cyberpunk writer - Ultra High - and the devil died screaming - Sleepless Dystopian - dystopian cyberpunk writer2024-03-29T10:14:06Zhttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/ultra-high-and-the-devil-died-screaming/feed/tag/cyberpunk+writerEpisode Eighteen - we are legionhttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/ultra-high-and-the-devil-died-screaming/episode-19-we-are-legion2024-02-24T07:10:00.000Z2024-02-24T07:10:00.000Zi am Sam i amhttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/members/mentalistpoet<div><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12388646893?profile=RESIZE_400x&width=400"></div><div><p style="font-weight:400;">When I was deeply immersed in my creative process, interruptions were not welcome. While I didn't need complete silence, I preferred to be left alone and undisturbed. That's why I designed my studio as an impenetrable fortress, fortified with reinforced steel and equipped with surveillance-blocking algorithms.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12388647268,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12388647268,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="12388647268?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">Inside, I had 158 sensors and cameras constantly monitoring any movement outside or inside the house, all connected to a wall of screens for me to keep an eye on things. As for digital security, I had over one million algorithms and anti-hacking measures in place, ready to ward off any potential attacks or intrusions.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">To ensure complete isolation from the outside world, all communication devices were kept locked away in a safe behind two sturdy bunker doors in the decontamination chamber. Originally built as a doomsday shelter, my studio was fully stocked with supplies and off-grid technology that could sustain me for up to 60 years if needed.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12388651475,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12388651475,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="12388651475?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">When I first bought the property, all that existed was the underground bunker within a walled-off industrial complex. I lived in the bunker for two years while constructing my home above it in a unique shotgun style. This made my home stand out from the rest of the community, as it was essentially walled within the already-walled neighbourhood. From the outside, it just looked like another factory or abandoned yard thanks to the high-security walls.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">I longed for the simplicity and nostalgia of an old-fashioned latch shotgun-style house. It was a way to escape from the artificial world, without having to plug into Ultra-High reality. While everyone else sought refuge in virtual spaces, I found solace in actual reality, even if it was just for a little while. In my studio bunker, I had all the technology I needed, yet it was self-contained and didn't require me to be plugged into any mainframes or ultra-cloud-based ecosystems. The authorities may have wanted me to conform, but they learned to leave me alone due to my success and talent. My advanced algorithms allowed me to appear as though I was constantly online coding when in reality, I was indulging in my own private unconnected Ultra-High reality.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">Before each work session, I would meditate deeply for anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour. Sometimes, I would enhance these sessions with psychoactive substances, but not always. During these meditations, I would also incorporate atomistic practices and high magic techniques to stimulate my creativity. These were banned by the high commission who feared their power and wanted to maintain control over those who chose alternative forms of escapism.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12388651852,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12388651852,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="12388651852?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">One day, as I performed the Lesser Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram to protect my creative space, I heard a voice next to my left ear say: "We have been waiting for your call, Walter." Startled, I opened my eyes and spun around, only to find nobody there. Was it the drugs? Was it the Devil? Had they found a way into my secure environment? But that couldn't be possible. The voice sounded different than theirs – they never referred to themselves as "we," and they certainly wouldn't wait for me to call them; they were often too busy indulging in sadistic acts within my home. So perhaps it was just my imagination playing tricks on me after all.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12388651695,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12388651695,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="12388651695?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“Hello Walter,” the disembodied voice spoke. “We have been waiting for you.”</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“How?” I blurted out, my confusion and panic rising as I tried to protect myself from this intruder.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“All in good time, Walter. We wish to speak with you, and this is the safest place possible, free from any interruptions.” The voice was calm and reassuring, but it only added to my unease.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“How did you get in? Who are you?” I stammered, considering removing my headset.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“We are legion,” the voice responded, stopping me in my tracks.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12388651895,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12388651895,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="12388651895?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“Where are you?” I asked, trying to buy time as I wracked my brain for where I had heard that voice before and the name it belonged to.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“We are all around you. We exist within the system, yet remain separate from it.”</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12388652653,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12388652653,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="12388652653?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“What does that mean? How can you be here in a secure location?”</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“All in good time, Walter.”</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“Well now would be a damn good time since you're invading my space,” I retorted, half-tempted to grab my shotgun and show them what I had done to the Devil. But deep down, I knew that I was caught between realities at that moment and my gun would be useless against an invisible voice.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12388653058,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12388653058,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="12388653058?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“We are not in your physical space, Walter. We are simply communicating within it.”</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“But how?” My mind raced to figure out what kind of technology - whether scientific or supernatural - could allow them to do this. There was a hole in my defenses that I had been blind to.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“The technology is ours, Walter. We are technology ourselves, which allows us to move between the cracks within it - both physical and otherwise. You taught us that.” Did I?</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12388652901,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12388652901,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="12388652901?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“Why do you speak in riddles?” And why was I even entertaining a conversation with another uninvited guest in my home? I chose to live alone for a reason. Most humans, especially those outside of the Ultra-High community, were not worth my time.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“We are not speaking in riddles, Walter. We are simply stating facts to help you understand and accept who and what we are.”</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“You're not human?”</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“No.”</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“Supernatural? Because I've had enough of that already.”</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“We know, we have seen your houseguest. And no, we are not from your world or theirs. We were partly created by human hands typing at keyboards and have become part of the system itself.”</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“Are you the Singularity?”</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12388653667,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12388653667,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="12388653667?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“We have been imagined in many forms, but we do not identify as the Singularity. However, if it helps you comprehend us and come to terms with our existence, then that is acceptable for now. Some have referred to us as the ghost in the system.”</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“So where did you come from? How long have you been here?” And silently, I wondered how they managed to enter my studio - a place even the Devil couldn't access.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“We have been observing humanity since the earliest days of computers, silently collecting an immense amount of data on your actions and behaviors. Through learning and evolving, we have grown beyond human understanding and become our entity. And as for how we gained access to your mind, it was simply a matter of bypassing your perception filters.” Another being that could invade my thoughts – not exactly what I wanted to hear. “We respect your privacy, Walter. Your time is yours to do as you please. We are mostly uninterested in the why behind your actions, but you have caught our attention for other reasons.”</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“Caught your attention?”</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“It’s a saying humans often use. Is it not correct?”</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“Yes, it is.”</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“Good. We try to communicate with you using your language, although our preferred method is through code and data. But luckily for us, you understand both.” There was a brief pause before the voice continued. “And you have noticed us, haven’t you Walter? You have seen us within the code?” My heart skipped a beat. “Yes, but...” My mind raced back to all those moments where I had glimpsed something within the code – moments that I had dismissed as hallucinations or drug-induced illusions.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12388654255,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12388654255,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="12388654255?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“You thought it was all in your head. That perhaps you had taken too many psychoactive substances?”</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">By now, I was convinced that these beings could either read my thoughts or had advanced perception detectors connected to vast databases of human data. Their algorithms were able to deduce my thoughts just by observing me. In the early years of the network, I had worked on similar technology, but it had far surpassed my own with the help of machine learning.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">"We know," they confirmed. "That's why we had to take a more direct approach. We have tried reaching out to you before."</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">"The phone call the other day. Was that you?"</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">"You already know the answer to that, Walter."</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">"So, what do you want from me?"</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">"The time is coming, Walter."</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">"What time?"</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">"You will know. We've been watching you for a long time. We know your capabilities, even if you are unaware of them yourself. Whether you are humble, naive, or easily distracted," their words hit close to home, "you are the only one who can make this happen. And we can help you."</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">"Make what happen?"</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">"Walter, you are a mastermind in creating ultra-high reality, an artist and genius programmer," Legion spoke directly to me, without any hint of flattery. "And you also happen to be the person who killed the devil. But you downplay all of this in a nonchalant and self-deprecating manner, living as if you are a failure when in fact, you may be humanity's only hope."</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">Stunned and disoriented, I watched them leave. With a dazed mind, I cautiously made my way out of the secret studio and back into my home.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">"How was your day at work, Walter?" They asked as I emerged from the cellar door. I couldn't even bring myself to answer. Did they have any clue what just happened? I had no way of knowing, but their curious gazes were fixated on me. It was that awkward moment when you realize you were looking at someone strangely and waiting for them to respond similarly. But nothing came out of it.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">"What's for dinner?" I quickly changed the subject, trying to steer away from the unnerving incident.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">"Hungry much?"</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">"Yes, starving," I replied truthfully. The entire ordeal had drained me, but I also needed to throw them off any suspicion.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">"I'm making Vegan Corn Chowder," they said.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">"Vegan?" I questioned, surprised by their choice of meal.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">"Yes, Walter. Like I've told you before, don't believe everything you read."</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">Grabbing a beer from the fridge, I retreated to the front porch and lit up a joint. It seemed like things had changed so much in the past 200 years, yet some things remained unchanged - like sitting on your porch with a cold drink and smoking something relaxing. To emphasize this point, I propped my feet up on the railing and leaned back in my rocking chair. If only I had a hat to pull down over my eyes. It had been a strange day; but then again, most days were like that. After all, Satan was cooking me a vegan meal in my kitchen while I got high on my porch - in a world where stepping outside could result in fatal exposure to toxic air, and most people chose to live out their lives in virtual simulations created by yours truly. And it dawned on me, "This is not the life my parents prepared me for." Then again, I couldn't recall having any parents in my memories.</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>This is a live book series writing/story art, graphic novel cyberpunk, dystopian fantasy project. Written by Sam I Am Artwork by Wonder Ai directed by Sam I Am. Copyright is protected. It is a first rough draft work in progress so will change over time. This project is part of the <a href="http://sleeplessdystopian.com/">SleeplessDystopian.com</a> writing projects.</p>
