dystopian fantasy - Ultra High - and the devil died screaming - Sleepless Dystopian - dystopian cyberpunk writer2024-03-28T13:51:00Zhttps://sleeplessdystopian.com/ultra-high-and-the-devil-died-screaming/feed/tag/dystopian+fantasyEpisode 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>
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<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>