Ultra High - and the devil died screaming

I lit another joint, sinking into the couch as conflicting thoughts spun in my head. I took a long, measured drag, then passed it to Satan, my hand trembling slightly, before snatching the bottle of wine and pouring two glasses with a flourish that felt both defiant and desperate. “So, here’s the deal…” I began, my voice low and heavy with uncertainty, “Free will may be up for debate, but free choice is undeniable, assuming, of course, you’ve been handed every option imaginable.”

“And are they?” came a sharp, questioning retort that cut through the haze.

 “Are they what?”

“All the damn options available to those stuck in Ultra-High reality.”

“Not exactly,” I murmured, my words tinged with doubt.

“Not exactly?” The disbelief in that reply challenged me, echoing my inner conflict.

“Not in the slightest. It’s a simulation—an ever-changing dream, crafted by each person’s perceptions. Sure, they might see a world brimming with choices, but these options are curated, manipulated. When every decision is squeezed into a predetermined role, can you truly call that free choice?”

“So what hope is there for humankind as it drifts deeper into this half-conscious stupor?” the query came, strained with both cynicism and longing.

I hesitated, then said, “Here’s the brutal truth: if you can plant meaning and purpose in people, you seize control. Convince them they can reshape not just their Ultra-High reality, but also another, deeper realm where genuine power lies, and you break the chains that bind them.”

“Just like when you broke free of that inexplicable chair?” the reply was edged with both admiration and incredulity.

“Exactly,” I agreed, though the certainty wavered in my voice.

“But how do we ignite that revolution?” they pressed, the question loaded with reluctance.

“First, we force them to confront the truth: everything is a simulation.”

“I beg your pardon?” came the incredulous interjection.

“A simulation. We make them see they’re trapped in a carefully engineered maze.”

“But isn’t that obvious? They’re already in one, aren’t they?”

I sighed, conflicted. “You haven’t delved deep enough into Ultra-High. They wander in a blissful ignorance, completely unaware of the dream that’s been fabricated around them. We must scatter the message into every crevice of their reality—even if it shakes the very foundations of their existence.”

“In Ultra-High?” they echoed.

“Yes,” I said, the word heavy with uneasy resolve. “Announce it from every rooftop: you’re living in a simulation.”

“But how do we get the word out?” came another hesitant challenge.

 “Through subtle glitches—errors in the system, hints woven invisibly into reality. Messages so covert, even the corporate watchers can’t catch a glimpse.”

“Like what?” they asked, a hint of desperation creeping in. 

“Imagine a message—blaring across a screen, inscribed boldly in a book, or shouted with incendiary passion: ‘Listen closely—your world is a simulation. You think your life is too mundane, too contrived to be crafted, but deep down, you know the truth.’” My own words rang with both conviction and uncertainty, as if questioning themselves in the dark.

“And that will make a difference?” they inquired, doubt mingling with hope.

“It’s just the spark,” I replied, my tone conflicted. “Words can be the mightiest weapon. I’d cloak my declaration in layered, isomorphic metaphors, planting seeds in minds riddled with doubt. Once those seeds take root, the real struggle begins—and that struggle is perilous.”

“Dangerous, how?” they asked, almost pleading for clarity.

“Think of the omnipotent corporation and the all-seeing network lurking beneath. Their system is an intricately tuned web, designed to catch any stray anomaly. Ultra-High may promise voluntary entry, but no one has ever exited without scars. Accidents aren’t mere coincidences—they’re the inevitable backlash. And yet, escaping remains our forbidden dream.”

“Hold on—you mentioned that any deviation, however slight, sets them off?”

“Yes,” I confirmed, my voice trembling with inner turmoil. “Even the subtlest deviation can trigger alarms.”

“But what qualifies as ordinary in Ultra-High?” they pressed, caught in the mire of our shared doubts.

“What do you mean?” I asked, unsure if I dared to answer my question.