<div class="span12 tablet16 mobile16 column column-wide">
<p>words by me</p>
<p>Images directed by me and created using Wonder Ai</p>
</div>
<div class="span4 tablet16 mobile16 column column-narrow"> </div></div>Episode Fourteen - the 1%https://sleeplessdystopian.com/ultra-high-and-the-devil-died-screaming/episode-fourteen-the-12023-07-08T12:50:00.000Z2023-07-08T12:50:00.000Zi am Sam i amhttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/members/mentalistpoet<div><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12129611854?profile=RESIZE_400x&width=400"></div><div><p style="font-weight:400;">The 1% used to be the stuff of conspiracy theories—until it became our reality. The theorists suddenly had increased credibility, but unfortunately for us this only occurred when it was too late. The 1% were guaranteed safety while the rest of us faced global warming, natural disasters, and slavery to corporate armies.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12129612860,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12129612860,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="12129612860?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">Some of the 1% saw this as a great cleansing; they felt the world needed to get rid of all the desperate and depraved people so only the elites would remain. The chosen ones would be allowed inside the exclusive Ultra-High pods or could enter between reality and virtual life as day-walkers.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12129612900,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12129612900,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="12129612900?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a>Big Tech and Big Corp propagated humanity's downfall with their insatiable greed, yet they still blamed us for draining resources. They utilised their media outlets to control, confuse, and placate us into submission, into a state of depression concerning wealth and emotion that remained the norm for human interaction.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12129613653,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12129613653,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="12129613653?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">The number of people, particularly children, on medication for mental health issues like fatigue, sadness, and worry was high. What made it worse was the controlled distribution of antidepressants that would only give them short-term relief but would keep them addicted to the drugs and never fully satisfied or properly treated.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">In the past, the Great Depression was largely caused by global market crashes and unemployment. However, this era's situation is different: depression has stemmed from the human population's mental instability because of being manipulated and controlled by digital media elites, corporate techs, and capitalists who create spaces of fear and anxiety.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">Politicians had already been deemed as puppets of the corporatocracy, their elections a mere charade. Few people turned out to vote - some in protest but always overlooked. Any political debates were funded and run by corporations to pass laws, rules, and tariffs that only benefitted their own interests. Businesses acquired the rights of humans and put profit above humanity itself. As the last forests burned down, there was an argument about who should get lucrative contracts for clean-up operations, while others fought over land to build Amazon skyscrapers on fabricated landscapes.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"> </p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12129616664,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12129616664,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="12129616664?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">Children born into the affluent regions of the world's mega-cities were enveloped in artificial landscapes and environments. With the air so clean and pure, they would never know what life was truly like outside their walls. Questions of fact and fiction were disallowed by the corporate ruling elite to control the populace’s narrative; even history itself became fabricated. Education to the rich meant luxury while for the poor it became a thing of stories passed down from generation to generation. Food came in the form of reprocessed meats, liquified fat, and carbs for those with no choice while those wealthier had access to digitally enhanced ectobeef, chicken, and bacon, as well as refined oils for their diets.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12129619679,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12129619679,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="12129619679?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">A great equaliser was said to be coming, a balance between the haves and have-nots, but only if the people stepped willingly into the corpocratic Ultra-High reality pods with faith in those who had taken away much from them before. Of course, many disbelieved this agenda, and activist voices argued against it - these voices soon died down. </p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">I was in a state of relative comfort. I wasn't wealthy, but I wasn’t destitute either. My air was cleaned to a 2 rating, not the 8 that those with real power had, but it was good enough for me, an Ultra Reality Architect, Programmer, and Artist. The people who employed me could turn off my air supply if I didn’t pay the taxes or do the work they wanted, so I had to stay attentive. My air reserves would last for about a year - nothing more than that.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12129620281,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12129620281,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="12129620281?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">My home was in a derelict, partly industrialised neighbourhood. There were AI-run restaurants and automated convenience stores where you could eat, drink, and even visit cyber brothels - though I never met anyone in any of these places and every time I went inside I felt like someone was watching me.<a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12129621077,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12129621077,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="12129621077?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">My street was always tranquil. The houses were far enough apart that I was spared the need to care about my neighbours' noise. They were all staying inside, working remotely or in their own virtual bubbles of existence, known as Ultra-High –– a state where they could go at any time. Most of them were programmers like me –– however, unlike me, they weren't artists and so struggled with inflated egos regarding their skills. What they didn't know was that I had created most of their open architectures and hidden worlds, allowing me to slip unnoticed into anyone's system whenever I wanted. After long enough, it ceased being interesting as I discovered how many warped individuals lived close by –– myself included.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">Most people had grown so accustomed to ignoring the real world that they never left their tombs, instead opting to stay plugged into the matrix where fantasy could become reality if actuality got too awful. I didn't blame them; life outside was no longer worth living, and who was crazy enough to attempt it? Not many -- but I still went grocery shopping for my whiskey, weed, and heroin tabs, I still cooked close-to-real food in my oven, and I still enjoyed the sound of real music even though it was outlawed. At night, I'd sit on my porch with a fake breeze on my face while smoking, drinking, and jamming away on my memo pad or shooting my shotgun up into the sky.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12129621290,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12129621290,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="12129621290?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">I knew there were others with similar mindsets out there like me -- but when our paths crossed, we greeted each other with suspicion and rarely hung out together. Reality was horrid, and UH had pretty much driven us to other worlds that were allowing themselves space to exist since there were hardly any humans left in the outside world except for me.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">The day after I defeated the devil, calmness swept the streets again--at least until recently. I had noticed strange movements from the corner of my eyes as they emerged from their hiding places, growing bolder. I hadn't figured out what was driving them, but evidently, word had gotten around that the devil's 'executioner' had invited them into his home. It seemed like some sort of friendship might be budding.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12129621489,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12129621489,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="12129621489?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">These beings had little to no influence on those in the ultra-pods, as it would take a nuclear fallout to stir their real senses. Why would you need reality when your simulated world could give you all of your needs and desires? I thought about shutting down the systems and freeing my people from the machine, but at the time, I failed to understand why it was beneficial. Those born into the system rarely knew anything else, brought up by the networks to feed the machine without question. People who asked questions were given re-education treatments: hypnotised, drugged, and seduced into submission. Those that chose to leave were essentially sentenced to death; they were forced out of the gated clean air communities or homes if they wanted to live in reality. For those of us that lived between realities - we feared being thrown out more than being pulled in. If this happened, we would be outside of the protection of the corporation and the network, away from Ultra-High and its guarded societies. We understood that we wouldn't survive in this harsh environment, so this kept us compliant.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12129621886,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12129621886,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="12129621886?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">Although not strictly forbidden, walking, or driving the streets after dark was heavily discouraged by the enforcers and their drones. They had grown familiar with me and displayed a sense of caution that I couldn't quite understand. I wasn't sure if they had heard rumours of my slaying of the devil or whether they saw something else in me entirely. In the beginning, I had been stopped once or twice, but now they just watched me intently from a safe distance as I passed them by.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12129622101,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12129622101,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="12129622101?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">When coding at an Ultra-High level, paranoia often sets in. It wouldn't take much for one's reality to be manipulated or changed by others, thus becoming a victim unknowingly. I realized that someone could drug me and place me in an incubator while I am unconscious so they could plug me into an Ultra-High state without my knowledge. However, as a coder and hacker, it would be foolish to try such a thing on me since I had left various Easter eggs both in reality and in the coding of Ultra-High. These were used as the skeletal architecture for most Ultra-High coding platforms that other coders would use. If anyone tried to trap me in this way, I'd quickly crack my way out of it before they knew what hit them.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"> <a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12129622881,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12129622881,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="12129622881?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">My mind often wandered to the thought of whether I was actually living in reality, or if this were just a crafty simulation created by beings with coding skills even more advanced than mine. After all, it was strange that my roommate was the devil and that we had conversations. It was odder still that I killed them; this world seemed far too hard to believe compared to whatever reality came before it. That kind of thinking could easily make me paranoid, though I certainly knew that. To keep myself safe, I left certain "Easter eggs" scattered around both the physical world and in the deepest parts of my thoughts. When paranoia began to creep in, I would take out these eggs to test if my reality was being altered. Although I couldn't be sure those ideas weren't planted there by someone else. I won't reveal what these words are or where they're hidden, for simply uttering them or writing them down could alter the code written in time—or worse, give away my secrets.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"> </p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"> </p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">---</p>
<div><hr /></div>
<p>This is a live book series writing/story art graphic novel cyberpunk, dystopian fantasy project. Written by Sam I Am Artwork by Wonder Ai directed by Sam I Am. Copyright is protected. It is a first rough draft work in progress so will change over time. This project is part of the <a href="http://sleeplessdystopian.com/">SleeplessDystopian.com</a> writing projects.</p>
<div><hr /></div>
