The Bridge was brighter than usual, scattered lights all over. And that meant I could not miscalculate. Not even by an attosecond. But I liked the challenge. Was why I had trained to become a Class A+ bridger. Well, that, and doing what I thought God wanted me to do.

Being a Class A+ bridger meant I carried a genetic mutation brought about by the long extinct mineral from which Eugenex was derived that allowed me to virtualize my own body instead of relying on a downloadable copy of my genetic code, that I could drift faster than any firewall and hover quicker than any antivirus, and that snow spears always slashed my soul whenever I felt so at ease in the purgatory of scorching ice that was the Bridge. Felt as if you submerged yourself in liquid nitrogen. Swam in space without a spacesuit. Temperature so cold that it charred your skin. Seared it every time. Scarred me even, though I had come to expect it by now. So nocturnal that not even the lights that danced on the horizon enhanced my sight. Couldn’t even see my hand. And even then, the light bursts of people’s virtual copies entering or leaving the virtual world flashed faster than sailfish, so I had to be on my senses to notice them, or if that failed, hear them, because that was my only compass.

Sound, the sound of those voices vibrating in my ears. Until they went noiseless. And you went mad from silence. Or returned to the real world. If you could make it in time, that was.

Because in the Bridge, you did not have the blessing of dying. Only the threat of getting trapped if a glitch occurred. The threat of a fate worse than death. The threat of forever living as a data packet, not dead, though not alive either. A lifeless entity inside the network that connected the real world to VirtuaNet, a popular online world of sorts where you could attain whatever you lacked in real life, and live a life as real as life itself, except better in the eyes of the world, free from pain, suffering.

As long as you paid the fees, of course.

But they had a free version available, for Naturals and Impures, and even Esneas who couldn’t afford the paid upgrades. Anyone who wished to waste their lives in a virtual world while the real one waned into nothingness.

But I couldn’t be too mad at them, though. And it wasn’t really their fault. Or of Lezavre Corporation, the company that founded and maintained VirtuaNet. It was the Harmonists’ doing. They had a tendency to hack into Lezavre’s systems and increase the frequency of the glitches that trapped people. But as callous as it seemed, they kept me employed.

That was my job. Bridging. Saving people from getting trapped in the Bridge. Enhanceds mostly. The rich ones. Was what kept my family safe. With food. Clean water. Decent housing. Electricity. Everything they needed to live a dignified life. My family, and the tens of thousands of Naturals who lived in the districts, bridger districts. The Autonomous Cities the Non-Enhanced Defense Act had brought about, each administered by a bridger. Each an island of bright prosperity and peaceful living in a sea of lightless misery and violent apathy.

So I guessed the bridger gene was God’s blessing, even if sometimes it ripped your soul and lacerated your heart. Robbed you of peace. When you failed to save someone. When due to your misdirection, your miscalculation, someone ended up merged with the Bridge. Forever turned into a data packet. Was like biting into a raw potato, unwashed and unpeeled. Tasted like dirt. That’s what the Bridge felt like at times, as if you chewed on ground ice flames.

Especially because Aisha Lexington and I didn’t end up in speaking terms after signing the Non-Enhanced Defense Act. And neither did the National Bridger Association and I. My fault, really. But I still hoped Aisha would speak to me again.

I trusted her.

I hovered through the Bridge, dodging the lights of people moving, so I did not stop their transport, and kept track of the time in my head. Thirty seconds had passed. Thirty-one seconds. Thirty-two seconds. Thirty-three. That was the only way of surviving in the Bridge. Becoming a human chronometer. All bridgers were. Because if not, your body would merge with the Bridge in five minutes, and you’d end up trapped forever as a data packet. The same thing happened in VirtuaNet, but it took much longer. Millennia. In the Bridge, just five minutes. So you couldn’t just save someone at the four minute fifty-nine second mark and then escape. Because you had to factor into account the time it took you to return to your entrance, which then became your exit. Or until you found a new exit route. Unless someone used a network device, which created an automatic exit passage wherever you were, right into the user’s smartwatch. But that almost never happened.

Still, though, being a bridger had its advantages. The best one being that glitches could not affect you. Glitches could not trap you. Only your sloth. Or zealousness. But I wasn’t going to lose my eternity in Heaven with the Lord, in eternal bliss, for an Enhanced.

Or at least that’s what I told myself to pretend I didn’t care that much about the Enhanceds, but I knew I’d have risked merging with the Bridge to save anyone, even avaricious Enhanceds who had ordered Naturals killed for dirtying their clothes.

