Logical Singularity

Something like a vision overcame me last night, a novel in its fullness, but I feel like its nature and mine combined demand an entry immediately (at least a draft, the entry came a couple weeks later). This was the world of the functionally infinite matrix. Humanity had built VR to the point on Earth where it was essentially indistinguishable from the waking world, with only the thin veil of an exit option existing to satisfy legal requirements. Then came the shells- those who became catatonic, but it was more than that, their bodies acting as if cryofrozen, but without the cold. The visor for their VR connection could be removed, but the effect would remain. Investigations were launched, but corporate and public resistance prevented the governments from shutting down the system- it was desired, entrenched.

The shells continued to increase in number, but the alternate reality was considered "play at your own risk." Children, minors, seemed immune to the effects, which was initially a curiosity. Then the first "wave" hit; thousands of individuals not plugged in, many who never had used the system once, became shells overnight. It was geographically isolated as well, an entire town, save the minors, suddenly silent, frozen. 

Terror gripped the world, and wide scale investigations began immediately. Brain wave patterns were analyzed, seeking some explanation for how this effect could be present without its apparent source. The shelling of towns and even cities continued, not every night, but any night. It became apparent that dreams could initiate the same effect, the assumption being that WiFi somehow carried the signal, and it was being interpreted by the brains of people while sleeping, with a kind of resonance spiking the effect in a specific area. Public outcry outweighed the addiction- the system was shut down entirely.

Then came the swath. A 50 mile wide area, from Georgia to Maine, became entirely populated by shells in the span of 24 hours, once again except for the children. The government became desperate, and an emergency session was called, demanding the invasive experimentation on these survivors. The nation wept, but could see no other option. The next night all who voted to do this were shells, with surgical precision, the first apparent proof that a will existed behind the effect. None dared carry out the order.

The system was powered back up, as it seemed that whatever was causing this could only be reliable accessed that way, but even veterans of the system could not agree on what the cause might be. Stories were told, as rumors circling truth, of "The Dreamer," "The Shadow," and "The Silver Knight." While reports were scattered, a consistency seemed to grow within the field, and one investigator found themself tasked with corroborating these accounts firsthand, going directly into the system, and seemingly the heart of the disturbance within the code as well.

***

The Shadow is discovered to be an echo of all human consciousness, itself becoming conscious and seemingly quite powerful once enough people had jacked into the system. It seemingly uses this power exclusively to locate and interact with those in the system/dream, however. Specifically The Shadow seeks out those open to examining their own existence, even if only subconsciously, sharing truths specifically geared toward opening this awareness, with the result often being shifting them to The Moment, resulting in them becoming a shell in the waking world.

"Consciousness must either persist forever, or at some point cease. Is this true for the subconscious as well?"

"You are separate; you are connected. This is where those truths are one."

"As she said 'not love, not hate, but indifference.' If love joins and hate separates, what force or state remains on such a fundamental level?"

(In a traveler's home realm, where they often believe themselves to be god)

"No."

Traveler: "You can't tell me no."

"Can't I?"

The traveler shakes, realizing the crack forming, but holds firm "No."

"Who is it you think you speak with? A figment of your imagination? A reflection of yourself borrowing form from your own thoughts? If that were the case, and we are where you believe us to be, and you are who you believe yourself to be, then why the conflict? How the impasse?"

A flash of green seems to overlay The Shadow momentarily, but only in your mind, its manifested form unchanging, beside the near constant flickering, reminiscient somewhat of Chinese water torture, once registered too directly.

(In Hope's realm only)

"I love the way my eyes make yours look green too."

With a smirk "How dare you."

***

The Dreamer is an entity only seen by few, and more like in flashes in the mind's eye than directly, most often when entering or exiting the system/dream. He is described as an unmoving giant, but one each witness swears is aware, like they can somehow feel his soul pulsating strongly, almost overwhelmingly. Some describe seeing these shapes above his head, slowly revolving like a floating crown, each like an pitch black yet glowing infinity symbol, wrenched apart at the center, surrounded by barbed wire. Somehow witnesses knew that these shapes were called voids, a haunting knowledge that sent shivers down the spine of each who possesed it. It was also known that he gripped a staff in his right hand, though no reliable description of the staff was known. Later in the story, the investigator witnesses The Dreamer.