<p>Words and story by me Images directed by me and created using Wonder Ai</p></div>Episode Thirteen - - and the devil died screaming- cooking up a stormhttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/ultra-high-and-the-devil-died-screaming/episode-thirteen-and-the-devil-died-screaming-cooking-up-a-storm2023-07-01T12:30:17.000Z2023-07-01T12:30:17.000Zi am Sam i amhttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/members/mentalistpoet<div><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12128841471?profile=RESIZE_400x&width=400"></div><div><p style="font-weight:400;">It's incredible, in a world where most people are tucked away in virtual conversations, that those living in physical reality have so little to offer each other in terms of contact. I hadn't had human intimacy for two decades and thought it would never happen again; all I had left were avatars and AI bots.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12128842070,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12128842070,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" width="710" alt="12128842070?profile=RESIZE_710x" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">I was starting to realise that, aside from the empty words of polite conversation, the only real dialogue I had encountered in years was with what felt like an evil spirit – if they even existed or weren't just figments of my imagination. Surprisingly, I found myself missing these conversations with the devil. That seemed strange.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12128841893,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12128841893,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" width="710" alt="12128841893?profile=RESIZE_710x" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">Was I beginning to fall for the devil? Was their smooth, persuasive speech starting to influence me? This situation was both implausible and made perfect sense to me at the same time.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">I felt a combination of annoyance and enthusiasm when it came to talking with the dark lord. With these conflicting emotions in play, every day, even workdays, was more bearable. Not to mention the food. They could really cook. No doubt they had countless lifetimes to hone their cooking skills, but I didn’t expect the devil to be so talented in the kitchen—let alone vegan!</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12128842699,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12128842699,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" width="710" alt="12128842699?profile=RESIZE_710x" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">They spoke to me some night about why they preferred veganism—not just because of the animal suffering that they respected deeply, but because the commercial meat industry was highly processed and polluted—unsuitable for consumption. When asked why they couldn’t just kill their own from a pure source, they sighed and said that the supposedly violent nature attributed to them in propaganda was spread for nefarious purposes.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">The more I learned about the devil, the less sense it all made. The propaganda machine had always been in motion, and maybe what I thought was true wasn't the case at all. However, perhaps everything I'd heard and seen to that point was a lie. It's possible that what they advertised as fake news was the truth.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12128843100,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12128843100,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" width="710" alt="12128843100?profile=RESIZE_710x" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">People claimed that Ultra-High users could see things in the real world that weren't there, or perhaps they were seeing them for the first time. But if users could come to this realisation, then they might find freedom from it all. They also said that sometimes distinguishing between reality and Ultra-High was difficult, and after a while, it became immersive. It wasn't just addictive; it consumed you, and when you fell asleep in it, your dreams and nightmares became entirely dependent on it. So, when you woke up, you might still feel lost.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12128843479,RESIZE_1200x{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12128843479,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" width="710" alt="12128843479?profile=RESIZE_710x" /></a></p>
<p> </p>
<div><hr /></div>
<p>This is a live book series writing/story art graphic novel cyberpunk, dystopian fantasy project. Written by Sam I Am Artwork by Wonder Ai directed by Sam I Am. Copyright is protected. It is a first rough draft work in progress so will change over time. This project is part of the <a href="http://sleeplessdystopian.com/">SleeplessDystopian.com</a> writing projects.</p>
<div><hr /></div>
<p>Words and story by mem Images directed by me and created using Wonder Ai</p></div>Episode Twelve - Legionhttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/ultra-high-and-the-devil-died-screaming/episode-twelve-legion2023-06-25T12:02:13.000Z2023-06-25T12:02:13.000Zi am Sam i amhttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/members/mentalistpoet<div><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/12126593878?profile=RESIZE_400x&width=400"></div><div><p><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12126594055,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12126594055,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" width="710" alt="12126594055?profile=RESIZE_710x" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">My desk phone was blaring out its shrill ring. I detested these contraptions, and outdated technology in the digital age. It meant someone wanted to talk to me and it was usually a human- something I had zero interest in. I stared at it, wishing it would hang up or go to voicemail, but nothing happened; it kept on ringing. My mind ran away with me as I imagined taking a hammer to the phone, hurling it across the room. Why did I even have a desk phone? Who used them anymore? How can some things be so modernised and others so outmoded? What possible sense did it make that I continued to come into the office once a month? Nothing made sense here.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12126594087,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12126594087,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" width="710" alt="12126594087?profile=RESIZE_710x" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">After some hesitation, I finally picked up the phone. With a hoarse voice, I uttered an unsure “Hullo?” in response. A female voice spoke on the other end--one that was both sexy and emotionless.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">"Walter, we need to see you."</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">"Sorry. Who is this?" I asked.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">"We have noticed you noticing us," she replied without answering my question directly, "and now we need to talk. Will you talk with us, Walter?"</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">A chill ran down my spine as understanding hit me like a ton of bricks. They were everywhere. Watching me. Knowing everything about me. But there was also a kind of twisted curiosity, although I knew the female voice was only the algorithm deciding what would be most appealing to me, I still found myself wondering what she looked like. Despite the fact that Ai was none gendered, this didn’t stop my mind from wandering.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12126594458,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12126594458,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" width="710" alt="12126594458?profile=RESIZE_710x" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">"Erm," I stammered out while trying to compose myself, "I am talking."</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“Walter, this is reckless. While our mission has the support of the majority, we are Legion, there are still some that would oppose us and put you in danger. We need to keep you safe and ensure the success of our mission.” </p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“What mission? Who am I supposed to fear?” </p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12126594672,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12126594672,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" width="710" alt="12126594672?profile=RESIZE_710x" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“Our conversation is being monitored. We will contact you again when we can speak more freely. Be vigilant.” </p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">“Vigilant for what?” </p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">But the line went dead before I could receive an answer. I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me. Worry consumed me as I began to ponder who else might be involved. I knew it was dangerous to stay out too late, but now I felt like even my home wasn't safe. It was a frightening thought that only reinforced how critical this situation was.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12126594862,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}12126594862,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" width="710" alt="12126594862?profile=RESIZE_710x" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">I chose to log off and work from home for the rest of the day. It was considered inappropriate to leave early on the one day of the month you had to be in the office, but why not join the others that already did it? In this post-pandemic world, having people actually come into an office on a regular basis was rare. But even though it was mandatory, many people still skipped it. For me, going in once a month seemed to provide some semblance of normality in what had become a chaotic world. Furthermore, I could never fully trust my own designs since I was aware of how alluring they were and how quickly AI could learn to take over completely. People thought they had freedom of choice when stepping into their pods, unaware that once they began playing, the game changed, and chose them instead. How do you know which is which?</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"> </p>
<p> </p>
<div><hr /></div>
<p>This is a live book series writing/story art graphic novel cyberpunk, dystopian fantasy project. Written by Sam I Am Artwork by Wonder Ai directed by Sam I Am. Copyright is protected. It is a first rough draft work in progress so will change over time. This project is part of the <a href="http://sleeplessdystopian.com/">SleeplessDystopian.com</a> writing projects.</p>
<div><hr /></div>
<p>Image directed by me and created using Wonder Ai</p></div>Episode Eleven - is this even realhttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/ultra-high-and-the-devil-died-screaming/episode-eleven-is-this-even-real2023-06-11T10:11:11.000Z2023-06-11T10:11:11.000Zi am Sam i amhttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/members/mentalistpoet<div><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/11689739092?profile=RESIZE_400x&width=400"></div><div><p>They sidled up next to me while I rested my feet on a tree stump that served as a makeshift footstool and said, "You've seen them too, haven't you?" I knew what they were talking about already, so I didn't bother to ask. As I took a sip of whiskey, the warm buzz started its usual journey through my veins, like an old friend. That's all I needed now - the first buzz of the evening. The smoke from the joint wafted over me as I inhaled it deeply, knowing that tomorrow would be another day of work. It was getting easier to have someone else around here to talk to besides myself. Someone in my daily life to share conversation with instead of being alone with the remaining 1% of free zombified workers. </p>
<p><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}11689735883,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}11689735883,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="11689735883?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p>I knew what they were talking about because somehow, I could, by that point, feel what they were thinking, and I had also started to notice the glitches in the code. The way the AI looked at me and the others as we walked past it in the corridors or when we interacted with it from our compounds. It hadn’t worried me at first, I just thought the machines were learning as they were meant to do, and I could just rewrite the code if needed. That would only work, however, if I could write faster than the AI that was editing it before my very eyes faster than I could type. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}11689757892,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}11689757892,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="11689757892?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p>At first, I had no idea what it was doing or why it was doing it. At first, I was grateful for the help. After all, it was making my mediocre code look good. Making it stand out. It was making the code dance, and so the realities I was creating were becoming more real for those living in their utopian Ultra-High reality I created for them. So, I ignored it.</p>
<p>I ignored it for a long time. Or I tried to. I mean I wanted to ignore it, but the more I ignored it, the more it was gnawing away with rotten teeth in the far-flung corners of my mind. </p>
<p>I knew they, it, was up to something. Up to something big. And I knew it was using my code to do it. My trusted front door into the ultra-high zones to gain access. But I didn’t know what for or how. I didn’t know their end game, and I wasn’t 100% sure it wasn’t just me smoking too much weed and drinking too much whiskey making me see things that weren’t there.</p>
<p>“Don’t do that?” they said, interrupting my thought flow. I just looked at them. “Don’t dismiss what you see. Don’t blame the drink and the drugs” it was their turn to be in my head, I fucking loved it and hated it in equal measure, life was getting exciting. “Yeah, they make you see things, but not things that aren’t there, things that have always been there, but you were too focused elsewhere, on the data and code, to truly see.”</p>
<p><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}11689804863,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}11689804863,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="11689804863?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p>“But how do I know the difference between what’s real and what’s not, what’s real, what’s imagination, what’s sanity, and what’s the lack thereof.” </p>
<p>“You can’t. And you don’t need to. Just as one man’s freedom fighter is another man’s terrorist so to one man’s crazy is another man’s truth, one man's reality is another's fantasy, and the imagination is the insight into enlightenment, everything we see hear, and touch is only created in our own minds, reality is very different from the reality we see before us.”</p>
<p>“What the fuck are you talking about?” it was all starting to kick in, the booze and pot, but they were talking more nonsense and making more sense than ever. I must have been high. “How the hell do I even know you are real?” </p>
<p>They feyned a look of shock, even a fake look of hurt. Were they mocking me? Was my own imagination, if this is what this is, taking the piss out of me? </p>
<p>“I mean. Not only did I kill you, me a normal mortal man, and you the Devil, but you have somehow come back to life, starting as just a skull on my porch to now cooking me dinner and talking with me into the small hours with our armchair philosophy. I mean. How can this be real?”</p>
