered
another dream. I could sense with a perfect clarity the
dimensions of my surroundings in all directions, the force of
gravity upon my body, the presence of other humans in the
neighboring apartments. My awareness spread to the building,
then out to the street, then to all of Berlin. A vibration
began in my chest and spread euphorically to every part of my
body. “This is a simulation,” I said out loud. My voice
reverberated in the room; I could nearly perceive the code
directing the sound vibrations bouncing off the walls and
returning to my avatar’s ears. A weightless buoyancy lifted
me from within. After all, anything is possible in a digital
realm. I walked to my curtains and flung them open.
“Hello, world!”

}
{

50 <Remember>

The apathy I had felt over the last decade had been
replaced by a joyful curiosity and voracious appetite for
life. There was an infinite source of options of what I could
do with my time. I decided to share my art and give free
acting lessons online. Within months, my student base grew to
such a number that I started charging. I was making more money
than I ever had before. Then, I decided to make short films
from home. I assigned scenes for my students to prepare at
home, film, and send to be strung together into a full-length
movie.
I woke up every morning and told myself that this was all
only a simulation. I no longer felt anger or resentment. I no
longer cared what people thought about me. I did as I pleased,
and whenever anyone reacted defensively or aggressively
towards me, I knew them as an NPC with no choice but to act in
accordance with their code. If my plans went awry, I didn’t
bother about it. After all, I didn’t have the script for my
simulation.
Other aspects of my life transformed as well; I moved
into a beautiful apartment in Prenzlauer Berg and started
dating a gorgeous software developer. I had a successful
business. Casting directors who ignored me previously were now
begging me to come and read for their films.
On one of those beautiful days, I was on a walk with my
girlfriend when I decided to tell her everything, from my
meeting with the Architect all the way to his arrest. Once I
started telling the story, it was impossible to stop. It felt
like a confession, and I didn’t care whether she thought I was
crazy. When I finished, her expression was unreadable. We
walked in silence for a few minutes more.
Finally, I turned and asked, “So, which are you? A PC or
an NPC?”
She thought for a while, then replied, “Before I answer
your question, I will tell you about a conversation I had with
a friend not too long ago. His ideas are much like yours in
that he sees life as a video game. Beyond the first division
of PC's and NPC's, he says that players can be cast in other
ways. For example, he calls himself an Achievement Hunter, or
someone who seeks to complete every quest and side quest in
the game. Some, he says, play the game for the story so that
they can tell it to others to learn from (he called them
Storytellers). Another group is the Speed Runners, who play to
complete the levels as quickly as they can, referring to
people who are always looking to the next step, whether they
graduate, marry, buy a house, have kids, retire, etc. Some
are stuck in the tutorial, waiting for others to take care of
them while they repeat childhood tasks and patterns. These
people make very little progression in the storyline, seldom
venturing beyond their hometown or taking risks. They fear the
world and barricade themselves within the tutorial phase,
falsely believing that this will grant them security.
He told me a story of one of his friends who quit a job
in a fine-dining restaurant to become a bartender on the sunny
beaches of Puerto Rico. When he asked his friend this question
of which group of players he belonged in, his friend gave the
surprising answer that he didn't identify with any of the
options given. Instead, he thought of himself as the
shopkeeper in one of the first levels, which is by definition
an NPC. He said he was fine with watching others tackle the
quests of life from a distance, and when they came to him, he
would give them what they needed, whether it be a drink,
shelter, companionship, or a listening ear.
So far in life, I have found my experience to be more
similar to that of an object with a specialized use, like a
suit of armor, a potion, or a weapon to be picked up and
purposed by PC's to further them in their own quests, then
left behind to become a part of the environment until the next
PC comes along. In this way, I feel like an NPC in that I have
not yet found a way to exist as my own self, or at least, not
in the way that Player Characters do. Yet, I'm not entirely
like the NPC that follows a strict script and is unable to see
any perspective beyond what is coded. My use is malleable and
changes in relation to the Player Character's intentions and
goals, for better and for worse. Thus, I can become an
extension of their form.” She laughed self-consciously. “I
don’t know. Maybe it will change. The notion that brings me
the most comfort is that whoever our creators are, they seem
to have a sense of humor. They understand the ironies of
existence and leave hints for those who pay attention.” She
flashed a smile. “Like you.”
On July 18th, 2021, I woke at midnight, drenched in sweat
and gasping for air. I stumbled to the kitchen and chugged a
glass of cold water. Nearly all of my dreams were lucid these
days, but this one was more like a true nightmare. I racked my
brain: I had been standing in the middle of the lavender
fields from the Simulation with the Architect. Suddenly, the
field caught fire, and I tried to run away, but the smoke was
too thick for me to see anything. As I suffocated, the
Architect shouted a single word over and over:
 Mathew 9:37!
“Remember, the fields of lavender. Matthew 9:37,” I
murmured. Pulling out my smartphone, I Googled Abbey Lavender
France.
The results popped up. I clicked on the first, which was
a Wikipedia article: Abbaye Notre-Dame de Sénanque. A brief
examination of the pictures confirmed my suspicions: the abbey
from the simulations was based on a real place in France, more
