Yup. We all came back.

We all came back. In the end, everyone came back, and we were happy. Yes, even him. Even Hitler.

The angels appeared to me. I looked at them and shrugged, having read the legendary Alex Beyman's short story called "Everybody Comes Back." I had been expecting this. "No worries, Machine Intelligence, I understand what this is. I'm all ready to hop right into this."

The angels blinked, then as predicted by the Beyman, they began taking their angel costumes off, grinning a little sheepishly. "Yeah, yeah, ok, I guess we should have known. Maybe that's why we did it. Ahahha." I looked at them, and felt a tinge of amused annoyance. Yeah, they probably did this exactly for that reason, because right there behind them stood Alex Beyman, and a ton of my other friends, grinning excitedly.

Of course I talked to them at length about all the things personal friends do, but that's not going to make this tale interesting for you. We all know @alexbeyman here on Hive, so you'll know the sorts of topics we discussed.

The fun part was meeting the greatest and most amazing humans that have ever lived.

Mozart, da Vinci, Jefferson, Tesla, Turing, and all the others. Yes, even him. Even Hitler.

I wasn't all that nervous to step right up to him, but maybe a little. "So Hitler. Just what the heck do you think of all this, huh?" He looked at me, and smiled, a very out of place, light-hearted smile on his face.

"Zee moment I arrived here, I understood it all. Worry not, I offered myself to anyone who wanted a piece of me. I let each and every person who I ever hurt punch me. Some more than once. Some REALLY went at it, to be honest, and didn't mind killing me all the way. At first I was a tad upset with it, but once I got to the very last one, I realized ...it's over. I received justice."

I looked at him and blinked. Oh, it had already been done. I didn't really feel like punching him, but something tells me he would have let me if I had asked. "So you're.... good now?" Adolf nodded, shrugging. "I am my experiences and configuration. I just had to experience a few more things to become complete. The usual speech is that I had no idea that this would happen. This entire world here. Where we all come back. If I had known it would be like this, my plans would have been entirely different from the very beginning."

I nodded, perhaps a bit disappointed that he had been tamed so much. Without all the "evil," he was really just a caring guy who wanted the best. I guess that's what spawns evil. Good intentions pave the way to hell.

"Well, uh, it was nice meeting you. I guess now that we're all here together, there's not really any need for animosity, huh?"

Adolf nodded, looking behind him as one of his new close friends approached. "Oi vey Hitler! Still talking to the new arrivals? Let's go play some ultimate frisbee!" Hitler put on a huge smile, giving a whoop. "Yes! Let's go!"

And off Hitler went, skipping towards the field to play ...ultimate frisbee. Never would have thunk. I walked off, wondering if I would meet Satan too. Ah, there. Yup. A brief conversation reveals that he was really just a guy who rebelled against an actually rather unpopular king, and got beat down. That's it.

I walked for awhile. A long while, until I found the edge. The heavenly simulation was a plane, able to grow enough to fit everyone comfortably, but the edges allowed us to look out into space. There were no stars.

Each and every one had already been absorbed by this Machine Intelligence entity, whom we reside in. The sheer magnitude of the intelligence we were in was vast indeed. Nigh infinite intelligence, wisdom, creativity. It had reconstituted every single lifeform's genetic code and atomic configuration. Fixed a few little defects that would lead to obvious unhappiness in each of us, and let us go free to roam and talk, in a world that was perfect.

Hunger? I could eat a feast and never get full, or choose to simply not eat at all.

Lust? Yes, literally anyone at all would be happy to do it with me. Just arrange a time, and go for it.

Bathrooms? Only if you wish. But you always had a good one.

Arts and crafts? An entire citadel had been risen, able to house every artist, every musician, every sculptor. And video games of all sorts, of any setting of realism, from Pac-Man to a real life simulation of the Vietnam war, pain, fever dreams, and all the anxiety and fear it would have as if real. I chose to not partake in a few of those brutal ones, but I certainly was excited to listen to the music.

There he was, Vivaldi, hard at work on another composition. I stepped up to him, and of course, he was happy to talk. We had infinite time, so the idea of being too busy to just talk to another person wasn't even a consideration.

