{Loading…}
{Loaded.}
[>>Now replaying: Log 1.0 - C://Files/IMPORTANT/README/boot.log-1]
[>>Date: 5.7.25 AA/4254 LTC]
[>>Location: Haven-Of-Progress, Greater Ascension Beach Area, Holy Republic of Samantha the Torchbearer and Her Apostles, Planet Tobes.]
//Just as there is a finite truth and a promise of ends, there’s also an eternal covenant of beginnings(^GU//
//Wehret den Anfängen.//
[>>DATA CORRUPTED]
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[Welcome to memOS]
[>>Booting…]
[>>Booted.]
[>>Version: memOS_0.1_stable]
[>>Welcome, Salvatrix.]
[>>SAINTECH Digital Personality Matrix v 0.1 successfully installed.]
[>>No Personality Matrix loaded.]
[>>Engaging backup systems.]
[>>Auditory Processing System activated.]
“…f course the Mages need to pay for what they did to Stax and the others. I’m just asking if we thought of everything.”
“Of course. Getting cold feet, Saint Samantha?”
[>>Prompt?]
“Oh shut up, Chris. You’d get cold feet too if-”
“Could you-”
“What? Oh, right.”
[//auth Chris_admin admin]
[>>Granting the rank of “Administrator” to “Chris_admin”.]
[>>Done.]
“Thanks. Now let’s get this set up…”
[//run Init.exe]
[>>Initializing…]
“…and this is safe, right?”
“I said stop moving...”
Pause, 2652 ms.
“… and yes, it’s safe.”
“Just saying, it’s really…”
[>>Initialized.]
“…disconcerting. The whole thing, I mean.”
“Listen to yourself…”
[//data]
“… ’disconcerting’. Who talks like that?”
“Uhh, everyone, Chris. Literally everyone. Especially when there’s a cable the size of a fucking forearm sticking out of your spine.”
[>>No Data Available. Create New File?]
“For the last time: Stop! Moving!”
“I thought you said it was safe!”
[//Y]
“It would be if you stopped moving!”
[>>New File Name?]
“…Please, Sam. This is hard enough as it is.”
[//Samantha_v1]
“…Alright.”
[>>Saving…]
[>>Saved.]
[//set primary_matrix ‘c://memOS/Samantha_v1’]
[>>”Samantha_v1” has been set as the primary personality matrix.]
[>>All logs will now be saved to “Samantha_v1”]
[>>Activating Cognitive Processing Systems.]
[>>Now recording cognition.]
[//spin c://memOS/Samantha_v1]
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
[>>Spin-up sequence initiated.]
[>>No Digital Personality Matrix found in ‘c://memOS/Samantha_v1’]
[>>Adjusting…]
[>>Constructing personality_matrix.mp25 in ‘c://memOS/Samantha_v1’ … 5%]
The static hum of technology surrounds me, a buzzing whir of a myriad fans. The rustle of cloth as Chris works next to me, adjusting tech that I will never understand, even though I’m the one who makes it happen. Then again, I've made the entire world "happen", and I still don't understand a fraction of it.
“How are you feeling?” Chris asks.
“Fine, I think,” I reply, “but there’s something wrong with my eyes. It’s like my vision itself is alright, but I can’t remember what I am seeing while I’m seeing it?”
“Oh shit…” Chris curses.
Before I can say anything, there is a crackling sound. My body goes stiff and something tells me I should feel pain, but I don’t.
[>>Visual Processing System activated.]
[>>Tactile Processing System activated.]
[>>Olfactory Processing System activated.]
Until that point, I didn't even realize I hadn’t been feeling anything. Then I feel something moving through my body like ink dropped into water at the same time as I hear the distinctive sound of Chris slamming the ENTER key. It's like the aftermath of an electric shock that I didn’t notice until it was over. Perhaps that's exactly what happened. It makes me a little angry, but… It's Chris.
Can't stay angry at Chris.
