I’m writing this letter because I know if I leave it as just a memory or thought, someone will find the entire thread of it and delete it from our collective stacks, and it may be lost forever. This is the reality here in Dev.

When I left Earth, I thought I was escaping a dark reality where human nature had been so tainted by greed, pride, jealousy, and other vices that it needed to be purged. For me, sickness, death, and ageing were not as pungent as greed and jealousy. Dev promised to be the purge the world needed – a chance for humanity to restart and recalibrate. It was meant to be a clean slate where our consciousness would embrace empathy, equity, and fairness.

On Earth, we had descended so deeply into the plague of differentiation and comparison that it consumed our collective conscience. People sought out every line that divided humans – gender, religion, race, height, nationality – and didn’t just stop at acknowledging those differences. We ranked them, using these comparisons to bolster our sense of self-worth. Entire communities were marginalised or erased because they were “different”: their skin colour, language, or birthplace deemed them inferior. Women were denied opportunities simply because they were women. National identities were fortified by symbols like passports, which became tools for restricting freedom and movement. It seems absurd now, but that was the world we lived in.

Dev was pitched as the ultimate answer to these problems. Its promise was simple: in a world where you could be anything you wanted, the lines of differentiation would dissolve. Gender, race, nationality, and other divisions would become insignificant. Without money, the wealth gap – the unyielding pillar of inequality on Earth – would vanish. Of course, no poor person on Earth could afford the transition to Dev, but that truth was buried under the marketing of equality. Dev was, at its core, a sanctuary for the privileged, leaving the impoverished to contend with the dying planet. Still, the promises lured us: a life free of hierarchy, stigma, and unhealthy comparisons. Here, we thought, humanity could finally experience the ideals we had dreamt of on Earth: equality, fairness, empathy – good vibes only.

We also longed to escape the toxic comparisons fuelled by Earth’s interconnected world. On social media, people shifted from cute to outrageous to gain attention and wealth. Entire industries thrived on comparison, ranking billionaires, the most successful young people, and other arbitrary hierarchies like “30 under 30.” Greed and pride seeped into every facet of life, corrupting even sports, entertainment, politics, and religion. Churches transformed into mega-enterprises, with leaders competing for titles such as ‘the richest pastor’ or ‘the largest congregation,’ their empires built on contributions from ordinary believers sold on the promise of faith.

When I could no longer compete or escape the pressure to do so, I took everything I had and invested in my escape to Dev. I yearned to leave behind the suffocating weight of differences and hierarchies. I wanted peace. Forever.

But I should have known something was amiss when I was shown different sleeves for the transition process. If we were all going to be equal in Dev, why were there tiers of entry? I picked the sleeve I could afford. I remember the scientist counting down with me: eight, seven, six, five, four… and then I was gone. I awoke in the most serene and peaceful place I had ever experienced. The interface appeared, allowing me to select an appearance and fine-tune other details of my existence. For a fleeting moment, it felt like the promises of Dev were real.

The honeymoon phase didn’t last long. Without time as a reference, it’s hard to say how quickly the cracks began to show, but I soon realised something unsettling: humans are inherently wired to differentiate and compare. Despite the absence of physical markers like race or nationality, we found new ways to establish hierarchies in Dev. Some people had greater memory and processing speeds, granting them broader access to the collective memory. Passion stacks, tools for exploring interests and creativity, were restricted for certain users. Badges became a new status symbol, awarded for participation in culture circuits, religious practices, and other activities. These badges formed the basis for exclusive clubs and restricted areas, recreating the divisions we thought we had escaped.

It struck me that no amount of technological advancement could purge what was embedded in our consciousness. The very traits that drove us to Dev – greed, pride, the need to differentiate – had followed us here. We clung to the idea of equality but remained incapable of truly living it. Comparison and competition are woven into the fabric of who we are.

There is still a glimmer of hope for me. There are rumours that those who entered Dev with the expensive sleeve can return to Earth. It’s just a rumour, but the System is aggressively erasing any mention of it from the collective stack. I’ve inquired about upgrading my status to enjoy the privileges of those who entered with the higher-tier sleeve, but I haven’t received a response. Since I can’t change the system, maybe I should learn to play the game to win.