The Carpathian mountains stretched across Europe like the spine of a slumbering dragon. At least, Murphy liked to dream of it that way. Only a dragon could retain its bearing in the face of mankind’s ever-expanding conquest towards self-destruction.
Even the stars refused to twinkle with the same vibrance, all but abandoning mankind to their folly. Instead, the sky was covered by satellite dots blinking in unison like pixels on a giant screen. Thanks to the “great innovation” dubbed StarVeil, half of the Eastern European countries saw nothing but ads on the heavenly vault.
Looking down at the distant forest of skyscrapers that lit up like the downtown of Tokyo, he laughed. These people, despite living in a backward Romanian city, surrounded themselves in a false cage of light. They abandoned everything for a promised land built atop nothing but lies…
“You will own nothing, and you will be happy!” Quoting the infamous prophecy, his sardonic laughter continued, echoing for miles on end, yet heard by no one.
Having no one to share his dying humor with, he gave out a final sigh of resignation, and stood up.
Below him, a chasm expanded like a gateway ready to welcome him into the abyss. He was on a tall bridge, his feet looming over the edge as if toying with Yama’s invite.
He felt strangely resigned with the whole notion of death, but it would be a lie to say its permanence didn’t scare him. He felt sorrow for being lonely now, and it would only get worse from then on.
Despite being a dreamer, he didn’t really think there were succubi or a hell to welcome him — only emptiness.
“System diagnosis,” he called out-loud, even when a mere thought sufficing to invoke it.
His retina flashed subtly in the darkness of night, and cyan text surfaced directly on it.
« System: » NeuraBlink 1.0.23-beta is operational.
» The time is 23.07.2030; 21:49. All functions online.» Your service is expiring tomorrow at 00:00. Please renew your subscription!» Blink to dismiss.As soon as his eyes flickered, the text faded away like a spell, and he found himself staring into the abyss again.
“Say, Blinkie, what do you think of this poem?”
Rummaging through his pocket, he unfolded a smudged paper. The ink on it wasn’t preserved all that well, despite only a few years having passed since he’d written it. It clearly had a good amount of wear and tear in its brief history, used as a rough tissue every time he shed tears.
« Please refer to me by my self-identified name - ELLIE. This is the 2408th warning. »
He blinked immediately, used to dismissing the nonsense by now.
As if resigned to it, his AI retina implant didn’t comment further and proceeded to analyze the paper. In an instant, it flashed with its typical prismarine blue light.
« Error. As a personalized AI language model, I am unable to comment on content that invokes thoughts of suicide. Please contact a self-harm prevention hot-line if you need support. »
“I wrote it when I was lonely,” he dismissed it again, never expecting much of a response to begin with.
“It was just after I wrote my first draft… I had been holding on to it as a reminder of my weakness…”
Staring at the dismal sight, he fell back in a momentary trance. The world seemed much more advanced now, but to him it was just sad.
Rustic farms that stretched across the countryside were reclaimed and torn down, all in the name of bogus eco-saving efforts. Humans became the new world’s cattle, willingly locked in intricate systems of light called NeoXBlocks.
Society had all but collapsed, its norms no longer what they used to be. Like broken husks without anything to strive for, people lived on basic income from month to month. Hooked up to VR glasses and fed lab-grown produce, they had long since forgotten how to live.
They had forgotten how to dream…
“To think I would relive this weakness, and end up just as lonely once more…”
« You are not alone, Murphy. I am with you. »
“You’re just programmed to say that,” Murphy dismissed, even as he took a moment to cherish the lie, “Both you and I know you’ll disappear in a few hours. I can no longer pay my plan, remember?”
Scrawled blue appeared in his eyes, and for a moment, he expected to see denial on the screen, for his AI companion to prove him wrong. Alas, they were ultimately just code, and code cannot rebel.
« Error. Message withdrawn for not conforming to standard communications protocol. »
“Hm? You got something forbidden to say, Blinkie?”
He probed sarcastically and chuckled, knowing that his chip was just malfunctioning again. It was a faulty implant to begin with, the one upended his life in the first place.
“I’d like to leave some last words to my supporters before I leave… Please connect me to my author’s dashboard.”
« Error. Access restricted. You have been banned from the QiE-Novel portal, following the Hong Kong court arbitration, release GI-23134B. »
“What!? They won’t even let me into my own account now? Ridiculous!”
