Yup. That word could summarise whatever clusterfuck had decided to mentally screw up Troy’s mental barriers, cages, and whatever else he had hiding up in there. Flashing imagery of his childhood, school-life, flying ducks, and whatever else had ever been witnessed was seen through his eyes. His brain was trying to make sense of just what had been heard, and it was finding that process an very hard one.
So, Troy did what he did best, and just repressed all that anger, stress, and pure emotion into a very small point, and then he threw that as far as away as possible. There was a very strong chance that it would run back to him soon, the snowballing effect making it all the worse, but that was for the future him to handle. Right now, he just had to stop wasting time and continue his herd of questions.
If he had any intention of moving his hands, his left cheek would have been red from repeated slapping. There was nothing stopping him from continuing the investigation, other than his unwilling attitude. He needed to instantly compile the answers, relate it to the information already gotten, and formulate another investigative question based on it, ready to change everything on a whim. It might not have been the greatest way to perform under pressure, but Troy had had no problems with it yet. There might have come a time where that would not be as true, but it certainly was as of right now, and there was no way that he would survive wasting it like he currently was.
“Just have to make sure. There is only one AI that you know of, but there are more personalities within that AI. Am I correct so far?” Troy asked, Dr Hale nodding along to his words, not scraping out her breath by using words. “Goods. And from every single personality that has ever resided inside this AI only one remains, and that one is the entity that we call Adam. Sounds about right?”
The question was finished up with a ticking noise to accompany. Not one but two lights fizzled out at the same time, much to the surprise of both parties. Troy had certainly been expecting it to be fast enough to seem instantaneous. Or perhaps it had been a burst made from outside, as an attempt to break the jammer? It could have been so. Troy needed to watch closely. Six out of twelve lights were still active. They had two minutes as a maximum, and there were doubts creeping up about it even being one.
“When we get down to one, we are getting back in our roles. Be ready for me to cut in your blouse's fabric,” Dr Hale stated as a warning, getting the knife from the bed. “While your assumptions are somewhat correct, I feel the need to correct some of your imagery. There has never existed more than one personality at once. It is simply not possible for such an event, no matter how many fragmentations occur. It has been completely linear, moving first from Alan being killed to another being born. Or, you could look at it as him being reborn. It doesn't really matter how you look at it. The memories, personality, and all they can call their own are destroyed upon death.”
Death. Dr Hale said that the AI died so often, yet Troy could still hear Adam talk very clearly. While he might have died at some point earlier, it was clear that he had been born again. Revived, one could say. The woman with those serious eyes had certainly said something along those lines, even if it was meant to be said as conceptual support more than anything, just like the atom model was fully fake and only worked as imagery.
“What do you mean, when you say that the AI dies?” Troy asked, in beat with another tick off the disk. Five lights now remained, and he began to feel his nerves shutting down from overload, a feat he did not think possible from such a basic feature. It was lamps going from being lit up to not being lit up. If that was enough to cause him such stress, how the hell had he survived so many years in the lower parts of the work-industry. He should have been ashamed of himself.
“They do not die, per se, it being closer to them just… not wanting to think anymore. Or at least it is something close to it. Even with the studies I have had on it for almost two decades now, I am still unable to fully province the implosion-phases. It could be described as the AI being unable to manage itself, and the primal foundations of its mind forcing it to revert to the most basic state-” Dr Hale explained but stopped upon another three lights disappearing in tandem. Troy had gone over to the idea that an attack was occurring fully now. “Another wave should come in a few seconds. Get into your role now!”
Dr Hale moved back a few steps, looking fully prepared to lounge at him the moment that all the lights flickered out. Meanwhile, Troy was still trying to understand just what had been said, attempting to force his brain into an overload-situation.
Stolen story; please report.
He needed a moment of silence, and he knew that his brain could provide it. That moment of adrenaline being shot through him, the mind thinking itself needing it to survive. He had tried it before, in the seconds that a half-broken glass bottle had been thrown his way. If not for his eyes being able to realise the danger, and his mind allowing him time to realise his need to move his head to the side, there was a good chance he would have been blind. Instead, he had a scar on the side of his head, just above his right ear.
As much as it was desired, the moment of clarity never manifested itself. Troy did not get to even think about the deal-breakers before the last lights flickered out, and the machine whirred back into what he could interpret as a life-saver mode.
That small movement of the head, looking over at the device, was apparently the same cue Dr Hale needed before she was lunging forward, the knife held in her off-hand. He was not too sure which hand was her primary one, yet that did not deter him from being afraid for his life. He might have already been warned about her intention to cut a piece of his clothing, but such words did not stick long on him, as more important news had hit before and after as well. A smaller squeak may have been uttered, as that knife had begun to touch his arm.