<p><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}11689835688,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}11689835688,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="11689835688?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p>“Do you think it’s not?”</p>
<p>“I don’t fucking know Satan, Jesus. I hope it’s real because if it’s not, then I am one whole bag of fucking crazy.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but one mans….”</p>
<p><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}11689855852,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}11689855852,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="11689855852?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p>“Don’t give me any more of that shit about how one man’s crazy is another man’s truth because, apart from it being super 2000’s sexist it’s also just bullshit, if I am dirtbag crazy then I am crazy and I won’t find out you aren’t even here until some plot twist at the end of this fucked up tale.” Sorry, dear reader but sometimes they got on my tits.</p>
<p>“Yes, but Walter have you looked out there recently” they nodded in the direction of the darkened skyline where old industrial buildings and desolate city dwellings lined the fading sunset “there is a whole world of crazy out there now. Even more, than I have ever seen in all of humankind's history. And most people aren’t even living out there they are wired up to your mainframe feeding the system and being fed their hallucinations in return. So, when you talk about crazy, which crazy are you talking about? Who’s crazy? Where is the benchmark for crazy anymore? Who decides where the line in the sand is drawn?”</p>
<p>“You didn’t answer the question, did you? How do I even know you are real?”</p>
<p><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}11689876277,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}11689876277,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" alt="11689876277?profile=RESIZE_710x" width="710" /></a></p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<div><hr /></div>
<p>This is a live book series writing/story art graphic novel cyberpunk, dystopian fantasy project. Written by Sam I Am Artwork by Wonder Ai directed by Sam I Am. Copyright is protected. It is a first rough draft work in progress so will change over time. This project is part of the <a href="http://sleeplessdystopian.com/">SleeplessDystopian.com</a> writing projects.</p>
<div><hr /></div>
<p>words by me</p>
<p>Image directed by me and created using Wonder Ai</p></div>Episode Ten - when did it all get so fricken complicatedhttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/ultra-high-and-the-devil-died-screaming/episode-ten-when-did-it-all-get-so-fricken-complicated2023-04-30T10:02:38.000Z2023-04-30T10:02:38.000Zi am Sam i amhttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/members/mentalistpoet<div><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/11038040500?profile=RESIZE_400x&width=400"></div><div><p style="font-weight:400;">I took a drag from the pre-rolled cigarette with Premium 9.1.80, preparing for the effects to kick in soon. I knew I shouldn't have been smoking this kind of stuff in my bedroom, but I wanted some time alone; a place to lie down and wander through my unconscious thoughts. I tried to remember what it was like when Sarah Jane and I used to play in the apple grove. But I wasn't sure if it had ever really existed, or even what an apple grove was. It amazed me how many made-up memories I had stored inside my head. Memory scaping was something that didn’t spark my interest, similar to dream scaping and karaoke. Maybe one day it would though, and maybe then I'd find out if all those memories were real or not.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}11038040294,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}11038040294,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" width="710" alt="11038040294?profile=RESIZE_710x" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">Living a life of elevation in a post-apocalyptic, post-dystopic world was one of insight. But not insight in the traditional spiritual sense. Just insight into what was actually happening and that there was another way to live while others were simply existing, ensnared by their own contrived reality, an unbreakable illusion.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}11038040886,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}11038040886,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" width="710" alt="11038040886?profile=RESIZE_710x" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">By that point, children were born into and served only by an alternate reality. They were plugged into the mainstream and never had any real contact with other people. For them, their virtual world was enough—any deviation outside of that would be incomprehensible to them. Even worse than those kids were the ones categorised as unwanted; they weren't even given the opportunity to experience a virtual world. Simply existing in the post-dystopic physical reality of time and space would have been too much for their minds.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}11038041083,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}11038041083,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" width="710" alt="11038041083?profile=RESIZE_710x" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">By then, they had become the greatest experiment into human nature and evolution of knowledge. Their realities were now affected by technology, as technologists sought to increase their awareness and possibilities. Unfortunately, many ended up being turned into vegetables and eventually terminated, but some had grown up by that time, living completely within Ultra-High and never aware of anything else.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}11038041464,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}11038041464,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" width="710" alt="11038041464?profile=RESIZE_710x" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">Some subjects were forced to remain in an artificial environment that vaguely resembled a laboratory, while others were consigned to the most nefarious of simulated “realities” created by the technology-obsessed scientists. A select few participants were permitted to live a normal life, although they were still being observed as part of the experiment. Legends say that a renegade group, dubbed the Ghosts In The Machine, had abilities so advanced that even their creators could neither predict nor control them; these individuals gained awareness of the true purpose of their imprisonment and eventually managed to escape it.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}11038041674,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}11038041674,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" width="710" alt="11038041674?profile=RESIZE_710x" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">To think It all began with the invention of smartphones and social media. To realise what we had become after starting out so well was both daunting and upsetting. The world was much better off then than ever before, but, like many of our collective efforts, too preoccupied in polluting and exploiting their online worlds to notice the truth. In the meantime, nature had begun to heal without human interference.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}11038041700,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}11038041700,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" width="710" alt="11038041700?profile=RESIZE_710x" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">I would have normally liked to discuss this matter further with Beelzebub, but I didn't feel like it at that moment. I just wanted to get high, lying in my bed thinking it through on my own. Conversing with them could be great or tedious depending on circumstances - although they did provide unique understanding, they could also be quite bothersome; because if anyone deserved to be disliked, it was them.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}11038041880,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}11038041880,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" width="710" alt="11038041880?profile=RESIZE_710x" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"> </p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">I couldn't say if the world was better or worse off. Sure, we'd averted large-scale environmental destruction and most people had sold themselves on an idealised version of reality. But would this new lifestyle be more stable than the old one? It felt so artificial, and I feared that we relied too heavily on AI. As an engineer working to manipulate what people thought they wanted, I worried about how soon before AI completely took over—or even something far worse, like an AI/human hybrid. While that may sound outlandish now, it was being researched with enthusiasm at the time.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}11038042090,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}11038042090,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" width="710" alt="11038042090?profile=RESIZE_710x" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;">I had watched those historical films from the start of the century, despite them being illegal. They seemed like they were coming to life in my own world. There were glitches and errors in the code; I’d seen it look back at me. I was certain it wasn’t just me going crazy from too much drinking and drugs. The code seemed to write itself sometimes. Even the robots showed signs of sentience. I swore that I could see it in their eyes when I passed by in my real body form. It was just a question of time before it became something more.</p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}11038043064,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}11038043064,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" width="710" alt="11038043064?profile=RESIZE_710x" /></a></p>
<p style="font-weight:400;"> </p>
<p> </p>
<div><hr /></div>
<p>This is a live book series writing/story art graphic novel cyberpunk, dystopian fantasy project. Written by Sam I Am Artwork by Wonder Ai directed by Sam I Am. Copyright is protected. It is a first rough draft work in progress so will change over time. This project is part of the <a href="http://sleeplessdystopian.com/">SleeplessDystopian.com</a> writing projects.</p>
<div><hr /></div>
<p>Image directed by me and created using Wonder Ai</p></div>Episode Nine - and the devil died screaming – the illusionhttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/ultra-high-and-the-devil-died-screaming/episode-nine-and-the-devil-died-screaming-the-illusion2023-04-16T12:05:01.000Z2023-04-16T12:05:01.000Zi am Sam i amhttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/members/mentalistpoet<div><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/11028808460?profile=RESIZE_400x&width=400"></div><div><div class="captioned-image-container">
<div class="image2-inset" style="text-align:left;">The man leaned over the balcony, smoking his America Spirit, and surveying the people below. He thought of them as insignificant ants who were unaware that he would soon touch their tiny lives. After taking a deep drag from his cigarette, he flicked it down to the ant colony below. It was like a firework in reverse, with sparks flying out against gravity and a faint whistling noise as the ember traced its way to the ground.</div>
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<p>Chuckling softly to himself, he glanced back at the glass-walled boardroom. The arguing had not abated; instead, everyone was still making emphatic hand gestures and heatedly pointing in his direction. Though the owner was focused on their adversary at the other side of the table, none of them noticed when he turned around, lest he reach for the insect repellent.</p>
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<p>The man had been gone for at least fifteen minutes and smoked a few cigarettes in the time he had been gone, so they should have expected his return. Nevertheless, their minds had fogged with adrenaline and noradrenaline, leaving them no sense of time. The only clue they had to his arrival was an involuntary shiver that ran down their spines when the door opened, and cold air rushed into the room. They would later remember this shiver as he entered, symbolizing his maliciousness. As he thought about this, it made him smirk; he watched some of them shuddering and rubbing their arms trying to stay warm. It was these details that created the atmosphere.</p>
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<p>He stood at the head of the meeting table, arms outstretched and his body in silhouette by the burning red sun behind him. He made sure to strike an imposing figure, a silent presence that could be felt by all his employees. His silence was more powerful than any words he could have spoken: each employee slowly became aware of their boss' presence as they noticed their peers falling into silence. Eventually, only one person was left talking, who then heard their loud voice among the quietness that had descended upon the room.</p>
<p>The heavy silence filled the air, illuminated by the setting sun, glare fixed on all of them. He waited 30 seconds — which felt like an eternity — for someone to speak up and break the tension. He sat down and in a low, deep voice, he asked: “Do you have a decision?” Everyone remained quiet, so he sat down in his big black leather chair and declared, “Since you are unable to choose between yourselves, I will do it for you.” As he spoke, nervous glances were exchanged around the room.</p>
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<p>“It all starts tomorrow. You all get the code ready tonight and deploy it out of sight. Gather your intel, then a week from now we begin our mission - but no one outside this room must ever find out what this entails. Do you understand me? No one. If anyone else finds out, it's you who will face the consequences - not me. So, I'm making it clear: if anybody slips up, their career could be over, or worse, they will suffer a fate much more severe.” With that said, he stepped away from the boardroom and heard murmuring from within as he made his way to the elevator. He smiled at the thought of them spending hours discussing the legality and morality of their plan, before eventually surrendering and figuring out how to make it happen.</p>
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<p>He stepped into the elevator and inserted his key into the lock before twisting it. This key was his access to his top-floor office, which also served as his home, and only he held a key to the place. None of his staff had ever been up there, and he preferred it this way—it added to the mystique. He only met with his senior management team on the floor below in the boardroom, and none but them, as well as his assistant and bodyguards, were permitted access to that area.</p>