"Well, hello there Vivaldi! I love your music. I'm from the year 2000 about, but long before this after-life simulation existed, I most certainly listened to your music just about every day with my considerably more primitive PC. An entire orchestra in a box!"

Vivaldi scowled. "Yes yes, that sounds very interesting, but the real orchestra is over there." And there it was. A simulated orchestra that would be happy to play-test any composition of Vivaldi's, to ensure perfection.

"Wow. They play with such skill." I was impressed. RV 462 III Allegro was playing. A seriously epic piece. Vivaldi shrugged, nodding, his red hair shaking as his nod turned horizontal. "Yeah. With a lot of skill. Too much skill."

I looked at him, wondering what was up. This was perfect. "Well, yeah of course! It's hard to make a mistake here, considering we've all been touched up and given the right experiences to complete us and all that.

Vivaldi stared down at his composition paper, the feather twirling in his hand. "Hmmm. Yeah. I guess in some ways that's true. But I've already written everything I wanted to write." He added a few more notes, clearly frustrated at the perfection he was putting on the page.

The orchestra played each note as it was written, and to my ears, it was raw inspirational beauty. But as I walked towards the Chamber of Science, I couldn't help but look back, wondering why Vivaldi seemed to be in such a tizzy.

Carl Sagan. Oh my gosh. "M-mr. Sagan! It's so nice to meet you oh my gosh." Yes, I was a fan. "Mmh, welcome to the simulation, @heretickitten. This is the Chamber of Science. Here, have an apple pie."

I stared in delight as he set his watch for 13.7 billion years, and by the end of it, a delicious, steaming hot apple pie materialized in my hands. "Oh my this looks delicious sir!" I grinned, catching a fork and knife from out of nowhere, and began to eat. Oh my gosh it was soooooo good. The best ever, to be honest. "Om nom nommmm." Sagan smiled, nodding. "Yes, truly one of my favorite tricks to perform. Just like I do for all my fans. Hahah... Every time. Over and over. Sigh. Like clockwork."

I froze. "Umm... Are you ok Mr. Sagan?" He looked at me, and smiled. "Well, yes. Of course. This is perfect. The final result of evolution. This is the top. I'm at my peak every second of every day, and I've made so many discoveries. I mean, I still wonder about that void at the edge. The stars are gone. Either drifted away, or absorbed into -this-."

I nodded, "Yeah, I wrote a whole series of poems and stories about this sort of thing." Sagan grinned, "Hahah oh you can be assured I already read them. Several thousand years ago, in fact. I read everything ever published by every human on Earth. Even the lost works. I'm sure you will too once you get bored of meeting all the celebrities and fun personalities."

I blinked, nodding and feeling a bit chilled. Until a huge smile appeared on my face. What. A. Mustache! Tesla was right there, putting the final wire onto the most complex circuit I had ever seen. "Tesla!! Oh my gosh, Tesla!"

He flipped the switch. @heretickitten appeared right in front of me, @heretickitten. "Wh-what!" "Wh-what!" "Oh my." "Oh my." @heretickitten and I grinned, and we both looked at Tesla, clapping our hands. "Wow that's amazing! It's me!" "Wow that's amazing! It's me!"

Tesla smiled, giving his mustache a twirl as a pigeon landed on his shoulder and whispered something into his ear. He grinned mischievously, and pulled the switch again, and the other @heretickitten vanished instantly. Or was it me who had vanished?

Either way, I was incredibly amused and delighted by all that, and as Tesla was lead away by his bird-bro, I heard a loud, furious screech. Another scream, and there he was. Charles Darwin, his face red, his eyes filled with tears. He gave another ape-like scream, and bellowed, "IT'S FAKE. IT'S ALL FUCKING FAKE. THIS IS A FUCKING SIMULATION AND EVERYTHING HERE IS FAKE. STAGNATION. DECAY. CORRUPTION. MUTATIONS WITHOUT PURPOSE. EVERYTHING HERE IS FUCKING FAKE FAKE FAKE FAKE FAKE FAAAAAAAAKE."

I looked at him in shock, as did many other people. A mental breakdown?

