The Game Called Destiny

After an all-out war spiraled out of control, the apocalypse left Earth in ruins — a desolate, barren, and lethal wasteland. Faced with the threat of extinction, humanity dismantled every weapon, large and small — the instruments that had nearly wiped out all life. Everyone, including newborns delivered in underground shelters, were grafted with artificial skin to shield them from radiation. They were also fitted with visors that immersed them in a meticulously designed virtual world of the early twenty-first century — hailed as humanity’s golden era. This illusion of a pleasant and naturally abundant past shielded them from the harsh, hostile reality. From the moment of birth, this fabricated normalcy became their refuge. They called this living a game… a game called Destiny.

In this simulated world, players competed daily — whether material wealth or intellectual prowess — driven by the ingrained belief that winning was their purpose. The few who were judged to be successful or had reached their maximum allowed lifespan of 150 years were honored with a final transition ceremony.

As one chosen for the ceremony, Prof. Parth received the congratulatory message on his visor. Not even the flawless results from his checkup or his groundbreaking achievements — including an unprecedented three Nobels — could exempt him from this final transition.

His visor and skin would be dismantled and body recycled for its organs and valuable organic matter.

A knot tightened in his stomach, accompanied by a surge of anxiety. Was he supposed to feel excitement, as society expected of those chosen for this honor? Unlike most others, his transition would be marked by a grand ceremony, attended by society’s elite and celebrated by all. Yet, he wondered if he would have felt better if his end had happened earlier naturally, or even voluntarily.

He reassured himself that his existence would persist beyond the event. After all, he was one of the most successful players of Destiny, a pioneer in science that unraveled how the mind shapes matter and transcends the physical.

Still, he couldn’t help but clutch the cross hanging at his chest.

Around the same time, ceremonies were held for two other top players who had reached the maximum lifespan, as well as for a promising teacher whose years of service were unexpectedly cut short.

******

“I have the players assembled after their ceremony, Guide,” said Maya, the Gatherer.

Guide leaned forward, peeking over the group in the Grand Hall. The routine was wearing. Assembling the players, only to send them back for lack of progress, felt both endless and thankless. Despite the instructions, they always forgot what they were playing for, slipping back into the same old habits that kept them trapped.

Then, Guide’s eyes lit up on spotting one of them.

“Finally,” he said, a smile breaking. “We may have a winner. Thank God!”

******

Prof. Parth awoke to unexpected circumstances after a rare, deep, and unusually long sleep. He found himself in a large, spherical Grand Hall bathed in color, with his favorite artwork, the Sistine Chapel, beautifully rendered on the ceiling and mellow lights shimmering along the walls.

He found it effortless to sit up, as he felt lighter. His bed shifted into a seated position after a brief delay, adjusting to his posture. He propelled himself freely by pushing off his seat and floated. He was surprised to find himself in space.

Next to him were three other beds, their occupants beginning to stir. He recognized the brilliant inventor and the richest man, Husk Leone, and the famous media mogul, Buzz Albos. The other occupant was Heather Stines, a schoolteacher recognized for her dedication to children’s education.

Before Prof. Parth soaked in the scene, soothing music filled the air. Everyone woke fully to find themselves in a stunning, luxurious hall that was enchanting beyond imagination.

“Whoever built this is a freaking genius,” Husk remarked, his voice tinged with awe. The inventor who had revolutionized space travel, opening it for tourism, mining, and colonies, was visibly impressed. “This is way beyond anything I’ve ever designed in terms of scale, aesthetics, and engineering,” he admitted.

Heather was surprised to be included among the elite superachievers. She greeted the others and began floating around the room with cheer and curiosity. She was simply happy.

“What is she doing here among us?” Buzz muttered to Husk. “This should be among the three of us, achievers,” implying Prof. Parth. “This obsession with giving everyone a fair go is bloody outdated, isn’t it?”

Husk barely acknowledged him, too absorbed in studying their surroundings. “Look at the view of space — windows in all directions, yet no solar panels or antennas obstruct it. The walls themselves — have you ever seen such engineering? This ambiance? It’s beyond anything ever built for space!”

