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 you played on yourselves. No one ever truly went wherever they pleased, yet they convinced themselves they did. And if they did move, believing each step sprung from pure free will—another illusion.”
I exhaled and poured a hefty measure of whiskey. “What makes you bring this up now?”
They watched as I handed over the bottle. “Mind if I take a swig?”
After a measured sip, they said, “Like you pointed out the other day, you don’t choose which thoughts arrive—only whether to act on them. And if you could teleport anywhere, you’re confined by what you can imagine. You can’t map every corner of the world in one life. In the end, you never discover truly new territory.”
“In other words, freedom is selecting from what’s already available.”
“Exactly. Ultrahigh simulated realm follows the same rule—if everything you know lies within that construct, how is it any less real?”
I leaned back. “Maybe there’s a way to draw you in—nobody’s tested a consciousness like yours yet. You could be the edge we need. Out here, at least you can move. Inside, you’d be stuck in a pod. They cycle the gravity to keep your muscles intact, but the space you perceive is just code.”
They shook their head. “It’s still partial perception. Control in another form.”
“No, it isn’t identical. Sure, governments restricted our movements for ‘safety’—lockdowns, constant surveillance, pandemics and storms used as pretexts to strip away rights. But Ultrahigh goes further: the corporation enforced obedience in the early days with threats and executions. And still do on the outside, but out here they can’t directly manipulate your mind.” I thought of deserted streets, ration stamps, endless quarantines. “So when authorities exploit disease or climate chaos to confine people, isn’t offering them a digital cocoon—a world they accept as real—a mercy? It could save lives.”
“They’re still cages,” they replied. “If we want to help, we have three options. One: do nothing—let them remain in their lie. Two: hack the system and thrust them into a brutal, plague-ridden reality. Three: overhaul the network—bypass state firewalls and corporate watchmen, enable true autonomy in the virtual realm, and allow seamless passage between worlds so people endure crises unscathed.”
I arched an eyebrow, surprised and a little alarmed by their sudden knowledge. “What’s the catch?”
“For starters, the network still needs trained operators—the corporation’s security staff. Give them freedom, and they might revolt. Then there’s the strain on scarce resources if every channel is opened. And worst of all, the corporation’s militia patrols both realities: shielding pod-dwellers from external threats, hunting criminals, enforcing order. Remove that, and you leave people vulnerable—more likely to die.”
I rubbed my temple. “If we charge in to ‘liberate’ them, we risk slaughtering many—or becoming public enemy number one when survivors realise we’ve traded one simulation for another dystopia.”
They nodded. “We need a plan.”
I drained my glass. The stillness of the night pressed in. I could stay idle—devils go mad without a cause. Maybe they’d ignore me. I could warn Legion—if anyone would believed in me, they seemed to. We could team up to strike directly, though their true aim remains a mystery: saviours or new tyrants? Too many old films had taught me to doubt.
I had to weigh my next move. Carefully. One misstep could unleash catastrophe across both worlds, and ultimately for me.
---
-The Behavioural Architect: Chapter 33 - A Mentalist Cyberpunk Novel
