People used to be free

The crack in the parched earth was deep enough to swallow the silence of centuries. Yet, a trembling (likely the last) yellow leaf caught in that fissure - the only thing still moving in this frozen wasteland - offered hope that the world had not yet fully succumbed to the consequences of a hundred years of environmental horror. Nevertheless, the planet was alive, and people lived upon it. The noise of machines, the hum of mechanisms, and the clicking of switches replaced real life. Positive, annoying ringtones filled the dead void where life once thrived. These ringtones sounded as if they came from every corner, from every crack, like a midday bell. They were all different, yet they sounded simultaneously, signaling that something important was about to happen at that very moment. In that instant, life, filled with technological progress, seemed to stand still; passersby froze and remained fixed in position; maglev trains that filled the streets braked suddenly; and skyscrapers - tall, long buildings stretching into the sky - sparkled and filled with screens showing the face of a young man with white hair, wearing a white suit.

“The Visionary greets you,” echoed from all devices.

“We see clearly!” the people chanted as one.

“I hear you. I feel your love in the rhythm of every device you own. You know that every single one of you is close to my heart. I watch over you and ensure that no one suffers. Are you happy about it?”

“We are happy!” the people shouted in unison. “We see clearly!”

“Good,” he said and smiled. “Today, our next weekly virtual meeting takes place - ‘V-Sync’ - where you can ask me your questions. Simply use the chat below and mark your question with the hashtag #AskVision. I will read all the questions but will only answer the most popular ones. So, don’t forget to like the posts of others to support one another. Help those who need help, and you will become the happiest of people. Do you believe me?”

“We believe you!” the voice echoed back. “We see clearly!”

“Wonderful. I am delighted to have your trust. Take your time with your questions; the meeting begins today at 6:00 PM. You have six hours. I am waiting for you!”

The Visionary smiled and blew a flying kiss to the camera. After that, all devices went dark for a split second - even the giant screens on the skyscrapers - so that in the middle of the day, there was absolute darkness. Then, as quickly as it had come, the darkness vanished, and the people continued on their way as if nothing had happened. The maglev trains glided silently on, as if the rhythm of the world had not missed a beat. And only one unfortunate yellow leaf cut through the air between the racing machines, flying across the technological streets, parched by water scarcity and emotional emptiness.

The virtual screen floating in the air disintegrated and vanished. Only the flickering, warm light of the fireplace remained. A heavy sigh of exhaustion escaped the chest of the man in white; he leaned back in his armchair and crossed his legs.

“Being a visionary is so exhausting,” he sighed, reaching for his glass. He did not sip from it, but merely held it to his lips for several seconds.

“They trust you,” the man standing by the window said quietly, gazing into the distance. He also wore a white suit, but a black stripe ran down his back. “They follow everything you say without any question.”

“When you give someone everything they want, such behavior is to be expected.” The Visionary laughed softly and took a drink. “That is precisely the goal our corporation has pursued for nearly two hundred years - ever since women resisted their biological functions.”

“Women?” the man asked. “So they once lived among us? I took them for creatures from the labs...”

“...that were artificially bred?” the Visionary interrupted him, letting out a dry laugh. “No. They were not a product of our research. They were mistakes of nature.” He set his glass on the coffee table beside his armchair. His chair slowly rotated until his back was to the fireplace. In the silence of the room, the crackling of the firewood suddenly seemed deafening, and the Visionary’s direct, expressionless gaze felt like an impenetrable, cold wall. “The world has changed significantly in all these years.”

The man at the window felt the Visionary’s gaze across his entire body. His eyes glowed yellow. Suddenly, a phantom-sharp pain shot through his chest, and words he had heard long ago echoed in his head: “Nature does not make mistakes.” If nature does not make mistakes - why then do “women” exist? Until now, he had always thought that women were merely “defective lab parts,” errors, system bugs that revealed the failure of algorithms. This “code error” explained their strange physique: the protruding, rounded nipples that varied in size on every woman, the absence of a penis - that symbol of uniqueness, pride, and power - the pronounced waist, and a skull whose smaller size suggested underdeveloped cognitive functions.