Their awe was interrupted.

“ Hello, I am Maya, your host and gatherer,” came a pleasant-sounding voice. “Welcome to this space station. We hope your stay here will be productive in deciding your next move. I will be here to assist you.”

As Maya spoke, the room began to transform, morphing to the interests of each occupant.

A serene forest unfolded for Heather, reflecting her love of nature walks.

An exquisite gallery of paintings materialized for Prof. Parth.

Husk found himself immersed in his favorite game from Destiny — one about space warfare. Here in the space station, he wielded superhuman dexterity, thoroughly enjoying himself.

Buzz was seated in the front row of an arena, watching his favorite wrestling match. Buzz’s thrill surged as the contest was gladiatorial that opened the door for a deadly finish. He stomped his feet in excitement that floated him towards the ceiling.

Before they settled into the wonder of these tailored experiences, the Hall shifted again. Openings appeared in front of each of them, glowing softly and beckoning them forward.

Prof. Parth stepped into a vast, breathtaking library. As he entered, the lights brightened, illuminating rows of towering shelves brimming with books, scrolls, and interactive displays. The walls were adorned with portraits of the greatest thinkers, philosophers, and scientists he admired.

But what pleasantly surprised him was a series of panels showcasing his own groundbreaking work in quantum biology. His pioneering theories on the causality explaining epigenetics were placed alongside the leading scientists in history.

He floated closer to displays, mesmerized, to explore. The room inspired him with new theories. He began formulating innovative ideas in a creative flow.

Surrounded by this homage to his intellectual greatness, he felt assured of his superiority. Surely, he thought, no one here matched the depth of his intellect.

Husk Leone was drawn into a sleek, high-tech, cavernous room that hummed with energy. There were holographic models of his inventions floating.

He stared at the timeline of his inventions: his space tourism pod and the mining colonies that had transformed humanity’s reach into the universe.

But his awe quickly shifted to curiosity when the room morphed to become an interactive play area where he could shape his ideas. His mind exploded with materials, designs, energy sources, and ways to integrate them into another technological leap.

Husk grinned, his heart pounding for a future he could craft. Electrified, he was confident that with this knowledge, he could surpass even his own past achievements.

Buzz Albos found his way into a room that showcased a vivid display of his past, starting with his humble beginnings as a journalist. The room chronicled his knack for identifying emerging stories, the acquisition of his first publication, and eventually his dominance over modern media as the ultimate oligarch of information.

He floated through the room, relishing the power to shape governments, influence businesses, sway public trust and engineer wars. He was gleeful when he saw how he could control narratives that focused everyone on destroying, oblivious to the fact that they were gradually ending up in a destroyed place themselves.

Always wanting to win, he thought, “I made Husk successful with my influence and financing. That makes me superior to him. Prof. Parth, though, is the real competition. I need to find a way to pull him down.”

As Heather Stines entered, she saw herself happy in her childhood with her brother and mother. They shared modest meals filled with laughter, their love outweighing the scarcity of circumstances.

She then relived the pain of her brother's premature death. That loss imprinted on her how short and unpredictable life could be.

She noted satisfactorily the grit to stick through challenges and then take up a teacher's profession, to not merely instruct, but to inspire. Students’ faces flashed before her, their voices echoing with gratitude for the woman who had seen their potential and nurtured it. She relived her contributions along with heightened empathy for how she impacted others.

Her game was not marked by grand inventions or sweeping power, but by an unshakable resolve to make every life she touched better, including her own.

When their explorations ended, the players found an opening that led back in impossible loops to the Grand Hall where they had woken up a short while ago. With an undercurrent of superiority inherent in competing players, they floated back, their expressions ranging from awe and determination to contentment.

“I’m not done improving space travel. I want to build something like this station,” remarked Husk loudly, with conviction and enthusiasm. “I’m the best to advance humanity’s reach into the universe.”

“How good is it compared to mind control?” responded Prof. Parth. “As the most awarded scientist, I can advance quantum biology to make mind control possible. That will advance human capability beyond space travel.”