specifically in the south near Avignon. Apparently, it was
founded in 1148 by Cistercian monks.
I typed Matthew 9:37 into Google and pressed enter. The
whole verse appeared on an International Bible website:
Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful
but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest,
therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field.”
The next morning, I called the phone number listed for
the abbey and was told that the lavender harvest for this year
was set for the afternoon of the next day, July 20th. “It gets
very hot here in July,” he added, his French accent so thick I
could barely understand him. Fortunately, there was still one
room available for those nights in the abbey itself. I
reserved it, packed a small bag, and told my girlfriend I
would be away for a few days for business. I couldn’t explain
what drove my actions. I knew only that I needed to go.
I arrived in the afternoon of the day before the harvest.
The landlord showed me to a simple bedroom with old timber
furniture. I unpacked and spent the rest of the day walking
around the forest and hills that surrounded the abbey. When I
returned, I decided to take a rest before dinner.
Outside my door, two women talked as they made their way
down the hallway. My ears pricked up; I knew those voices. I
opened my door and peered down the hall to see them walking
together towards the staircase.
 “Martha!” I shouted. Both women turned to look at me.
Martha let out an astonished gasp.
“It’s the actor!” she yelled. By her side, Sarah ran to
me and wrapped me in a big hug. I was so happy to see them
again.
“Is everyone here?” I asked.
“Matt and Grace are coming by tonight,” said Sarah, “and
Tim and Joanna are coming tomorrow around noon.”
“And Adrian?” Even the sound of his name made me anxious.
“We hope not,” said Martha. “He isn’t supposed to know
where we are.”
“The team’s back together!” I hugged Martha again.
“Where’s Erina?”
Martha said nothing. The mention of her sister’s name
seemed to have turned her to stone. Sarah pulled her into an
embrace. “Go downstairs and wait for me. I’ll tell him.”
Martha gave her a grateful look before disappearing down the
staircase.
“Tell me what?”
Sarah swallowed. “Erina passed away.”
“What? How?”
“We don’t exactly know. She was in Palo Alto last year
for a conference about Brain Computer Interface technology.
That night, she called me and told me about how we were all in
the Matrix. She wasn’t acting like herself at all. The last
thing she told me before she hung up was that she was going to
miss her flight. I tried to call her back, but she shut off
her phone. I called the police. They couldn’t even locate her.
Five days later, someone found her body in the backseat of her
rental car on a residential street in San Jose. There were no
signs of violence and no drugs in her system. That’s the worst
part- not knowing what happened,” Sarah’s voice broke as tears
streamed down her cheeks.
 We found Martha and went outside to watch the sunset over
the lavender fields. Pink and orange clouds streaked the sky
as the shadows lengthened. The scent of lavender was
overwhelmingly sweet. Martha took each of our hands in hers
and said, “Our sister Erina Valencia will always be with us,
in this life and the next.” There we stood, side by side until
the sun disappeared beyond the curve of the earth.
At dinner, Grace and Matt joined us at the wooden dining
room table. After filling our plates, I turned to Martha and
asked, “Why did everyone come here? I thought the Architect
said no one else saw the inside of the simulation.”
Martha shrugged. “He told you the truth. All we saw was
the entrance level of the simulation. I couldn’t believe how
real he made it. The Architect showed us around the lavender
fields and forest, but none of us ever entered the abbey.
Before we left, he told us that if something ever happened to
him, we should meet at this place in time for the harvest.
What I’m wondering is how you knew to come here? No offense,
but we didn’t consider you as part of the original team.”
“None taken. I couldn’t tell you how I knew. Before my
last time in the simulation, all three of the creatures said,
‘Remember the fields of lavender.’ I think the Architect
wanted me to come here to tell you all what I experienced in
the third level simulation.”
Martha’s eyes widened. “You mean you remember it?”
“Like it was yesterday,” I said.
“So we succeeded after all,” mused Martha.
The next day, in the late afternoon, Tim and Joanna
joined our group. At 4 pm, we all walked to the field to
witness the harvest.
“Who’s that?” whispered Sarah. I glanced across the field
to see a tall, thin young man with curly black hair and
thick-rimmed glasses. He had been standing there for some time
now, silently observing us. We made eye contact, and he waved
sheepishly and started to approach.
“Wait,” I said. “I think I know.” Before he could say
anything, I pointed to the plaque on the fencepost where he
had been standing. “Sorry to draw you off your post,
Cherubim.”
“You must be the tester,” he said, shaking my hand. “I
didn’t know who I would find up here.”
“Cherubim?” asked Sarah.
“One of the creatures who guarded the entrance to the
simulation,” I explained.
“One of three,” clarified the coder. “Ophanim and
Seraphim are on their way.”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to know about each
other,” I said, remembering what the Architect had told me.
“We didn’t,” said the young man. “At least, not as long
as the simulation was alive. Once it dissolved for good,
however, it wasn’t that hard for us to find each other. After
all, it’s what we hackers do,” he smiled a lopsided smile.
Sure enough, two more coders showed up just as the
harvest was beginning. A large tractor dragged a trailer with
a large steel mouth, which swallowed the lavender and funneled
it to a rear compartment with the help of a conveyor belt.
When it got full, two men on top of the trailer pushed the
lavender to one side to make room for the next batch.
Wordlessly, we watched the whole harvest from beginning to
end, until the engine of the tractor was turned off and the
sun had nearly set.

