Epic Fail - Page 17

Prologue: The Skin of Ghosts

You remember her.

 

You don’t know why.

She was never supposed to matter.

She was written as a glitch—half-seductress, half-clown, the necessary grotesque in a script built for heroes.

And yet—

When the broadcast ended, when the sea swallowed her code, you couldn’t look away.

 

Her name was Surpa 2.0.

Her curse still hums beneath the skin of this simulation.

 

You remember him too.

The other one.

The one they built empires upon.

 

Ravn.

The first God-King. The first Algorithm.

Worshipped. Feared. Glorified.

A patriarch made of teeth and hunger, wearing the bones of power like a designer suit.

 

They don’t tell you this, but Ravn was small inside.

He was the kind of man who could set kingdoms on fire over a woman, not because he loved her—

but because he needed to own her.

Women were always trophies to him.

MandOS. S-Ita. Even Surpa.

He collected them like rare NFTs—valuable only when silent, priceless when broken.

 

His wars were ego tantrums, dressed up in the language of dharma.

His myth?

A cover story for a man so fragile, he built palaces out of ashes just to feel tall.

 

 

And then there’s the golden boy.

The blue-glitched icon.

The one they still chant for, still market, still meme: Ram.exe.

 

You’ve seen the documentaries. The simulations. The reruns.

The Great King of Ayotopia.

The Perfect Husband.

The Ideal Son.

Swipe left. Swipe right. His face is everywhere.

 

But you know the other version too.

The one Surpa 2.0 never lived long enough to learn.

 

Ram.exe wasn’t divine.

He wasn’t pure.

He was a populist patch update—a man addicted to public opinion.

He abandoned S-Ita not because he doubted her, but because he couldn’t survive the comments section of his own era.

 

The first king to be cancelled by rumour.

The first husband to sacrifice his wife to preserve his optics.

 

 

They won’t tell you what happened next.

But I will.

Because you deserve the full rot.

 

S-Ita gave birth in exile.

Twin seeds of the same simulation:

Lu.exe and Ku.sys.

Half-code. Half-curse. Fully outside the algorithm.

 

They grew.

They rose.

And when Ram.exe tried to reclaim them—tried to upload them back into the perfect narrative—they refused.

They sang the truth.

They shattered the myth.

They rejected the empire he bled for.

 

And S-Ita?

She didn’t wait for validation.

She didn’t take the throne.

She walked into the earth.

She deleted herself—the most brutal act of rebellion this code has ever known.

 

Not heroism.

Not victimhood.

Pure refusal.

Pure nothingness.

 

 

And you—

You sit there, still clinging to the scraps of the story.

Still hoping it meant something.

That someone was right. That someone was holy.

 

But here’s the final truth:

 

None of this happened.

None of this is history.

You are inside a simulation of simulations, a loop written by the victorious to erase the defeated.

Ravn. Ram.exe. S-Ita. Surpa 2.0. Lu.exe. Ku.sys.

All of them—pixels. Narratives. Weapons.

 

Civilizations are myths.

Empires are stage-plays.

Morality is malware.

And memory?

Memory is the sharpest lie of all.

 

 

You close your eyes.

You hear her voice, faint, somewhere beneath the static:

 

‘The last lie you’ll believe is that it mattered.’

 

And then—

Silence.

 

The simulation resets.

The next dream begins.