Buzz spoke with authority: “I’ve had the power to topple governments, reshape industries, and bend public opinion to my will. And I was the one to secure support for your projects. I can get things done more than either of you.”

With a sly smile, he added, “Incidentally, I have the papers of scientists who have debunked the professor’s work.”

Before the conversation could spiral into an argument, Heather raised her voice, “Gentlemen, I have a hunch we’re fighting the wrong fight. Don’t you see that this place is special? The experiences given to us aren’t to measure each other but are leading us to introspect about ourselves.”

Buzz scoffed, “Ha, spoken like one without much to show. Do you know what wielding power is, and changing the world? We’re here to win, to rise higher in the game. I intend to bloody well be the one who does.”

Heather responded unfazed, “What is the goalpost, Buzz? Is winning a purpose in itself? Shouldn’t it lead to fulfillment with the result? I wish that in whatever role we play, we become happy, by being more human, defined not solely by accomplishments, but also by freedom from wanton desires, conflict and regret.”

The room fell silent as her audience of the most accomplished and ambitious men could barely grasp the depth of her words.

Maya returned to interrupt the pause.

“ Well, folks, after recalling your past achievements, it looks as if you need another ride to decide on your next move.”

“Can you tell us when you are going to choose the winner?” asked Buzz impatiently.

“Before that,” interjected Prof. Parth. “I haven’t been able to piece together where we are or how we got here. My fellow players, I imagine, are just as lost.”

“You are in between cycles of existence; what you call games in Destiny,” Maya said. “The game you played was influenced by your past choices and shaped your reality. This is a place for reflection and choice — to see yourself and to choose your next role.

“And I brought you here when your last game ended.”

“Can we choose whatever we want to be?” asked Husk.

“Yes, to an extent,” Maya answered. “Based on your accomplishments and what you owe others. You will understand how that works soon.”

Heather spoke next. “I like it so much here. I’ve never experienced this much peace and joy, and the ambiance and calmness of this place is exceptional. Can we just stay here?”

Maya’s voice was gentle. “This is a place for rest and reflection, not dwelling. In any case, you cannot live the same existence for too long.”

Buzz was annoyed. “What about the selection of the winner?” he insisted.

Maya considered his question and said, “Yes, it is about time you found out who wins and how. Guide will be there to… guide you. Hang on folks,” she said, and withdrew.

The Grand Hall plunged into darkness, spinning like a centrifuge. The players flailed desperately, gripping props within reach, but the speed increased relentlessly. One by one, they slipped and let go with a scream, tumbling into winding chutes before being deposited into separate dark rooms. Unlike the hall they had left, these rooms were dimly lit in hues of black and brown, oppressive and unwelcoming, and, as they would discover, like the parts within themselves they did not want to see.

In each room, a replay began.

Prof. Parth was in a cramped, dilapidated shack that was his childhood home. His father lay frail and sick, while his mother worked tirelessly at menial jobs to bring food to the family. His elder brother toiled as a laborer for the family’s survival.

Parth was fortunate however — he excelled in school. While his teachers admired him, his family barely understood his achievements. To them, his education was a lifeline to escape poverty.

When Parth received a scholarship at Oxford, his brother sold what little they owned and borrowed to fly him to college. At their first visit to the airport to see him off, his family wept with pride and hope.

At Oxford, Parth thrived with his brilliance. He fell in love with an English girl and embraced a life far removed from his roots. Ashamed of his past, he cut ties with his family. Years later, when news of his parents’ deaths reached him, he would send some money but never returned.

Now, in this replay, he saw his brother struggling under the weight of debt and his family’s unfulfilled hopes. The burden of their sacrifices hit him with a force from the deep where he had buried them.

Buzz Albosraised his overweight self slowly, his breath uneven. The room around him was sparse and dark, a thin line of light outlining its boundaries. Before him, a holographic scene unfolded of a war-torn city reduced to rubble.

Children wandered the streets, crying for their mothers. Wounded civilians lay helpless among the dead as buildings burned. A younger Buzz appeared, shaking hands with the president, with maps and strategies laid out nearby. He tailored news narratives to suit political goals while providing intel for the next target. He offered avenues of revenge for perceived injustices that led to an uncontrolled war.

