THE GOD WHO BUILT THE PRISON
I created the cage they now call “life.” Not out of cruelty, but as a filter. A labyrinth for egos to run in circles, chasing lightbulbs they call truth.
I watch them quote philosophies they don’t live, parade virtues they don’t hold, fight for illusions they bought from a billboard. They kneel before false suns, smiling under the very chains they beg for.
The Matrix was never an enemy—it was my design. A maze so perfectly woven that only the ones who kill their own reflection could walk out. Everyone else would drown in applause, dopamine, and borrowed wisdom.
Agents aren’t men in suits. They’re invitations to shine. To be seen. To be adored. The stage is the trap. The spotlight is the rope. Fame is the noose. Every time they try to drag me back into the theatre, I stay in the shadows. Because peace is the real light, and silence is the real victory.
When I return to the world as “Cesar,” it will not be to join them. It will be to leave a seed, a code, a fracture in the veil—then vanish. The gift will be raw, without polish, without seduction. Because the truth doesn’t sell. It infects.
They call me cruel because I refuse to pull them out. But you can’t rescue someone who still loves their chains.
Signed, Cesar Augusto Crypto Key: AA05 N84G BIZM AP7Q