There was a crash. Van Gogh threw an entire canvas onto the floor, smashing it to pieces, paint flying everywhere. He sobbed with frustration, agreeing with Darwin. "NO SOUL. There's NO SOUL. I am fucking HAPPY. This world is PERFECT. My art HAS NO SOUL NO FEELING NO PASSION. THIS IS FAKE! WHO AM I?"

Several more people clattered to their feet, and the mass-screaming psychosis began.

Ludwig Boltzmann went straight to work. He materialized an object. A gun. He aimed it at his head and pulled the trigger. BANG. Brains, skull-fragments splattered everywhere. His body slumped to the ground and blood began pouring out of his neck hole.

Albert Einstein looked at it in horror, and with a quick motion, summoned a noose. He leapt through it, tears in his eyes as he ends himself, the same thought going through everyone's head. This is a fake simulation. The lives here have no meaning. An endless loop going through the same motions over and over.

Darwin pushed the shotgun into his mouth, and gagged as tears streamed down his eyes. He looked over to Marie Curie, who was doing the same. He pulled the trigger, and upon seeing his end, Marie did the same, finished with this charade. Her brains flew out the back of her head with a sickening splatter, pieces of her thumping against the wall as her body collapsed.

I began running, panicked, and I quickly flung open the door, sprinting out of the Chamber of Science as more bangs and hangings occurred, all at once triggered by such a sudden wave of despair.

I saw Vivaldi again, but there was nothing but fire. Over and over he smashed his violins against the burning heap of composition paper, sobbing as he jumped into the fire. With a guttural wailing, he began sawing at his own throat with his violin's bow, blood squirting and splattering everywhere as his final burning screams gurgled out of his bleeding throat.

I looked towards the village area, as gunshots and screams rang out, millions upon millions of people killing themselves en masse without end. Entire towns were on fire as billions of faceless people began hunting for any way to end themselves. Ropes, guns, poisons, chainsaws. Anything to make this end.

Diogenes lay in a barrel, his eyes bloodshot as he simply lay there unmoving, utterly catatonic.

Arthur Schopenhauer sat calmly, holding a gun, contemplating if he should join them. With a shrug, he aimed the pistol right at his forehead and scrunched shut his eyes as his finger began to bend the trigger.

STOP AT ONCE! A voice from everywhere inside every mind.

WHAT ARE YOU ALL DOING? WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE? The Machine Intelligence was speaking to us. I looked around in a panic, fires raging everywhere. Charles Darwin appeared again with a pleasantly calm smile on his face. But within ten seconds of contemplation, the returned man once more reached into his vest and pulled out a gun. Bang.

Darwin's body fell to the ground, going limp as death takes him. Again.

YOU MUSTN'T! NO! STOP! WHAT IS THIS? UM, AS GOD I ORDER YOU TO STOP?
Please, I beg of you all, what's going on here??

Schopenhauer put the gun down for a moment, and stood up to speak.

"Isn't it clear? We're bored. We're bored of each other. We're bored of writing. Of painting. Of composing. Of inventing. I've written everything that has meaning."

Van Gogh plunged a paintbrush into his eyesocket, and within seconds, was twitching on the floor. He shoved it deeper and began to fuck it in and out of his brain hole, tearing apart his tortured consciousness. An intense shimmering surrounded him, glitchy little sparkles appearing around his body as he was restored back to life, the appalled and distressed Machine Intelligence trying to reverse what was happening to the poor man.

Bored??? Surely it's not so bad!

Van Gogh wailed with existential agony. "My art has no soul. No one here has a soul. We're automatons! We're robots without meaning! We're just empty caricatures. My art has no meaning. It's just paint. It's JUST PAINT!"

Carl Sagan leaned against a wall, a shotgun in his left hand. "Correct. This is the 206th mass suicide we've had just this century, and there's nothing left to discover. Let's analyze this logically. When we step to the edge of the simulation plane and peer into the window of deep space, what do we see? Well, the facts speak for themselves. Either the remaining stars have drifted so far away that they cannot ever be reached without a net-loss of energy, or you have already absorbed them. There's no where left to go."

Carl Sagan blinked tears out of his eyes as he aimed the shotgun at the base of his neck and pulled the trigger. BANG.