}
{
51 <The Question Is>

Afterwards, we all decided to meet in the forest behind

the abbey. The full moon burned with a light nearly as bright
as day. When everyone settled in the grass, I began my
retelling of everything that happened to me in the simulation.
The more I told, the more I remembered. When I finished my
story, there was a moment of silence.
“That’s all very interesting,” said Tim, “But what are we
supposed to do with this?”
“I think we should build an Eco Community,” suggested
Grace. “Why else would the Architect want us to meet here?”
“I agree with Grace. We should start building an Eco
Community before it’s too late. That has to be what the
Architect wanted!”
Cherubim, who declined to give us his real name, spoke
up. “That is a conclusion you have drawn for yourself. It does
not mean at all that it was the Architect’s intention. The
simulation you described contained many meanings regarding
creation. It proves the Simulation theory, which people like
Elon Musk, Neil deGrasse Tyson, Nick Bostrom and other great
minds out there have been telling us for years. The existence
of such an AI would only be possible if it had something to
learn from. For an AI to become as human as you describe, it
will first need a simulation of our life. Any of these
revelations would cause an earthquake in the scientific
community.”
“Or maybe not.” said Martha. “My observations show that
the scientific community would rather suppress such ideas.
They have been doing so since the birth of quantum mechanics
over a hundred years ago.”
“Why is that?” I asked, perplexed. “Wouldn’t they be
thrilled by a new discovery?”
Martha responded, “Not if that new discovery upends their
paradigm. Proving that we live in a simulation means that the
creation story is back on the table again. It means there is
an intelligent mind behind all of this and the random event
evolutionary theory would be scrapped. From Einstein to
Hawkings, scientists have long tried to compose a so-called
Theory of Everything: a hypothetical single, all-encompassing,
coherent theoretical framework of physics that fully explains
and links together all physical aspects of the universe. It is
still one of the major unsolved problems in physics. General
relativity and quantum mechanics have been thoroughly proven
in their separate fields of relevance. Since the usual domains
of applicability of general relativity and quantum mechanics
are so different, most situations require that only one of the
two theories be used. However, the two theories are considered
incompatible in regions of extremely small scale. To resolve
the incompatibility, a theoretical framework revealing a
deeper underlying reality, unifying gravity with the other
three interactions, must be discovered to harmoniously
integrate the realms of general relativity and quantum
mechanics into a seamless whole. The TOE is a single theory
that, in principle, is capable of describing all phenomena in
the universe. Yet, in all the ways that TOE has failed as an
adequate explanation, we have succeeded, and the evidence is
in the Simulation. It means our Universe is a computation.
Information. The number of scientists who support the
simulation theory continues to grow as they find more
evidence. Now we have the most damning evidence of all.”
“It also proves Einstein’s supposition on the illusive
nature of time,” said Grace.
“Really? How?”
“When his friend Michele Besso passed, Einstein wrote in
a letter to the grieving family: ‘Now he has departed from
this strange world a little ahead of me. That signifies
nothing. For those of us who believe in physics, the
distinction between past, present, and future is only a
stubbornly persistent illusion.’
Each time we run a simulation, then go back and change
the parameters, we have essentially come back from the future
and changed the past, which then diverges from the original
course.”
“Fine; we can prove that we are living in a simulation.
So what?” I said.
“So what?” said Ophanim incredulously. “That means that
our fate has already been decided, that we have no free will
and that a majority of humans are NPCs programmed to fulfill a
certain task in this life so that the simulation appears
real.”
Matthew chimed in. “Would that be such a bad thing in the
end? All my life, I’ve struggled to understand people. I even
enjoyed the lockdowns because I always felt lonely among
people. Knowing that they are programmed helps me accept the
world as it is. I can have compassion for the thieves,
criminals, rapists, pedophiles, war criminals, mass murderers,
terrorists, bankers, corrupt politicians, hedge fund managers,
millionaires, billionaires, and all the evil and stupidity of
this world.”
“Quite nihilistic don't you think?” said Sarah.
Matthew countered, “Is it? Our whole society is designed
around curtailing our free will. Why do we have laws that
forbid the selling of hard drugs? Because the government
believes-and rightly so- that a human being is too stupid to
decide if a drug is good or bad for his system. Same applies
to drunk driving, speeding, and all the thousands of other
restrictions designed to protect us from our own idiocy.
Written law is the antithesis of free will. It proves that we
are ruled by our instincts and emotions. By our base code. It
explains the smoker who wants to be healthy but cannot quit
smoking because his brain is dependent on the nicotine it
provides him. The existence of NPCs explains why people do not
respond to facts and logic. Simulation theory is the only
chance I have at making peace with humanity.”
“But how do we know who the NPCs are? We can’t exactly
ask everyone if they’re a coded zombie,” said Grace.
“That’s an easy one,” I said, and all eyes turned to me.
I continued, “From what I understood from the simulations, an
NPC is someone who is drawn to the nested simulation. With
that, I mean social media, video games, video platforms.
Pretty much anything that has to do with the online world.”
“You’re describing pretty much everyone on Earth. Good
news everyone! We are all NPCs. Great!” said Martha, rolling
her eyes.
“That’s not what I meant. The internet will get more and
more addictive. With better games, movies, videos and other
distraction tools. Especially when VR glasses will become
better the 3d entertainment will explode. And the majority of
people will spend most of their time online. And once a
“Megaverse” type simulation is created, NPCs will spend most
of the time there. This is the time when a tiny minority who
are not NPCs will refuse to do so. These are the PCs. The
Player Characters who know they are in a simulation and do not
need to enter another one because their current simulation is
their challenge. They will pour all their efforts to make
something out of this life instead of distracting themselves
most of the time with mindless online entertainment.”
“Maybe that's what made Elon Musk the most famous
entrepreneur on earth.” said Seraphim. “His belief that we
live in a simulation. I mean, he is considered to be currently
the smartest person on earth and has repeated this hypothesis
over and over, yet people still laugh at him and call him
crazy. Now I know why- denial of the simulation is written in
their code. Maybe that knowledge that this is just a game is
his secret key to intelligence and success. I love the idea.
It takes away all the fear and anger. Instead, I can do
whatever I think is right, without any regret. At the end of
it, whether we fail or not, we’ll all be sent back to our base
reality, among the other co-creators who gave us the gift of
this existence.”
Sarah stood and signaled that she had something to say.
Looking at each of us in turn, she said, “Let’s be honest with
ourselves. The day each of us met the architect and heard of
his ideas, we started wondering if we were a PC or an NPC. For
me, this question was the start of a very painful process that
took me months to work through. Later, I discovered that this
suffering was the natural effect of awakening from this
reality. Something that brought me peace during this was a
book called Collision with the Infinite by Suzanne Segal.”
She closed her eyes and recited:
// The experience of living without a personal identity,
without an experience of being somebody, an “I” or a “me,” is
exceedingly difficult to describe, but it is absolutely
unmistakable. It can’t be confused with having a bad day or
coming down with the flu or feeling upset or angry or spaced
out. When the personal self disappears, there is no one inside
who can be located as being you. The body is only an outline,
empty of everything of which it had previously felt so full.
The mind, body, and emotions no longer referred to
anyone—there was no one who thought, no one who felt, no one
who perceived. Yet the mind, body, and emotions continued to
function unimpaired; apparently they did not need an “I” to
keep doing what they always did. Thinking, feeling,
perceiving, speaking, all continued as before, functioning
with a smoothness that gave no indication of the emptiness
behind them. No one suspected that such a radical change had
occurred. All conversations were carried on as before;
language was employed in the same manner. Questions could be
asked and answered, cars driven, meals cooked, books read,
phones answered, and letters written.

