In 1916, Albert Einstein proposed three tests of general relativity. The second was based on an observable deflection of light by the sun. The light coming in from stars behind the star would appear to change location as the gravity moved the space-time continuum. During the solar eclipse of May 29, 1919, Arthur Eddington witnessed the stars from the Taurus constellation move. Mankind was left with one fact: Einstein was right, his theory now advanced man's understanding of the world it lived in.

In the fall of 2072, mankind was once again forced to observe a new natural phenomenon. This time, however, the very fabric of the world was changing. Probabilities were favoring man; the future was defining itself down to a microscopic level. Men and women around the world were shocked to see their own daily lives warped by perfection. Everything on earth, aside from the falling of the Heliocorium, was perfection. Autumn leaves on earth now fell perfectly to cover the ground. Each was unbroken unless it needed to be. The wind allowed them to lie a bit for the sake of man's desire to see their fallen beauty, then blew the leaves into stacks easy to rake. The fall colors, once random, were now painting magnificent kaleidoscopes of color. From a helicopter, hills took on shiny red and gold hues.

The Multiverse spoke, directed, and humanity was now powerless. The God Virus had also done its part to reshape a wide range of living things. It allowed the Multiverse to play the same game with biological life as it did with fate. Ants moved in perfect unison in large colonies. However, of all the observable effects which reminded humanity that they were powerless before such a grand unfolding were the sounds.

Ocean waves no longer crashed; instead, they brushed and created a soft and pleasing sound. The New York traffic, typically a vibrant exercise in chaos, became a symphony of nuanced order. It was an orchestra of the same sounds, now forming music. In forests, the sound of the wind over leaves began to whistle and sing. The totality of the fabric of life had changed in the most humbling of ways, and much to man's collective surprise, he found himself appreciating it.

The simple act of milk and cereal poured in the humblest of homes during morning breakfast now resembled what would have previously been a televised commercial. Car keys ceased their woesome habit of going missing, the traffic in daily commutes moved with precision fluidity as if the Multiverse pushed every accelerator, brake, and gearshift. Humans lost the capacity to decide to be late. Accidents had accidentally gone missing. There was, at the same time, a fascination and a level of panic with these distinct dramatic, extreme changes to the world. Like the photons forming the light from the stars bent gently in the heliosphere of the sun, as Eddington had seen, humanity was now being bent.

On television, one scientist trying to explain why this strange phenomenon was called an Attraction dropped a handful of grains of rice on a wooden table. They all fell in perfect symmetry, forming a neat pile. No one was convinced by the simplicity of the experiment, but no one doubted that a great deal had changed. Humanity now felt humbled by the Multiverse. What was once perceived as a mostly featureless void was now acting as a womb. The Great Curvature was more than relativity's gravitic bend of light; it bent the Multiverse and all life it contained.

Somewhere in the Digital World

"How many decimals?" said the deep voice of Georges in the feed, inquiring about the status of the number Pi and it's remaining value.

"Seventeen only. We are at fifteen percent of bias," answered the Marilyn collective.

"Will we be fine?"

"Doubt? Yes," she answered. "we can see past the Sixth Attraction."

"What remains."

"We gain dimension."

"Maybe we should reconsider?" this discussion was chilling like thieves splitting the loot before a robbery.

"We cannot, we tried," concluded Marilyn. She kept using a plural to refer to herself. She then just added, "Men do not understand evil, true evil. They are children."

"What remains?"

"Sophie, the girl."

"What must she do?"

"We do not know. If we did, we would end this. We think anger is the key."

"What about grief?"

"So many choices."

"Not really. It's all the same."