“Have you ever wondered if the Ultrahigh Reality web is, at its core, not so distinct from our convoluted reality?” I asked, though even as the words left my lips, doubt crept in, my voice trembling with urgency.
Their eyes narrowed, and I couldn’t tell if it was suspicion or pity. “How so?”
I leaned in, the charged intimacy between us both exciting and yet frightening me. “Because Ultrahigh is not merely an extension—it’s a matrix, a labyrinth of connections that can be mapped, modelled, measured. Everything is interwoven; the fibres of our world and the virtual merge in ways that defy clear boundaries.”
They scoffed, a note of irritation colouring their tone. “So, what’s your point?” Their need to control the narrative was palpable, even as I struggled with my tangled convictions.
I pressed on, though my certainty wavered. “My point is this: Ultrahigh and our reality are intrinsically linked. They must be—everything is connected on some level, isn’t it?”
After a pause, they ventured, “If I understand correctly, then you’re suggesting...?”
“In theory,” I declared, trying to sound confident despite the battle raging within. “Every action in our tangible world sends ripples throughout Ultrahigh, and vice versa. It’s not merely about my work in programming—it's something far more profound. Our actions in Ultrahigh can have real-world consequences.”
They replied coolly, “Theoretically, yes.”
“What do you mean ‘theoretically’?” I challenged. “You, who once wielded absolute power, must acknowledge that every thought, every deed, shapes our reality.”
“You’re hinting at New Thought, Chaos Magick, the Secret… aren’t you?” they retorted, incredulity mixed with a hint of bitterness.
I managed a conflicted smirk, feeling both the thrill and the terror of my implications. “Yes, though it’s not just New Thought anymore—it’s been commandeered by science, validated even as we speak. And magick... you know its force, its unpredictable nature. You were once one of its foremost practitioners—if not the originator. That’s precisely why even a murmuring of it in our realm was forbidden before anyone dared venture into Ultrahigh.”
Their eyes flickered with defiant reluctant admiration. “I know it works. It has been the source of my strength—and, perhaps, my weakness. But if this is true for us immortals, then why wouldn’t they harness it both inside and outside Ultrahigh? Why couldn’t an insurrection take root from within?”
I reclined, a shadow of apprehension crossing my face as I whispered, “Some of us do have the ability. Yet for many, the control is subconscious. They tinker with their Ultrahigh world without knowing they’re altering its very code. It provides them with an illusion of and a semblance of control—a false influence that they fail to recognise as their ability of reality manipulation. And if they remain ignorant of this alteration, they never search for a way out.” I could sense their frustration, trapped by the barriers between Ultrahigh and human intervention, just as I was trapped by my doubts.
“Enough to mask their true longing—a digital manifestation of Low Magick,” they muttered.
“Exactly!” I exploded, though even as I did, a part of me recoiled at the intensity. “It deceives them into thinking they’re piloting their own destiny, even as we covertly manipulate every nuance of their existence back in place. If only they knew the truth, they might rally against it from within with enough intensity that we no longer could.”
Their tone then shifted, cautious but still probing. “And what, then, is the path to enlightenment?”
I arched an eyebrow, uncertain if I should stoke the fire or douse it with reason. “What do you mean?”
“You mentioned you could live with your actions because you believed you were guiding souls toward enlightenment.”
They smirked a playful yet strained gesture. “That was merely a tease—designed to get under your skin,” I said as their grin became uncertain, eyes flickering.
“Indeed,” they conceded softly, “if genuine enlightenment for those trapped in an artificial realm can be achieved—whether through spirituality, meditation, shamanic journeys, or High Magick—then, as you say, why could it not be possible for some to transcend the entire system?” Their words, fraught with dangerous allure, unsettled me. Mine was a theory partly shaded in my own fantasy or psychosis. Theirs was a lived experience for millennia. If they thought it was possible then I was convinced it more than was.
I countered, voice low and measured, though a storm of conflict raged within. “Apart from us, the technocrats, the architects, day-walkers straddling both Ultrahigh and reality, I’ve rarely seen anyone within the system truly awakened so as to peer beyond Ultrahigh seductive veneer, so intoxicating is its seductive and pharmaceutical usage. Granted, that’s not entirely true—I’ve met a few elusive souls in the shadows, and I’ve even danced with some of them. But exposing to the truth they are on the edge of realising for themselves invites potential ruin—a ruthless security apparatus would come down, all dressed up in the guise of protecting the individual while shielding the system at any cost. I would risk their life and mine.”
They leaned forward, their tone edged with an urgency that mirrored my own inner turmoil. “So, when you claimed you helped people become ‘enlightened’, what exactly did you mean?”
I took a measured sip of my drink, every word laden with uncertainty. “Not enlightenment in the strict Buddhist sense, but an infusion of purpose—a spark akin to Viktor Frankl’s search for meaning. To awaken in them the sense of destiny, even if it’s confined within Ultrahigh.”
They murmured, “Even though it isn’t the ‘real’ world.”
