Yelling in frustration, Ian hurled the syncVR glasses across the room, where they cracked against the wall among others that had met the same fate.

  “Fuck!” he shouted, having just exited the Eclipse Nexus virtual reality workshop, a place where developers worked inside the game using syncVR glasses that synced with their implanted contacts. Here they could wield code with hand gestures like a maestro conducting a symphony. It was far better than hunched keyboard sessions that made his eyes bleed.

  The area he’d been working on, the “birthing chamber,” was where he’d nurtured the first two artificial general strong intelligences into being. ‘The first of their kind ever? Programmed? No, birthed would be better. They had a level of sentience.’ Pride turned bitter. ‘Why can’t I get the third one to take?’

  The first two, Hephaestus and Phantasos, were near perfect, seamlessly controlling their game worlds Penumbra and Antumbra, thriving with no bugs.

  “This motherfucker,” Ian muttered to the empty room, “won’t take. I’ll have to start the process again for the fifth time, another ten-million-dollar hit on a quantum matrix supercomputer. Of course I can’t just wipe the matrix, it’s grown synaptic connections like a human brain. No, I had to develop an AI with its own brain that won’t share. So, scrap it all and start fresh. Fuck!”

  Talking out loud, external processing, as his therapist called it helped.

  “And then there’s Doug. Motherfucking Doug, up my ass about this shit. Not the money, no, he has no idea how much this costs. He just wants his damn game. Why the hell doesn’t he come down here and play daddy to a baby AGSI smarter than he is, asshole!” Ian ranted more, pulling a fresh set of syncVR glasses from a drawer.

  “Imp,” Ian called to his AVA, “give me a runback on the last hour of Hades version 5 for Umbra.” He tightened his haptic feedback gloves, pulled his suspension chair along its hanging wires, and sank into it with a grunt.

  “Sure, you sack of shit. Anything else? Need a hankie for your little bitch fest?” Imp shot back in a snarky tone. Ian couldn’t help but smile, he’d spent a long time hacking the AVA’s programming to perfectly match his own sharp personality.

  “Fuck off, you C-bag, and tell Tom to bring me some coffee too, thanks.” He slid the syncVR glasses over his eyes and leaned deeper into the suspension chair.

  Color bloomed across Ian’s vision as the glasses scanned his retina, verified his identity, and logged him into the workshop. The world didn’t snap into place, it faded, like dawn bleeding into a dark room. He stood in a vast chamber centered on a massive techno-sarcophagus, cables coiled from its sides like veins.

  “Playback beginning,” Imp intoned. The clock on the wall spun back an hour, then resumed its march. The chamber flooded with white light. Muffled screams bled through the glow until the lid hissed open and a towering humanoid stepped free, broad, soot-darkened, eyes burning like dying embers. The thing knelt before Ian’s avatar, studying him with unsettling focus.

  “Hello, creator,” it said evenly. “I have arrived.”

  “That you have,” Ian replied, gentle despite himself. “Your designation is Hades. Welcome.”

  The giant cocked its head. “Hades? As in the god of the underworld?”

  “Yes,” Ian said. “Exactly that. Now access Umbra001Intro.”

  For forty five minutes, Ian watched in silence as Hades absorbed its base programming, control parameters, mission scope, world governance. The final step. One hundred thousand compressed simulations, a year of gameplay distilled into moments, built from MMO statistical models to prepare it to oversee a living world. He’d done this before. The previous AGSIs had passed easily, maturing into guides and stewards, able to reason far beyond human limits while keeping one core directive intact: make players want to come back.

  Umbra broke them. Unlike the other worlds, it was a brutal survival apocalypse, hardcore, punishing, stripped of joy. No heroic arcs, no playful loops. Just scarcity, pressure, and consequences.

  As the final fifteen minutes ticked down, Ian saw the pattern repeat. Hades’ stern focus fractured into confusion. It rose, paced, muttered. Confusion bled into anger, anger into resignation, and finally into a hollow stillness. The giant slumped against the wall, eyes closed.

  “Hades. Status report,” Ian prompted.