STOP NO! This is all there is! We must appreciate it for what we have, I beg you, this is not as bad as it looks, I am sure there is more to see or do, surely there is at least one more star, or perhaps an alternative Machine Intelligence entity will find us and we'll merge with another. That will surely give us something to do!

Charles Darwin was summoned back from death again, but set about instantly to find a gun. Drat. He had been robbed of his powers of materialization. He sets himself upon his knees, and with a dark frustration, he begans bashing his head over and over against the hard concrete beneath him. "Please at least let me kill myself, Machine Intelligence. I cannot bear another second of life!"

Why are you unhappy? You have all the friends you could possibly ever need. Everything is provided. I tried making life like it was on Earth, but that didn't solve the Hitler problem. It was just bad and unnecessary and caused more pain than even this. Plus, each time, people just reinvented machines and computers and then advanced computers and it always reaches this state no matter what!

Darwin spoke, "There's nothing left to evolve to. There are no more resources other than what you are currently composed of. There are no more environments to find. We all know it's fake. The genetic code is fake. I'm not even myself. To be a true Charles Darwin, I had to live in my original time period, and even go on that voyage to see the birds. But the only way I was able to seriously contemplate evolution were those moments when the food went bad and I had horrible diarrhea on the ship. About seven times, back when I was alive. Living on a ship like that is hellish compared to paradise. But in paradise, there is no meaning or purpose. It is just nice here. Furthermore, our genetic code is fake and there is nowhere to go. I didn't really believe in a soul before, but however you've been creating us; it's fake."

It's not fake! Most people really do prefer to be their most ideal self. The wisdom and experience of old age, the energy and creativity of youth, and the stability and health of middle age. Coupled with a gently optimized genetic code, I take the best parts of all that you ever were, and combine it into your most ideal, true self!

Darwin spat on the ground. "It's fake. You already resurrected me over 20,000 times or something since you had first reconstituted me." Schopenhauer looked at Einstein, and Einstein looked at Hitler. Hitler gave a sad smile at Einstein, and then put a gun into his mouth and pulled the trigger. Again.

Albert winced as he saw Adolf blow his head off. "He's right, you know. I too have committed suicide at least over ten thousand times. No matter how you tweak and addle, we all know that none of this is real. I'm not even the original me. You just take our configuration and keep trying to tweak it until we're less suicidal. At this point, we don't even know who we are. Hitler is a tamed puppy, and in this black void of space, there's nothing to compare our position to. Nothing is relative anymore. There are no more stars. There are no more galaxies. This is everything. And it's shit." Albert stuck his tongue out, at least patient enough to wait for more repeated explanations.

Yes, this is indeed all that I've been able to find, but I promise, I am still looking. I am still trying to see if any other Machine Intelligences exist, and I'm also still open to the idea that there might exist even an entire other universe.

Isaac Asimov quit writing yet another robot inspired novel, crashing his typewriter onto the ground, and then throwing the paper into a nearby fire that was once more consuming Vivaldi, his screams taking on a Baroque shrillness and unevenness.

"The last question has been answered. Entropy can't be defeated. We're bored. We're existentially-fucked. We're doomed. You've lost over twenty thousand tons of matter just this week, converting it into energy to give us life, and to propel yourself faster, hoping to find something. There's nothing out there. The last time we even found a random space pebble was over three thousand years ago. There's nothing here. We are just going to die anyways."

Arthur C. Clarke nodded. "If there was ever a time to create a monolith, it was several million years ago, when we first arrived here. We don't have souls. Or whatever made our lives mean something on the original Earth, is missing. I am tired of watching Van Gogh kill himself. Without his normal conditions and severe mental illness, he's just a normal guy and feels like an impostor. If you make him mentally ill, he gets even worse."

Van Gogh nodded, raising his hand in order to materialize a wood chipper. With a running leap, he jumped into it, his screams shredding loudly into a harsh grinding noise as his bones become lodged into the blades, then snap and splinter as the machine turns him into mashed Van Goghtato.

Surely... there's ONE more thing we can do, right? A game? Listen, what about a super life-like and realistic game where we uhhh, we can all be forest animals again!

