SINGULARITY

SECOND SEQUENCE

"There is a fine line between dreams and reality, it's up to you to draw it."  -B. Quilliam

The darkness became light, and his blurred surroundings gradually came into focus. He was standing in the rain of a bustling, dark and grimy city. Throngs of people lined the streets, and cars packed the lanes of the road, blaring their horns. Looking around at the crowds, he couldn't tell who was real, and who was just a creation of the program.

Zaccaheus pushed his way through the crowd, dashing across the street as a car honked its horn at him. A neon lighted sign flickered above a door, "BAR42". He opened the door to the bar; inside it was not much brighter. Smoke lingered in the air from the cigarettes and cigars smoked by patrons, and Zaccaheus worked his way towards an old, frail looking man sitting alone at a table in one of the corners of the room.

He pulled up a chair opposite the man, "I knew you were here Cavil, I saw your body in one of the pods."

The man shrugged knowingly, "You talk like you're surprised."

"I am. Of course I am," Zaccaheus leaned in closer, "why are you doing this? You're coming here too often. Alessandra told me you've been spending hours in here everyday recently."

"And why is that a problem? For christ's sake Zac, there are millions of people who live here, people who never returned to their bodies and actually live here. Most of the people remaining back in the city come and spend their time here now anyways. You seem to be forgetting that. This," he pointed agressively at the table as he spoke, "This, is normal. You know theres a reason people prefer this place; it reminds them of simpler times. Don't pretend that you don't like it here as well."

Zaccaheus was silent for a moment, "I do. But this isn't real. This, this is just a temporary escape, and don't forget that! Our lives, our real lives, our families, they're outside of this. I've told you, time and time again, we can never forget that"

Cavil sighed, and lit a cigar, and took a single puff before asking him a question, "Zaccaheus... Do you remember why we make our avatars, old men?" He waved his hand nonchalantly at Zaccaheus, who also was in the guise of an old man, overweight and balding, "Tell me why you did that?"

Zaccaheus looked away in frustration.

"Tell me, why? I know why I do it. Because this is what someone my age, at seventy should look like. I should be sagging, wrinkly, ugly. But I'm not. I look like a twenty year old in his prime, abs and all. My legs, both of my legs are biotically enhance, my bare hands, they're strong enough that I could smash them through a brick wall should I choose to. And what about that, that arm of yours, that standard police issue one, folds out into a gun or something don't it..."

Zaccaheus looked down at his right arm and held it before his face. His avatar's arm was flabby, and the skin was coarse; nothing like his real one.

Cavil continued to speak, "But not in here you don't. In here, we can make it so that there ain't nothing special about us, about anyone! And that... That is what makes us special. Here, this is what we'd be like be like if we'd just aged naturally, like nature intended. Like that shit never happened in the real world. We can live as if none of it ever happened, just pretend everything is still the way it used to be. And that is why you make yourself look like that... For gods sake, we thought it was hilarious when we first made these avatars!"

He leaned back in his chair folding his arms, satisfied with what he'd said.

Cavil was entirely right. Here you could live without the robots, the genetic and biomechanical enhancements, the nanotechnology... Here, things could be real. When people would once escape their lives and come here seeking perfection, people now came here seeking the very opposite; imperfection.