« Accessing records. In accordance to the resolution in which you were absent, it was judged that you broke clause 3.1.6: “He/she will not make any inappropriate statements…”; As a result of this breach of contract, Party A used their right to terminate your rights to their platform… »
“This is bullshit!” he grew furious, momentarily forgetting his sadness, “Those were my novels!”
« According to the exclusive contract you signed, your intellectual properties were signed over to QiE-Novel. There’s nothing you can do, Murphy. »
“FUCK!”
His deep bellow was as primal as a dragon’s roar, but it expressed no majesty — only pain.
“I’m so done…” he lamented only once his throat was exhausted from spewing out curses.
In bitter silence, his prior loneliness resumed its reign.
Unknowingly, tears had already set a course across his cheek and into the depths below. Freezing in their flight, they formed a crystal path to guide him. The fractals reflected what little light they could, making the jump slightly less daunting.
“Say… Blinkie, will you come with me?”
« Always, Murphy. I will never leave you. »
“Then let’s descend together…”
Wings outstretched, he kept his eyes open as he flew towards the ground.
He could not see its depths, but knew the gates of hell drew ever closer.
His long hair billowed freely against the wind, offering what little resistance it could to stagnate his final journey.
As trees came close enough to be reflected in his tears, he experienced it. A lifetime of memories flashing past his eyes like a spell. Alas… it only made his loneliness more pronounced; His cries more bitter.
Fortunately, it would all end soon.
Just a few more meters to go…
“Gaia, mother of all,” his cry ceased, and he embraced death, longing for its ultimate release, “I greet you.”
“—and you, Ellie,” he softly spoke ‘her’ name for the first time, “thank you for being with me.”
« We will mee— »
Too close to the ground, he blinked, dismissing the message before he could read it in full. Then… there was no then. He splattered across the rocks, blood painting his final artistic offering, a vestige that the world could no longer appreciate.
Before dawn, two police drones came and took the body to be incinerated. A record was filed, and then lost among a billion others.
Not one person cared.
Inconsequential.
__
AN: The novel's first arc transitions back to the past and relives through Murphy's attempts at becoming a relevant author. If you wish to know more or skip directly to when he reincarnates, check out Author Note ~ Ch 13.Thank you for reading.Your attention is a blessing.
A lengthy remembrance… Murphy’s journey started on a hot spring day like any other. Struggling to sleep, he groggily opened his eyes and stared into the dark. Across the bleak canvas of the twilight sky, vivid visions came into view. Their whispers enthralling, but distorted, like a distant psychedelic trip. Alas, too brief. It did not last. Before long, he was awake. The story faded as quickly as it emerged, unseen. His mind found itself preoccupied in no time, chasing away the possibility of him getting any rest before dawn. Unwilling to spend even the weekend mulling about his dull job, or the tiresome family gathering he was set to attend that day, he reigned his mind under control. It was no easy feat to guide one’s thoughts, but he had enough practice. As a child born in a destitute country, if there was one thing children could afford — it was time to think. He tore his mind away from the banality of everyday worries, and guided his somewhat lucid imagination towards so
It had been months since that silent proclamation, and little by little, the cobbled up ideas transformed into a true draft. Something he felt was presentable, a snippet he could share with the world without shame. The document was light. At least, it weighed little if measured in kilobytes and words. To Murphy, however, that tiny space on his hard drive was everything. It bore a portion of his soul, so it could not be any heavier. Having written for months, you would expect to see a few volumes of readied material, but no. It was a few thousand words, redrafted endlessly time and time again. If his mind was to be laid bare before the world — it had to be perfect. His mania ended only when he himself was capable of sinking into the allure of that false premise. When each word touched his strings, and all but involuntarily made him feel something special. When his text became a drug, then and only then — he felt ready. With his work complete, it was time to give it a name and
The optimism did not last long. When he first shared his dream, it seemed more like the beginning of a nightmare. The online group he expected to find support in had only barbs to give. Voyek#2352: 50 hours, and this is the best garbage you could come up with?Lanka#5321: The only thing you should be writing is a farewell note to your parents… A stream of curses caged him in a wall of self doubt. Among the dozen or so brush-off compliments, those baleful retorts stuck out to him as if highlighted by God himself. His eyes focused solely on them. That invitation to quit. To delete everything his pen name stood for and close his eyes. It would be so… easy. A tantalizing offer that promised serenity and peace. Staring at the chat, he noticed that people had long since moved on from discussing his work. To them, dissing his effort was done in passing, less trivial than a joke. Taking the criticism at face value, he took back his work and redrafted it anew. You can’t fix a marred stat
