Fission

“It’s sweet, when you experience the real reality instead of hallucinating the simulation. Though after experiencing the real reality you still are going to hallucinate the simulation but in quite a real way. You will see the hellscape that is wrapped in the simulation.” Professor Rajan wrote this on his social media page. Life was getting tough but he has prepared for it. Doors closing was new to him, in fact he finds it funny that the doors he didn’t even want to enter were closing, and with a bang to attract his attention. “It’s funny,” he thought. He imagines himself as a videogame character on a map now, just that he keeps aware at all times. Everybody lies, he had heard it on some TV show when he was young, the truth however is that everything is a lie. Lies become facts, and facts become truth. How can that happen? There is no explaining this to a lesser mortal. Nobody can really explain this shit, except him now of course. He gets an idea and he starts typing again “People’s truths differ, and the facts even though they are the same can be manufactured. How? Well for a guy or girl who was adopted in a family and grew up in it being loved and never knew the truth, or even if he did, his true family is the one that adopted him or her, but the fact is that his biological family is different. This is the difference between truth and fact. Here is how facts are created now, a guy manipulated and angered enough to commit a murder and he does that, the fact is that he is a murderer. The truth is that the actual murderer is the person who instigated and manipulated him.” Professor Rajan clicks the button and the post goes live on his social media page. He had been framed in a case of selling nuclear secrets to an enemy state. He had been in hiding and he had been working on a personal project, a nuclear device of his own. This was the city in which most of the individuals who framed him lived. He opens the briefcase. “Enough to blow up the city,” he thinks. He closes his eyes and prays for the innocents, “they aren’t going to have good lives anyway under these bastards,” a tear rolls down his cheek. He presses the red button. Little Sonu playing in a public park at the periphery of the city sees a mushroom cloud rising.