As scenes of devastation unfolded, Buzz felt pain inflicted by the wars tear through him. He wanted to shut it off or escape, but he could not find an exit.

“I did this,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “For what?”

His self importance and aggression that led him to war had masked the deep insecurity, fear and poor self-worth that was at his center. He saw this clearly for the first time.

Husk Leonewatched a younger version of himself, brimming with ambition, building his reputation as an inventor. He was on tour, meeting influential investors and other elite influencers.

Then the scene shifted to his house. After a weeklong trip, he opened the door. His poodle, Giggle, was lying on the floor, too weak to stand. She was without water and food. She looked at him and wagged her tail feebly.

For a moment, guilt pricked him. As he scrolled through his messages, he found one he had ignored:

“Can’t make it this week. Please arrange another sitter.”

He stared at the poodle briefly and walked to his room as her eyes followed him. His mind was racing for a solution. He went to his closet to retrieve a Glock. He then shot her. At this stage of his career, there was no time for distractions.

Husk felt the weight of his act drag him down into a pit of ingratitude, betraying the trust and unwavering loyalty Giggle showed him. Dwarfed by the darkness of his actions, his inventions now appeared hollow.

Heather Stineswas teaching the history of the World Wars. She was going over General Patton’s poem:

So as through a glass, and darkly

The age-long strife I see

Where I fought in many guises,

Many names—but always me.

She taught about his leadership as well as his quirkiness in being able to recollect his role in wars fought centuries earlier. She was about to end the class when a high school student entered with a rifle. She could tell this was not a toy but a rare remnant of the weapons purge.

Her instincts took over as she shouted for the students to take cover. Frozen in shock, a student stood at the front of the class, dazed. Heather rushed to shield her, pushing her down as shots rang out. She could not save her, and she was struck herself.

As she fell with wounds, Heather saw the faces of students she had taught. She experienced the pain of the dead student’s terror. Amid the chaos, she also understood the shooter’s anger and the despair that had driven him. It stemmed from the same place, in a world where people forgot how to love, beginning with themselves.

Then the scenes changed to something she had never encountered before. She saw herself as a baby born in a shelter, grafted with artificial skin and a visor. Outside, the Earth was barren, a ghost city, its life snuffed out by a war out of control. The world she thought she knew was an illusion from the visor, a carefully crafted overlay masking the horrors of reality. Sadness engulfed her as she grasped the weight of humanity’s choices.

Her purpose emerged like the Sun, parting the heavy clouds of her pain.

The players reeled from the last experience. Each of them desperately searched for a way out of their darkened rooms. Feeling along the walls, they were led into openings that deposited them back into their chairs in the Grand Hall. They collapsed into their seats, stunned and shaken by the memories they had just experienced.

The lights in the hall turned a calming grayish white, diffusing their tension. As they began to recover, a presence filled the room — a quiet, undeniable force. Sometimes, magnificence does not need to be seen. It can be felt, commanding reverence by its very nature. Instinctively, they all knew that Guide was here. This was going to be a poignant moment for their journeys.

“ I suppose you had a rough ride,” Guide’s voice was soothing and kind, free of judgment. “It was necessary to gain perspective on what your next journey needs to be. Are you ready?”

The depth of the voice and its quiet encouragement moved them. Like willing students, they saw the wisdom in moving forward.

“Heather, what have you decided?”

“I see life on Earth as one of suffering caused by our ambition and ignorance. We keep chasing our wants, but they never bring us lasting happiness. We do not know who we really are and what sustains life. I would like to help people understand this, to free them from suffering. Please help me find a way and make that my purpose.”

After a pause, Guide spoke,“ It is a wise choice. You will rise above the wants that lead to suffering, and you will show the way to others.”

At his words, Heather’s demeanor changed dramatically. Peace and contentment showed on her face. She became lighter, unburdened of emotional baggage, and was able to move at will. She was free of encumbrances that held everyone else. While the other players were bound in an invisible web to their past actions that she could see, she had total freedom to be anywhere and to expand her awareness to any extent.