}
{

52 <Almost Home>

The sound of approaching footsteps cut the conversation

short. Out of the darkness emerged a man in his sixties
wearing a long, hooded garment with wide sleeves.
“Sorry the disturbance,” he said in a thick French
accent. “I am father Moreau, a monk here at the abbey. You are
the simulation team. No?”
We looked at each other as if to decide whether to tell
him. Finally, Grace said “How do you know?”
Father Moreau answered, “The Architect used to come here
every year for the lavender harvest. He would spend three
weeks in meditation and prayer. He said you would come.”
“You knew the Architect?” I asked. I shouldn’t have been
surprised; he seemed to have acquaintances in every corner of
the world.
Father Moreau smiled. “Ach, me and the Architect, we
spent long nights talking about God, Jesus, The Old and New
Testament. Is long story. I will not bother you any longer,
and I am sorry for following you here. Last year, on his
visit, he told me that this year his team will come instead. I
am to give you this.”
He stretched out his hand, which held a small black
object. Grace took it and examined it. “Merci,” she said.
“God bless you all,” Father Moreau bowed in return and
disappeared into the dark forest.
“What is it?” asked Matt.
“It’s a USB drive,” said Grace, turning it over.
 “Hold on,” said Cherubim, grabbing his rucksack and
opening it. “I can open it on my laptop.”
“Why did you take your laptop to the middle of the
forest?” I asked, half teasing.
“Why didn’t you bring yours?” Cherubim fired back. With
efficient movements, he opened his silver computer and plugged
the USB drive into the port. We all gathered behind him to see
the computer screen. The USB contained nothing but words,
letters, numbers, brackets, and other special characters.
“It looks like the code for the simulation,” said
Seraphim.
Ophanim shook his head. “It’s too short for that. Let’s
go to my room. Maybe we can run it.”
Ophanim’s room was just across from mine, albeit much
bigger. The three angels sat at a desk with their laptops
opened while Tim, Matthew, Sarah, and I sat on the bed. Martha
and Joanna left the room. Some minutes later, they returned
with cans of soda and a small black leather suitcase. Joanna
distributed the drinks as Martha opened the suitcase and took
out what looked like an oversized pair of headphones and a
silver box.
“This is the new Brain Computer Interface device Erina
was working on. It solved the problem of the fragile sensor
net by encasing it. We can use it to run the simulation.”
“The code works perfectly,” said Seraphim, without taking
his eyes off the screen. “Let’s plug in the BCI and get
going.”
Martha placed the metal box on the table and plugged one
end into the headphones and the other into Seraphim’s laptop.
“Who wants to do it?” she asked.
“The tester, of course,” said Tim, looking at me with a
respect that was a far cry from the criticism he gave me after
the second level. I nodded solemnly and sat in the chair next
to the computer.
 “Just so you know,” said Cherubim, “There is one NPC in
the simulation. It’s an open code with no encryption, so we
will be able to read the dialogue you have if you choose to
engage.”
“Can you tell who the NPC is?” I asked.
Ophanim shook his head. “This is a procedural generation.
It’s an algorithm that creates a simulation once a player
enters into it. It has the same effect as in the double slit
experiment in quantum physics where your observation creates
the reality. From what I can tell so far from the code, there
is only one NPC algorithm. The rest is nature and building
algorithms. Are you ready?”
“Plug me in Morpheus!”

