Chapter 4: The Ascent to Perfection
The screen in Observation Hub Gamma shifted again, displaying a vast, almost serene environment. Level 6. The subjects here were magnificent specimens, their bodies honed to absolute physical perfection, their movements fluid and graceful.
[SYSTEM: Observing Level 6 Operations. Current Cycle: 40-60.]
"Level 6," the Watcher intoned, his voice still measured, but with an underlying current of profound satisfaction that the Novice had not yet heard. "This is the culmination. The final stage. Here, the emphasis shifts. Basic training becomes less foundational and more about optimization. The focus now is entirely on stretching their muscles and minds to their absolute peak. It wasn't a sudden change, Novice. This gradual refinement began subtly at the end of Level 4 and continued seamlessly into Level 5 and throughout Level 6. A quick, abrupt shift might make them 'spot' a difference, even with their limited time for introspection. We leave no room for 'what if' here."
The Watcher brought up a series of detailed physiological readouts, overlaid on images of subjects engaging in complex, almost artistic, physical routines. Their bodies flexed with impossible definition, every sinew visible. "Here, their physical routines become less about basic strength and more about flexibility, endurance, and extreme cellular regeneration. We push their biological limits, ensuring their muscles and organs are at their most vibrant, their most 'ripe.' Their cognitive exercises shift to abstract problem-solving and deep, self-reflective 'harmony' modules designed to foster a profound sense of inner peace and contentment."
He paused, then gestured to the main screen, where a new scene unfolded. It was the end of a cycle for a Level 6 cohort. Subjects, physically in their biological prime—around thirty real-world years, but mentally sixty by farm time—were being guided towards the final, shimmering Hole. This time, there were no mechanical prods. The subjects moved with a sense of purpose, even eagerness.
[SYSTEM: Displaying Cohort M-680. Age: 60 Cycles. Event: Final Graduation.]
Unlike the first terrified infants or the mildly apprehensive adolescents, these individuals showed no fear. Their faces, projected in close-up, radiated a profound serenity, a joyous acceptance. Their Happiness Levels were spiking, higher than any other measured parameter. Their bodies, at peak biological efficiency, were now perfectly complemented by minds conditioned to absolute, unquestioning faith.
"Observe them, Novice," the Watcher commanded, his voice now imbued with an undeniable pride, a subtle warmth that startled the younger man. "This is the final moment. Unlike Level 1, where fear and cries accompanied their passage, they are now at their peak happiness level, their bodies at their biological zenith. They are, effectively, sixty cycles old in their perception, but only thirty in actual time—the perfect synthesis of mature spirit and pristine physical form. They walk willingly into the Hole. There is no fear. Only pure love for the system, for the journey, for the paradise they believe awaits them."
The subjects, one by one, stepped into the shimmering distortion, their expressions beatific. They vanished not with a gasp, but with a silent, contented sigh.
"Their souls," the Watcher whispered, and for the first time, his voice cracked with what could only be described as pure, unadulterated adoration, a fanatic's devotion to his craft. "Are at the absolute pinnacle of their vibrational frequency, at the very top of anything we can possibly generate. They enter with no fear, no resistance. Their souls, pure and untainted by doubt or sorrow, are gathered in that moment. They die in a state of ultimate bliss, a perfect, willing surrender."
The Novice stood frozen. He watched the Watcher, who had turned from the screen, his face transformed. The cold, clinical mask was gone, replaced by an expression of almost rapturous devotion. His eyes shone with an inner light, his voice soft, reverent.
"The person who designed this," the Watcher continued, his voice barely above a whisper, "this perfect paradise, this flawless system... he was a genius. A true visionary." The Watcher spoke like a fan, utterly lost in admiration for his idol's work, the single greatest belief in his existence.
Monster.
The word screamed in the Novice's mind, echoing with a horrifying clarity. He is a monster. This whole... this thing... is monstrous. What have I gotten myself into? A tremor ran through him, a terrifying realization of the abyss he had just stepped into. His face shifted, a subtle tightening around the eyes, a faint clenching of his jaw. But the Watcher, consumed by his vision, by the "best thing" he believed in, was oblivious. He didn't react.
"That," the Watcher said, his voice returning to a more measured tone, but still carrying that strange, almost loving cadence, "is the most beautiful thing you will ever witness, Novice."
The screen flashed again, a rapid montage of images: the primal fear in the eyes of a new infant, the diligent training of the boys and girls, then the serene, almost beatific faces of the departing Level 6 subjects. Perfect bodies. Happy souls. Pure souls. It was just perfect. No hate. No worry. They loved their paradise. And the Watcher's voice, brimming with an uncharacteristic warmth, concluded, "We get the best souls available. Is that perfect, Novice?"
The Novice swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He found his voice, a mere whisper. "It is, sir."
(End )
If their joy is made for them and their steps pulled by wires, was it heaven they lived in, or a perfected hell?Look at them — did they taste heaven, or did you unmask hell?If they handed you the same life, would you choose it?