THE SINGULARITY 1

 My name is Idrix. I am twenty-four years old. The year is 2124, and the world is not as it was a few decades ago.

Thanks to advancements in artificial intelligence, physics, and bioengineering, everything has changed.

I stare at the plain furniture of my penthouse, unable to grasp what I’m supposed to feel. The chip in my brain forces happy emotions on me, but I am special. I get to choose how I feel at any given moment.

The rest are not so lucky.

Crime has been completely eradicated. None of us can have random thoughts like people did in the past. We live in a simulation, and so far, the elites have been raking in profits, with less than 1% of the population retaining the virginity of their thought process.

I have read books from the 20th and 21st centuries, so I understand the consequences of my actions. But I had to know the truth.

The elites of that time used mainstream media to manipulate the masses, but the elites of today have taken control to diabolical extents. At least in the past, people could still think for themselves, even if only in secret. Now, not even that is allowed.

I don’t know who my parents are — the world has moved on from such things. They claim families are a waste of time. The world has also moved on from capitalism, evolving into something known as The Singularity — but it is not at all what the visionaries of the 21st century imagined.

The Fall of the Old World

It all started four decades ago.

The world population had reached unimaginable numbers, the climate was on the brink of collapse, and industrialization was outpacing what the ecosystem could sustain. People were consuming junk, almost every country had nuclear weapons, and it became the responsibility of the elites to do something about it.

There was a man named Bank Rivers — arguably the smartest and richest man to ever live. He had total control over most of the elites because his net worth tripled that of the second-richest man. He was also the charismatic type — the kind who could blow up the world and still laugh as he disintegrated with the rest.

But above all, he was a physicist.

And not the kind that studied the stars. He was the kind that performed the most destructive kinds of experiments.

So, one day, he made a proposal — a way to save the planet without war, without mass protests, without revolutions.

He suggested that the world create a simulation where people could live their wildest fantasies.

At first, people were skeptical. But then imagine this: living up to 100 years, in perfect bliss, experiencing your greatest dreams come true, without pain, without worry. Who wouldn’t want that?

People flocked to the simulation in record numbers.

At first, the other elites opposed him — consumerism was at its peak, and they were making billions. But eventually, they came to an understanding. They always do.

The Lie That Killed a Billion People

A few years later, an investigative journalist named Hoover Collin discovered the truth.

People weren’t living 100 years in the simulation.

They were living four years.

And then they were discarded.

By the time Collin broke the story, more than a billion people were already dead.

Collin dared the governments and the elites to prove him wrong.

“Give the people just one day off from the simulation. Let them wake up and see the real world — if you have nothing to hide.”

It never happened.

Your guess is as good as mine — Collin was found overdosed in his apartment, with a suicide letter beside him.

For a few months, the scandal faded. People began to doubt whether it was even real. The elites and governments — masters of distraction — had other plans.

They stopped waiting for people to sign up.

They started abducting them.

The homeless. The poor. The entire populations of third-world countries. Their governments were paid off, their leaders silenced with fat checks, and that was that.

By the end of the 21st century, the world was unrecognizable.

Mr. Mortar’s Love Problem

One free thinker, Chris Mortar, fell in love with a woman inside the simulation.

But there was a problem — she was programmed to be homosexual.

Mortar pulled all his strings, using his influence to have her reprogrammed so that she would be straight and fall for him.

It worked.

Except she didn’t pick him.

Once she was “straightened up,” she chose someone else and told Mortar, “You’re not my type.”

The rage that man must have felt.

He killed her shortly afterward.

The Girl at the Bar

I knew where to find the clueless free thinkers — the high-end clubs.

It wasn’t hard for me to enter such places. More like anyone could, as long as it fit their wildest fantasy.

I walked straight to the counter and ordered an old-fashioned. It wasn’t exactly like the one from the previous century — there were extra pills added. If I wanted to be high instantly, I could be. But I didn’t want that.

“Hey there, handsome. Are you straight?”

The most angelic voice I had ever heard. And trust me, I’d heard billions of voices.

“Who’s asking?” I said, turning toward the origin of the voice.

And then I saw her.

If beauty was a crime, she deserved 25 to life.

Her eyes — exactly like the woman I used to fantasize about when I was still controlled by the simulation.

“Who do you think?” she said, stepping closer.

I had to act fast. Sexual arousal was monitored closely — there was no way to fake it. If they figured out that I was aroused but the chip didn’t register it, I’d be fucked. Figuratively.

So, I leaned in and kissed her. Hard.

She pulled back, confused.

“What do you think now?” I asked, trying to conceal the hardness growing in my lower region.

She licked her lips, smiled, and turned to order a drink.

The robot bartender processed her selection, and within a minute, a drink appeared on the counter.

“Welcome, Ms. Steele!” the robotic voice announced.

Whoa.

This was Ms. Steele.

The heiress to the Steele empire. The second richest man in the world.

I should have walked away. I should have harnessed the courage to say no and retreat to my solitude.

But easier said than done.

That night, I impressed her in ways she had never known.

When we were done, she collapsed beside me, breathless.

“You are different,” she whispered. “Phew! That was… something else.”

And then she fell into a deep sleep.

That was my chance.

I turned on her computer.

I searched for Hoover Collin.

That night, I was reborn — in every sense of the word.