Growing a plant from a seed is a wonderful experience a quiet triumph over nothingness. The crack of the seeds, the fragile sprouting, the first tiny flowers, the promise of fruit… Each stage offers its own joy. Yet, the process is as relentlessly challenging as it is rewarding. For any beginner, I’d recommend something forgiving, like mint or parsley. I began this peculiar hobby nearly five years ago, choosing basil as my first subject. I loved the scent of basil then or perhaps I only thought I did. Now, I can’t be certain. I’m not even sure the plant on my sill is truly basil. I’m not certain of anything. But for those considering the attempt, I offer one firm warning: be wary of ivy.
Roughly three years ago, a stranger I encountered online planted a single idea in my mind, a seed of pure doubt: that this reality might be nothing more than a simulation. I cherished the thought at first, allowing it the space to take root and flourish. Unfortunately, it did not stay contained. The idea grew, it thrived, and it completely took over my consciousness, wrapping around every thought and memory like an insidious ivy.
The belief that you are trapped in a simulation is nearly impossible to shake once it has established itself. I cannot excise it. The harder I try to tear it out, the deeper its roots dig. The more I resist, the more fiercely it fights back. My doctor suggested learning to coexist with it, to embrace it as a facet of my life. But that is precisely what I refuse to do. I don’t want to adopt it; I want to dismantle it. I want to escape this simulation. Of course, my doctor called that impossible. He is simply trying to stop me, offering assistance while acting as a loyal agent, because he, too, is part of the machinery.
When you commit to escaping a simulation, the first solution that springs to mind is suicide. But that is a deeply dangerous path. If you willingly die inside the simulation, the logic dictates you might also die in the true, underlying reality. So I searched for other ways. I failed, again and again, in my attempts. But now, I will succeed. I know it.
My diversion is plants; my real profession, however, is software engineering. I worked for years at a monopolistic tech giant, building mobile operating systems. They terminated my employment a month ago for neglecting my duties. By then, though, I had already spent months dedicating every waking hour to something else: a virus.
It is a masterpiece I meticulously crafted with my own hands, line by line. And before they escorted me from the premises, I successfully inserted my creation into the latest operating system update.
Two minutes.
In exactly two minutes, the update goes live. My virus will propagate globally. And then, the entire internet will shut down.
The internet! One of the most magnificent lies of our age. It has become humanity’s extended self, its hands, its feet, even its tongue and ears. We begin our days connected and end them connected. We live through it. We are united by it. They claim it was invented thirty years ago, but that, too, is a grand deception. Everyone, young and old, is utterly addicted. They function like the computers they stare at. Without the network, they are nothing. Because they are all components of the simulation. And the internet is the invisible cable that keeps them tethered.
Soon, that cable will be severed. When the network collapses on a global scale, the simulation will have no choice but to crash. That’s when I’ll wake up. That’s when I’ll finally escape this nonsense.
Or at least, that is my core belief.
I can’t say I’m entirely certain it will work. I can only desperately hope it does. Because when the whole world goes dark, something must change… right?
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