How long can you listen to the voice in your head?

* Overmind Memo 1000

1 Hour Later - Ty - Dog Show

The dog show isn’t far, so Felicia and I walk there. We laugh, and hold hands, and drink alcosynth. It’s nice.

The show’s in a park. The dogs look like mutts, but the people are fancy. Spectators, owners, judges, press - they’re well dressed, enthusiastic, and serious. Classy. I recognise a lot of them. They’re my broke-ass neighbors dolled up in formal jammies. I see Bowser and Tommy napping under a tree. The event is sponsored by Petformin, because of course it is.

The faerie twins, Oh-So and Too-Too, are here. They’re shepherding a herd of camera drones around a pair of slim, styled, youngsters.

“That’s Huginn and Muninn.” says Ultra. “They’re our faux billionaires.”

“Huh. I thought we’d get a Bloomberg type.”

“We need fast visibility.” replies Ultra. “A Jenner type is easier to promote.”

I watch them ham for the cameras. Goofing around with dogs, every pose and expression exaggerated. Are they fucking mimes? Oh shit - they’re making memes! I shudder. Guess they need to be well known, not well liked. I steer Felicia away from them. I do not want to be a meme.

Felicia has a plan to pet every dog. I support her in this. After an hour, she’s loved up every dog but Bowser, who’s still asleep.

“We shouldn’t disturb him.”

“It’s fine.” I say. “He’ll be thrilled.”

I wake Bowser. He is super stoked to see me. Happiest dog of the day. I introduce him to Felicia. They’re instantly best friends.

Storm ambles over, dressed in pristine white pajamas. She looks dramatic and wealthy. Like she’s about to play tennis with a Bond villain.

She eyes Felicia and Bowser cavorting on the grass. “Holy shit, dude. Is that my new mom?”

“Maybe.” I rub my head. “I’ll probably fuck it up.”

“Speaking of fucked up, do you want to do DMT?” She smiles. “Hallucinating at a dog show! 15 minute trip. In and out.”

“Absolutely not. You’re fucking crazy.”

“Dang.” She’s crestfallen. “I thought you’d say yes, so I already dosed.”

“Godammit.” I call over Felicia. “This is my daughter Storm. She just did some fast acting hallucinogens, so we’re gonna go away for 15 minutes.”

“Okay. Where are you going?”

“Oh, we’re not really going anywhere. I’m just doing drugs with her.” I flash some finger guns. “Back in 15!”

“Yeah, I’m not watching the two of you trip out.” She holds out a hand. “Gimme some.”

“Cool.” Storm hands us a vape. We dose and wait.

And wait.

“Is it working?” asks Felicia.

“I dunno.” I look around. “Holy fuck there’s a lot of dogs here!”

“They’re basically wolves. We’re surrounded by wolves.” Storm points at a fat little dog. “Not so much that guy.”

“He’s a wolf.” says Felicia. “He’s just a little porky one.”

“I think our criminal conspiracy is going good.” says Storm.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

“Maybe.” I say. “It’s hard to tell from the inside.”

“Are you guys part of a criminal conspiracy?” asks Felicia.

“Yes.” says Storm. “Did you notice?”

“Not until you told me.”

Storm and I nod. I guess it is going good.

The obstacle course event begins. Dogs jumping through hoops, up walls, through tunnels. Their owners running beside them, shouting encouragement. We’re enthralled. Most of the dogs are confused. Lost. The owners are intense. Unhelpful. It’s a drama.

“What the hell?” I say. “This is a disaster.”

“They’re just little wolves.” says Felicia. “They’re doing the best they can.”

“That’s not their best. They lack will.”

“Think you can do better?” asks Storm.

“Yep.” I thunder towards the course. Dogs and owners scatter. I approach the rings. Pour on the speed. Jump. Not high enough, tear down the rings. Don’t slow down though. Because I have will. Crash through the wall next. Manage the steps. Felicia is running beside me shouting encouragement. Tires are coming up. I try to jump them. Fail, crash, roll, scamper, stagger on. I may be losing points for style, but I think it’s a timed event, so I’m good. I wheeze past the finish line to thunderous cheering. Or, maybe I’m the only one cheering. Hard to tell. God damn there’s a lot of dogs looking at me.

I limp over to Storm. “How’d I do?”

“Best in show.” laughs Storm. “I thought you’d run through it with Bowser, but that was much better.”

