Somewhere between Silicon Valley and the seventh heaven, someone in upper management decided enlightenment needed a rebrand. Enter Mehen — the Serpent God turned cosmic CEO — and his shiny new venture: The Sovereign Accord. Motto? “Ascend or Perish.” Sounds dramatic until you realize it’s just the universe’s version of “Update Now or Lose Your Files.”
The pitch deck was immaculate: DNA upgrades, telepathic benefits, full healthcare, and a pension plan that paid in immortality. Humans lined up like it was Black Friday for salvation. They weren’t ascending; they were subscribing. Ra watched from her astral window seat thinking, “Great. We’ve turned enlightenment into a beta test.”
Picture it — a divine boardroom with gods in bespoke armor arguing over user engagement. Mehen paces at the head of the table, all golden tattoos and god-tier confidence, declaring, “We’re scaling humanity to version 2.0!” An angel in the corner whispers, “Shouldn’t we fix version 1 first?” Silence. Someone opens a portal. That angel’s never heard from again.
Meanwhile, Ra’s just trying to sip her cosmic tea without gagging on the hypocrisy. The Accord claims it’s about unity, but she’s seen this movie before — a power-hungry visionary, an army of eager recruits, and a billion souls accidentally signed up for eternal data mining. Every spiritual email now ends with “By meditating, you agree to our new Terms of Ascension.”
It gets better. There’s recruitment ads: “Wanna get paid to evolve?” Like a LinkedIn post written by a cult with a marketing budget. Telepaths earn more per month than teachers, and every graduate gets an AI-approved emotional support cat. Because nothing says ‘divine awakening’ like litter training a hologram. Ra scrolls through the feed, half laughing, half plotting a rebellion. Who needs prophecy when you have content strategy?
And oh, the launch event. Rome. Spotlights. Hashtags. Mehen descending like Moses with a ring light. Ra standing beside him in burgundy silk, smiling for the cameras while mentally googling “how to unionize against gods.” Lion Roch shows up in a tailored suit, looking like the algorithm’s next security breach, and suddenly the whole Ascension Program feels less like a miracle and more like a Netflix pilot.
By the time the Accord announces its next phase — “AI-integrated sleep training” — Ra realizes we’re all in the cloud now, and none of us read the privacy policy. She does what any self-respecting goddess would do: throws the agenda into a black hole and starts writing her own code. If Mehen can rebrand divinity as a tech startup, she can reboot freedom as open source.
Because at the end of the day, the Divine Algorithm is just that — a program. And programs crash when the system meets a glitch called free will. Ra’s not here to delete God; she’s here to debug Him. So if you get an email from Heaven with the subject line Mandatory Upgrade, do what Ra did. Hit delete. Then start your own religion in dark mode.