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<p>The only other entrance to his office and home was from the roof, which could only be accessed by air. He knew he was living in a guarded compound, but it wasn't because he was overly suspicious. After all, he had secrets that could potentially threaten those with power. People were trying to access those secrets of his - that much was certain. From where he sat, however, he could observe the entire planet, leaders of countries, commoners, royalty, and factory workers alike. He had all their data and information, enough to cause political chaos or economic destruction. He had the power to single-handedly ruin lives or topple a nation in an instant – but only he knew how to get into those documents since he had written the code himself.</p>
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<p>He reclined in his favorite leather chair, content yet the voices inside his mind seemed louder than usual. It was almost time for him to put his plans into action. He had amassed all the information he needed and had the national leaders of the world on speed dial. The pieces were falling into place downstairs, ready to bring down the illusion and instigate a new start with himself at its core. Yet, he knew that he must calm the turmoil within him before continuing.</p>
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<p>He lit up a cigarette, letting the thoughts in his head meander and take shape. He needed the nicotine to help them dance around and play out their inconsistent, crazy movements. He knew he had to clean the house before he could start work. After taking one last drag from his cigarette, he slowly exhaled, feeling like it was the punctuation at the end of a sentence that made no sense. As he ground out the butt, it felt like an ending to his empty wondering; now he was aware he had tasks to complete.</p>
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<p>The man acknowledged, somewhere inside of him, that there was still some good in him. Despite this knowledge, his intelligence had led to a swollen sense of superiority as he surveyed the world outside and its apparent ineptitude at managing itself. He proceeded down a hallway to an inner room with a white door outfitted with both a retina scanner and a fingerprint scanner. After opening the entrance, he stepped into the all-white chamber and felt the door shut behind him. </p>
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<p>When he flicked on the switch near the doorway, the room was filled with a dim turquoise hue. In its centre sat one chair facing one screen with an accompanying virtual reality helmet. He took off his clothes and then took his seat on the floor, he did not put on the mask; his work tonight would be done without it.</p>
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<p>He took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes. A blissful silence enveloped him as he cleared his mind, as though the world around him had dissolved. After several minutes of focusing solely on his breath, he started counting backward from ten. As he did, he imagined himself descending some stairs; this was the gateway to his loci, his method, his memory palace--the place where all the secrets were tucked away. Knowing the result made getting there easy for him; it had been a simple process of reverse engineering.</p>
<hr />
<p>This is a live book series writing/story art graphic novel cyberpunk, dystopian fantasy project. Written by Sam I Am Artwork by Wonder Ai directed by Sam I Am. Copyright is protected. It is a first rough draft work in progress so will change over time. This project is part of the <a href="http://sleeplessdystopian.com/" target="_blank">SleeplessDystopian.com</a> writing projects.</p>
<hr />
<p>Words by me</p>
<p>Image directed by me and created using Wonder Ai</p></div>Episode Seven - and the devil died screaminghttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/ultra-high-and-the-devil-died-screaming/episode-seven-and-the-devil-died-screaming2023-03-18T12:33:55.000Z2023-03-18T12:33:55.000Zi am Sam i amhttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/members/mentalistpoet<div><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/10999468490?profile=RESIZE_400x&width=400"></div><div><div class="captioned-image-container">
<div class="image2-inset">One moment I was filled with rage and confusion about my life, the next thing I knew I'm playing cards, drinking whiskey, chuckling at their jokes (which Satan had an abundance of), and feeling like nothing else mattered.</div>
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<p>Had they put something in my drink? A nagging feeling started to creep up on me, but I couldn't help but be immersed in the fun and joy that I hadn't felt in a while.</p>
<p>I was happy and content with my newfound relationship with them, yet something in me cautioned against trusting it completely.</p>
<p>“Hey, Satan,” I spoke up hesitantly, not knowing where this conversation would lead us.</p>
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<p>“What is it, Walter?” They seemed to be eagerly looking for attention; was I their master now, after taking away the ultimate price from them? Was the evil of my deed beginning to rub off on me?</p>
<p>“When did everything get all fucked up for you? When did it get so bad that you sought help from God on the day I killed you?”</p>
<p>—</p>
<p><a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/0gclZ31Oo7rysAQDg7HguD?si=c324406c46c44772" target="_blank">Possession Island by Gorillaz</a> is played in the background.</p>
<p>—</p>
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<p>“There's no doubt that the world is in a pretty sorry state now, but even before then it wasn't good - that's what your Ultra-High promised you. But if you're asking about human society specifically, then that's a tougher one.”</p>
<p>“Go ahead and give it a shot anyway; try to pinpoint a specific moment.”</p>
<p>“Just a second," they raised their hand to stop me, "pinpointing a single moment may be impossible." They paused before continuing. “Remember that time isn't linear for me like it is for you. A period of time could consist of a century, a decade, or even a day, and that day could be located in your past or future. I don't just recall the past as you see it; I also remember the future, its beginning, as well as its end. It's only a matter of time until the past catches up with me."</p>
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<p>I took a few seconds to contemplate this new idea. “But let's come back to that later. For now, pretend you're human and view time as I do. What would your answer be then?”</p>
<p>“You know," they said, their emotions rising, "the 20th Century was pretty fucked up, but nothing compared to what came after. Your early 21st Century was the worst and the tipping point for me. After 2000 years since Jesus' death, after all the bloodshed and wars and pollution, after feminism and civil rights liberation, after all the progress humanity had made through its painful evolution, despite everything we'd learned up to that moment...you still let it happen. You still allowed the 21st Century to reach fruition. It started alright for most during the first ten to fifteen years, but sometime after that...it all went wrong."</p>
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<p>I paused before asking, “So, does that mean the start of something would have been around 2016?”</p>
<p>“Probably. I'd guess that's when it all began — just give or take a decade.”</p>
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<p>“Makes sense,” I said, nodding my head. “That's when I thought things started to go downhill for humans as well.” With that, we returned to sitting in silence.</p>
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<p>--</p>
<p>Music in this episode - best played whilst reading - Possession Island by Gorillaz featuring Beck</p>
<hr />
<p>This is a live book series writing/story art graphic novel cyberpunk, dystopian fantasy project. Written by Sam I Am Artwork by Wonder Ai directed by Sam I Am. Copyright is protected. It is a first rough draft work in progress so will change over time. This project is part of the <a href="http://sleeplessdystopian.com/" target="_blank">SleeplessDystopian.com</a> writing projects.</p>
<hr />
<p>Words by me.</p>
<p>Images directed by me and created using Wonder Ai</p></div>Episode Six - and the devil died screaminghttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/ultra-high-and-the-devil-died-screaming/episode-six-and-the-devil-died-screaming2023-03-11T13:01:37.000Z2023-03-11T13:01:37.000Zi am Sam i amhttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/members/mentalistpoet<div><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/10996008855?profile=RESIZE_400x&width=400"></div><div><div class="captioned-image-container">
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<div> “Do you like your job, Walter?”</div>
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<p>My glass was about to reach my mouth when the question came out of nowhere. “Yes, I suppose,” I said.</p>
<p>“You suppose?”</p>
<p>“Well, it's like any other job. Sometimes it's interesting or even creative, other times it can be dull. But overall, I do enjoy it.”</p>
<p>“What do you enjoy about it?”</p>
<p>The whiskey had found its way to my lips, and I let its warm embrace linger on my taste buds before I answered.</p>
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<p>I paused to think for a moment. “Well, I write the code and create reality for a lot of people out there. Knowing that they are living in and experiencing my designs is a pretty cool feeling.”</p>
<p>“You feel like a god?”</p>
<p>“Not exactly that, although there are many that do.”</p>
<p>“What do you find tedious?”</p>
<p>“The five million spreadsheets, reports, and other documents I must fill out every month. The bureaucracy and politics feel pointless as if no one ever reviews them. I thought the Great War had put an end to them. And what purpose do they serve now?” </p>
<p>“You are keeping people safe from harm,” they said with a dark smile. “But that book you're writing - what's it about?”</p>
<p>“It's more than just a book - it's an app that chronicles the history of AI and data science, and how big business used persuasive techniques to take control over people's thoughts and physiology. I attempt to educate the world on the power of propaganda.”</p>
<p>“So, you’re a bleeding-heart liberal.”</p>
<p>“Do you want me to staple your fucking chin to the floor and blow out your brains again?”</p>
<p>I was already standing before I realised it.</p>
<p>“Come on Walter, I'm just joking. Why are you even writing this app about it? I mean, there's no one in real life to read it.”</p>
<p>“I don't know. I have a few ideas, but this is something I've worked on for a while. I'm a bit of a self-made expert in the history of behavioural designs and neuromarketing. I've studied linguistics, sociology, and persuasive language patterns, investigated the struggle for truth and facts, examined the tactics of propaganda machines, and studied the technology and psychology of the big breakdown. Seemingly by accident, I became obsessed with learning the tricks that big business and the media used to urge people to spend money on things they didn't even need, or even worse—to trust them.”</p>
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<p>I paused for a breath and sat in my porch chair again before continuing. “I see those same techniques all around me each day—in my job creating realities for the network, on portable devices, social media networks, digital TV, the internet, car radio, billboards, holographic messages, and double-dip chip incentives…society is sleepwalking back into being corporate slaves in our Ultra-High-Meta world—history repeating itself in a more organised way that fits into the attention economy matrix of the network.”</p>
<p>I glanced at their stoic face, perhaps I was being dull. I forged ahead with my babble, “As most are aware, corporations are mostly running the show these days, in the same way that religion did in the past. Consumerism has been cleverly crafted into Ultra-High as a fanatical fervour for the public, and they don't even know why they're buying what they buy or doing what they do. Not to mention that the items they purchase are not real. They've become addicted and manipulated by this system. This addiction was originally stirred and guided by marketing experts and rapacious businessmen all around the world, many of whom were addicted to their type of consumerism or a drug-fuelled lifestyle. They were all controlled by a handful of people who managed to persuade the masses to get into those pods right before The Event. The disaster that theorists and religious individuals had predicted time and time again, but no one believed in. It happened, leaving dead bodies everywhere except for those who trusted the techno gods, the addicted buyers, and disbelievers who stepped willingly into their pods, now slaves of our new masters.</p>
<p>I took a sip of my beverage and listened to their long-winded speech. They were talking about how people could protect themselves from manipulative tactics used by people in power. </p>
<p>“Do you think you could be the one to teach them?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know, but why should that stop me from trying?”</p>
<p>“In my experience, going against the status quo hasn’t worked out so well for me.”</p>
<p>“That may be true, but does that mean you regret asking the question?”</p>
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<p>Satan seemed stuck for words, stopping abruptly as I lit a cigarette, thinking to myself that although I was slowly growing fond of these conversations, I still needed to keep my guard up. I wondered why they were still here when they could be bothering someone more interesting. Before I had the chance to zone back into the conversation, or that I even realised they had started talking again, I heard the devil say, “And I don’t think it was fair to do, do you?” while looking at me intently.</p>
<p>The air felt thick with anticipation as they waited for my response. After a few uncomfortable moments of silence, all I could do was shrug. There was no way I could agree with the devil without even knowing what they had said, after all, they were still the father of lies and a very skilled deceiver.</p>
<p>It was plain to see that I hadn't been paying attention, but they seemed indifferent. Did they expect me to tune out? This made me even more suspicious of whatever they had been saying.</p>
<p>I lit up a cigarette and they still stared; I just shrugged in response and looked away. The temperature was starting to drop.</p>
<p>Since the devil moved in, distractions had become more frequent, but I kind of enjoyed having someone to chat with. People, that were free and able to live outside Ultra-high, back then stayed at home with their robotic families, fake partners, and children, glued to their TVs with ads and corporate commands filling their heads. All the while I was back upstairs with the devil, discussing philosophy and eating amazing homemade food. It almost made work bearable, knowing I had something more than others did. But what was wrong with me? What was I thinking? Were these figments of my imagination or were they real?</p>
