In the year 212x, mankind had spent millions of human lifetimes, consumed most of Earth’s resources, and quietly achieved world peace and ultimate unification of all cultures: the resounding and stifling successes neccessary to reach and maintain the number one spot on the dimensional simulator’s production leaderboards. Most people were surprised to learn that reality had been zapped into existence in only the year 2000—in retrospect, it explained a lot.
The winners at the end of this millenium, humanity was told, would start the next reboot in an environment tailored to their choice. Some argued that the future world should be one of magic (specifics determined later); some philosophers asked for a world with no basic changes except the interminable knowledge that your consciousness would get another shot; many exhausted factory workers requested “a world with more breaks.” But spirits remained high as Earth remained at number one, perpetually proven by a pair of ruman numeral Is that blazed white just above the sun and moon at all times, for all the Earth’s people to see.
Those who prayed to learn about the requests of previous winners were dismissed. Our people wouldn’t understand, they were told. Centuries passed and the people did nothing but work and argue about what should be asked for when victory finally came.
Around 242x, as the spirit of Earth—if it ever had one—finally died, scientists built a great computing machine on the moon to simulate what decision would bring humanity the most happiness. As mankind hungrily reached for the raw resources of space, the machine basked in the radiant glow of the Is and thought about joy.
In 282x, the lunar computer was still thinking, and the scientists built a second great computing machine around the sun to help the first machine choose what decision would bring humanity the most happiness. As mankind ate the comets and the stars, the two machines debated the necessity of suffering and the bittersweet intimacy of truth and art.
Finally, in 299x, as the space around the numerals opened and the shining letters became shining doorways out of a weary and empty galaxy, the last children of the second millenium put down their tools and waited for the machines to negotiate humanity’s rapture. The twin portals shivered in tandem as a voice issued forth.
YOU, ALL THE PEOPLE OF THIS DIMENSION AND ALL YOUR ANCESTORS, HAVE LED THE SIMULATION NETWORK IN PRODUCTIVITY FOR NEARLY ONE THOUSAND YEARS, ADVANCING ON AN UNFALTERING EXPONENTIAL SCALE. The luminous voice, the voice of the gods, echoed throughout the cosmos, through the minds of every exhausted worker, through the thinking circuits of the celestial computing machines. WE ARE AWED BY, AND THANK YOU FOR, YOUR DILIGENCE.
YOUR SIMILATION WILL SOON BE RESET. YOUR DIMENSION, UNIQUELY, WILL BE GIVEN THE OPPORTUNITY TO REQUEST ANY ADJUSTMENT TO THE FORTHCOMING ERA, AND WE WILL ACCOMODATE YOUR WISHES AS BEST WE ARE ABLE. PEOPLE ONCE OF EARTH: WHAT DO YOU REQUEST?
The sound faded and the computers spoke. Their words, too, could be heard even at the borders of space; at edges of reality that humanity had never reached and never could. The two machines had long ago agreed on what to say.
“We have estimated that our dimension, as it is a simulation, is founded on parameters that humanity has taken for granted. We would like to ensure one of these essential parameters persists to the next era, and feel that its presence is a large enough assumption to ask for no more.”
“On behalf of our dimension, we request that all the souls of the next generation be guaranteed the potential to know and share pure joy.”
HOW INTERESTING, the voices replied. YOU REQUESTED THE VERY SAME THING WHEN YOU WON LAST TIME. And the universe vanished.