Ultrahigh Volume 1: The Behavioural Architect

I needed a dose of reality, whatever that meant in those days. I scrubbed away the static and made my way up, climbed each step with a body that remembered more than my mind did. The home felt unfamiliar under my feet, even though it was mine. I’d be

Dreams craft a world with the rules of a fevered script, conjured by your own neuronic haze, and when you land inside it, it’s like being dumped into the deep end of a pool you didn’t know was there. What’s wild is how quickly you ditch it all. The m

I yanked off the headset and the whole world went watery. Sweat in my eyes, clinging everywhere, the suit’s supposed temperature regulators shot to hell. I sat there, dazed, the fugue of too many realities tangling in my head. It was only when I peel

Her apartment struck me as simple but tasteful. I might have called it minimalist, had I known whether she’d pared down by choice or by budget—but real estate downtown New York wasn’t exactly cheap. The place was a converted warehouse: exposed brick

The moment our eyes connected that second time, something physical jolted through me—a dual sensation that registered both in my avatar and back in my dormant meat-self. Her smile carried secrets. Did she actually recognise me? Or was this just an Ul

I needed to infiltrate Ultrahigh with a message—a subtle wake-up call that wouldn't trigger the surveillance algorithms. The sleepers' reality needed unraveling from the inside out, their minds preserved while I remained a ghost to the system. Only w

There is something about slipping into somebody else’s simulation that just fucks with me—I mean, goosebumps, skin prickling, the lot. The real nightmare is if you’re caught in there: suddenly you’re a parasite, ripping apart the delicate mess that k

Inspiration didn’t always arrive on cue. I could meditate, run, even sample every stimulant known—and sometimes the well stayed dry. I’d sit before a blank screen, willing code into being, and nothing would come. Then on other days it poured out of m

They asked softly, brushing a lock of hair behind their ear. “What does freedom even mean? Is it the power to choose? To wander unbound? To live without fear or danger? Or is it just a mirage? Even before the collapse, freedom was conditional—a trick

I needed space to think. Even with most people burrowed away in Ultrahigh, the world was still a cage. I went for a walk in nature, though where and when I lived, nothing about that was simple. Past my house, past my car, through the city’s fortified

If there was one thing I knew, it was this: dealing with the devil was a wager you made with your own destruction. They were wired to twist, to double-back, to cut deals with both hands crossed behind their suit jacket. The inevitability of betrayal

I lit another joint, sinking into the couch as conflicting thoughts spun in my head. I took a long, measured drag, then passed it to Satan, my hand trembling slightly, before snatching the bottle of wine and pouring two glasses with a flourish that f

My head was throbbing, vision glued behind a crust of something dried and mean, like the world had welded my eyelids shut. There was a pulse of danger rising, acid in the back of my throat. I tried to shift, just enough to uncork my panic, but I wasn

"Where is all of this leading to, Satan?" I had a couple of drinks and was feeling frustrated. It was time for this act to end. They weren't my friend; they were my enemy, and pretending otherwise wouldn't change that fact.

"What do you mean, Walter?

What happens to the historians when reality turns to fog beneath your fingertips? Where do they find themselves in this new, untethered society? Maybe they could have been useful, a kind of living server for memories, but they got the axe along with

"Do you think the Singularity could ever exist?” they ask as I sit down at the dinner table, glass of wine in hand.

“Your question assumes it doesn’t,” I reply, taking a sip.

They look surprised. “So are you saying it does?”

“According to the lore am

I towelled off, shed the last clinging beads of shower water, and drifted upstairs. My skin felt new, but my brain was a swamp, tangled in a thicket of questions I couldn’t hack through. Reality, unreality: two mirrors, one always just out of reach.