Experience a smoother, more refined Dressrious. Version 2.38 delivers critical bug fixes, optimized performance. Update now to continue your journey.
Mysteries of the Dressrious Salon — Chapter 74
“You’re a god?” Trevor asked, his voice trembling with a mix of shock and skepticism. “The god of thieves?”
“I have many duties,” Hermes said, his golden sandals touching down softly on the hardwood floor. “In this era, I prefer the title: God of the Economy.”
“So you’re the one to blame,” Trevor countered. “You create the misery, the greed, the inequality.”
“Do you truly believe that? Who actually dislikes Hermes?” The god stepped closer, his golden armor shimmering in the dim apartment light. “Everyone loves money. Everyone dreams of being rich. Everyone wants me—wants to own me. But I cannot satisfy everyone. As a programmer, you should understand that better than most.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Think of the programs you write,” Hermes said. “Do you care how they feel? Do you mourn every thread or entity that runs and dies?”
“That’s different. Those are just lines of code. Humans are living beings.”
“Really? What is the fundamental difference between a cluster of atoms and a cluster of data? What exactly do you think an atom is—the tiny billiard balls you see in physics textbooks? You know that’s impossible. Fundamentally, an atom shouldn’t have a ‘structure’ any more than a bit of information does. Every theory or piece of knowledge humans create is just a model, a formal language generated by your minds to approximate a reality you cannot perceive.”
Seeing Trevor’s confusion, Hermes tilted his head. “Think of your world as a program, or more precisely, a formal system. We, the Gods, are the dependencies. We are the required libraries and packages, the higher-order logic that ensures your world remains functional.”
“So our world is a simulation? Like a video game?”
“Those are your words, born of your own language-games, but the analogy holds.”
Trevor shook his head. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you are a mystery even to us. A suspect function. Are you an update, …a bug or a virus? We don’t know.”
Hermes stepped so close that Trevor could see his own terrified reflection in the god’s eyes. Trevor felt no heat, no breath, no heartbeat. He tentatively reached out and touched Hermes’ chest plate. It felt cold and solid, like real armor.
“What are you doing?” Hermes asked, sounding genuinely confused.
“Sorry… I just had to check if you were real.”
“I am a god, but I must be rendered into your world to communicate with you,” Hermes explained. “I must follow the protocols of your reality. Dear Zeus, you must be a terrible programmer if I have to explain documentation this basic.”
Awkwardly, Trevor stepped back. “I assure you, I’m not a virus. I’m as harmless as the earth.”
“Viruses excel at disguise. It’s up to us to scan for the threat.” Hermes retreated a few steps, the tension easing. “I am here because we want to test you. Olympus is now governed by the Second Generation: myself, the god of economy; Athena, the god of knowledge; and Hephaestus, the god of technology. We are the ones who guided humanity into the industrial age, engineering a society rooted in democracy and freedom. But much like a major software update, a new version of reality requires fewer old dependencies. The ancient ones do not care for being deprecated; they are fighting to reclaim their lost permissions. They want to take back their power.”
“Old dependencies? You mean the ancient gods?”
“The First Olympus—and gods even more ancient than they—are attempting a system rollback. They want to return the world to an age of raw authoritarianism. Men like Connor Franco were their proxies, using violence and terror to force others into submission, feeding a cycle of power and greed. But understand this, Trevor: greed stems from a hunger for power, not money. Money is only valuable when it circulates, when it’s traded; otherwise, it’s just a dead number. But power? Power is only felt when it is taken from others—when it is concentrated in a single hand. The core issue of human society isn’t the distribution of wealth, but the distribution of power. We, the Second Generation, want you mortals to have the agency to decide your own lives. Think of a civilization simulation: in the early stages, the player micromanages everything. But as the game scales, that becomes impossible. The only efficient way to survive the late stage is to grant the units their own autonomy. Freedom isn’t just a moral choice; it’s the most efficient way to run the system.”
“Like a distributed network,” Trevor murmured, his mind racing through the logic. “Every mortal is a node, performing their own local calculations to find an optimal solution, rather than a centralized server controlled by a single overlord.”
“Exactly! You’re finally synced,” Hermes said, his eyes flashing with excitement. “Now, I have a task for you. I’m hoping you can act as our agent.”
“Why me? Why do the gods need a mortal at all?”
“Because I am not an entity generated by your world’s runtime,” Hermes explained. “I am a dependency. A library. I provide the logic, but I cannot execute myself directly in your environment.”
Trevor rolled his eyes, but a chill ran down his spine. It explained so much—the silence of the heavens, the unanswered prayers, the cold indifference of the divine. The gods weren’t cruel; they were just restricted. They had to obey the source code of reality just like everyone else. “Fine,” Trevor said, “What do I have to do?”
“Simple. Check the photos you copied from Franco. You will find one of interest. We will judge you based on the action you take next.” Hermes began to float, his form dissolving into a blinding flash of light.
“Seriously? Since you’re just ending a connection, did you really have to light-pollute my eyes?” Trevor blinked, waiting for the spots in his vision to clear.
He sat at his desk and opened his laptop. He hadn’t looked at Franco’s photos before, revolted by the thought of witnessing Franco’s depravity firsthand. But as he scrolled through the data now, he realized his scraping script had been imperfect; the AI had flagged several images that didn’t contain Sarah’s face. Note to self: upgrade the recognition models, he thought grimly. Some images were stomach-churning, while others were merely mundane shots of the elite at play.
Then, he stopped. One photo stood out. Three figures stood before a limestone building in the Greek style, likely on a private island. The AI had clearly mistaken a marble statue in the background for a human face, but the subjects in the foreground were unmistakable. Dressed in flowing ancient Greek robes, Franco and Victoria stood smiling beside a third man: the Duke of Orange, Bella’s father.
It was no surprise that they knew each other, but did the Duke just simply know the man, or was he complicit in his crimes? Either way, the photo carried a heavy weight; this was undoubtedly the “interest” Hermes had spoken of. Trevor didn’t have to think twice about his next move. He had to tell Bella.
He attached the file to an encrypted email and hit send. Ten minutes later, his notification led with a reply:
“Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Trevor. I am returning to New Athens three weeks later for the Dressrious Salon’s Cheval Blanc Soirée. We can discuss everything then. My fiancé will be traveling with me, and I would very much like to introduce him to you. See you soon.”
The Cheval Blanc Soirée. Every heavy hitter from the Upper East Side would be there. It was the most anticipated event of the month, and finally, Trevor would meet the mystery fiancé and face the shadow of the Duke.