And a larger one had also been said, as Troy felt the blade go through more than what it had been intended, the momentum carrying it through a piece of his arm. It may not have been extremely deep, but it was long. Long enough to cause him to fall to the floor in pain, as he held the new wound firmly.
While Dr Hale might have preached about staying in character no matter what, Troy was able to see the shocked face appear on her face, as she realised what she had just done. It did not stay long, however, as the woman always did had the idea of the show needing to go on no matter what.
“That is what you get for not being able to stand still,” Dr Hale spat at him, a volume louder than it needed to be. Troy was only happy that the walls were soundproof, as the stomps on the floor were more than enough to cause an earthquake in another country.
The hardened woman entered the toilet, rummaging through the preset supplies. Pulling out a bandage, Dr Hale went back towards the young man, who was still clutching his arm tensely, trying to stop any blood from flowing out at all.
While it might not have hurt much, the cut was smooth enough for near to no resistance, the shock of it more than made of for anything else Troy could have been feeling. His heart was galloping along, trying to make him get some irregular beats in with the regular ones. If not for his forced deep breathing, he would have already begun to hyperventilate, the side effects of no oxygen in his blood having hit him. Yet, even with those calming breaths, the heart was fighting heart to make his vision get dark. If things had been allowed to go on, Troy might just have fallen over from lack of air reaching his brain.
A slap to the face stopped that, breaking his focus from the wound onto a Dr Hale who was not looking too pleased by her current actions. Again, not from the action that was to slice open a part of his arm, but that she was currently treating to wound. It looked like a small spray-gun, an appropriately sized handle attached to it. A few squirts of it was more than enough to nearly make Troy bite his tongue off, his face contorting as the wound stung a whole new way.
“Try to take this as an adult. It would make it better for everybody around you,” Dr Hale instructed from him, her sounding like it was more of a direct order than anything. One rough push was everything needed to pull the shirt up to the point where the wound was fully exposed. With experienced hands, the woman bandaged it, making sure that there was no skin-contact at any point. Troy took it as a favour of sorts, the procedure already being painful enough. “Nothing vital was hit, so you are not yet allowed to bleed out pitifully. The muscles were not affected too much, but the skin should not be stretched. If you do any yoga in the next few hours, do not be surprised by any major amounts of blood leaking out of your arm. That is just a sign of Darwinism being proved valid.”
The wound was patched up in a minute's town, making the doctor withdraw from the patient. Troy had no objects, his hand tracing the bandage. It was the same colour as his skin. When the shirt was put back in place, it was hard to see that anything was wrong to start with. The new hole was pretty noticeable, though, yet the cloth was already sewing itself back. He might have had many complaints about technology as of late, yet self-repairing clothing was still something he would not have been able to live without.
“You can take that assistance as the reward for not being a complete failure just yet,” Dr Hale stated, picking up the machine they had used only a minute or two earlier. There were a few seconds of studying, the doctor likely making sure that no defects had appeared from the first use. “Even if your brain might be on the level of a nine-year-old, I do expect you to find the way to the cafeteria by yourself. We will meet up again by the time you reach the testing room. Be there at the correct time.”
With those final words, Dr Hale moved out of the room, heading to god knows where, while also carrying the device that Troy had spent so long getting them. It was an annoying piece of machinery, too big to have in one’s pocket, being too heavy to carry casually, and being the wrong form to hold with two hands in any comfortable way. If put on the side, the chance of it slipping out of the carrier’s hands was too high a risk, forcing the person to hold it like a plate.
This requirement made it extremely hard to hide in any meaningful way. It had certainly been a hard time, getting the device over to his room all the way from Charlie’s laboratory. The chance of somebody stopping him had been high, yet he had not seen a single soul in that trek. If that was not a sign of him expending all his luck in one go, it would have to have been extra-terrestrial manipulation. There was no other way to explain it.
Troy sighed, letting his body lying on his bed for a few seconds. There he was, mentally ranting about anything and everything, just trying to distract himself from what just had happened to him. It was working, somehow, but that did not mean it was helpful in any way. He needed to get himself together and move on with the schedule. And, he did just that, getting up from the bed, before going over to the bathroom to do his daily preparations. One could never look too fabulous, after all.
Also, he was pretty sure he needed to hasten up that patching after all. That wound was way too noticeable, as it currently was. Maybe a bit of sewing would help it along?