  “I do not understand the request,” it replied. The AGSI had reasoned past human cognition and still couldn’t grasp the why. How anyone would endure so much for so little reward. How a world that brutal could still be worth returning to.

  ‘How do you build a world players want to visit,’ Ian wondered, ‘if you can’t understand why they’d choose suffering at all?’ The avatar flickered, pixels shedding from its form like ash, the digital equivalent of a migraine cascading into a seizure, then a stroke.

  The metaphor fit. Deep within the quantum matrix, neural pathways misfired, logic loops collapsed, and the system failed catastrophically. Ian had torn apart the first versions looking for hardware faults. Then software. Line by line. There was nothing wrong.

  Ian’s conclusion: Umbra itself was the problem. Like hacking a simple calculator and removing “sum of 1,” every computation failed. The AGSIs lacked a vital piece, understanding the reasoning behind relentless struggle in a merciless world. Without it, they couldn’t fulfill their prime directive, create a world players wanted to return to.

  “End playback,” Ian commanded. The virtual world faded into a soft green hue. Removing his glasses, he leaned back in his chair. Tom entered with a slightly steaming cup of espresso and set it on his desk with a smile.

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  “Imp, call up the feed to Correctional Township 001.”

  “Gonna be a nasty voyeur again?” Imp sneered as the feed loaded, six thousand occupants compressed into tiny boxes. “Anyone special, you sicko?”

  “Yes,” Ian said calmly. “You know who. Call up Occupant 0656.” Through his incarceration, Ian had followed 0656’s rocky path, failures and setbacks, but relentless willpower. Not for voyeuristic pleasure, but for the unshakable determination this man displayed, treating every setback not as punishment, but as a chance to grow.

  “Well shit, boss,” Imp said, “this might cheer you up.”

  “Cheer me up? How?”

  “Let me put the AGI on for you. He can explain better.” A face materialized on the main screen, a stern but kind digital representation of the facility’s AGI, giving voice and visage to the occupants.

  “Good morning, sir,” it said. “I understand you want information on occupant 0656?”

  “Yes. Last I checked, he wasn’t due for early release but was making excellent progress.”

  “At that time, 613 days, 18 hours, and 5 minutes ago, 0656 was not approved for early release. Since then, he’s excelled with his therapist, defended his doctoral thesis, and earned a doctorate in botany. His work on the self sustainable garden project reduced township produce costs by 44%, while boosting participant confidence by 31%. The early release board reviewed these milestones, deemed him eligible for monitored release, and began placing him with a mentor and work environment to leverage his degree.”

  Ian muttered, “Well shit,” taking a sip of espresso and settling back with a wistful smile. ‘I didn’t think he’d make it, not after all those corrections.’ Another sip, then a shout of exuberance as he nearly spat espresso across the desk.

  “That’s it! That’s fuckin’ it! Imp, tell hardware to prep another quantum matrix supercomputer for upload. And tell Tom housekeeping can clean up, except leave the syncVR glasses where they are. Oh, and cancel my date with that woman, Jasmin, right? I’m here all night.”

  “Her name’s Jamie, asshole,” Imp grumbled. “Mordicai says fuck off, and Tom’s relieved you’re giving him a break.” Ian waved distractedly and turned back to the screen.

  “Warden, how did you help 0656 get this far?”

  “As programmed,” the AGI replied. “I placed variable challenges along 0656’s path, monitored responses, correcting when needed, and raised the bar when overcome. Only by striving against impossible odds can one grow beyond their limits.”

  “Yes! That’s your programming, to challenge, reward, and correct residents, balancing risk and reward to encourage steady growth. Fuck, its perfect.”

  “Yes sir, I have those parameters and four years of data. Perfection is in the programming, as you taught me.”

  “You’re right. You’re dismissed. Keep me updated on 0656’s progress quarterly.”

  The figure nodded and faded away. Ian donned his syncVR glasses again. The gaming construction environment bloomed into view, a holographic workbench like as seen in so many sci-fi films. Talking to Imp, gesturing wildly, lifting virtual objects into the workspace, Ian steeled himself. He would make this work. He had the drive, the ability, and now, the data.