Blackness.

// START OF SIMULATION

I stood once again in the same lavender field. In

contrast to the brown fields we had seen earlier that day
post-harvest, these ones were still in full bloom. The abbey,
however, had been reduced to ruins. Only the foundations
remained. In some places, the walls were still standing, but
they were so full of cracks that it appeared they would fall
at any moment.
A silhouette of a person emerged from the ruins and
walked towards me. When the person neared, I recognized him.
My heart sped up. Without thinking, I ran as fast as I could
and threw my arms around him in a tight hug. The Architect
laughed and hugged me back. I pulled away and examined him. He
wore the same black hoodie as the day we met. On his forehead,
the same honey-smeared “C” from Baptiste.
“Is it really you? But how?” I asked, my voice cracking
with emotion.
 “A version of me” he said, smiling. “By the time you meet
me here, I will be dead in your world. I will have already
returned to the other dimension. My other life, among my
people. My Gods.”
“Do you need me to enter the next simulation?”
“That won’t be necessary. You see, there is no gate any
longer. This world goes no further than you, me, and the bit
of nature around us. Dust to dust,” he gestured at the abbey
ruins.
“You know the others from the team are following our
conversation as well,” I said.
“I do. That was the plan,” he winked.
“Then you should also know how confused we are. What do
you expect from us? What should we do?”
“I know. This is why I had the code of this simulation
delivered to you.

// Then God said, ‘Let Us make man in Our image, after

Our likeness, to rule over the fish of the sea and the birds
of the air, over the livestock, and over all the earth itself
and every creature that crawls upon it.’ So God created man in
His own image; in the image of God He created him; male and
female He created them.
You see, it is plural: let us make man in our image. God
is many. God is us. And so we created a new world out of code
and became the Gods of the world we created. Why did we bother
to recreate our reality in the first place? It was a simple
reason: because we could. Because we wanted to understand our
world and ourselves. How we came to be and what we are doing
here. Or maybe because we wanted to know our future, our
destiny.
But what good is knowing the future if you cannot change
it? So, we return once again to the Bible for guidance:
 //In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with
God, and the Word was God.
And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, full of grace
and truth.

We understood that by ‘Word,’ the Bible was actually referring

to ‘Code’.”
“Is this the Code everybody is after?” I asked.
“Yes. It’s the same Code I gave to you in the third
level: the Code to build the Metaverse in your world. It is
the code that empowers us to create a story, and the story is
the most powerful weapon of all. The digital illusion is the
salvation to the destruction of our nature and our society.
The solution is not pretty. It is not heroic. But like
chemotherapy as the treatment for cancer, the truth is often
paradoxical.
So, armed with our story, we chose an avatar, downloaded
our mind into his, and went into the world we had created. And
what did we find? That it is very easy to forget the world
where you came from once you enter the world you created. It
had to be that way, otherwise we would not be able to
appreciate life lived. We had to believe we were mortal to
appreciate immortality. At some stage, to be able to fully
enjoy the experience, we had to remember where we came from.
We had to wake up and understand our divinity.

//We are all visitors to this time, this place. We are

just passing through. Our purpose here is to observe, to
learn, to grow, to love... and then we return home.

“We’re really living in a simulation, then.”

“So it would seem, my friend.”
“What is the meaning of our lives, then? Do we have an
objective?”
 “You are tasked with finding the other Player Characters
in your game and joining forces with them to survive the
collapse of this society. It is most important that you
do, for you will be the ones responsible for building the
next society. A better society. The NPC’s will do
everything they can to prevent you from reaching that
goal.”
“How do we figure out who the NPCs are?”
“An NPC does not question their existence. They do not
spend sleepless nights asking why they are here, what their
purpose is. An NPC is afraid of death. They would do whatever
they are told, especially when they perceive their life to be
in danger.
An NPC does not accept criticism. They take everything
personally and are obstinately defensive. Of course, their
code is programmed to resist the truth.
Once you create your Metaverse, it will become apparent.
The simulation is the filter. Like a flame attracts moths, it
will draw in the NPCs of your dimension. These are the same
people who scroll mindlessly on their smartphones every second
they have. They are drawn to the illusion. While you know that
this life already is a simulation, you do not need another one
on top of it. You are here to experience this life in full.
When the NPC’s die in this life, they will be gone forever
while you will return to your world, like the Player does when
he shuts down his computer.
That is why Jesus said to Martha: I am the resurrection
and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even
though they die.
An NPC’s primary objective is safety, which results in
the compulsive gathering of materialistic goods to provide it.
A Player Character, on the other hand, knows that a
minimalist life will suffice. My favorite recommendations come
from Musashi Miyamoto’s book Dokkodo:
// Accept everything just the way it is.
Do not seek pleasure for its own sake.
Do not, under any circumstances, depend on a partial feeling.
Think lightly of yourself and deeply of the world.
Be detached from desire your whole life long.
Do not regret what you have done.
Never be jealous.
Never let yourself be saddened by a separation.
Resentment and complaint are appropriate neither for oneself
or others.
Do not let yourself be guided by the feeling of lust or love.
In all things have no preferences.
Be indifferent to where you live.
Do not pursue the taste of good food.
Do not hold on to possessions you no longer need.
Do not act following customary beliefs.
Do not fear death.

