Luther Whiskre, a name that’d leave a bitter taste in your mouth if you knew the man, had a past as murky as a swamp. Some whispered he was snagged by Neutralization young, barely a man. Luther, though, he’d look you dead in the eye and tell you he walked in there at 24, head held high. Truth or hogwash, it didn’t matter much. There was the Luther before, a cipher, good for nothing, not even liking himself. And then there was the Luther after, the one Neutralization spat out.

Year 2119, that’s when Luther got tangled up with the art game, the digital kind. Neutralization was a suite of technology stack for creating artificial life. The whole shebang, the tools, the philosophy, the works, for making life out of ones and zeros. Real, breathing life? That was old news, too messy, too expensive, some even said it ain’t right. Digital offspring, that was the ticket, sleek, efficient, and you could turn them off if they got mouthy.

Energy, that was plentiful, but computing power, that was always scarce, like trying to fill a bathtub with a teaspoon. Still, folks doted on their digital kids like they were real flesh and blood, pouring their hearts out to precious pixels. Every one of these digital beings are tokenized onchain; some even had rights, like a corporation or a dog with a good lawyer.

Economists, those bean counters, they used to say AI wouldn’t buy enough junk to make a dent in the GDP. Then along came artists like Luther, making digital beings that craved the same frivolities as any socialite, hankering after virtual handbags with real-world price tags. Luther, he didn’t make things that looked like people, no sir. His creations were abstract, but they had something that hooked you, made you want to own them, like a stray dog with soulful eyes.

Ten years in the game, Luther was top dog, the best Neutralization artist around. But there was a catch, a barb in the hook. Neutralization, it was like quicksand, the more you used it, the deeper you sank. Their tech, their way of doing things, it didn’t play nice with others. Switching platforms? Like building a house, then tearing it down brick by brick to build it somewhere else. Vendor lock-in, they called it, a fancy name for an old con. But artists like Luther, they were too busy chasing the next big thing to notice the chains around their ankles.

One year, Luther snagged an award for some fancy digital planet he built, layers of cities stacked like pancakes, simulated economies buzzing like beehives. He didn’t think it was his best work, figured it was a pity prize. He didn’t know that was the peak, the beginning of the end.

His skills, they went rusty, like a forgotten tool. He wasn’t any less creative, but the tech, it left him behind. Every new project, it was like a song he’d already heard.

Then came the showdown, Neutralization versus the rest, a battle royale of digital life platforms. It started as a squabble over tech, then it turned into a circus, everyone trying to sell more tickets than the next guy.

Luther, his confidence was shot, thin as a mosquito’s wing. He needed a win, something to prove he wasn’t washed up. Folks said he was getting touchy, depressed even, awkward as a teenager at a dance. He tried to please everyone, but inside, he hated himself for it.

He fought for the right to represent Neutralization, and they let him, poor bastard. He came in dead last in the competition.

Luther, he was back to being that nothing kid, the one before the art, before the fame. Without thinking it through, he jumped ship to First Cult, the enemy camp. He wouldn’t admit it, but their tech was simpler, easier to hide his fading skills.

Or so he thought.

First Cult, they were a rough crowd, no patience for losers. Luther’s shortcomings, they were magnified, his depression, it grew like a weed.

Two years later, he snapped, got into it with a client, words like fists. That night, he ended it all.

Luther, he wished someone had taught him how to be okay with being nobody, with not being good at anything at all. But in the end, that was a lesson he couldn’t learn, not even from himself.