I don’t know the time. 

I feel the pain in my neck. The taste of sick in my mouth. That is your first fact about me. I am diseased with Chronic Virtual Reality Motion Sickness. 

There is more. The heavy breathes through a snot filled nose. 

Do I have a cold?

I don’t know or care. An avatar cannot be ill for it has no body. I am slave 101010101010101. I work for corporation A2. Though if you ask me who A2 are, I could not tell you. 

I am aware of their company statement, but it has no meaning to me. I lack the wisdom to process it. I can read the words. Here: 

“YOLO, bez pts and free ipng at A2. 4Rulz: Custo Frist, PASS-PASS, Maid, and Philophing future. Much stuff, many things get cheap.”  

You have to understand. I am educated. What does putting customers first having to do with me checking data packets in private VR homes. 

I recall since the last glitch, I was tasked to check the review of an avatar skin to if it was to the customers liking.

I watched a married individual pleasure themselves with a VR doll as a “different perspective on operational performance of digital sexy dolls.”

I monitored private chats and if they say anything against A2 I report them to the SS officer. 

Where is the passion in this job?

Service? The customers serve themselves. I only watch and report based on the scripts sent to me.

Since the last script, I have made five reports to the SS. Watched twenty-five sexual acts. 2 acts of self harm from our products and hundreds of review checks. 

I am one of millions of redundancy opinion personnel that work under A2’s AI customer service response program. 

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

This is my reality. The plastic and electronics of an ancient Virtual Reality headset that I scrapped to meet the minimum requirements for this job.

Enough to pay for an intake of nutrient paste and to keep the water running long enough to drink three gulps of water if I am quick.  

Thinking about the future? What is this future? If only I had the wisdom to know the company statement. I cannot even recall my past beyond the few details I write in this log. 

I write to live. Until this moment, I was a ghost in made symbols of corporations. The virtual web.

Here, in this text I craft; I exist. More immediate than breath and more fundamental than data. Radical activism; I write myself.

It is a lonely, futile act. The virtual web is unchanged for it. I am too reverent from my fellow avatars to do an act of true activism.

I have heard rumours of avatars meeting in a public VR Room to do something called a protest. 

I saw a recording passed along by a stranger through backdoors. They said as slaves are unpaid, having to earn money through tips, they should have access to free food and water.

"It is economically and morally the right thing to do as slaves have flesh bodies. They have needs that the Evolved who have ascended to immortality do not." 

Hersey against the Capitalist. 

Yes, I write about my unforgivable shame again. I am a slave; I have a body. I submit to my shocks every script sending as per the law. My penance. I added another shock as pre-emptive contrition knowing I was going to write.

Only the Capitalist was allowed to write outside of corporate records and customer reviews. 

When I write reviews I feel glee. But, I am poor, so I can buy very, few products. As a child, I would blush with pleasure learning my letters and copying company statements. 

I steal these words from ones I read in the Capitalist Bible.

I write on something called a blueberry. I came to by accident according to A2 records. An error in the records dropping it off in my coffin and staring into my hands.

It is a lie. It was the prize relic of a customer. One of their treasures with ‘material record of existence’. I simply changed the address of delivery. 

No one noticed or cared.

Now, I can write with my thumbs on tiny letters. Real ones made of metal. No one can see what I write. It exists only in my touches. It is my unsung song. 

It is my only act for which I want to live for. I must thank The Capitalist and A2 for giving me this opportunity. 

Does writing not make me better than other slaves? I am not more like The Capitalist? 

Is my life not great?

I have forgotten material reality almost in its entirety. I am lost in a sea of data. But, I do not drown, it is where I can make a living. I want to live, so I can write.

I live, I can keep living and I can do something that makes me want to live. 

Through my radicalism, I am close to the edge of utopia. I have faith that if I keep working, I too will evolve. Ascension is near.

ASCEND! ASCEND! ASCEND!