Sure, on the outside it was because I could charge for insane amounts of money to help the poor, or for their support in reforming the Non-Enhanced Defense Act, so every Natural could be free, but deep down, I guessed I didn’t want them to be abandoned. To be forsook as nothing. That’s why I tried to save everyone who requested my services. Even those vile beings who massacred innocents deserved a second chance. That’s why I thought bridging was honorable.

But then again, I saw how things worked in the real world, and remembered what my brother had always told me. Before the Harmonists robbed him from me. That I was too naïve for my own good.

One minute forty-seconds had passed. One minute forty-one seconds. One minute forty-two. One minute forty-three. And still no sight of the trapped Enhanced. Ivore, member of the Fengel class, though not a particularly valued one, as he was not specialized. Regular Fenglas comprised most middle management positions in private and public affairs, ran successful consulting companies, and took care of the country’s administrative functions, with builds that ranged from lean to athletic, never fat, and IQs averaging 140 points, but in the eyes of the highest class, regular Fenglas would just be their mediocre pawns, unable to fulfill the highly-regarded duties the specialized Fenglas carried out.

I hovered ahead but turned left to dodge something, something that shot ice blades through my nerves, an antivirus. Because it wasn’t enough that you had to risk your eternal salvation every time you saved someone trapped. You also had to deal with antivirus that clawed at you and slowed you down, since the Bridge thought of all bridgers as viruses that tried to hack the system. And in the Bridge, an eighth of a second could have been the difference between life and dead, rather … real life and virtual life. That’d have been more accurate. And I’d have rather had real life. Any time.

But the worst part was the firewalls. Sleet gashed my veins when I thought about them. They could appear anywhere. And if one caught you, you had to pray for a miracle to be able to escape its pressure.

Sometimes I thought if perhaps it was better to be outside, working as a street cleaner. Hungry, thirsty, but esteemed among friends, with knowledge that you wouldn’t be forsook, eternally virtualized. But I didn’t like depending on others, so I always ended up returning to the Bridge, where I felt at ease, even more than in the real world. Still, blades of ice lacerated me whenever I thought of that.

Two minutes ten seconds. Two minutes eleven seconds. Two minutes thirteen seconds. And still no sight or noise of Ivore. I usually stopped searching at the three-minute thirty seconds mark. And always at four. Because of the consequences of being in the Bridge for too long. Because if I made a single exception, then my soul would have forced me to make exceptions for everyone. And I would not anguish my family like that.

I thought about turning and leaving. Before my mark. The first time I ever had. Forsaking him would’ve just deducted a point, and I’d still have been Class A+. Wouldn’t have affected my ranking at all. And an ice blade sleeted my veins, because I saw myself returning to the real world, but gravity tightened my chest when I thought that. Must have been just a fleeting thought. Because I knew better. Because people weren’t mere points. They were human beings. Created with dignity. Who deserved dignity. Not being treated as something worth less than a pet. Because not even they were forgotten so easily.

And then again, if I fled, if I forsook Ivore, I’d have died. Not physically. But spiritually. Which squirmed my soul more than mortal death. Until I felt I had none. Which had blasted my lungs as shoals against a coral reef. To the point I could not breathe. And I remembered the wails. I would not live through that again.

So I remained in the Bridge, about to save Ivore, even if I was saving the Naturals’ oppressors. Though calling the Fenglas oppressors was a stretch. It was more the Achroites, the highest class. The masters of the world. The young men, all tall and athletic. The old men, all stately and princely. The young women, all with perfect curves and lustrous skin. The older women, all regal and with skin as smooth as that of their younger peers. All CEOs and tycoons of business and finance with IQs well over 170 and an emotional intelligence so high that they controlled the President and his cabinet as puppeteers, and had deluded the lower classes into thinking they were better than them, but that they had their best interests at heart and that, given the appropriate inputs, the lower classes could one day aspire to afford Achroite Eugenex, and become a deity in human form as well. And yet, those superhuman Achroites were the ones I had to rescue the most. Or at least I used to, before the ratification of the Non-Enhanced Defense Act.

Two minutes fifty-one seconds had passed. Two minutes fifty-two. Two minutes fifty-three. I drifted ahead, and then I heard something—a voice, a human voice. I raced toward it, as if racing for the crown that didn’t rot. But I shouldn’t have. I had made a mistake. First time in two years. Guessed my mind was still in the wails of Wexford. I hadn’t heard Ivore. But something else. Something that paled in comparison to a horde of antiviruses. Something that pulsed a blizzard through my blood.

A firewall.

And I had hovered right into it.

Hi, my fellow bridgers! Thank you so much for reading The Last God. It means a lot to me that you took time to read my story. Being able to share this story with others has been an amazing experience.

I will appreciate your comments and reviews because my work is intended for you. I invite you to share this experience in social media through the links below. Every single review or share matters.

Thanks again for reading. May God bless you. Have a great day!