She saw that her future did not need her to be back in another game of Destiny . At the same time, she knew she could help the players who wanted to come out, like her.

“ Maya,” Guide said, “the special chute for her.”

Heather was able to float gracefully away. She waved to them, her eyes glistening at the parting. She stepped into the soft, mellow white glow of her chute.

Buzz was at first surprised that he wasn’t chosen. He tried to float to Heather’s chute, but he couldn’t move beyond a short distance. He envied Heather’s transformation and freedom. When he looked at the choices that lay before him, he couldn’t get over a shock. He had to undergo pain like his victims; all the choices were severe, varying only in specific circumstances. He turned away from each choice of pain, suffering and poverty in horror. He tried to enter the first room where he saw his last powerful life, but an invisible force held him back.

“Past is behind you, Buzz,” Guide reminded him. “You can only select from the choices ahead of you.”

“NO, NO, NO!” Buzz screamed. “I can’t lead those lives.”

He frantically looked for an opening that was to his liking. There were none.

“There can’t be happiness just for you to the exclusion of others Buzz,” Guide was firm and forceful. “You can’t keep living for fun and power when you have huge debts of pain to undergo. Your choices are to learn the consequences of your past deeds.”

“NO, NO,” Buzz kept screaming.

A chute suddenly opened beneath Buzz’s feet, sucking him away with a WHOOSH to one of his choices. He receded, shouting desperately: “I’m the best…I always was…”

Everyone looked in stunned silence, aghast at his abrupt exit.

“Guide,” Husk mustered a trembling voice after a pause. “I need to correct the cruelty I showed. I want to go back and make amends to all those I hurt.”

“ Hurt others, you ultimately hurt yourself,” Guide said, and with a chuckle added, “That’s Guide’s third law.

“I am glad you have come to value and appreciate others. You shall serve and share in their pain. That is your next assignment.”

Prof. Parth spoke with an earnest voice, “Guide, I want to mend relations with my family. I callously left them to suffer. Will I be able to make it up?”

“ True regret repairs the past and mends you, as well as your relationships.

“Other chutes please,” Guide said, and withdrew from the room.

Husk left in quiet acceptance.

As Prof. Parth was stepping into his chute, he puzzled over the surreal nature of this in-between place. While they could hear each other clearly, they did not even have to open their mouths, as if their thinking did the talking. Where were Heather’s tears of someone with glistening eyes when she parted? Her emotion was real, yet there was nothing physical to show for it. Curious, he pressed a hand to his heart, searching for the steady rhythm. There were none.

He was not breathing either. In fact, this in-between space station had no air.

It stirred a deep realization in him. He chuckled softly. They were not in a game of Destiny. Neither was he headed to the next gameas Prof. Parth. They all had just gone through a post-life reflection… to embark on their next life. Heather was the only one spared the cycle. The winner.

As his chute started glowing, Parth reflected. He had always thought of himself as a man of answers. But for the first time, he realized the greatest mystery wasn’t out there in the stars or atoms. Or, even in the power of the mind. It was within, in the question of his being. Who was he, shorn of his title, accolades, achievements, and even personality? For the first time, he wondered about his very essence that would carry over as he embarked on another journey.

Heather’s words echoed to him: “we do not know who we really are.” This time, he resolved to find the essence — the very source of his existence and life.

THE END

Bio: Pastor Nesbitt is a writer whose speculative fiction explores the intersection of technology, philosophy, and human destiny. With a background in technology, he spent years in the corporate world before stepping away to pursue a deeper quest for meaning through meditation. His writing is shaped by this journey, blending science and introspection to challenge perceptions of reality and existence. After early publications in college newsletters, he took a long hiatus, returning with stories that provoke thought and inspire reflection. Now living like a monk in a retreat, he draws from both ancient wisdom and modern innovation to craft narratives that entertain and illuminate the human experience...

E-mail: Pastor Nesbitt

Comment on this story in the Aphelion Forum

Return to Aphelion's Index page.