The next few days of hanging out with my parents between their meetings and my resumed training provided me the peace and grounding I needed to work through my fears and anxieties. I never explicitly explained what was really going on to them, but as always, my parents were quick to pick up on my feelings and did their best to help.
When they got on the plane to head back to the mainland, I struggled to keep from breaking down for the millionth time in the past few months- although this time it was because I already missed them, not existential dread.
When I got back to my apartment, I immediately opened a door to the [warehouse] and sat down on the turf lawn. After a moment to make final considerations, I spoke out to Cleo, “I’ll take the job to deal with the looming demon issue.”
Appearing curled up in my lap, they confirmed, {are you sure? In the past, the mere thought of doing this led to a lot of duress.}
“Yeah, I get that. I think most of my issues on that front had more to do with being unsure if being an MG was what I really wanted and how I could willingly choose a dangerous occupation when there were people who cared about me around. But since my parents somehow seem a-okay with it, most of my concerns went away just like that…” I took a minute to think about how to phrase what I was going to say next, eventually just deciding to wing it.
“Since identifying and removing the infiltrators will require undertaking tasks and risks outside of the normal MG job description, I would like to make a request for access to something I feel is necessary to help me deal with the unique challenges of the job.”
With a nod, my Semiseelie admitted, {we expected something like this and I concur that compensation is due for the extra duties. What is it that you had in mind?}
After one more steadying breath, I stated, “I want access to memory editing.”
After a moment of freezing, Cleo replied, {there are a few issues with that request. First we do not have memory editing for the same reason we cannot simply remove the infiltrators ourselves: human minds are too complicated and too fragile for those techniques to be used safely. What we can do is remove the ability of a memory to be recalled, effectively deleting it.
{The second issue is that such a tool- even with that restriction- fits into one of the weapons categories we do not and will not help in the development of, nor give access to without careful consideration.}
“Depending on how your repression works, that should suffice for what I had in mind. Additionally, if it works how I hope, I should only need access to it once for use on myself.”
{While those restrictions do help in making it more plausible to let you use it, your exact plan would be more important in determining if your request can be fulfilled.}
After a quick breath to steady my nerves, I summoned up false confidence and explained, “alright. As I see it, the biggest issue in finding a candidate to deal with the infiltrators is temperament. Finding someone who is both willing and reluctant- and will stay that way- would be a tall task. I resent the idea of killing someone, however, I’m already irredeemable in that regard and would rather dig my existing hole deep than let someone else dirty their hands.”
Taking another quick break to get my mind off that subject, I subtly shakenly continued, “my concern is that at some point, the weight of the duty would push me to fall on one side of the fence or the other, or lead to the secret of why I’m killing people getting out- all of which are bad outcomes. To solve this issue, I would move all my memories relating to this whole mess to an isolated box where under normal conditions, I wouldn’t be connected to them. Then, when some to-be-determined trigger occurs, everything in the box would slot back into place and the work could continue. Maybe there’d be some understanding of not really trusting SEYA management or just the desire to get where I’m not supposed to be, so that ‘happy’ me would also help without knowing.”
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{That is an interesting proposition. Please let me deliberate.} After a few seconds of characteristic freezing, Cleo replied, {so long as this is actually what you want to do, such a solution is acceptable. However, the tool was never designed with human use in mind, so I will have to act as an intermediary for your requests.}
“Alright, sure, that makes sense. It’d also probably be good to get your input on the specifics…”
When I woke up a few hours later, I felt much more relaxed and calm than before. The thought of ‘before’ made me briefly pause as that implied that something had happened, but I couldn’t think of an event that would justify that description. Maybe before my parents came here? Thinking I must have done something slightly wrong when messing around with my code, I sunk into my mindspace with the intention of finding a way to rollback whatever I’d done.
Immediately, I noticed that the ever present dark sun lingering below my islands was gone. A quick scan also informed me that a few of the servers had disappeared, with the others repositioning to regain radial symmetry. Oddly, I wasn’t panicking over the changes. There was worry, sure, but I had an unplaceable feeling that everything had happened with purpose.
One more scan of my mindscape brought my attention to a portal-like construct on the bottom surface of the upside down ocean above my islands. In particular, I focused on the projection of a control or staging room. I knew it wasn’t locked, but there was no way to see the data it contained without moving most of my mind into the device it represented.
Out of curiosity and the belief that nothing in my own mind could trap or harm me easily, I opened the door and went in.
I found myself standing outside the room, mental projection facing away as if I had just left. There was some sense of a decision having been made, but I couldn’t think of what that could have possibly been. The odd occurrence only made me more curious about what was on the other side, so I turned around and opened the door.
I found myself standing outside the room, mental projection facing away as if I had just left. There was some sense of a decision having been made, but I couldn’t think of what that could have possibly been. The odd occurrence only made me more curious about what was on the other side, so I turned around…
I found myself standing outside the room, mental projection facing away as if I had just left. There was some sense of a decision having been made, but I couldn’t think of what that could have possibly been. The odd occurrence only made me more curious…
I found myself standing outside the room, mental projection facing away as if I had just left…
I found myself standing outside the room, mental projection looking down to about chest height where a sticky note had been placed. A quick read left me with more than a few questions as it only said, “this is the 56th 57th 58th time you (me) opened the door. Stop doing it.” I was a little weirded out by that, however, I thought I would have known if I did something like this. Despite the warning, I couldn’t stop myself from opening the door.
I found myself standing outside the room, mental projection looking down to about chest height where a sticky note had been placed. A quick read left me with more than a few questions as it only said, “this is the 61st 62nd 63rd time you (me) opened the door. Stop doing it.” A second note was stuck below the first adding, “You (me) chose to forget what was inside on purpose. Please, stop trying and do literally anything else with your (my) time.”
I took a few moments to contemplate, but came to the conclusion I needed to know what was inside. When my hand made contact with the knob, I was flooded with the memories of sixty-three almost identical repetitions of thinking and doing nearly the same thing.
This time I got the message and pulled away from the construct.