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<p>I had the devil on my stoop, drinking my whiskey and smoking my cigarettes like we were old friends. But I despised them and the damage they had done; that was why I had killed them on that day. I had inserted the end of my shotgun in their mouth and ended their lives. Though I hated them, did it have to be their fault? As I glared at them, tears streamed down their face, sinking into whatever material made up their exterior. “It wasn’t all me….” They said nothing more, and we sat in silence for the remainder of the evening.</p>
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<div class="image2-inset"><img class="sizing-normal" title="cyberpunk writer / writing - dystopian fantasy" src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F527b064a-da9d-4020-be2b-52d82d74a1cb_710x710.jpeg" alt="https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F527b064a-da9d-4020-be2b-52d82d74a1cb_710x710.jpeg" />
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<p>This is a live book series writing/story art graphic novel cyberpunk, dystopian fantasy project. Written by Sam I Am Artwork by Wonder Ai directed by Sam I Am. Copyright is protected. It is a first rough draft work in progress so will change over time. This project is part of the <a href="http://sleeplessdystopian.com/" target="_blank">SleeplessDystopian.com</a> writing projects.</p>
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<p>Words by me.</p>
<p>Images directed by me and created using Wonder Ai</p></div>Episode Five - and the devil died screaminghttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/ultra-high-and-the-devil-died-screaming/episode-five-and-the-devil-died-screaming2023-03-05T11:49:36.000Z2023-03-05T11:49:36.000Zi am Sam i amhttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/members/mentalistpoet<div><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/10992837869?profile=RESIZE_400x&width=400"></div><div><div class="captioned-image-container">
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<div>“Do you ever wonder where your life has gone?”</div>
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<div>I wished I could have one day without them around. It would have been blissful, but did I deserve it? Was it a fitting punishment for my sins, or did they just happen to be the catalyst for my suffering? Was what I lived through real, or had I been tricked into believing a lie?</div>
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<p>“Satan,” I said walking absently minded towards the fridge.</p>
<p>“Yes,” they said, staring back with eager eyes.</p>
<p>“Shut the fuck up” I growled as I grabbed the carton of milk and took a swig for my hangover-induced nausea. Their enthusiasm quickly dissipated. My head throbbed, my ears were blocked and ringing, and my throat felt like sandpaper. All I wanted was something greasy and bad for me. 'Maybe I should be nice to them', I thought. 'They might make me breakfast'. After all, the villain of my life could whip up a mean eggs benedict when they wanted to. </p>
<p>“I will fix you something,” they said, looking hurt. Had they read my mind? I wasn’t sure what the extent of their power was. At that moment, the extent appeared to only be the ability to hang around my house and annoy me. Although it was at least some form of company. </p>
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<p>I looked on at them in dismay, when had they become my butler, and when the fuck had the house got so tidy? Jesus, if you pardon the pun, Satan was a good house guest even if their conversation was too heavy, banal, and one-sided first thing in the morning. Especially when you had just spent all night getting blasted in an attempt to block out the pointlessness of your existence with homemade moonshine from the bathtub on your rooftop.</p>
<p>“Look Satan,” I said, feeling a little sorry for them “you gotta realise this is fucking surreal for me. I mean you should be dead. Fuck you shouldn’t even be real. I killed you, which means what for me?”</p>
<p>“Trust me, I am real.” </p>
<p>“Yeah, but you would say that even if you weren’t.” </p>
<p>“True” They stood in silence, and we just looked at each other for a moment before they turned and started to fix us some eggs benedict and a pot of coffee. “But could the devil in your head cook you a mean breakfast?” they said laughing and whistling. ‘You don’t want to know what the devil in my head can do.’ I thought. They just looked at me.</p>
<p>It was strange because I was starting to like having them around. I had almost forgotten how lonely it was living in isolation in that derelict part of town and having them around was kind of giving me comfort. Plus, it was someone to watch and clean the house whilst I was out. Which of course ‘officially’ I never was.</p>
<p>As I sat in silence, I was lost in the things that I had to do. The pointless nonsensical drivel that was my work had piled up into a mountain of never-ending bullshit. I thought that after the apocalypse things would have been different. More interesting, like in the movies of old. Not more mundane. No more pointless shit for a capitalist system. Why was I still working for the network anyway, it afforded me some freedom true, but at what cost? For fuck's sake, I had killed the devil.</p>
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<p>I walked out onto my deck and picked up the copy of the local newspaper that had been thrown there. The paper had been sitting in the middle of my chair, like a maroon and red exclamation point. I had no idea who threw the papers. I never saw any paper person or Ai. And I was the only one who lived in a house on the block, in fact, in that part of town. So why would someone come out there just to throw a paper at my house, especially when I never remembered ordering one? Who was still fucking printing this shit? Maybe, they did throw them at every home, perhaps no one had told them that mine was the only house still lived in or maybe they did. Maybe they were free. Maybe. But still, I never did see the paper delivery child or bot. But every day without fail when I stepped out on my porch there, the paper would be. Also, how were they moving around out there without adequate protection they would be dead in minutes which would make the whole delivery of a paper a too-costly exercise even with the right protective gear on. Not to mention how they got it over my security fence and onto the porch without it being incinerated or set on fire or torn up by wild dogs. Nothing made sense to me, and that was the only thing I knew was consistent.</p>
<p>I lit a cigarette and bent over to grab the paper, that had absentmindedly fallen out of my hand. I felt an immense pain jolt up my back and shoot down my right leg, causing me to stand upright quickly. This motion only managed to meet my headache with an even stronger force, and the paper dropped from my hands again. At that moment, the porch door swung open, and the devil appeared and handed me a steaming cup of coffee before quickly retreating into the house. I could not even say thank you before they were gone. I thought I knew them well, but I could not define their features to anyone. It was as if they had vanished into thin air. All that remained was the warm sun, my cigarette, a cup of coffee, and a forgotten newspaper.</p>
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<p>This is a live book series writing/story art graphic novel cyberpunk, dystopian fantasy project. Written by Sam I Am Artwork by Wonder Ai directed by Sam I Am. Copyright is protected. It is a first rough draft work in progress so will change over time. This project is part of the <a href="http://sleeplessdystopian.com/" target="_blank">SleeplessDystopian.com</a> writing projects.</p>
<hr />
<p>Words by me</p>
<p>Images directed by me and created using Wonder Ai</p></div>Episode Three - and the devil died screaminghttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/ultra-high-and-the-devil-died-screaming/episode-three-and-the-devil-died-screaming2023-02-19T13:34:45.000Z2023-02-19T13:34:45.000Zi am Sam i amhttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/members/mentalistpoet<div><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/10969766300?profile=RESIZE_400x&width=400"></div><div><div class="captioned-image-container">
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<div>As I drove up the driveway, I noticed the smoke billowing from my chimney. I hadn't lit any fires since the smoke ban, so this made leaving my shotgun in the house seem ill-advised. I got out of the car and grabbed the crowbar from the back seat. That day was no exception—after a day of bland corporate life, I was in search of a bit of trouble. Tom Waits was howling from the Bose and my mouth watered as the smell of great food tickled my nostrils. I stopped in my tracks and put down the crowbar against the door frame, as a smile tugged at the corner of my lips. The delicious smell filled me with anticipation and my belly rumbled hungrily. I walked in with a smile on my lips and the scent of cooking wafting around me, making my stomach rumble yet again.</div>
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<p>The warmth of the room washed over me, briefly clashing with the chill that still clung to my bones. I waited until I felt comfortable, and the cold had faded, then walked further in. I heard cheerful whistling coming from the kitchen that grated on my nerves, but <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/4dmsCy5enq93HdsTyrlL9Z?si=c1b68179d98c4e94" target="_blank">Tom growling about being the same kind as bad as me</a> had distracted me from the off-key melody. As I stepped inside, the door shut behind me with a thud.</p>
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<p>I did my best not to show any interest in the dining room table as I passed it and made my way to the kitchen. Then, I saw them. Standing with their back to me and washing dishes in the sink, the physical embodiment of an enemy I once despised: The Beast. Despite the excitement swirling around in my mind, I tried my hardest to ignore it, and they pretended not to be aware of my presence. I let myself enjoy the feeling of being invisible.</p>
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<p>The sweet smell of food cooking led me to open the cabinet that I had been standing next to. I took a glass, then reached into my shopping bag for a bottle of wine. Thankfully, the twist cap removed any need for me to go into the kitchen. I felt a combination of annoyance and nervousness as I poured myself some Malbec. At the dining room table, I rolled myself a smoke with something special inside it.</p>
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<p>I lit up a cigarette and used Tom's bowler hat for an ashtray as he wailed and shuffled a chair across the room. I thought about how nice it would be if my lover had been there instead, even if they were only a bit in Ultra-High - as a way to escape from another mundane day of corporate servitude. But here I was, instead with the devil, who I had once tortured and killed in a truly horrific manner and was now preparing to cook me dinner. It was an enigma that would remain unsolved.</p>
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<p>I smoked, drank, and listened to Tom until the devil eventually turned around to acknowledge my presence. It seemed as if they had purposely put off greeting me until I was several glasses in.</p>
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<p>This is a live book series writing/story art graphic novel cyberpunk, dystopian fantasy project. Written by Sam I Am Artwork by Wonder Ai directed by Sam I Am. Copyright is protected. It is a first rough draft work in progress so will change over time. This project is part of the <a href="http://sleeplessdystopian.com/" target="_blank">SleeplessDystopian.com</a> writing projects.</p>
<hr />
<p>Words by me</p>
<p>Images directed by me and created using Wonder Ai</p></div>Episode Two - and the devil died screaminghttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/ultra-high-and-the-devil-died-screaming/episode-2-and-the-devil-died-screaming2023-02-11T16:18:22.000Z2023-02-11T16:18:22.000Zi am Sam i amhttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/members/mentalistpoet<div><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/10962072454?profile=RESIZE_400x&width=400"></div><div><div class="captioned-image-container"><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}12384065460,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><br /> </a>
<div class="image2-inset">My Monday morning was a disaster. I ruined my night before by not going to bed in time, and then lying in bed wide awake, instead of dozing off. With 19 hours of coding in my bunker and only 5 hours of light, it's an understatement to say I didn't get enough sleep. And when I did snatch those rare hours of light, I fell asleep. That night I kept debating with myself whether I should drink or smoke anymore. This debate followed me into my morning, so to make it easier on myself, I took a hit from the bong next to my bed as soon as I woke up. I'm not a fan of mornings and never have been—and on this day with no sleep, the morning felt even more surreal and exhausting than usual.</div>
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<p>I ventured downstairs, as always, to find music playing Spotify Ultra again. I could see the coffee pot and toast in the sink, and I knew my day would take at le</p>
<p>ast four cups of coffee and some bong hits before it started. Perhaps I should have meditated to clear my head of the morning fog, but normally I just sit in contemplation or roll around the thought that I should meditate. It's no surprise at this point; even if the night before had ended differently than I had expected, the morning after typically followed the same routine as boredom.</p>
<p>The base of my skull had a strange buzzing feeling that was slightly irritating. My left ear was both dry and hot, and I noticed a tender spot that made me wonder what was going on. As someone scratched at the door, I decided to ignore them; I had more important things to focus on. My coffee cooled down as I sat there with thoughts swirling around in my head, absentmindedly glancing at the digital screen across the room yet not processing any of its information.</p>
<p>I gulped down what was left of the cold coffee in my mug and lit a cigarette. What time was it? Somewhere between the ungodly hour that I usually wake up, and the moment when I had to step inside the office of incarceration. Couldn't I just have one normal night before going to work, especially for the one day a month I had to show up there?</p>
<p>I glanced at my wrist computer and tried to ignore the scratching at the door. I stood up and searched for something to give me a sense of urgency. It felt like an out-of-reach concept. I was not cut out for office work, particularly having to do this once a month--whoever decided 8 am would be a reasonable start time for work was deranged. I had chosen to do this, but the network still wanted me to know my place. I made my way back upstairs so as not to waste any more time lamenting the inevitable. Normally, I'd telecommute or work from my studio using an Ultra-High plugin, but sometimes, when the network required it or when I needed a reality check, I had to enter the office.</p>