In his eyes, women did not appear as independent beings created by nature, but as the result of a genetic mutation that scientists and lab technicians had been fighting for centuries. Was the corporations’s research perhaps based on lies and mere suggestion of a uniqueness that only masked a feeling of inferiority? The realization that life in a world shaped by technology had been organized differently centuries ago made him reflect for a brief moment on the lost natural beauty of the planet. A world he had previously known only from digital archives appeared before his eyes. The image breathed natural oxygen, the water in the rivers flowed in the wind, and - most importantly - wild animals roamed freely across the meadows. For a moment, the man immersed himself in this “artificial” world, but he quickly dismissed the thought, shaking his head slightly and blinking hastily. The Visionary reappeared, sitting in the chair with a smile. With a loud sigh, the man looked out the window once more.

“It is astonishing how we can see reality from our headquarters. The world is dying of resource scarcity, the earth is cracking as if it were about to split in two, dust and filth dominate the landscape, but the people...”

“Are you worried about the world?” the Visionary interrupted, pressing a button on the armrest of his chair. The eyes of the man at the window glowed green. “Is it better now?”

“Incredible! The grass has grown so high! How beautiful it is! And what is that little thing flying over the grass?”

“Butterflies,” the Visionary sighed, without taking his eyes off the fireplace. “They can be beautiful.” He pressed the button on the armrest again. The man’s eyes darkened once more.

“Do you see?” the Visionary asked. “The main thing is to give people what they want. If they want to see a beautiful and well-kept world - even if it is not so in reality - then that is exactly what they get.”

He continued to stare into the crackling fire, lost in thought for a moment. Meanwhile, the man at the window gazed at the outside world, which only moments ago had glowed in full bloom and now lay again in its gray decay.

“Today’s youth only know two kinds of bliss: games and music,” the Visionary explained. “There is nothing wrong with the games - they are addicted to the virtual reality created by Ares. He is just as brilliant as you: he has succeeded in binding them with a game whose plot has no end and which draws them deeper into its spell every day. They fight each other, compete, and constantly strive for more. There are even championships; the best receive premium accounts. Ares has found an efficient way to produce dopamine and drive the level-up process. The only problem remains that the demands are rising, and it is by no means easy to achieve the coveted three stars.”

“You are right,” the man at the window agreed. “Ares is a genius of virtual reality.”

“But without you, this success would hardly have been possible,” the Visionary continued. “Your musical accompaniment stimulates the brain and encourages them to linger even longer. Your work, I-Tan, has conquered the world: your music is everywhere.”

I-Tan turned away from the window and bowed slightly to his superior. “I am proud to be part of our corporation.”

“That is why I have decided to grant you creative freedom,” the Visionary announced. “From now on, you are a ‘media person’ with account-level VIP-4. Someone whose judgment I trust as unconditionally as my own. Your task is to bring people joy - or what they perceive as such. Write songs that will be heard everywhere.”

I-Tan raised his head; his eyes widened in surprise and gratitude. He had not expected his rank to rise so quickly, but the pride in the recognition of his talent weighed heavier. He walked quickly toward the Visionary, knelt beside his armchair, and pressed his lips to the hand resting on the armrest. The gratitude that poured from his lips met the flawlessly smooth, almost marble-like back of the hand, from which coldness and distance radiated. I-Tan closed his eyes and felt with every fiber of his skin: he was no longer the “errand boy” hiding his obsession for music behind a veil of obedience; now I-Tan possessed a status and the creative freedom he had dreamed of his entire life! He wanted to sink into the perfect, cold hand of his master, which is why he pressed against it tighter and tighter.

“Master, I will not disappoint you!” he said with a trembling voice, finally tearing himself away from the Visionary’s coveted hand.

“Wonderful. The staff has prepared a studio specifically for you. That is where you will have your place from now on.”