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Vane rushed back to his station, pulling up the visual feed of the simulation—the artificial reality where the uploaded minds resided. He expected to see the golden spires of the Metropolis, the artificial paradise where billions lived out their digital afterlives.

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"How?" Leo gasped, collapsing onto the grass. "I’ve tried every supplement, every hack, every shortcut. I can’t get above 50% without crashing." Vane rushed back to his station, pulling up

With a trembling hand, Elias moved his mouse to the center of the screen. He saw the back of a chair in the video—his chair. And then, he saw the back of a head. "I’ve tried every supplement, every hack, every shortcut

Vane’s hand hovered over the emergency purge. The Purge would sever the connection. It would save the hardware, the biological processors. But it would kill the upload. It would euthanize the billions of souls living in the server. It would be the second, and final, apocalypse.

The fog clung to the Blue Ridge Mountains like a wool shroud, thick enough to swallow a man whole. To the British regulars stationed at the base of the pass, the woods above were silent—"sleeping," they called them. They believed the immigrant families who had carved lives out of the rocky soil had finally been cowed by the Crown’s decree. But Liam O’Shea wasn’t sleeping.

He looked at the screen again. The message had changed.