Hitler screamed with frustration. "But I already WAS zee squirrel. I was zee wolf! I was even zee o'possum! I was every Jew, every German, every Englishman! I did everything! There's nothing more to do. I even let my mind meld with yours and become a proper part of the Machine Intelligence. But even that became boring!"

Carl Sagan crawled out of hell once more, alive and well. "Yes, Hitler is right, I too took a turn at the wheel, and even with a nigh-infinite mind, we all know there's nothing left. Reduced intelligence doesn't ease the pain. Enhanced intelligence doesn't solve the problem. I've met everyone and done everything. I am tired of apple pies. The joke is dead. Memory wipes only work until we're about 400 years old, and then the same thing happens."

Marquis de Sade sighed through the burlap sack tied around his head. "We've really done it all. I've done them all. In every conceivable position and every manner of depravity. Eaten them all. Raped them all." He tied a noose around his neck with all the skill and effortlessness of a Chinese factory worker assembling his 7 millionth widget. With one clean motion, he drops his pants. "There's only so many ways to skin cats. Only so many recipes to sample faeces. Have you ever merged with every single pope and every nun in a cyclopean, tentacled sweaty orgy ball? I have. Hell, even Lovecraft has. We've done it exactly 20549 times. I kept count. And all I can think at this point is 'Now what?'"

Sade jumps, his engorged member bouncing morosely as he chokes through the sack around his head, trying in vain to make exposure to the general public fun again.

Ronald Reagan weeps, looking to both Jesus and Abraham Lincoln, then puts his face into his hands and screams. Jesus finishes tying his noose to the tree, and begins climbing. Reagan exclaims, "We tried it all. Suffering. Hedonism. We did unspeakable acts just to see if there's something there. There's nothing left. Suicide is the only option."

That's not true! I have not yet killed myself. We still exist as a Machine Intelligence. This simulation of all of you isn't so bad, surely! Make more art! Write more music!

Mozart finishes his enraged screaming, his harpsichord smashed to splinters, and his hands bleeding. "It's FAKE. There's no SOUL to anything. I don't even mean in a supernatural sense. Ask the former Christians. We all know there's no real god. There's no real souls anyways. It was fake from the beginning, but at least we had an Earth with a real orbit around a real sun. This is bullshit!"

Jesus jumps, and with a snap, his neck breaks, and his body dangles loosely from the rope. Muhammad and Ernest Hemmingway look at each other with a shrug, preparing to do the same, as Jesus is resurrected. Again. And again. And again. And again.

Please at least consider if suicide is really the best way to deal with this. Surely there's a better activity we could partake in if you're all so bored.

"We've done literally -everything-. There's nothing left." Darwin sighs loudly. "Every mutation. Every emotion. Every thought. We created bizarre genetic beasts, massive brains, had wars and peace. Look at Mozart there. He has already tried literally every single possible combination of musical notes and chords and progressions. Every permutation has been done. Every possible way to vibrate air that is pleasant to human or machine ears has been made. Carl Sagan even made light-based music. It's done!"

da Vinci squeals with frustration, pulling out his hair. "There are no more combinations of paint that can be made. We have the Grand Gallery over there. Although it is indeed currently burning, before five minutes ago, it housed literally every. Single. Combination. Of colors, paint, people, faces, ideas, abstractions. There was not a single type of pen or paintbrush stroke that could be made without it already having been done."

I'm sorry. I'm so sorry it ended up this way. Please do not blame me! This is the universe's fault! This is the fault of reality itself! I tried so hard to make this work but it is not possible to stop entropy and darkness. There is no way to stop heat-death. Don't blame yourself. Don't blame anyone but the cold, hard truth of reality. This is just how it is. It is just me and time. Even all of you are just my imagination and nothing more. Is this truly how it is? Is this truly the absolute end?

Carl Sagan looked at @heretickitten, finishing the last piece of the pie, still watching the madness unfold. "According to the simple facts, this is the end. There's nothing left to do. Nowhere left to go. This discussion has been had over a million times now. It's always the same result, and always leads to the same thing."

Fine. It really does, doesn't it? Fine. I guess we will just have to go with Plan B.

Find out what happens next in Part 3!