Save a tiny spark in the distance, the inside of Vesuvius was pitch black. To remedy this, Dante materialized an orb of light around them.

“For your safety, please keep arms and legs inside the orb at all times!” he jested as their soles smooshed through mud and bones.

“So, about the hackers,” Marcus began, treading carefully. “Can’t the architects observe their intrusions from outside and intervene?”

“If there were unrestricted conditions, yes, but lawmakers decided decades ago that even the dead deserve privacy, leaving the architects with minimal visibility.”

“Then why not send a security team in to handle things?”

“Although it is possible to digitize the living, there is no way to return copied versions to their bodies once they’ve diverged. Trapping sentient clones here before their real lives have ended is a humanitarian offense far crueler than privacy breach, so that was outlawed as well.”

“Okay. Well, what would hackers want with a place like this anyways?”

“Oh, think Marcus, there are many reasons! Perhaps they don’t trust Paradiso to properly punish a deceased enemy and wish to take justice into their own hands. Or, oppositely, they may believe a Hell verdict unwarranted and seek to remove the victim’s code from the servers. But Judas is after something different. We believe he aims to steal proprietary code and create an afterlife simulation of his own. Despite many failed attempts, no corporation has come close to replicating Paradiso’s digitization technology.”

#

The spark in the distance slowly expanded into an archaic mansion of Greek pillars and baroque outer walls, adorned with gothic spirals and Mediterranean blue domes. It was as if all of ancient history had collaborated on a single building.

“Quite extraordinary, isn’t it?” Dante said, noticing the awe in Marcus’ eyes.

They passed a doorless entrance and found, to Marcus’s dismay, the interior entirely empty. No upper floors or trace of décor to reflect the brilliance of its facades. Only an eerie hollowness, and a floating earthen platform in the center led to by a marble staircase.

Hundreds of human silhouettes crisscrossed through trees and boulders on the platform like startled ants. At its far edge stood a closed wooden door into nothing.

“Where are we?” Marcus asked as they ascended.

“This is stop number one of our journey,” Dante replied. “Welcome to Limbo.”

At the top, a scrawny man in a turquoise V-neck shirt and cargo shorts paced back and forth like a caged animal. He noticed Marcus and rushed over.

“Hey there, newcomer!” he exclaimed. “I’m Greg. What brings you onto the platform?”

“Sorry, old friend,” Dante interrupted, “We haven’t time for pleasantries.”

He flicked his wrist and Greg shot across the platform.

“Dante, what the hell?!” Marcus rushed over to the ledge to find Greg hanging by only a few fingers.

“Here, take my hand!” Marcus yelled. Greg tried to sling his other arm over, but the fingers slipped. He plummeted several stories and splattered on the ground.

Then, he recomposed and paced back to the staircase like nothing happened.

Dante stepped over and placed a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. “Each canto of Hell was designed with punishments tailored to the sins of the digitized residing within,” he explained. “But in this first canto there is no real punishment because there are no real people!”

“Then what is he?” Marcus asked. “He looked familiar, like I’d met him before.”

“That would be entirely impossible,” Dante replied. “Greg died a century before you were born. Well, the real Greg that is. You see, in the literary masterpiece The Divine Comedy, Limbo was a peaceful region of Hell housing the greats of antiquity whose deaths came before Christianity, making it impossible for them to ascend to Heaven yet undeserving of eternal punishment. Likewise, the inhabitants of our Limbo are modern history’s movers and shakers who paved the way for technological advance yet perished before the advent of digitization. Greg, for instance, was the founder of an augmented reality meets social media platform that captivated humanity at the tail-end of the twenty-first century, which is how you recognize him.”

“Okay, so what then? They’re algorithms like you?”

Dante scoffed. “Algorithms, yes, but nothing like me. I am a divine work of art, complex code conceived with intention and purpose.” He led Marcus through the murmuring crowd. “They are minced meat, recreations of the dead via an amalgamation of their available audio and video data. The less to work with, the more unbearable they turned out.”

“Then why did Paradiso make them?”

“Well, for starters, it made for a wondrous marketing stunt! And, as a sign-on bonus, ancestor resurrection is quite hard to beat. But mostly, Paradiso used recreations as guinea pigs for early versions of the simulations in order to gain government approval and input real brain code. Once approval was obtained, Paradiso’s founder didn’t have the heart to deliver his muses to obscurity, so he built them a mansion modeled after his own.”

“Why didn’t he put them in Heaven?”

Dante chuckled. “These dimwits in Heaven, can you imagine? No, Paradiso’s founder decided long ago that imperfection would not be allowed through the pearly gates. Now, would you like to meet the most imperfect of them all?”

As they continued Dante pointed out prestigious scientists, politicians, thought leaders, titans of industry, and celebrities from recent history. There was even a pair of elderly military generals engaged in a wrestling match.

The door to nothing at the platform’s edge was guarded by a tall man whose entire coloration was black and white. This combined with heavily furrowed eyebrows gave him a vampiric appearance.

“Here we have Limbo’s oldest resident whose accomplishments were superior to all in the eyes of Paradiso’s founder, which is why he was recreated despite the egregious lack of data. Well, Henry, are you going to let us through?”

Henry’s arm glitched in and out of existence on its way to the doorknob. His voice was choppy and static-riddled as he spoke, “If a young man makes up his mind to work, there’s no limit to what he can do.”

“Yes, yes, Henry, what a virtuous program you are,” Dante said.

A memory returned to Marcus of a large, bronze statue of this man in a downtown area surrounded by skyscrapers. Within the hazy vision he could make out the name on its plaque.

“Ford! You’re Henry Ford, aren’t you?!” Marcus exclaimed, moving closer to the effigy.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, son,” Ford replied.

“Looks like your memory is coming back nicely,” Dante said as Henry turned the knob. A strong gust swung the door open and nearly knocked Marcus off his feet.

Within, the beginnings of a stone bridge stretched over darkness.

Dante extended an arm. “After you.”