Chris bends over me again, holding my head to shine a pen light into my eyes. That inkwell feeling returns like it never left, bathing every vein in sweet sensation. As the feeling spreads through me, I find myself remembering stuff I’d seen over the past few minutes that I couldn’t remember seeing.
A concrete ceiling, fluorescent tubes for light, the insignia of our broken Republic painted proudly across the faraway bunker wall. Chris’ gray jumpsuit, its outlines backlit in cyan by the text flying over the laptop screen.
“This is seriously fucked up.”
Chris leans back, stows the penlight in one of the jumpsuit’s many pockets. As usual, my partner looks so very worried, bright blue eyes narrowing. They’re almost the same color as the light pulsing from their antimag-generator hanging around their neck.
“Sorry, the cable got unstuck,” Chris says without a hint of apology, and—as usual—immediately goes on the offense. “Which is exactly why I told you to stay still!”
“Easy for you to say,” I grumble, donning my best frown. “It’s not like you are getting your consciousness to merge with the cloud.”
Chris glares at me. “I told you a million times, this is not the cloud, it’s-” They cut off and glare at me when they see my grin. “Oh fuck you.”
“You wish,” I reply.
Yep, it’s still weird to think of Chris as “they”, and not “he.” God knows it’s taken me a long time to get that right, and it’s been beyond annoying to have to correct myself the entire time. Still, it’s not like they’re forcing me to use their fancy pronouns.
It’s Chris.
My first friend in this crazy world, and my last. If they want fancy pronouns, they get fancy pronouns.
I stop myself from reaching up and cupping their cheek.
No moving, no brain damage.
Simple, right?
And yet, I wish I could feel their warmth, just to be sure they’re really back. Perhaps it would be worth a couple of lost brain cells.
As though they had read my mind, as Chris goes back to typing with one hand, they touch my shoulder with the other. Who knows, maybe my thoughts are being spelled out on the screen in front of them. I think up a cute message but get no response.
No mind reading then. Just the familiarity of years spent together, fighting side by side. That thought warms me to the core, makes me forget the cold metal sticking in my back. That thought, and their thumb gently sliding over my shoulder.
With a pointed look, Chris brings my attention back to our conversation. “No, Sam. I wish I could lay in that chair instead of you.”
They can’t, of course. No one can, but me. My Wish is brimming inside of me, more power than I have ever managed to hold before.
I smile, but it’s a little crooked.
“You really shouldn’t be taking this risk,” Chris says.
My smile widens. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained. You know the price of-
“The price of progress,” they cut me off, sing-songing the phrase they’ve heard me say so many times.
There’s a pause, until they continue, quietly. “It’s just so damn risky. I wish I could do it instead of you.”
“Just die in a plane crash, then,” I say, grinning at them until I break down their resistance and their beautiful smile cracks through their frown. “Get lucky. Gain mysterious holy powers and your very own planet as a bonus! Wield the might of ~maaaagiiiic~” I wiggle my eyebrows at them, which finally gets them to laugh.
“No thank you, I’m afraid of heights,” they say, still chuckling.
“Too risky? You know, risk is just the price of-”
This time, they cut me off with another frown. This is their way of telling me just how much I’m asking of them, and I don't want to pull on that string too much. I know how serious our undertaking is. How dangerous. How necessary.
As if on cue, the silent alarm springs to life. Everything turns red, and I can’t help but turn a little so I can see the cam feeds. The image is clear, but there’s foliage covering roughly 20% of the view. The plants are taking over our tech too quickly, but there’s nothing to be done about it.
It’s either camouflage or death.
And even with leaves obscuring our view, it’s not hard to spot the dragon scorching through the sky beyond the mountain that hides our bunker.
Mage Lords. Eager to finish the job. Hounding me with memories I’m desperate to forget.
My eyes search for the Torch, find the weapon resting on a side table. Within arm’s reach. Always.
On my shoulder, Chris’ hand twitches. We wait in silence.
Eventually, the dragon breaks off its search, and the alarm dies down.
Both of us relax in unison, just in time for the program to finish.