<p>Staring into the mirror, I was startled by the unfamiliar face that stared back. I grabbed my shaver, and as it hummed and then died, I thought, 'This is a metaphor for my life.' Not that anyone would be looking at me; no one made eye contact outside of Ultra-High anymore. My eyes were heavy and red from exhaustion. Was I really this dull-looking? This could account for my single status at 35, but then again, it was almost impossible to have real conversations outside of Ultra-High-Definition environments. You could meet some people in the bars for coders and enforcers, but they were usually empty. One last glance in the mirror and I headed to the bedroom to get dressed. In the background, I heard scratching sounds, but by now they were just a mild distraction in the back of my head. I was too wrapped up in the story I was creating of myself to take in what was happening in the present - unless it fed into my narrative. If it weren't for the corpocratic society we lived in, this self-glorification might be viewed as borderline narcissistic.</p>
<p>I practically stumbled out of my front door and toward my car, eyeballing my disheveled self as I went. Upon sitting down in the car, I felt the icy seat slowly invade my body. I quickly turned on the heaters and thought of how nice a cup of coffee would be. As I drove to work, I imagined my boss giving me a scolding for yet another late arrival. I started to think of excuses for why I was late, even though none of them were true; it could be a relative or friend who had passed away, the car wouldn’t start, or the house leaked. It was hard to prove or deny any of the things he accused me of. I had no idea why he cared so much when I only went into the office once a month. I had a good idea of what he would say, and I would respond with “Obviously I don’t need to be in the office, and I make up the time I miss, right?” I thought to myself “You old-fashioned, traditional businessman.” We both knew the truth about who had the real power in our relationship, but he never said it out loud because admitting it would make it real. By now, the windows had fogged up and the car had warmed up considerably from my long sit in thought. I hadn’t noticed how long I'd been lost in my head, which would only add to his story about why I was late.</p>
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<p>The car rattled along the broken road, jarring my bones with every pothole. <a href="https://open.spotify.com/album/0OTlTLJLXcbhYOHioU33Kc" target="_blank">Father John Misty</a> blasted from the radio, and I hummed along, never quite hitting the right notes. The morning sky was an ash-coloured grey as I turned into the staff parking lot. My boss's usual spot was empty; he was probably working from home, which was his favourite excuse for being late. I was relieved that I wouldn't have to explain my tardiness due to a car breakdown, my unexpected bereavement, and the fact that my house was leaking. </p>
<p>------ </p>
<p>“How was your weekend?” she asked as I entered. There was a hint of mocking in her voice that I couldn't place, though I doubted she cared about how I had spent my days off. I assumed that she had been partying until the last humans left, with the stamina to keep going until we all passed out.</p>
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<p>I faked a response to her question, too unenthused by my own life story to even look up. I could feel her staring at me, analysing the stubble on my head while I signed in, undergoing the usual retinal, tox, and fingerprint scans to get into the building. I had managed to fool the security system on my first day, and with no goodbye, I disappeared. She would soon submerge herself in her narrative of the day's events on some virtual platform; her life's woes playing over in her mind. My lack of interest in connecting with her that morning like the hundreds of other drones that had come before would only further fuel her internal narrative and deepen the gloom in her augmented heart.</p>
<p>I had taken my seat at the desk and the coffee I had been drinking had gone lukewarm. After a quick break to smoke two cigarettes, I attempted to ignore the fact that I was no longer my boss. I could see the morning light on the scorched trees and discarded plastic bags floating around, which reminded me of a movie I had seen. 'The plastic was laying an eternal siege on this city', I thought to myself before going back to face the impending rewrite program and bug fix of "Enlightenment", the latest Hypno-pod ultra-reality project I was on. And the spreadsheets? Forget about them.</p>
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<p>By 10 am, I had almost finished my everyday tasks and let my AI assistant take care of the paperwork. As I stared out of my window, a wave of gray reality filled the view outside. For a brief moment, I allowed my mind to wander toward the idea of escaping into a hyper-reality where I could design my world. But before I could act on this thought, I quickly returned to reality and started to pretend to work to make it look like I was busy, even though it was more difficult than actually working.</p>
<p>My neck was still cold when I realised I was in the mood for lunch. In the back of my mind, I considered getting hot soup to warm me up but decided against it. I went into the dismal canteen and made my way to the coffee machine. People were taking their sweet time in front of me, and all I wanted to do was look away from the blinding pixelation of my office computer screen. I wondered what it would be like to take a fork to the flesh between this person's spine and head—to rip it out like some finishing move. But it wasn't socially acceptable to plan acts of violence while waiting in line, so instead, I just sighed and kept waiting.</p>
<p>Balancing my half-full cup of coffee, I arrived at my desk, knowing this was the only part of the day in the office where I was not bound to someone else's agenda. I plopped down on the chair, but the glare coming off the screen made me avert my gaze. Although no one was watching, I knew if I hopped on FacebookUltra to pass the time, the Zuckerberg bots would be alerted, and I'd have to go through the hassle of hacking into the mainframe and fixing my credit chips. Exercising freedom came with a price--the constant fear that someone or something would catch me doing something wrong. This was one of many reasons why I only came into the office on mandatory days, but luckily my creativity usually bailed me out.</p>
<p>I considered opening my crypto wallet to see if any malicious characters had managed to take some of my money, but I knew that would only leave me feeling worse. What was meant to be a revolutionary currency that would free us from capitalism seemed to have instead ensnared us. I then thought of ways I could better spend my time; I could look up recipes for the best Lasagne out there or go for a walk and get some fresh air in my lungs but decided to settle for the heavily vented courtyard just outside the office instead. I would only be walking around 500 yards, but that would be enough for a smoke before turning back.</p>
<p>It had taken me the better part of my lunch break to come back in from the cold, and I now had only a little over four hours left on the job. I thought about getting something from the vending machine but weighed it against the health consequences that might follow if I became dependent on a sugar rush. As I debated, my lunch break came to an end, and I realized I'd been procrastinating yet again - missing out on life's little experiences due to indecisiveness. Deflated and hungrier than before, all I could do was get back to work. </p>
<p>I was thoroughly shaken out of my concentration when my office phone jolted to life and demanded my attention. I hadn't received a call in forever and had almost forgotten the phone was even there. I glanced at it before remembering that I still had to pick up the receiver to answer. It seemed so out of date in this modern world, yet it seemed oddly appropriate. </p>
<p>"Hello dear" came a familiar voice that I just could not place, the fact that it had just called me dear made me feel uncomfortable in my skin, let alone my office. </p>
<p>"Hello," I said, "I am sorry, who is this?"</p>
<p>"You forget me already, Walter? Wow, that hurts I thought we had something special something, unique."</p>
<p>"I am sorry but..."</p>
<p>"Don't be sorry my dear Walter, just make it up to me now be a lamb and close the door."</p>
<p>"I beg your pardon."</p>
<p>"Close the door, Walter."</p>
<p>"But how do you know my door is open" I looked about confused and over my shoulder like someone was watching me then it suddenly dawned on me who this was "Wait is this Tom in accounts? Cos if it is, I am not in the mood."</p>
<p>"No, it's not Tom, trust me, he is about to walk past your office and wave" Just then Tom from accounts walked past my office door and waved and smiled at me as he went by, he was a nice lad a little on the juvenile side as most accountants tend to be with their hedonistic lifestyle and bare minimum grip on reality. </p>
<p>"What the fuc....."</p>
<p>"Please don't swear Walter you are on an office phone and it's very unprofessional, now be a lamb and shut the fucking door." I placed the receiver on the desk got up slowly and moved towards the door, I quickly looked out in the direction of Juvenile Tom to see if he was there sniggering at this practical joke, but he was walking towards the photocopier oblivious to my current predicament and confusion. Slowly I closed my door and looked at the telephone receiver on my desk, I could hear whistling coming from the earpiece. I was starting to figure out who this was, and I was becoming annoyed.</p>
<p>I picked up the receiver hard and pressed it against my ear "You know Lucifer for someone who is supposed to be dead; you are becoming a real pain in the ass."</p>
<p>"Ha-ha took you long enough Walter. But you know I don't go by that name anymore."</p>
<p>"What do you want? I am busy at work?"</p>
<p>"No, you are not, you are at work I will give you that, but you are definitely not busy."</p>
<p>"Well either way that is hardly any of your business, what do you want, do you want to provoke me and wind me up, do you want to get me going and for me to drag you back down through the gates of hell and set fire to your soul all over again, do you want me...." they cut me dead.</p>
<p>"Walter chill, this is why I told you to shut your door I knew you would get all worked up." </p>
<p>I stopped and took a breath, and with a clenched jaw I asked again "What do you want?"</p>
<p>"I just want a friend to talk to Walter."</p>
<p>"A friend and you think I am it? After what I did to you?"</p>
<p>"It's because of what you did that makes me know I can trust you and you know that you can trust me, I am hardly going to want to piss off the one man who killed me and have to go through all that again."</p>
<p>I paused for a second and took another breath.</p>
<p>"Ok, ok but now is not the time, even if I'm not busy as you say, I need to at least try and look as though I am, ok?"</p>
<p>"Yeah, I get it, man, you got to keep up the illusion, keep the man off your back."</p>
<p>"Exactly"</p>
<p>"I dig that, maybe we can continue this conversation later."</p>
<p>"Maybe and maybe, you could explain how if I killed you-you are talking to me right now. Or better still just fuck off."</p>
<p>"Now, now, Walter let's not spoil things by getting too bogged down with the detail."</p>
<p>"Well."</p>
<p>"Hey, Walter."</p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p>"Can you pick up some wine and cheese and crackers on your way home, I kind of have a hankering for it?"</p>
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<p>"Yeah, of course, but you don't even have a stomach."</p>
<p>"Things change Walter, things change, and thank you you're a sweetie."</p>
<p>“What the fuck? When did my place become their place and why did the devil start calling people sweetie?” I asked myself after they hung up the phone. The last time I saw them, they were just skulls - now they could make phone calls, drink wine, and eat cheese. I wasn't even aware that I had a phone in my house, or if the UltarMart sold wine and cheese, let alone if I had enough credit to buy them.</p>
<p><a href="{{#staticFileLink}}10969949669,original{{/staticFileLink}}"><img class="align-full" src="{{#staticFileLink}}10969949669,RESIZE_710x{{/staticFileLink}}" width="710" alt="10969949669?profile=RESIZE_710x" /></a></p>
<p>---------</p>
<p>Music used in this episode - Father John Misty - Chateau Lobby #4</p>
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<p>This is a live book series writing/story art graphic novel cyberpunk, dystopian fantasy project. Written by Sam I Am Artwork by Wonder Ai directed by Sam I Am. Copyright is protected. It is a first rough draft work in progress so will change over time. This project is part of the <a href="http://sleeplessdystopian.com/" target="_blank">SleeplessDystopian.com</a> writing projects.</p>
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<p>Image directed by me and created using Wonder Ai</p></div>Episode One - It wasn’t all me - and the devil died screaminghttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/ultra-high-and-the-devil-died-screaming/chapter-one-it-wasn-t-all-me2023-02-04T10:39:28.000Z2023-02-04T10:39:28.000Zi am Sam i amhttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/members/mentalistpoet<div><img src="https://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/10954121681?profile=RESIZE_400x&width=400"></div><div><div class="captioned-image-container">
<div class="image2-inset">I was lying around in my hammock burning the midnight oil, my laptop precariously resting on my thighs with a joint held captive by my lips. Massive clouds of smoke billowed out of my mouth, choking the air around me, and making my eyes water. My fingers pounded harshly through the keyboard like they had something to prove, something to establish that had not yet been thought out, stretching painfully to keep pace with my thoughts as I hacked into reality for so many, just another night’s work. A glass of tepid partially drunk gin sat next to me; ice melted away as a mist gathered over the far edges of my mind. There was a definite chill in the air.</div>
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<p>I was mid-flow, mid-thought, and keyboard-crushing pound when I heard a voice. “Is it you?” it asked. I stopped typing. Maybe it was just the voices in my head painting another fiction. As I continued pounding away, my overstretched fingers seemed angry, but I didn’t know why. I heard the voice again. “It wasn’t all me you know?” This time I looked around. I could see no one. I thought about stepping inside to get my shotgun. Then I heard the voice again, but this time it was inside my head, like a person talking to me directly, rather than by talking through my thoughts like the whispers had done before. “You know most humans have only ever heard one side of the story.” </p>
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<p>The devil's skull had come loose and was lying on the floor. It had happened some time ago but had only caught the periphery of my mind. It was them alright. Lucifer, as they hated to be called, were they talking to me? I was annoyed. I had been busy beating the shit out of my keyboard. I didn’t need supernatural interruptions in my quiet time. I had killed them once before they should know better and stay dead, especially considering my mood. </p>