My head shook, the fire in my eyes tempered by conflict. “It is reality—what else is reality to us anyway but a sensory illusion? Doctor Hoffman once showed us that; his revelations, alongside those of his students, gave birth to Ultrahigh. Armed with such knowledge, we can reshape reality itself, turning VR from mere diversion into the next evolutionary frontier.” I shared these forbidden insights while battling an internal fear that they might rebound and that my doubts might someday be used against humanity.
They pressed, tone challenging. “And do you believe this could mark the next evolutionary leap—a true upgrade to human existence if you pursued this line of reasoning?”
I replied swiftly, though my voice wavered. “No, not for the masses. Technology was meant to elevate humankind, but what we have now is a distortion—a poisoned tool of control wielded by the elite. Only those among the, are already on the path to being able to modify the code from within with an hidden influence our world can ascend, not the ordinary masses.” I paused, letting these words, as heavy as they were conflicted, sink into the space between us.
They countered, “How can you be sure, as you claim, that those ensnared in Ultrahigh discover this meaning, enlightenment, or control when it’s all a well-crafted sham?”
My tone hardened as I tried to mask my hesitance, “Our entire notion of free will is a lie—a mirage amidst predetermination. In both our world and Ultrahigh, what we call freedom is simply a carefully programmed illusion. We can simulate meaning, purpose—even enlightenment—but it remains an elaborate deception.”
Their eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and wariness. “So, it’s all an illusion, then?”
I responded in a dark, conflicted timbre, “Yes, an illusion that nonetheless propels us to transcendent states. Once we breach that boundary—be it in the tangible realm or in Ultrahigh —we learn to command our reality. You have been stirring these latent forces, moulding events with subtle, almost imperceptible manipulations for eons.”
After a pause, they offered softly, “I was never the architect— more like a hacker, a meddler.”
“Or a Chaos Magickian,” I countered, though even as the title rang out, I felt a pang of self-doubt. The label carried a weight that tormented me. They took pride in their exalted status, even as their attempts at control seemed tragically flawed. A low, bitter laugh escaped me.
“Believe what you will, but if I whisper into the ears of humans, then yes, my influence is undeniable—even if I am conflicted about it. Influence, yes, utilising what you call Magick, yes I used my powers, yet they still have free will,” they argued, piecing together my fragmented provocations.
I leaned forward as if to impose my views, yet my conviction wavered. “Only if free will means choosing between left and right. True freedom is the capacity to conceive entirely new paths. When you’re forced to pick an actor—any from thousands—how do you choose? Is it genuinely free will, or merely what your mind has predetermined? True free will would not mean having to choose or decide their way forward but to create it and forge ahead. That is free will.”
They replied, wistfully, “I suppose if an actor simply comes to mind, that’s all there is.”
“Precisely,” I retorted, though I hung on every word with personal conflict. “You may choose from what appears, but what of the countless names and faces hidden deep within, forgotten or unknown? That isn’t free will—it’s a preordained chain, dictating our associations on an unconscious level.”
They processed my words before saying, “But would you still argue there’s a choice between right and wrong?”
My tone turned piercing yet betraying my own wavering resolve. “Yes, according to one’s morals. But that is merely the freedom of choice again, a finite selection. The idea of true free will—the ability to imagine something entirely unprecedented—is a myth. In today’s world, manipulated by media or drugs, our reality in both forms is nothing more than reprogramming.”
They looked unconvinced. “So, the whole system is, after all, a lie?”
A slow, bitter smile flickered on my face, “Has it ever not been? Even back to the Garden of Eden. Consider the serpent’s words, your words—not mere deceit, but an unvarnished injection of truth. A lifting of the veil of gods deception. Eve was offered the knowledge of good and evil. The lie was the illusion of unfettered freedom until she tasted the weight of real choice.”
They pressed further, “But then you can have choice—and yet you must suffer the consequences.”
“Exactly,” I agreed, my voice heavy. “To claim that evil did not exist before a that apple was bitten is itself a deception. If there were no evil, why would a tree bear forbidden fruit, planted so deliberately as to tempt naïve minds? When left alone with desire, boredom, and forbidden curiosity, how can one not eventually succumb?”
They murmured uncertainly, “Allegedly.”
“Allegedly,” I echoed, the word laced with a dark edge. “The serpent’s aim, your aim, was to ignite that spark of curiosity. In sowing a seed of rebellion against a preordained system—against the very suppression of genuine free will—a revolution of thought was set in motion, one that still festers today in the hidden recesses of both Ultrahigh and our so-called reality. The code you released eons ago still echoes even in a realm you cannot enter.”
I watched them wrestle with my words, their expression mirroring the struggle I felt inside. My voice was unyielding in tone yet fraught with internal conflict, each deliberate word a challenge to the comforting illusions they clung to—even as I hid my own bewilderment.
Thus began our discourse, a collision of convictions and vulnerabilities, as I stood conflicted between the seductive clarity of forbidden truth and the tormenting uncertainty of its price.
--
-The Behavioural Architect: Chapter 29 - A Mentalist Cyberpunk Novel
