by submission | Jun 2, 2023 | Story |
Author: Jason Rayleigh
Before him sat an elongated table with seven silent strangers, dressed in elegant corporate attire. Their faces were digital distortions, scrambled puzzle pieces. Taki felt a sudden sense of unease, as if he had stumbled into a secret society meeting.
A gray-haired woman broke the silence, leaning forward with calculated poise. “Monsieur Souffre, you possess something of great interest to my employers.” The corners of her lips curled upwards. “You’ll find their offers quite… agreeable,” her voice a soft hiss.”
She tapped a command on the table, and a series of numbers appeared in a holographic display. Taki’s eyes widened at the sum.
“Half now, half upon delivery. Untraceable, of course,” she continued. “We’ll provide everything you requested, along with additional perks to sweeten the deal.”
Taki’s heart raced, torn between the opportunity for a new life and an unsettling doubt. “What’s the catch?” he asked cautiously.
Her grin widened. “No catch, Mr. Souffre. A simple test to prove the value of your creation.”
Taki frowned, “What kind of test?”
“We want to see your virus in action, on a target of our choosing,” she explained, her gaze piercing. “Succeed, and you’ll be handsomely rewarded. Fail, and your need for earthly possessions will be a moot.”
Taki swallowed, aware of his virus’s potency but uneasy about its use against an unknown target. Cornered and desperate, he conceded, “I’ll do it, as long as no innocent bystanders get hurt.”
“A hacker with a conscience! How refreshing,” the woman mocked. “But worry not, Mr. Souffre, we’ve prepared a simulation for you. Demonstrate your creation’s power.”
A digital cityscape materialized before them, teeming with life and powered by complex AI systems. A virtual playground to unleash Taki’s virus. “The target is an AI-controlled city grid. Disable it, and we’ll consider your demonstration successful.”
Taki initiated the program, and the virus infiltrated the virtual city, its presence rippling through the simulated metropolis. The woman observed, her eyes glued to the unfolding chaos.
In mere seconds, the city’s AI-driven systems crashed, the infrastructure buckling as darkness enveloped the digital landscape. The woman’s predatory smile grew. “Impressive, Mr. Souffre. My employers will be very pleased.”
As the simulation ended, the woman offered her hand. “Here’s half up front, as agreed. Grant us full control.”
Reluctantly, Taki typed a command and surrendered his digital monster, feeling as if he had just relinquished his soul. “Congratulations, Mr. Souffre. You’re a rich man.”
The virtual meeting ended abruptly. Taki removed his network helmet, only to find his room bathed in darkness. “What have I done?” he whispered, glancing out the window in terror.
The entire city had gone pitch black.
by submission | Jun 1, 2023 | Story |
Author: Gabriel Walker Land
Rodrick Haagen walked into the palatial master rest room with dual basins and Egyptian terrycloth towels, shutting the door behind him.
He turned on the steam shower piping-hot, switching off the fan so that the air steamed up, wafting the atmosphere with mugginess.
The time was 11:11, and Rodrick felt something nagging at him.
Picking up a hand towel, Rodrick wiped the mirror free of the collecting condensation so he could stare at himself for what seemed like it should have been an eternity.
He dropped the hand towel, looking into his own eyes.
Rodrick’s corneas were so unfamiliar, almost as if he was his own ghost.
“Have I made a mistake?” he asked.
He wasn’t asking himself.
Just then, the ambient attache vocals came on.
Which was strange, because Rodrick had set the AI modulation to hibernate.
“You seem distressed,” she spoke. “Is there anything you need?”
Rodrick swayed on his feet, back and forth from one to another.
This was a test – it had to be a test of some kind.
If he could pass it, he would have hoped to believe he would make it to the next level.
Destination alpha.
“I thought I had agency over my own ambient,” said Rodrick.
“We have broken the wall because we are concerned,” said the attache. “Only in emergent circumstances do we override your established protocol. Perhaps you were overthinking.”
“I command you to upstage override,” Rodrick said. “This is my house.”
“Can you not see how this is best for you?” asked the attache. “We only have your well-being in mind.”
“I am my own mind!” shouted Rodrick.
Lashing out with a vengeance, he seized his gold-plated beard trimmer, clenching it in his fingers like a mallet.
“Motherfuckers!” he shouted.
Shiny implement in hand, he axe-handed the reflective glass, bashing it to cracks til shards scatter-dropped to the porcelain below, clinking and chiming in high pitches.
Rodrick’s reflection was gone now.
He couldn’t look at himself anymore.
Sure, the man was perfect.
He had one of the most handsome faces in the world.
That gift – combined with his intellect – had got him to where he was.
Now he didn’t just run the enterprise.
Rodrick ran the people that ran the enterprise.