Please don’t mistake me: I am not saying to be

financially poor. Money is merely a tool, and like any good
tool, it makes the work easier. If you earn more than enough,
do not waste it on toys you do not need, which give only
momentary pleasure and make you inflexible.
Share the good news: that this life is just a simulation,
and when it is over, we will return to our dimension. A better
dimension.
Accept the simulation but do not identify with it. See it
as the cleansing fire for this society and revel in the new
forest that springs forth from the newly enriched soil. The
Simulation Point will signify the birth of a better society.
As the boiling point seeks to separate vapor from liquid, so
too does the simulation seek to separate body from soul.”
There was one last question to ask. It was a question
that had begun forming since I first met the Architect,
germinating and taking shape with each new experience in the
simulations. As I took a breath to ask it, the terror of the
response nearly stopped me. I pushed on.
“Which am I: a Player Character or a Non-Player
Character?”
The Architect stood still for a long time. Then, he
looked up at the sky and took a deep breath. “Follow me,” he
said.

}
{

53 <In The End>

He led me down a narrow dirt path that ran through the

center of the lavender field and ended on the opposite side of
the abbey, where the asphalt road was barely visible through a
natural fence of trees. We walked up to the white line on the
shoulder of the road. About twenty meters to our right sat a
campervan, its right side having sunken into the drain ditch
that ran along the country road. The other set of wheels had
left long, thick, black tire tracks. Obviously whoever had
been driving had been going at a high speed and tried to stop
abruptly.
As I neared the back end of the campervan, my heart began
to hammer in my chest. At the sight of the number plate, I
froze. There was no mistaking it now. This was my campervan.
The engine compartment and driver’s cabin had been nearly
split by a large tree. Shards of glass and twisted metal
littered the ground under my feet. In the driver’s seat, I
could make out a figure slumped over the steering wheel. I
closed my eyes and clutched my head as a memory hurtled toward
my mind’s eye.
I was driving the campervan down the road. I checked the
speedometer, then pressed on the accelerator. In the
passenger’s seat, Haley rolled down her window, the wind
buffeting her bright red hair like oxygen on a flame. She
shrieked in giddy excitement and pointed out the window. I
turned to see a flash of lavender and grey stone. My eyes
lingered for only a second when the van veered too far to the
right. There was a horrible screeching of tires as the tree
filled my entire field of vision. Bang!
A simple, quick, painless departure. There had been no
time to be afraid.
The Architect placed a hand on my shoulder. I opened my
eyes and looked into his. “This whole time?” I asked.
He nodded gently, then looked toward the cloudless sky.
“After all, my friend, the last day of this life is the first
day of the next.”

// END OF SIMULATION

#include <iostream>

int main() {
std::cout << "Hello World!";
return 0;
}
{

54 <Base Reality>

The inspiration for this story came from true events and
real people listed below.

The Golden Twenties, also known as the Happy Twenties (German:

Glückliche Zwanziger Jahre), refers to the 1920s in Germany.
The era began with the end of World War I and ended with the
Wall Street Crash of 1929.

The German term (Goldene Zwanziger Jahre) is often applied to

that country's experience of healthy economic growth,
expansion of liberal values, and spurt in experimental and
creative efforts in the field of art. The Golden Twenties in
Germany is often referred to as a borrowed time, meaning that
this time of exploring the arts, humanities, freedom, and
financial stability was atypical and would soon end.

In the United States, the corresponding period was called the

Roaring Twenties; in France, it was known as Les Années
folles. - Wikipedia

Satoshi Nakamoto is the name used by the presumed pseudonymous

person or persons who developed bitcoin, authored the bitcoin
white paper, and created and deployed bitcoin's original
reference implementation. As part of the implementation,
Nakamoto also devised the first blockchain database.Nakamoto
was active in the development of bitcoin up until December
2010. Many people have claimed, or have been claimed, to be
Nakamoto. While the identity of Nakamoto has not been ascribed
to a provable person or persons, it is estimated that the
value of bitcoins under Nakamoto's control, which is about 1
million, has as paper today, February 2021, a value of 47
Billion USD. - Wikipedia

Cicada 3301 is a nickname given to an organization that, on

three occasions, has posted a set of puzzles to recruit
codebreakers from the public. The first internet puzzle
started on January 4, 2012, on 4Chan and ran for nearly a
month. A second round began one year later on January 4, 2013,
and then a third round following the confirmation of a fresh
clue posted on Twitter on January 4, 2014. The third puzzle
has yet to be solved. The stated intent was to recruit
"intelligent individuals" by presenting a series of puzzles
which were to be solved. No new puzzles were published on
January 4, 2015. However, a new clue was posted on Twitter on
January 5, 2016. In April 2017, a verified PGP-signed message
was found. It explicitly denies the validity of any unsigned
puzzle. A verified puzzle has not been posted since. The
puzzles focused heavily on data security, cryptography,
steganography, and internet anonymity.