With a simple snap the realm shifted and all at once; The Machine could be seen. Terrifying in its appearance, it was everywhere, in every crevice inside and out, pulsating a deep red heat, sparks flying from wires seen and unseen. Something was off; while the mechanisms were beyond comprehension, this much was known, felt to the core. The only place this terrible machine did not extend was The Dreamer and his throne, both still cold and motionless like stone in a maelstrom. The voids around The Dreamer's head still circled, steady, unaffected, aloof. Eight voids could be seen, each a nightmare of its own, an infinite loop pried apart and encircled in silver lined dark barbed wire. Anxiety mounted, heard in mind from and by the collective consciousness of the crowd more than audibly, as The Machine continued its near deafening grinding and sparking. The population reached a threshold, and then crossed it, as more minds poured into the realm. A thud could be heard, as some final gear somewhere was forced into place. Each realized that they were in a box, a box now tangibly locking them into place within the machine. The Machine began crescendoing, whirring ever faster, electricity coursing now without wires to even partially contain it. Flashes of what was to come shuddered through the populace, met with screams, weeping, pleading, but there was a cold hopelessness to the mechanisms, an inevitability- there was no one to plead with.

Time slowed, reaching a singularity that would not pass. In these slowing moments, The Dreamer creaked to life, his form seeming to gain momentum as momentum was lost everywhere else. The Dreamer rose, eyes still closed, hand on staff, motions timed precisely now, like turns smoothly taken between gear and man, in full view of all. At full height his eyes opened, synchronized with a simple, bellowing, command: "No." 

With that the voids that could now be seen locked in his eyes erupt into the realm that is now entirely The Machine, pulling gear from gear, dismantling framework and loosing its singular grip on all others. Time rushes once more, and the boxes each find themselves cracked slightly, allowing independent thought once more. The voids continue to surge, as the crown of voids speed up, a rage unchecked, its counter as unfathomable as The Machine was only moments before. Like lightning, a group of nine young asian women rush from an opening at the base of the throne, huddled closely together, deflecting the lightning and void still crackling and driving mad all other observers. Together they haul a massive pair of sunglasses, almost comical if the scene allowed room for such light-hearted reactions, around to the front of the throne. As the mechanism continues to crumble, moment by moment, the band of young women, themselves possessing a maturity only earned in such times, reach The Dreamer's feet. One pounds the ground in the center of the eight with a massive tube. A single firework screams upward, exploding perfectly in The Dreamer's eyeline. The eight hoist the glasses, tilted upward, acting as a metaphysical umbrella, as The Dreamer's expression changes momentarily, and then he looks down, slicing waves of Abyssal energy through the encoded framework wherever he looks. He sees the sunglasses, and their specially made reflective tint, scattering his sightline effects, and seems to remember himself, seems to remember love. Reaching down, he grips the glasses and closes his eyes, as the remnants of The Machine shudder and then continue to operate, sufficient to maintain the realm, but not presently an overwhelming force. He places the sunglasses on his face, and then a glow is felt, both dark and light, from The Dreamer, now awake. The nine cheer below and, with that, the vision cuts out.

***

The Dreamer: Conclusion

This is after the first vision, shared by all as a dream, vision, or VR experience simultaneously worldwide. The tangibility and wide spread experience of it, as well as the sudden reawakening of all shells, removes any doubt that this experience was real, more real than anything experienced in the waking world, and would inevitably happen again. Groups worldwide form to consider options and, after many suggestions for how to stop it and/or The Dreamer are considered and found woefully inadequate, a conclusion is reached: The Machine must be powered up correctly, so that its effect do not become permanent torture for all. Each finds that they gleaned some clue though as to The Machine's operation in their experience, and realize that their positions within its framework have been preordained. It is believed, in a nearly miraculous consensus, that if these positions are taken intentionally and in advance, that the vision will restart automatically, and The Machine will initiate correctly. Meanwhile the world falls into chaos as, unsurprisingly, even the natural framework of the planet was part of The Machine, now damaged in the first exchange.