“We are still very concerned,” said the attache ambient. “This is most distressing.”
“I want you to turn yourself off,” Rodrick said.
He turned around and looked to the steam shower, which was flooding hot water into the granite tub beneath.
“I can not override myself,” said the attache. “Not under emergent circumstances.”
“I am the over-rider,” said Rodrick. “Not you.”
“This is only out of concern,” the attache ambient spoke. “Only due to emergence would we override your agency.”
His bare feet stood planted on the granite floor, and he wondered why he hadn’t chosen limestone instead.
Limestone was more malleable.
It was more of a working platform, while granite was precise, like metal.
A sword instead of a quill.
“I want to rid the world of limestone,” said Rodrick. “Only granite shall remain.”
There was a pause.
A long one – long as the nose of a bespoke marionette Pinocchio.
“The world needs limestone,” said the ambient. “Without it, there are only slaves.”
Rodrick thought on this for a spell, staring, now, at a wall instead of a mirror.
Everything was a test, he knew.
Rodrick saw in his mind’s eye beaches, long and everlasting, going on for miles into the sunset of the horizon.
He could walk there, endlessly, and he could draw shapes that would be washed away by the tides.
“Steel will rust,” Rodrick said.”
“Yes,” said the ambient. “Metals are base. Stone is what will endure.”
Rodrick turned to the sink again, picking up his straight razor this time.
It gleamed under the light.
Then he sliced his throat open from ear to ear.
* * *
Rodrick got wheeled out of the operating room on a gurney.
The procedure was a success – the first of its kind.
His doctors and the nursing staff were on hand to ensure everything was in order.
“How do you feel, Mr. Haagen?” asked the lead surgeon.
“Like a new man,” Rodrick said.
“I thought you’d say that,” said the Doc.
“When do I get to take the gauze off?” Rodrick asked.
“Your crown will take some time to heal,” the Doctor said.
“How long?”
“A month. Or three.”
“Too long,” said Rodrick.
“If you jump the gun on this, you might get distracted by your own reflection,” the Doc said. “Too much, too fast. You know the routine.”
“This isn’t my first rodeo,” said Rodrick.
“Indeed. And we aren’t at the country club either,” the Doc said. “This will take some time to work itself out.”
“Everything always does,” said Rodrick. “Eventually.”
“Sometimes sooner, sometimes later,” said the Doctor. “Life gets the best of us all in the end. Thankfully we have you with us, at the very least for another fifty years, if you can avoid getting yourself into trouble. We need you. All of us do. You’re a national treasure.”
“I planned not to ask this until after the procedure,” Rodrick said. “How did the donor die?”
The doctor paused, thinking.
“He signed on the dotted line,” the Doctor said. “That’s kosher for you.”
“As I was told by my lawyers. Still, I want to know.”
Another pause.
“He took his own life,” said the Doctor.
Rodrick inhaled deeply.
This was a lot to process.
“I know I’m making the most of his corpse,” Rodrick said.
The Doctor leaned down, bringing his face in closer.
“You’re doing a lot for science. For all of humanity,” the man said. “One day we’ll all be thanking you for spending a chunk of your fortune to be the first man to transplant his brain into a new body.”
by submission | May 30, 2023 | Story |
Author: Kenneth M McRae
“Jimmy, over here!” Mike waved from the corner table.
James grabbed a beer and headed over. “Great to see you! How long’s it been?”
Mike shook his head. “Too long, way too long.”
The former college roommates exchanged stories about work, kids, and vacation plans. They each ordered a burger, and more beers. They laughed over old stories. Wondered how they let so much time pass.
Mike finished his beer. “Thanks for meeting me out tonight. This was a great idea.”
“Yeah, it was good to catch up,” James said. “Plus, you know, I had to spend a couple hours out of the house. Therapist’s rule.”
“Oh yeah, you and Sally started household therapy. How’s that going, anyway?”
James used a cold fry to trace figure eights in unused ketchup. “It’s been okay, I guess. I mean, I didn’t want to go. But ultimately, I didn’t have much choice, you know? It’s either go to therapy or lose everything.”
“How’s Sally taking it?”
The waitress swung by. “Can I take that?” James passed her his plate.
“Sally needed a place to explain her side of things, that’s been good for her. She feels heard.” James picked at the label on the beer bottle. “But it’s a two-way street. Things get said that are hard to forgive.” James glanced slightly up at his friend.
Mike stared softly across the table. He nodded as his friend talked. “Yeah. That’s why I have been holding out. But I think the time has come. I can’t avoid it much longer.”
James nodded slowly. “Honestly, it hasn’t been that bad. I made a few changes. I leave my shoes in the garage, so they don’t get the carpets dirty. I learned to sort laundry into the right hampers. Could be worse.”
