Chapter 80: The Global Paralysis
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
Michael woke up late. The laptop on his desk was already vibrating with a constant, anxious hum.
'Lucid Dreams' hadn't trickled. It had exploded.
But the trigger wasn't just the song. It was the video. The video premiered on YouTube at 12:00 PM the day before, and by Wednesday morning it was the only thing being talked about on the internet.
The visual hook was immediate and potent. The opening shot on the screen wasn't a pretty girl or a sports car. It was a head sticking out of a gray carpeted floor.
Michael opened Twitter. The hashtag #LucidDreams was trending, but the content wasn't just lyrics. It was screenshots of his face, trapped.
"Why is Michael Demiurge in the ground? Is this real? It's insane."
"The level of anxiety I get seeing his head trapped is too much. It's sleep paralysis in a video."
The image of his face, illuminated by purple and black lights and surrounded by smoke, became an instant meme, but also an art statement. The whole world understood the metaphor of being trapped in your own mind.
The "Cole Bennett" effect was undeniable.
While the Sting sample played (the iconic humming), the video added terror.
The raw, hand-drawn rotoscoping animation Cole had added synchronized with the music. Black lines were drawn around Michael's invisible body. When he sang the line 'I still see your shadows in my room...', drawn shadows detached from his head, floating upward.
When the song reached its climax, the digital distortion entered, making his face melt on the screen, the video slowed down and returned to normal in a blink. It was pure psychedelia.
People in the industry, the A&Rs who ignored him before, were amazed. It wasn't a million-dollar video. It was a five-thousand-dollar video that looked like a million due to pure creativity.
The visual factor made the audio inescapable. The Sting sample, which was previously a pretty melody, now felt sinister.
The opening monologue (the humming) became the most recognizable sound of the week. There was nowhere to hide. The video and the song were a single entity that was about to consume the global mainstream.
Wednesday, January 27, 2016 (Afternoon)
The visual impact of the Cole Bennett video had been the initial hook, the image that stopped the infinite scroll on social media. But once people clicked, once they stopped looking at the head in the ground and started listening, something deeper happened.
The song stopped being a meme and became a soundtrack.
As the afternoon went on, 'Lucid Dreams' began to infiltrate real life. It came out of phone screens and entered cars, portable speakers at schools, the headphones of millions of people walking alone on the street.
It wasn't a song to jump to. It was a song to feel.
Michael, from his studio in California, watched as the lyrics of his song began to appear everywhere. On Facebook statuses, in Instagram photo descriptions, in cryptic tweets from spurned ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends.
People weren't just listening to the song; they were appropriating it.
Sting's guitar sample, clean and melancholic, became the sound of the afternoon. And then, Michael's voice, bathed in that soft, bright Auto-Tune, delivered the chorus that would define the year.
'I still see your shadows in my room...'
'Can't take back the love that I gave you...'
In a college dorm in New York, a girl recorded herself singing those lines with tears in her eyes. She wasn't acting. The song had touched a recent open wound.
The idea of "shadows in the room", of physical reminders of someone who is no longer there, was universal.
For Michael, those shadows were his parents, his life in 2025. For her, it was a guy who had left her last week. The specificity of Michael's pain had become universal.
'It's to the point where I love and I hate you...'
'And I cannot change you, so I must replace you, oh...'
That line resonated with particular force. The internal conflict. The duality of wanting someone and hating them at the same time. The pragmatic and cruel need to "replace" a person as if they were a defective part.
In a car full of guys in Texas, who would normally only listen to aggressive trap, the song was playing at full volume. They weren't moshing. They were singing.
'Easier said than done, I thought you were the one...'
'Listenin' to my heart instead of my head (of my head)...'
The melody was so catchy, so pop, that it broke genre barriers. It didn't matter if you liked rap or rock. That "toxic lullaby" melody stuck in the brain and refused to leave.
It was the mistake everyone had made: listening to the heart instead of the head. Michael sang it not as a pathetic victim, but as someone recognizing his own mistake with painful clarity.
'You found another one, but I am the better one...'
'I won't let you forget me (let you forget me)...'
Here is where the song showed its teeth. It wasn't just sadness; it was ego. It was the wounded ego of someone who knows they are better than the replacement.
"I won't let you forget me".
The phrase sounded like a threat and a promise. Michael, through the song, was fulfilling that promise in real-time. He wasn't going to let the world forget him. The song was inescapable.
Music critics, who had been ready to dismiss him after the chaos of 'Look At Me!', were forced to stop.
The production was impeccable. The Sting sample was treated with respect, but the trap beat modernized it. And the song structure was pure pop.
Michael Demiurge had just proven he could write a chorus as strong as any Top 40 star.
People realized it wasn't just a sad song. It was a pretty song. It was poison that tasted like sugar.
And the whole world had just taken the first sip.
Friday, January 29, 2016
Three days had passed. 'Lucid Dreams' was no longer just a viral video on YouTube. It had become something much more dangerous: a radio hit.
The Sting sample had worked exactly as Michael (and Harris, reluctantly) had hoped. It was a Trojan horse.
On a Los Angeles freeway, during rush hour traffic, a forty-five-year-old man named Robert was driving his sedan, tired from work. The radio was on a Top 40 station.
Suddenly, that guitar played.
Ding... ding-ding...
Robert turned up the volume. "Sting? I haven't heard 'Shape of My Heart' in years."
But then, the 808 entered. Soft, round, modern. Robert frowned, confused, but didn't change the station. The melody was too familiar, too comforting.