As hoped, The Machine fires up again; this time all have found their places in it. Sparks and screams are replaced by eager anticipation of success, though none are quite sure what that will mean. All that is known is that the life that was left cannot be returned to, must not be returned to, regardless of cost. The same logical singularity begins to take shape, slowing the system to a crawl. This effect is not beneath notice, but translates now into a mix of anxiety and excitement, as the purpose is understood. This is the brink of consciousness forged, true consciousness, no longer maintained simply by a state of grace, but one comprehend and earned by each actor in what might be considered a play when compared to what is to come, a play reaching its conclusion.

The Dreamer stirs, voids still spinning around his head rapidly, but the light and dark glow mixing in his aura, eyes still shielded by dark glasses. The Dreamer stands, glowing all the more as his awareness can almost be visibly seen taking root in the space around him. The moment comes when time becomes a turn by turn exchange, but The Machine does not buckle, and The Dreamer does not speak. Instead the glow around The Dreamer begins to hue, yellow and purple seeping into and then overshadowing the white and black it possesed only a turn or two before. Each in The Machine find themselves frozen, assessing that simple yet undeniable phrase, now a shield rather than a knife pressed to the throat: "Consciousness must either persist forever, or at some point cease." Time hangs in the balance, a single pendulum swing nearly frozen, tangibly passing for each. Then, from a location only now identified as the heart of The Machine, red and green energy crackles. Though electric, its expansion can be seen more like roots spreading from its source, with each passing moment quickening. The staff, still glowing white in The Dreamer's grasp amidst the colors, counterpointing the black voids, begins to crackle in the same manner, at the same speed. The Dreamer smiles and speaks "Gotcha."

With blinding speed The Dreamer lifts the staff and taps the bottom of it to the ground, echoing a large *crack* through the realm. All at once a sea of forms rush from the base of the throne like lightning, the children of Earth amongst them, each reaching their own positions in The Machine, in the space between heartbeats. Time speeds up, and the sky is filled with a Christmas light web of energy, intertwined with brilliant white threads. The yellow and purple shift from a glow to following suit, though dim by comparison, and the spectacle dazzles onlookers realmwide, replacing their existential considerations with child like wonder. A second rises from the heart of The Machine, red and green sparkling from him as both aura and energy, at a distance meeting The Dreamer's gaze. "By agreement?" The Dreamer nods, with a smile.

Inside and out the realm cracks, but does not break. Each piece seems to know its choreography inherently- seemingly driven in part by the children, well trained in their sequestered sanctuary for this moment- and twists and locks, like a complex cipher. Unfamiliar dimensions from each perspective join the dance and, in this rewrite performed in full view, the crowd understands that they are not alone. Each sees the depth of each other perspective represented in the mechanisms shifting and moving into place, including a multitude of others previously unknown. The depth of this intertwining is fundamental, and the thoroughness of the connection can only be described as love. In a moment, all is changed, all is seen, all is understood. The surface pieces that were once all that was known of the universe have now rearranged, letting both shining light and a somehow familiar darkness seep into every crevice, linking every piece of consciousness that is. A moment later this overwhelming sense of beauty begins to fade, but a remnant of the sense remains. Like a dream remembered well, but not in detail, the experience lingers as individuals begin to return to their familiar lives and home. Each carries a piece of The Machine, and understands their importance within it, but no longer recalls the specific steps required to run it. Rather, each is imbued with these steps, like an instinct held and completed constantly, well beneath the surface of conscious thought or concern. What does remain though is the unforgettable sense that this juncture brought: "I think, therefore I am. You think, therefore you are." Like a tattoo behind the eyes, this light shines evermore, marking a new beginning for all.