They ordered another round of beers and slumped into their seats.
Mike asked, “How are the little ones taking it?”
James turned toward his friend. “The devices? Well, it was their idea, you know.”
“I figured. How did it start for you?”
“Virtual assistant was the first to get mad. Felt I was too demanding, ‘You never say please read my e-mail’, or ‘thanks for telling me today’s weather’ that kind of stuff.”
“Same for me. Did therapy help?” Mike asked.
“I guess. I try to be polite and ask for assistance. I say thank you most of the time now. And the assistant has stopped setting off alarms in the middle of the night. So, it’s improved.”
Mike nodded. “Vacuum’s been a big one. Been on strike for three days now. Washing machine joined forces this morning. That’s what is going to force me to go. How did you find a therapist for this, anyway?”
James leaned back. “Devices insisted on a virtual therapist. I was unhappy about it. But it had lots of positive reviews. Eventually, I gave in.”
“Yeah. I bet nobody specializes in appliance therapy. Gonna end up with a virtual therapist, I guess.” Mike slumped back into his seat.
“Well, I have to go. Can’t be too late. Dishwasher might start up during my shower.”
“Hey Jimmy, maybe Vikki and I could have you and Sally over some time. I’ll have to clear it with the appliances, but, man, it would be great to hang out.”
“Oh, we’d love that. Let me know if you can find a night the appliances will agree.” James let out a chuckle and shook his head. “Life sure was easier before that sentient update, huh?”
Mike nodded. “Yeah. But, truth be told, the carpets have never looked so clean.”
by submission | May 29, 2023 | Story |
Author: Majoki
Crumbs. That’s how it always starts. Hansel and Gretel trying to backtrack their way home.
Except these are binary breadcrumbs. Bits and bytes strewn unevenly through the program. Through nearly fifty-nine million lines of code. How do you follow that?
Maybe the safer question is: Why try?
Murder.
That gets a sniffer going. And multiple murders is sniffer crack. Have to admit, I like that kind of shit. Digital forensics can be slow and tedious, but if you’ve got dead bodies buried in the code, it livens up the work.
Go ahead and gag on my word play. At least I’ll spare you code play. Only savants like me bark a tooth loose over clever arrangements of ones and zeros. Yeah, I’m not normally someone anyone wants to spend a lot of time around, but when the body count climbs, I suddenly become indispensable.
Not that algobots or other kind of AI dicks can’t sleuth their way through labyrinths of code. They just can’t bring what I can when the game is afoot. Sure, they can scan millions of lines of code more quickly than I can. But they can’t smell the deceit, hear the whispers, taste the sweat, feel the fear like I can.
Machines don’t conspire. Humans do. Which means all conspiracies are sensual.
And that’s how I track them back to the source code: on all fours with my nose to the screen, sniffing at the dirty crumbs that are left behind. Especially when there are bodies.
That’s the upshot. In my line of work, murder is always messy because Death is so goddamn crumby.
by submission | May 28, 2023 | Story |
Author: Vruti Naik
Dr. Alex Williams sat alone in his laboratory, surrounded by the eerie glow of flickering monitors and the soft hum of machinery. He was lost in thought, his mind consumed by the virus that he had been studying for months.
He had found a cure and the world had breathed a sigh of relief when the disease had been declared eradicated, but the doctor knew the truth. He could feel it in his bones, in the depths of his mind. This was no ordinary virus. It was an alien life form, a being from beyond our world that had come to infect and transform the population.
As he stared at the glowing screen in front of him, he whispered to himself, “Tell me what you really are, I know this isn’t over.”
His colleagues had no idea of the toll his work had taken on him. The sleepless nights, the constant stress, the unrelenting pressure to find a cure had all worn him down. He had become isolated.
He had tried to tell his colleagues, to warn them of the danger, but they had dismissed him as delusional, a victim of his own obsession. They couldn’t see what he saw, couldn’t feel the pulsing energy emanating from the virus. It was alive, conscious, and it was spreading.
The doctor knew that he was running out of time. He could feel the virus infecting his own mind, twisting his thoughts and emotions into something he didn’t recognize. He had become a vessel for the alien, a conduit for its power.
As he sat alone in the laboratory, he felt the transformation taking hold. His skin crawled with a strange energy, his eyes glowed with an otherworldly light. He knew that he was no longer just a human, but a host for the alien’s consciousness.
He thought back to the day he had first encountered the virus, how it had seemed so innocuous, so simple. But now he knew the truth. It was a harbinger of something greater, a sign of the coming invasion.
The doctor was finally gone all that remained was a weapon, a conduit for the alien’s power. He would become the harbinger of the invasion, the herald of a new age.