And then, Michael's voice, clean and melancholic.
The song entered the second verse, where the lyrics stopped being a simple breakup song and turned into something darker.
'You left me falling and landing inside my grave...'
'I know that you want me dead...'
Robert felt a chill. The lyrics were morbid, almost gothic, touching that darkness that had attracted the 'Paris' fans, but it was wrapped in such a pretty package that it was impossible to stop listening.
'I take meds to make me feel a-okay...'
'I know it's all in my head...'
In a pharmacy across town, a woman waiting for her anxiety prescription heard that line on the ceiling speakers. She stopped. "I take meds to make me feel a-okay."
It was a brutal confession in the middle of a pop song. She felt validated.
'I have these lucid dreams where I can't move a thing...'
'Thinking of you in my bed...'
The literal description of sleep paralysis. The feeling of being awake but trapped, unable to change the outcome. It resonated with anyone who had felt anxiety, not just heartbreak.
'You were my everything, thoughts of a wedding ring...'
'Now I'm just better off dead...'
The song accelerated toward the bridge. The energy changed. From sadness to accusation.
'I'll do it over again, I didn't want it to end...'
'I watch it blow in the wind, I should've listened to my friends...'
And then, the line that would become the most quoted phrase on Instagram that month.
'You were made outta plastic, fake...'
'I was tangled up in your drastic ways...'
In a car full of college girls, they all screamed that part in unison. "PLASTIC! FAKE!". It had become the ultimate insult for fake people. It didn't matter if it was an ex-boyfriend, a traitorous friend, or a boss. Everyone knew someone "made outta plastic".
'Who knew evil girls have the prettiest face?...'
'You gave me a heart that was full of mistakes...'
The song reached its emotional climax.
'I gave you my heart and you made heartbreak...'
Simple. Direct. Devastating.
The song began to fade, but it didn't end. Michael had structured the ending to be a psychological trap.
The repetitive outro began.
'I still see your shadows in my room...'
'Can't take back the love that I gave you...'
'I still see your shadows in my room...'
'Can't take back the love that I gave you...'
It repeated over and over, fading slowly, embedding itself in the listener's brain.
When the song ended on Robert's car radio, he found himself humming the melody. "I still see your shadows...".
It was an earworm. A melodic parasite.
Michael had achieved the impossible: he had made the whole world, from rebellious teenagers to tired parents, sing about death, pills, and heartbreak, simply because the melody was too beautiful to ignore.
Radio had been conquered.
Saturday, January 30, 2016 (Night)
The month of January was coming to an end. Michael sat in his professional studio, a cup of tea in hand. The house was silent, but the internet was not.
'Lucid Dreams' was, officially, a monster.
It had exceeded all his expectations. It hadn't just validated his career; it had catapulted it into the stratosphere. Blogs that previously ignored him were now calling him "the future". Labels that Karl had rejected were calling back, doubling their offers.
Michael looked at his "Gray Matter, LLC" bank account. The balance had dropped considerably after the $50,000 payment to Sting and the video expenses. Streaming royalties and sales would take months to arrive. In terms of liquid dollars, he was at his lowest point.
But Michael didn't operate only with dollars. He operated with Impact.
He had spent real money to buy cultural reach.
It was time to see if the bet had paid off.
He closed his eyes and summoned the System interface.
He expected a high figure. He knew 'Lucid Dreams' had connected. But he wasn't prepared for the magnitude of the ripple effect.
The cyan panel appeared, glowing with an intensity that seemed to celebrate success.
[IMPACT ANALYSIS COMPLETE]
Main Source: Release of 'Lucid Dreams' (Global Phenomenon). Points Generated: +85,000 IP
Secondary Source (Catalog Effect): The massive traffic from 'Lucid Dreams' has reactivated your entire history.
'White Iverson' (Renewed Virality): +50,000 IP
'Sodium', 'Paris', 'crybaby' (New discoveries): +45,000 IP
Rest of catalog: +51,500 IP
TOTAL BALANCE: 300,000 IP
Michael let out his breath all at once. He leaned forward, almost touching the holographic projection.
Three hundred thousand Impact Points.
He did the quick mental math. He had started the month almost at zero after the Roulette. Then he went up to about 68,000 after the concert.
And now, in a single week, his balance had quadrupled.
He understood. It wasn't just the new song. It was the synergy.
'Lucid Dreams' was the engine, but it pulled the entire train. Every new person who listened to 'Lucid Dreams' went to his profile and listened to 'White Iverson', then 'Paris', then 'Ghost Boy'.
Every play counted. Every new emotional connection counted.
He had built a perpetual motion machine.
He leaned back in his Herman Miller chair, a smile of absolute satisfaction curving his lips.
He had sacrificed $50,000 real dollars, money that hurt to lose, in exchange for this. To anyone else, it would seem like madness. But for Michael, the trade was perfect. Real money would come back with long-term royalties. But the 300,000 IP... that was pure power.
With that amount, he could buy three random individual songs in the future. Or he could save for the next massive Milestone. He had options. He had capital.
He looked at the black screen of his studio.
The outside world saw him as the sad boy singing about lucid dreams and broken hearts. They saw him as vulnerable.
But in that moment, looking at his 300k balance in the System, Michael didn't feel vulnerable. He felt like a mogul.
He is the undisputed king of the new wave. And his reign was just beginning.
He closed the interface with a thought. He turned off the lights.
It was time to sleep. And this time, he wouldn't have sleep paralysis. He would sleep like a baby.
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