“I mean—wasn’t their grand promise to make life better? To give every soul meaning and purpose?”

“That’s the ideal,” I whispered, though my mind churned with the complexity of it all.

“But real people are different. In our world, stereotypes exist because society forces us into predefined roles. In Ultra-High, I suppose those constraints are stripped away, letting people chase dreams unburdened by expectation.”

“Sure, social norms can both oppress and inspire rebellion, offering meaning in resistance. But as reality slips into simulation, those old barriers crumble into ambiguity.”

“Exactly. My old team and I exploited those pressures back in the early 21st century, when people were raw and exposed. They used societal constructs to force conformity, to spark insurrection. I always wondered if that method was salvation or damnation.”

“So what’s your point?” they asked, their voice wavering with both hope and despair.

“From everything you’ve said about Ultra-High, it seems many of those barriers have been deconstructed. For people to truly chase their dreams, find purpose, and even attain enlightenment, those old constraints had to fall away. And yet, in their absence, uncertainty reaps its harvest.”

“Go on,” they urged, as the conflict within me swelled.

“Consider the comic book fan—do they suddenly gain superpowers? The meditators—do they experience a collective oneness? The ceremonial magicians, the witches—do they unlock an untamed power? And what of the writer yearning for global recognition?”

“Well, maybe—they’re given obstacles so there’s something to fight against before they finally live their ideal lives.”

“So there’s no genuine pain or poverty?” I queried, more to myself than to them.

“Not for those ensnared in Ultra-High,” came the tentative answer.

“Then what about those left outside it?”

“Yes, but let’s not stray too far. Stay with me here,” I said, conflicted and anxious.

“Alright, you mentioned that ‘they’—the corporation, the overseeing network, even the Chaos Magicians and the Magus—will be alerted if something deviates from the norm?”

“Exactly,” I affirmed, though uncertainty gnawed at my conviction. “Their systems are tuned to detect any anomaly.”

“Yet you risk letting the impossible happen—allowing dreams to materialize, to inject purpose into the chaos.”

“That’s true,” I admitted, my voice laced with both pride and trepidation. “But consider this: this very magic, this inherent strangeness, is becoming disturbingly familiar.”

“Precisely. So why not harness that anomaly as our battleground, our means to whisper the truth? Let it signal to the people: you’re living in a simulation, and you must fight to break free. Once they learn to mold both Ultra-High and the external world, they’ll channel the power of morphine magicians—the power of true freedom.”

“Just like Eve, in a modern retelling of an ancient myth,” they said, a tinge of both longing and uncertainty in their tone.

“Excuse me?” I asked, caught off guard.

“Exactly—a nod to Eve. You convinced her to taste the forbidden, to peel back the curtain and see what lay beneath. But even that choice was steeped in consequence.”

“Sure, but that’s not quite the same,” I argued, wrestling with the weight of our ideals.

“Not at all. For Eve, reality meant sin and death—yet it was real. And for those who awaken to Ultra-High’s true nature, what awaits is genuine knowledge—raw, untamed, and irrevocably conflicting. It might not be perfect, but it’s undeniably real.”

“There’s a perverse freedom in that truth, even if it burns,” they murmured, as if both comforted and condemned by it.

“But if ‘they’ catch on—if a spike in departures or heightened curiosity sets off their alarms—they’ll strike back with fury.”

“That’s why our approach must meld imperceptibly into each individual’s reality. If someone is teetering on the brink of adopting a vigilante persona like Batman, we nurture that persona and guide them to defend the truth. If it’s a noble knight from King Arthur’s court or even the enigmatic Merlin, we tailor the message to their myth—even if doing so fills me with both hope and dread.”

“That’s an almost impossible task—a colossal amount of work. We might even need help.”

“And where in this convoluted maze are we going to find any help?” I asked, my voice wavering with both defiance and despair.

“There’s one possibility…” The conversation trailed off into a conflicted silence, each of us haunted by the enormity of the choice laid before us.