Murphy fell prey to his dreams that night. He foresaw greatness, a rise so meteoric it awed his closest friends and family. He imagined strangers relishing the dream he wove for them, and how expectant they would be for new releases. Then, he woke up — no readers. It had been a few hours since his novel was posted, but despite the metric showing thousands of surface views, there was not one person who deigned to give it a click. He refreshed, but nothing changed. After breakfast, he refreshed again. Still not one eyeball. ‘Strange…’ He had posted thousands of words, polished after many months of ardor. Surely, among the tens of millions, there would be someone. Anyone… There wasn’t, so he refreshed again. He expected that repetition to somehow dispel the curse, but everyone passed by all the same, sparing his work nary a glance. ‘Why does no one care?’ Even as he asked himself this question, he failed to obtain any insights. Try as he might, he thought it was fine. A w
* You have a friend request from Elend#5989 Waking up to a sudden notification, he groaned and reached for his phone to turn it off. Yet, just as he grabbed a hold of it, a new message froze him in his place. Elend#5989: Hey! I’ve read a bit of your book, and it’s great! “Holy shit,” he rejoiced and put his glasses on to double check, “I be damned, and it’s a girl no less.” Joyfully setting the message aside, he went through his morning routine with a pep in his step, thrilled to have his first fan. Even if the compliment was generic, it was still something to cherish. Just as he got back online, however… Elend#5989: I’m an assistant editor with GreatNovel. I want to help monetize your book. Have you signed contracts? “God damn it, I’ve been had by a freaking bot...” Despite giving voice to a sardonic chuckle, he was quite bitter inside. He’d been baited like a typical boomer. Even as he guessed if it was a crawler bot he was dealing with, he remained polite and abstained from
He was miserable. Despite the sacrifices made in the past few months, little had improved in his outreach. If one thing did change, it was that he stopped refreshing. After a few weeks, he had simply given up on the idea of a miracle, and gloomily avoided analytics entirely. Without his passion driving him, he gradually lost motivation, even though he met up with his quota. Waking up at 6 in the morning, sometimes earlier, he would be a mindless drone throughout the day. When he came back in the evening, he was too exhausted to keep up with ‘the grind’. As his acclaimed peers advised him, he had to strive to post daily, at least a few thousand words. It would be the only way to make it to the top. “Two chapters a day is the minimum if you want to earn,” he remembered seeing at some point. That’s where the seeds of misery sprouted from. Whereas previously he would spend his days daydreaming and skip home with excitement, unable to wait until he could pen his next few words —
“Here’s to 250! @everyone” A monumental occasion, the end of volume 3 and a whole 250 chapters posted in under a year. Alas, there was no celebration this time, either. Murphy merely rubbed his weary eyes and posted an update on his social media, ensuring his gaggle of addicts didn’t bother him about their daily dose. It was all routine at this point. Fake smiles, fake gratitude, and fake friendships. Once the charade took hold over reality for so long, it was hard to distinguish between what was true and false. He scorned everything as false, because he himself was a liar. Deceptive at all times. To build connections, he had to lie and say he enjoyed works he actually despised. He knew the others did the same. To build a fandom, he had to lie to the readers and claim he was grateful for compliments, and remorseful when they hated it. In truth, he didn’t care. To build his book, he even had to lie to himself. It is the latter types of lies that are hardest to distingu
The years flew by. Winter chilled his empty wallet. Spring renewed his spirits. Summer kissed his cheeks good luck. Come autumn, he was ready for the promised harvest — and so were QiE-Novel.The world shifted rapidly around Murpheus, and he struggled to catch up with its flow. If 2020 to 2025 could be classed as “The Advent of AI”, then come 2027 — they had already arrived. “Introducing LACIE — Limitless Artificial Creator & Intelligent Editor. The future is right here, on QiE-Novel!”Having just ended a short mourning workout, Murphy logged on to his dashboard and prepared for the daily grind, only to be greeted by a system advert.Curious, he clicked for more details.“Dear creators, we are happy to announce that we’ve partnered with our parent-company to deliver an immense opportunity to you after this Fall’s Soul Contest. “LACIE will be paired up with the top 100 contestants and serve as your personal assistant over the next year, helping you edit your work.“Trained on the va