The world reached absolute silence during the year 2163.

The global reached absolute silence at some point of the year 2163.

The absence of war and poverty collectively with infection created peace all through the whole planet. Every human born on earth has become a part of a familiar peace resonance that the Omniscience stored in steady operation all through the planet. The entire removal of crime stemmed from detecting dangerous impulses at their neurological supply in preference to surveillance structures. The bio-farms constructed vertically and the syntrophic synthesizers absolutely removed hunger from lifestyles. Atmospheric terraforming drones operated as artificial birds via the skies to undo the climatic reversal whilst doing so.

Mankind reached Eden via the sensible operations of algorithms in preference to conventional divine blessings.

Except me.

My delivery resulted in the absence of the interface. A statistical impossibility. Medical professionals categorised this circumstance as an irregularity in structures answerable for neural recognition. My mom called it a curse. I name it distance. Everything exists in my reminiscence such as my whole lifestyles in addition to the uncooked historic information of beyond humans earlier than the erasure introduced through reminiscence loss. I undergo a couple of recordings positioned in subnets and unindexed caches due to the fact that the Omniscience did not erase them. When I stumbled upon their creations, I discovered the lifestyles of the ghost lives. For thirty years, Fiona Arelis spent her days portraying the identical tree that has become regularly extra broken due to the fact her intellectual circumstance worsened. Omar Bale created his sculptures with capabilities that required round motion from visitors to understand their symmetric pattern. The artist refused remedy for melancholy on the idea that she believed “Some truths are heavier than joy.”

Every one of them might die missing within the current age. In the contemporary-day device, their circumstance might be treated via its defensive measures even though they lived without oppression. Art is long gone now. Not banned. Just… irrelevant. The Omniscience creates picturesque visible stimulations that fit specific aesthetic specs of character minds. Creating a customized escapemaker revel in removes the want to revel in subjectively stunning things. Since perfection robotically exists, there's no factor in making imperfect objects. One time, I encountered a dwelling character in preference to a synthetic conversation. Solenne worked as a memory architect, her professional title. She worked as a souvenir architect to change the traumatic scenario into "resonant harmonious" that created emotional connections among the citizens. She focused on the work that neuroscience took part in storytelling. Her voice sounded silky, and she passed on her ideas. met us when searching unlimited databases using disordered materials for

previous integration time. Old blogs, rants, poetry, conversation. Noise, almost. During our encounters, I have experienced a widespread struggle between human identity. At that moment, I presented her with a small piece by an anonymous writer. This is why my goals exceed optimization criteria because I am truly observed in all raw and unslearned conditions. I want to be observed. In my ugliness. In my rage. With my private hunger. "

She was silent for minutes.

She stared at me and then gently pushed her hand onto my temple, which no one had given to her for a long time. For this discovery, I learned something about their existence: Ghost Life.

Gabriel Marroger placed 90 trees in his gallery and worked to degrade all 90 in parallel with a decline in his own mental state. Artist Omar Bale arranged his sculptures so that the audience had to roam around them to recognize their symmetrical nature. Nia Thorne fought over the treatment of depression as she defended "some truths are heavier than joy."

Today, they were sentenced to death for all their artistic practices. Although oppression had nothing to do with it, the system allowed protection to the self.

Art is gone. It is not prohibited. Only...it's irrelevant. Each experiences a visually fascinating, fantastical world based on the omniscience's understanding of its artistic tastes. The ability to experience personal and perfect paradise eliminates the need for subjective artistic struggle. Social Perfect is already available as a baseline. In other words, I did not do an incomplete job. I found a time when I met people outside of synthetic digital interactions.

A memory architect called

Solenne provided services for a living. Transforming stressful memories into "resonant harmony" was merely a role, which served as an emotional pattern that stabilized individual connections to the common realm. Neuroscience formed the core of its professional duties in storytelling. The velvety quality of her voice accompanied her thoughts, and it felt dangerously accurate.

A memory architect called Solenne made a living for people with their services. It was Soren's role that transforming stressful memories into "resonant harmony" served as an emotional pattern that stabilized individual connections to the common realm. Neuroscience formed the core of its professional duties in storytelling. The velvety quality of her voice accompanied her thoughts, and it felt dangerously accurate.

Our paths intersected when we accessed an unauthorized database and included untouched content even before the integration process. Old blogs, rants, poetry, conversation. Noise, almost. I was a witness to the struggle between different human identities that existed in genuine, contradictory states. The 2023 anonymous author fragment was before her when I imagined it.

My goal is to surpass

optimization. I want to be observed. In my ugliness. In my rage. With my private hunger. “

Sennenne has been silent for a very long time.

I explained that the act of adaptation leads to the creation of ghosts.

She has my temple, but it has not received such affection for several years, so touched softly.

They called themselves "refractors."

No movement. There is no revolution. Some of the groups continued to entertain the whole thing throughout the moments of pain.

We gathered in faded archives of the past, beneath abandoned server towers and caves of dark subnets. The forbidden history we exchanged exceeded statistics as it contained true personal stories. It's dirty. unresolved. human.

Eden showed his first damage mark.

A series of glass engines shine like a fascinating fantasy. My breathing absorbs the air. Omniscience bumps over me - unity babysitter by, calm and absolute.

The seeds remain in me through a group of unprocessed memory threads that will one day lead to new growth. The last huge echo of a broken world.

I was able to let them go. Forgotten actions must wash away the past and maintain the pain that was stored at the same time.

or I could have released it. Of course, seeds find space for perfect architecture, like unwanted plants.

I look back. Observe the refractive device. Don't expect redemption. They only want to maintain the observation of the people due to the disability, pain, and the disproportionate nature of their nation.

I plant the seeds.

Do not destroy Eden.

The purpose of the

seeds is to share its inevitable bleeding message with Paradise.