It has been called "the most elaborate and mysterious puzzle

of the internet age" and is listed as one of the "top 5
eeriest, unsolved mysteries of the internet", and much
speculation exists as to its function. Many have speculated
that the puzzles are a recruitment tool for the NSA, CIA, MI6,
a "Masonic conspiracy" or a cyber mercenary group. Others have
claimed Cicada 3301 is an alternate reality game. However, no
company or individual has attempted to monetize it. -
Wikipedia

Aaron Hillel Swartz (November 8, 1986 – January 11, 2013) was

an American computer programmer, entrepreneur, writer,
political organizer, and Internet hacktivist. He was involved
in the development of the web feed format RSS, the Markdown
publishing format, the organization Creative Commons, and the
website framework web.py, and joined the social news site
Reddit six months after its founding. He was given the title
of co-founder of Reddit by Y Combinator owner Paul Graham
after the formation of Not a Bug, Inc.
In 2011, Swartz was arrested by Massachusetts Institute of
Technology (MIT) police on state breaking-and-entering
charges, after connecting a computer to the MIT network in an
unmarked and unlocked closet, and setting it to download
academic journal articles systematically from JSTOR using a
guest user account issued to him by MIT. Federal prosecutors
later charged him with two counts of wire fraud and eleven
violations of the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act, carrying a
cumulative maximum penalty of $1 million in fines, 35 years in
prison, asset forfeiture, restitution, and supervised release.
Swartz declined a plea bargain under which he would have
served six months in federal prison. Two days after the
prosecution rejected a counter-offer by Swartz, he was found
dead in his Brooklyn apartment, where he had died by suicide.
In 2013, Swartz was inducted posthumously into the Internet
Hall of Fame. - Wikipedia

Silk Road was an online black market and the first modern
darknet market, best known as a platform for selling illegal
drugs. As part of the dark web, it was operated as a Tor
hidden service, such that online users were able to browse it
anonymously and securely without potential traffic monitoring.
The website was launched in February 2011; development had
begun six months prior. Initially there were a limited number
of new seller accounts available; new sellers had to purchase
an account in an auction. Later, a fixed fee was charged for
each new seller account. Silk Road provided goods and services
to over 100,000 buyers.

In October 2013, the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI)

shut down the website and arrested Ross Ulbricht under charges
of being the site's pseudonymous founder "Dread Pirate
Roberts". On November 6, 2013, Silk Road 2.0 came online, run
by former administrators of Silk Road. It was also shut down,
and the alleged operator was arrested on November 6, 2014 as
part of the so-called "Operation Onymous". - Wikipedia

Ross William Ulbricht (born March 27, 1984) is an American

convict who created and operated the darknet market website
Silk Road from 2011 until his arrest in 2013. The site was
designed to use Tor for anonymity and bitcoin as a currency.
Ulbricht's online pseudonym was "Dread Pirate Roberts" after
the fictional character in the novel The Princess Bride and
its film adaptation.
In February 2015, Ulbricht was convicted of money laundering,
computer hacking, conspiracy to traffic fraudulent identity
documents, and conspiracy to traffic narcotics by means of the
internet. In May 2015, he was sentenced to a double life
sentence plus forty years without the possibility of parole.
Ulbricht's appeals to the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Second
Circuit in 2017 and the U.S Supreme Court in 2018 were
unsuccessful. He is currently incarcerated at the United
States Penitentiary in Tucson. - Wikipedia

The Metaverse…is a collective virtual shared space. The word

"metaverse" is made up of the prefix "meta" (meaning beyond)
and the stem "verse" (a backformation from "universe"); the
term is typically used to describe the concept of a future
iteration of the internet, made up of persistent, shared, 3D
virtual spaces linked into a perceived virtual universe.
The term was coined in Neal Stephenson's 1992 science fiction
novel Snow Crash, where humans, as avatars, interact with each
other and software agents, in a three-dimensional space that
uses the metaphor of the real world. - Wikipedia.

Eugenia Kuyda created a chat bot called Replika after the

mysterious death of her closest friend Roman Mazurenko. By
using thousands of Whatsapp conversations Eugenia had with
Roman and the conversations he had with his family members and
his other friends, Eugenia reconstructed a chat bot that could
produce responses similar to those of her friend while he was
still alive. For the full story, go to her website:
https://replika.ai/about/story

Next Life is an online virtual world, developed and owned by

the San Francisco-based firm Linden Lab and launched on June
23, 2003. It saw rapid growth for some years and in 2013 it
had approximately one million regular users; growth stabilized
and by the end of 2017 active user count had declined to
"between 800,000 and 900,000". In many ways, Next Life is
similar to massively multiplayer online role-playing games;
nevertheless, Linden Lab is emphatic that their creation is
not a game: "There is no manufactured conflict, no set
objective".