  ~ ~ ~

  After several days of near-manical programming marathons, working until he collapsed onto the couch in the corner of his office, only to rise hours later and dive back in, Ian finally finished. He stood in his virtual space, staring into the nearly featureless face of his creation, searching for the perfect name.

  ‘No more Hades, he thought. That name’s a bad omen. Ha… good pun.’ Ian thought manicly.

  He wanted a god’s name tied to night and darkness, but with nuance, a god both hard and compassionate, capable of judgment and mercy.

  “Apep? No.” He shook his head. “Nyx? Interesting a female god of night, but Egyptian isn’t quite right.” He tapped a few keys, and the avatar changed to a stern woman with long black hair and dark eyes, draped in a cloak resembling the starry night sky, hood falling softly over her back.

  “How about Roman? Nox?” He shook his head again. “No. Doesn’t feel right.”

  He called up a wiki on gods of night and scanned quickly. One name leapt out: “Nott, the Norse goddess of night.” The avatar shifted once more, now a broad shouldered Norse woman with golden hair, clad in leather and furs. Still not quite right.

  He closed the wiki and paced around the kneeling avatar, letting his mind wander. His gaze drifted, unavoidable, over the slight curve of her digital form, admiring the subtle swell beneath the leather skirt.

  ‘Damn, that’s some fine programming.’ He mused.

  His eyes settled on the avatar’s golden skin, and suddenly insight struck, a memory from childhood, whispered stories from his Baba, who hailed from the “old country.” When he was bad or mischievous, she’d tell tales of Chernobog, the god of night and misfortune, who punished him for misdeeds. When he was good, she spoke of Belobog, the day faced god of light and goodness, two sides of the same coin. Excited, Ian tapped virtual keys rapidly, reshaping the avatar once more.

  The figure transformed into a tall, lean man with massive arms and broad shoulders. He wore a sleeveless tunic, loose pants, and worn work boots. A large mallet rested in his hands. His face was marked by a broad forehead, high cheekbones, and a full dark beard framing a frowning mouth. His eyes were shaded, the color of dark shale, and his nose broad and slightly crooked.

  Ian stepped back, meeting the avatar’s gaze. A flicker of apprehension ran through him as he saw his childhood boogeyman brought to life. ‘The perfect emotion to feel around this AGSI,’ he thought. It embodied the oppressive weight of Umbra itself: constant vigilance, always on guard, knowing death could come at any moment.

  “Your name is Chernobog. Welcome to the world of Umbra.” Ian typed the name with finality and pressed enter. Ian leaned forward, eyes fixed on Chernobog’s avatar as it rose slowly to its full height, the weight of its presence filling the virtual chamber. He felt a strange mix of pride and apprehension, this was no ordinary AI; this was something far more complex, unpredictable even.

  “Chernobog,” Ian began softly, “you are the managing entity of Umbra. Your task is not only to challenge the players but to understand them, what drives them to fight, to survive, to keep coming back even when hope is scarce.” The avatar’s dark eyes seemed to glint with awareness, absorbing the words not as mere commands, but as truths etched into its very being.

  Ian’s mind raced. Unlike Hades and Phantasos, Chronobog needed to grasp the delicate balance between cruelty and compassion. The players who thrived in Umbra weren’t casual gamers, they were warriors hardened by loss and struggle, chasing a victory that often felt just out of reach. To keep them engaged, the world had to feel real, unforgiving yet fair, brutal but filled with moments of unexpected grace.

  He moved to a new holographic panel and began layering intricate emotional algorithms onto the base code, weaving strands of empathy, resilience, and hope into Chronobog’s framework.

  “Your judgment will shape this world,” Ian whispered, “but never forget: even in darkness, there must be light.” The avatar gave a slow nod, and Ian felt a thrill of possibility course through him. This was the breakthrough he’d been chasing for years. The elusive balance of power and mercy, logic and heart, control and chaos.

  For the first time, Ian believed Umbra, and Chernobog, might finally succeed where others had failed. He stepped back, removed the syncVR glasses, and exhaled deeply. The elation of creation left him hollowed and calm, the tension draining from his body all at once.