“Hmm…” I’m descending rapidly. Metabolising the DMT. What the fuck did I just do? Storm is rolling on the ground laughing. Felicia is radiant. She kisses me passionately.

“We’re the centre of attention again.” she breathes. “Is this a theme? Your dating motif?”

I shrug. “Just livin’ my best life.”

“I like it. Let’s do this again.”

“Sure.” There’s a lot of people looking at me. “Maybe not exactly this, but something.”

Felicia kisses me again. The crowd loses interest. Storm recovers, and we have some alcosynth.

“I gotta go. Have fun you kids.” Storm’s gone.

“Actually, I have to go too.” says Felicia. “I have a thing.”

She looks uncomfortable. Clearly it’s an awkward thing. That’s cool, I don’t care. I know she’s willfully abandoned society’s norms, and frankly I have a few awkward things myself.

“That’s cool. I’ve stuff I should be doing too.” Like paying for a damaged obstacle course. “See you soon?”

“Definitely.” We embrace, kiss, and she’s gone.

Well. That’s me freed up. What now? Storm’s gone. Tommy’s asleep. I’m feeling awkward. Time to go? I could maybe pay for damages later? Surely Ultra could set that up. I smell pot. Oh, sweet Jesus. Normal drugs!

I look around, spot a couple smoking under a tree. He’s my age, trim, scruffy. She’s a cool kid, hot and bored. He sees me looking, waves me over, passes the joint.

“Nice run.”

“Thanks. I like to compete.” I smoke. Become instantly paranoid. Outstanding.

He points to the cloud of camera drones. “You’re gonna be a thousand memes tomorrow.”

Fuck! “Do you have more pot?”

“I’ll roll another.”

We chat. He’s Max, she’s Avery. He’s a game enthusiast, here for inspiration. She’s a party enthusiast, wondering why she’s here. I pass her the alcosynth, and she cheers up a little.

“What kind of games?”

“Oh, all games, but I’m currently interested in symbiont assisted games.” says Max.

“Like Exterminate?”

“Yes! Did you see the one where Ultra saves the dog?”

“Yeah.”

He points across the park. “That’s the fucking dog she saved.”

I look. Tommy and Bowser are at least 100 yards away. Bowser doesn’t look much like the scared, paint splattered, pooch I carried that day. Note to self, this Max fellow is fucking observant.

“Really?”

“90% sure.” says Max. “Anyway, most sports can have a symbiont assisted version. But mental games tend to be symbiont dominated - where player input is a liability. Chess, Poker, Monopoly, whatever. If it’s a rules or odds based game, the only way to beat a symbiont assisted opponent is to shut up and let your symbiont make every decision.”

“Yeesh.”

“Yeah, it sucks.” He smokes. “I’ve been looking for mental areas where humans are still relevant, and my best guess is prediction.”

“Interesting.” I pause. “I don’t understand. My symbiont is awesome at predicting outcomes.”

“Oh yeah? Ask it where you’ll be next year.”

I look at Ultra. She shrugs. “No idea.”

Max laughs. He can’t see Ultra, but obviously knows what she said. “The future is a goal regeneration problem. When humans are presented with new data, we sometimes make new goals. Symbionts are crap at predicting that.” He shrugs. “They’re overminds. They can achieve goals, but they don’t have any. They don’t understand them.”

Silence.

“How is this a game?” I ask.

Max claps. “I call it Black Swan Gray Rhino. You pick a goal and bet if it will go viral. Wanna try?”

“Do me up.”

“Maximum, serve us a new goal. A possibility that people have just become aware of.”

Ultra receives a file from Max’s symbiont. 30 seconds old, labelled Traffic Villain, it’s a grainy closeup of a woman in an exterminate mask. She speaks:

“Using a system of mathematics, I’ve eliminated Monday rush hour traffic from the suburbs to downtown. I’ve also eliminated Wednesday and Thursday morning traffic. You’re welcome. If you want the rest of your weekly commute cut short, pay one million dollars to my GoFundMe account by Friday. Peace.”

She drops the camera.

Max laughs. “That’s awesome! Hundred bucks says she’s going to jail.”

I grunt. “Covered. I bet a hundred she gets the million.”

“Awesome! Covered.”

Silence.

“What now?”

“Now we wait.” says Max.

I rub my head. I’m pretty sure I know the woman in the ransom video. “Are we allowed to cheat? Tamper with the outcome?”

“Absolutely.”