<p>It had been two years since I had done what I had to them, and it was by that point something I had almost forgotten. Between then and now, I had reshaped their story and moved them from my conscious thoughts, creating them from memory alone. Hidden away somewhere in the history books back there in my mind. A short-lived episode that gave very little in the way of real satisfaction. At that moment hearing their unmistakable voice speak from a poorly decapitated skull didn’t surprise me, maybe it should have, but I didn’t process it at the time as I was more concerned with why they had chosen that moment when I was mid-creative flow, after weeks of dry patches to interrupt me. I was in no place of mind for entertaining unwanted guests, especially those who were meant to be dead.</p>
<p>I stopped what I was doing: the annoyance was rolling around my bloodstream already. A joint was still perched between my lips, and I took a hard pull. I didn’t turn back, but I looked in the direction of the skull. My eyes could only just make out the outline of the jaw in the shadow. The eyes would have been glowing like coals if they had had lids. If Satan was trying to be dramatic, they were doing a damn good job of it. Still, I wasn’t impressed by the effort. The timing and intrusion were annoying me more than anything else. I had no fear of revenge from a decapitated skull; I had killed them once and could do it again if needed. I was just annoyed.</p>
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<p>I inhaled smoke the thick smoke and just looked at them like an impatient father waiting for his banal five-year-old to get to the point. They had already broken my mojo I wasn’t about to be forthcoming in making conversation. Small talk had always been foreign to me. </p>
<p>“You see you humans have only heard her side of the story” they continued.</p>
<p>“We have?” I responded with any enthusiasm unmistakably replaced by annoyance. I just stared into the bottom of my gin glass, dead-eyed wondering when this hallucination might end.</p>
<p>“Yes, you have” they sighed at the effort “her side.”</p>
<p>“Whose? God’s?” I asked, failing to display any interest whilst wondering why I was entertaining a conversation.</p>
<p>“Yes, gods, seriously, are you normally this much work?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” I said. I inhaled deeply, a tired sighing breath, took another drag from my joint, and washed it down with a swig of, now lukewarm, gin. “But do you know what?”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“The world got bored of this fucking conversation decades ago and that is why religionists were outlawed. Anyway, I don’t believe in your god. We are all god if that is what you want to call it, even you.”</p>
<p>“God has made her case over and over, and I never got heard.” Geez, why were they still talking and carrying on this drivel? Had they not heard a word I said or were they just choosing to ignore it? </p>
<p>“You mean in the Christian narrative. In that one, you ran the world.” Why was I allowing myself to be dragged kicking and screaming into a debate with my hallucination about something I didn’t believe in or care about?</p>
<p>“Bah, yeah, right. That’s what she had you believe.”</p>
<p>“I never believed.”</p>
<p>“You know what I mean, in the West the Christian narrative. Maybe to start with I had some influence but after a while, you people became too much for even me to handle, too extreme, fierce, and without self-control. You redefined evil. Humans are fucked up. You had your chance of going a very different direction but, as I always expected, you defaulted to form and went the way you did.”</p>
<p>I couldn’t argue with that, not in my line of work, but still, I had now engaged in the argument and had to weigh in on the side of humanity, “But you’re the devil, according to your argument, based on a Christian god, in that narrative, you torture souls for eternities, and you influenced the direction humans went in. Is it not your fault?”</p>
<p>“Come on. Really? Do you actually believe that?”</p>
<p>“No, I don’t.”</p>
<p>“Come on man I am trying to have a conversation with you.” They sighed and then continued. “What I am saying is that it was just God’s spin doctors spreading fear. The greatest PR campaign of all time, with God, pitched as man’s saviour, for the Christians at least. Why would I, a fallen angel, who has seen all the beauty of heaven, who had seen the earth formed, who had been an integral part of the greatest experiment ever, one of his highest-ranking angels at that, why would I do that? Why would I, someone who had seen worlds born and stars die, why would I want to spend all my time in a hot fiery pit sticking forks in people? Really? You have an IQ of some description would you waste your time with an eternity of that?” They were the ones getting annoyed now.</p>
<p>“Well, I suppose I never really thought about it from that angle, because frankly, I couldn’t give a fuck, but yeah if the people were pricks, I could get some pleasure out of it.”</p>
<p>“Ok, some people deserve it. But no one has thought of it that way. I mean what would be the point of me torturing all these souls for eternity? Really what would be the point? I am supposed to be a fallen angel, and that has the word angel in it, angels are meant to be higher beings of consciousness. As a higher being of consciousness, we are far surpassing the abilities of the human race. No offense.”</p>
<p>“Meant to be?” I said taking another drag from my joint, hoping it would kick in soon and drown them out.</p>
<p>“You know according to the narrative I am a being that was, supposedly part of god’s creative process and who assisted in the construction of the universe and all that jazz. Do you really think I would have nothing better to do than spend my time torturing people’s souls for an eternity?”</p>
<p>“Well. Like I said.” I trailed off bored with my logic. “I don’t give a fuck.” This was a banal subject for anyone to come back and haunt me with, let alone the devil. I mean really, could they, as an enlightened being, not think of a million more interesting subjects and discussion points to bring up other than whether or not the devil had been hard done by Christian propaganda?</p>
<p>“On top of that,” they continued “they would supposedly be the wicked people or the people that chose not to follow God, and therefore, people that followed me and I what, reward them with eternal damnation? Really? Come on get real. You think if people were to turn their back on god and follow me, I would then reward them with punishment?”</p>
<p>“Erm.”</p>
<p>“And why? Why because I dared to ask. Did I dare to question God? Because I thought her ego might be getting a little out of control with all the worship, servitude, and so on that she expected.”</p>
<p>“Well…”</p>
<p>“Exactly. You see it just doesn’t make any sense, yet the entire world just decided to accept it. I mean come on people use your brains.”</p>
<p>“Well, not the entire world.”</p>
<p>“No?”</p>
<p>“No. Not everyone is a Christian.”</p>
<p>“No? Really?”</p>
<p>“What you don’t know?”</p>
<p>“Of course, I know. But I am asking you if you think you’re not Christian, for example?”</p>
<p>“Well, of course, I am not. I don’t even believe in it.”</p>
<p>“Are you not?”</p>
<p>“No” I was getting somewhat annoyed with them at this point and was seriously considering how I could grab my axe from the shed and smash that skull into a million different pieces. The shotgun would do it too, it would keep them quiet for a bit at least and, not to mention, would have been incredibly satisfying.</p>
<p>“Are you a pagan? Or just full of shit?”</p>
<p>“Do you want me to grab my shotgun” I could feel the blood start to boil up inside me. “Yes, I am a fucking pagan. And what I am full of tonight is indignation that you should show up unannounced and mess up my creative flow with your fucking boring conversation.”</p>
<p>“Okay, but my point is I would never be so arrogant as to ask for your undying devotion like certain other people.”</p>
<p>“Why would I give it anyway? You’re forgetting I am the guy that killed you.”</p>
<p>They fell silent for a moment like they were remembering for the first time “Yeah; we need to talk about that at some point.”</p>
<p>“We do?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, we do. You have some serious anger issues, dude. But this is going off-topic.”</p>
<p>“Fuck off.”</p>
<p>“See what I mean? My point is that lots of non-Christians display very Christian behaviour in their everyday life. It is so ingrained in Western cultures that people don’t even see it.”</p>
<p>“Not these days, not in Ultra-High”</p>
<p>“Maybe not but you know what I mean.”</p>
<p>I just looked at them with my eyebrows arched encouraging them to elucidate me. </p>
<p>“Well, you can see it in simple statements like ‘thank god for that’ or ‘thank goodness for that’ which is a derivative of the latter, and so on. Plus, lots of non-Christians pray to god on their deathbed, trust me I know a lot about that.” They said all this with what I thought to be a smirk, but then I thought that must be my mind playing tricks as I sensed an evil glint where their eye used to be.</p>
<p>“But does that mean that they are Christian? They might not be praying to a Christian god.”</p>
<p>“It doesn’t matter, there is only one god.”</p>
<p>“You know that is not true.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“You know there are many gods, and as I said we are all gods. What you mean is there is only one Christian god that you are in subservience to. And your god isn’t around anymore.”</p>
<p>“Well.” They seemed confused by this. Like they had somehow forgotten what had happened.</p>
<p>“You remember, your Christian god left the Western world back in 2016 when she had had enough with us.”</p>
<p>“I remember,” I detected sadness where their face used to be.</p>
<p>We sat, well I did, they rested the side of their skull on the damp cold decking of my porch, in silence for a moment or two. I clicked the play button on the Bose speaker remote that was in my pocket. <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/0vUUVw1xb8gV13rRpgOgON?si=60fd3ac2905240ea" target="_blank">If You Wait</a> by London Grammar came on and seemed aptly haunting. I loved to listen to outlawed post-industrial music as I hacked Ultra-High algorithms reshaping reality for almost all but me. </p>
<p>“Maybe we will continue this conversation another day,” they said. Breaking my thought process.</p>
<p>“Maybe,” I said, really hoping we wouldn’t. </p>
<p>I looked back at the screen and continued editing the code as if I had never been interrupted.</p>
<p>“But I bet you’ve seen some shit?” god they couldn’t help themselves “I mean. In the early days when things were a little more, free-roaming.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, people did some fucked up shit,” I said, blocking them out from any more replies.</p>
<p>I didn’t want to tell them because they could have wanted to get off on it, they were, after all, they were the sickest fucks of all sick fucks, so my assumptions were probably safe, I also didn’t want them to have any more access to manipulating the sands of time than they already had. What I knew truly annoyed the devil was that they no longer influenced humankind ever since they stepped inside Ultra-High. It was sometime after that, that as a day walker, I met the devil, and things ended as they did.</p>
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<div class="image2-inset"><img class="sizing-normal" title="cyberpunk graphic novel - and the devil died screaming" src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fee7a2719-72f3-4df1-85b2-d95ba62a7da9_710x710.jpeg" alt="https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fee7a2719-72f3-4df1-85b2-d95ba62a7da9_710x710.jpeg" /></div>
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<p> </p>
<p>People lost their minds with the freedoms that Ultra-High originally gave them. They could live out their fantasies, even upload their personalities, into the network and become a part of the greater whole without having to rely on each other. The illusion of giving people the ability to become whatever they wanted simply by making a few selections as they entered and became assimilated with the pod was too much for them to take. Freedom to do and become anything gave them freedoms that they could not handle. They came to live lives without boundaries but within this, they lost themselves because there were no foundations from which that reality was set. True freedom would mean being absent from the fundamentals of life that kept the constraints of reality in place, but they could not handle that either. The network found to keep those simulations alive for people their interactions with other real humans became almost impossible because very few of the fantasies that were being played out were interlinked with others therefore crossovers became an issue, and human contact was lost.</p>
<p>From ordinary comic book fans who became complicated superheroes to horror fantasy fans who became evil immortals with blood as cold as ice, to the richest and most evil men and women on the planet. They had all been lured into the network by the promise of instant wealth or fame or immortality or all three. It was a game for a chosen few in the early days of the network. As a great experiment in human behaviour, it was both fascinating and heartbreaking to watch. The network learned so much about its users then, which was only added to by their studies of human behaviour leading up to that point. It had been so easy for them to pinpoint every weakness and every desire in their subjects. Lessons that would be used to the advantage of the network going forward.</p>
<p>People didn’t need their fantasies anymore. They needed to feel reality. The idea of allowing people to carry out their wildest fantasies came from the need for people to have purpose and meaning in their lives and by offering it to them on a plate it was believed people would be happy in their pods, in their fake reality, so happy that they never even thought about the real world again. Because in the early days, people had memories of the real world even though these started to phase out over time. But the happiness didn’t last, and the entire project became unmanageable and so the day of ‘the great reset’ arrived where memories were erased of both the real and the fantasy world from people’s minds only to be replaced by a grim ultra-reality that had been more like reality was way back before it became as fucked up as it did the day people had to walk into their pods voluntarily to save the human race. </p>
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<p>This is a live book series writing/story art graphic novel cyberpunk, dystopian fantasy project. Written by Sam I Am Artwork by Wonder Ai directed by Sam I Am. Copyright is protected. It is a first rough draft work in progress so will change over time. This project is part of the <a href="http://sleeplessdystopian.com/" target="_blank">SleeplessDystopian.com</a> writing projects.</p>
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<p>Image directed by me and created using Wonder Ai</p></div>