Ａｂｏｕｔ Ｍｅ
a s c e n d e d b e i n g
Dear [fellow user], I hope this letter finds you as well as it can, given where I am writing from. You might think of The Wired as nothing more than an advanced escape—a realm built for entertainment, communication, and connection. Envision a multi-sensory dream where colours bleed into one another, voices warp into melodies, and the stars twinkle like scattered thoughts across an endless void. But tonight, I write to you, not to wax poetic about its splendour, but to share an unsettling truth that has crept into every corner of this digital sanctuary. I've spent 2 DAYS as a resident of The Wired, once infatuated with its capabilities. I loved the way it felt to slip into the VR gear and immerse myself in a world that promised unbounded freedom. I could explore lush forests, each experience rich with sensory detail that belied its digital origins. I could actually feel the rush of wind on my face, the heat of the sun, the warmth of virtual embraces. It was a playground with infinite possibilities. But I started noticing the change on a day like any other. It began with the malaise—an inexplicable heaviness that began to saturate the environment. At first, I dismissed it as bugs in the system, with random glitches and moments when the sky flickered from cerulean to a sickly shade of grey, but it escalated. The build-up was so gradual that I didn’t realize it until it was too late. One evening, I joined a group of friends in a popular club near us. club cyberia,that club was filled with nothing but loud bashy msuic and laughter mixed with witty banter that flowed seamlessly. Yet, in the corners of my eye, I caught strange figures lurking, shrouded in shadow. As days morphed into restless nights in that digital domain, I began to feel different. I grew increasingly aware of unsettling whispers that threaded through the environment like a dark undercurrent. “Are you still there?” “We know you.” “it's chisa.” Each phrase echoed with a lingering chill, gnawing at the edges of my certainty. Last night, the atmosphere thickened into something oppressive .I received a text from one of our classmates that presumed to have suicided. I didn't believe it though. I think it's just a silly prank to fool us. Until we speak again—if we speak again, [user from the wired]
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