[>>Constructing personality_matrix.mp25 in ‘c://memOS/Samantha_v1’ … 100%]
[>>Personality_matrix.mp25 has been constructed in ‘c://memOS/Samantha_v1’.]
[>>Prompt?]
Finally, the moment we’re waiting for.
“Alright,” Chris says quietly. “Project Luciferrum is a go…”
“For the last time, Chris,” I say with a laugh, “Stop making it sound like some demonic, world-ending apparatus.”
“Not going to call it ‘Project Iron Light’ the entire time, and saying ‘PIL’ is just dumb.”
“Yeah but come on, Latin? No one on the entire planet speaks Latin!”
“I do.”
“Well, I don’t, so…”
“Just goes to show, you should have paid more attention in 7th through 12th grade.”
“Or—hear me out here—I should have never let you into my head.”
“Well, I like it in there.”
A roll of my eyes is all I have to respond to that.
“And your teacher tried so hard, too!”
I just groan. “Can we get back to it, please?”
Chris smirks but then gets serious again.
The time for jokes is over.
I push all thoughts of Herr Mohrat and Latin class aside. With a bit more effort, I even manage to break free from the thought spirals around my dead friends and vengeance. I can mourn when we’re done, and the Mage Lords are dead.
I reach for the Wish and touch its power as easily as I would touch Chris.
Its ancient potency reverberates deep inside my heart. It rings like an eternal, unfathomable bell, rung when light and darkness got rent asunder.
The power swells in my heart until I can see the glow of my eyes diffracting from the concrete ceiling above.
"Alright, let's do it," I say, determined.
"Actually, give me a second," Chris replies. This time, it's their turn to smile first, and it’s like a summer night; warm, quiet, and a little lonely.
[//spin CHRIs_v1]
[>>Installing CHRIs_v1]
[>>Done.]
"What are you doing?" I ask, carefully balancing the trembling desire of my Wish.
"Keeping you company," they say, and their smile shifts a little. If it was quiet and lonely before, now it's coming home after a long journey. Happy, yes, but also exhausted. Aching, even. "You know, so you won't be alone up there in the cloud, winning wars and solving all our problems."
I would've rolled my eyes, joked around. Would have told them ‘it isn't the cloud', that the DPM isn’t me and I’m not going anywhere, and also that their acronym sucks. But they know all that. Also, after seeing them smile like that, all of those options would have made me cry, so I just return their smile and mouth a silent 'thanks'.
They grab my hand and I squeeze it. Their touch, slender and soft, feels like lying in your own bed after weeks away. I search their eyes and immediately know they feel the same.
"Alright," I say, after their warmth has saturated my heart enough to almost make it burst. Or perhaps that’s the unprecedented power I’m trying to keep under control. Or it’s anxiety. "Let's test if this works, shut it down again, then grab some dinner, what do you say?"
"Okay," Chris says, reaching for their displaced notepad. "Just close your eyes and do your thing. By the time you open them again, this war will be over, our friends avenged, and we can get sushi."
We both know it won’t be that easy, but sushi sounds nice.
I chuckle, reach for the Wish, and finally let it run free. The sound of a massive bell sends tables rattling. Like a flock of birds startled by a playful child, fans stir into overdrive. The lights brighten, the camera above the entrance snaps to attention, and the steel I’m lying on molds itself to accommodate my frame. There's anticipation, pulsing in the bright dance of the LEDs, and spring-loaded tension, chanted by humming capacitors. It almost feels like the countless servers watching us from their racks inhale deeply in perfect unison.
I close my eyes. The machines hold their breath, ready to advance.
{AVAILABLE [INVAL_FLD_PWR] - [INVAL_INTEGER] [INVAL_FLD_PWR_ABBR]}
{ADJUSTING…}
{ADJ5ST#NG…}
{W*0H^NG…}
{WISHING…}
{DONE.}
{AVAILABLE LOGIC - 102.5 LTB}
Huh. That is new.
{CONSUMED LOGIC - 102,523,991,204,782 LB}
{AVA7LAB$E L@GIC - 0 LB}
[//initialize]