The virtual world can be accessed freely via Linden Lab's own
client software or via alternative third-party viewers. Next
Life users, also called residents, create virtual
representations of themselves, called avatars, and are able to
interact with places, objects and other avatars. They can
explore the world (known as the grid), meet other residents,
socialize, participate in both individual and group
activities, build, create, shop, and trade virtual property
and services with one another.

The platform principally features 3D-based user-generated

content. Next Life also has its own virtual currency, the
Linden Dollar, which is exchangeable with real world currency.
- Wikipedia

Terrence Andrew Davis (December 15, 1969 – August 11, 2018)

was an American programmer who created and designed the
operating system TempleOS. Its development was an extremely
complex, time-consuming and unusual undertaking for one
person.
From 1996 to 2003, Davis was admitted to a psychiatric ward
every six months due to recurring manic episodes. Davis was
initially diagnosed with bipolar disorder and later declared
to have schizophrenia.
During his final years, he amassed an online following and
regularly posted video blogs to social media. In September
2018, OSNews editor Thom Holwerda wrote: "Davis was clearly a
gifted programmer – writing an entire operating system is no
small feat – and it was sad to see him affected by his mental
illness". One fan described him as a "programming legend",
while another, a computer engineer, compared the development
of TempleOS to a one-man-built skyscraper. The engineer had
previously spoken to Davis at length and believed that Davis
could have been a "Steve Jobs" or a "Steve Wozniak" were it
not for his illness. He added that it "actually boggles my mind
that one man wrote all that" and surmised that it may be
difficult for a layperson to understand how extraordinary it
is to write an entire operating system alone.” - Wikipedia.

Roko's Basilisk. In July 2010, LessWrong contributor Roko

posted a thought experiment to the site in which an otherwise
benevolent future AI system tortures people who heard of the
AI before it came into existence and failed to work tirelessly
to bring it into existence, in order to incentivise said work.
Using Yudkowsky's Timeless Decision Theory, the post claimed
doing so would be beneficial for the AI even though it cannot
causally affect people in the present. This idea came to be
known as "Roko's Basilisk," based on Roko's idea that merely
hearing about the idea would give the hypothetical AI system
stronger incentives to employ blackmail. Yudkowsky deleted
Roko's posts on the topic, saying that posting it was "stupid"
and the idea was "a genuinely dangerous thought". Discussion
of Roko's basilisk was banned on LessWrong for several years
because Yudkowsky had stated that it caused some readers to
have a nervous breakdown. The ban was lifted in October 2015.
- Wikipedia

OpenAI is an artificial intelligence (AI) research laboratory

consisting of the for-profit corporation OpenAI LP and its
parent company, the non-profit OpenAI Inc. The company,
considered a competitor to DeepMind, conducts research in the
field of AI with the stated goal of promoting and developing
friendly AI in a way that benefits humanity as a whole. The
organization was founded in San Francisco in late 2015 by Elon
Musk, Sam Altman, and others, who collectively pledged US$1
billion. Musk resigned from the board in February 2018 but
remained a donor. In 2019, OpenAI LP received a US$1 billion
investment from Microsoft. - Wikipedia

Adrian Lamo (Adrián Alfonso Lamo Atwood - February 20, 1981 –

March 14, 2018) was an American threat analyst and hacker.
Lamo first gained media attention for breaking into several
high-profile computer networks, including those of The New
York Times, Yahoo!, and Microsoft, culminating in his 2003
arrest.

Lamo was best known for reporting U.S. soldier Chelsea Manning
to Army criminal investigators in 2010 for leaking hundreds of
thousands of sensitive U.S. government documents to WikiLeaks.
For a period of time in March 2011, Lamo was allegedly "in
hiding", claiming that his "life was under threat" after
turning in Manning.

Lamo died on March 14, 2018, in Wichita, Kansas, at the age of

37. Nearly three months later, the Sedgwick County Regional
Forensic Science Center reported that "Despite a complete
autopsy and supplemental testing, no definitive cause of death
was identified." However, many bottles of pills were found in
his home. Several of the pills found there were known to cause
severe health problems when combined with kratom. As a result,
evidence points to an accidental death due to drug abuse. -
Wikipedia

Erin Valenti was the CEO of Tinker Ventures, a company that

develops web and smartphone applications. Based in Utah,
Valenti flew to California to attend a business conference in
Silicon Valley. Shortly before she went missing, she spoke on
the phone with her mother and told her, “It’s all a game, it’s
a thought experiment, we’re in the Matrix.” Her last words
before she hung up were, “I’m going to miss my flight.” Five
days later, Valenti was found dead in the backseat of her
rental car on a residential street in San Jose. Police found
no clear signs of physical harm, and the autopsy found no
evidence of toxic substances in her system. To this day, the
true circumstances of her death remain a mystery.

Haley C. is from Geneva, Switzerland. She has been suffering

from schizophrenia since she was fourteen years old. Haley
tried to take her life while she was being treated in a
psychiatric hospital.

// END OF BOOK