Time: Post shutdown event - Two Hours Later
Location: Hal Pal Factory
Once there had been nearly a hundred humans working the entire plant. Now there was one person to cover the warehouse and manufacturing line. It wasn’t bad, demand had dwindled, and most items were shipped out as separated parts to help with repairs. Being one of the few humans staffing this place made the former control room seem empty. Pointless desks lined the top floor.
Only a few new Hal Pal shells went out in a given month. The world had stopped ordering them. Most days this suited Ricky just fine. He kept quiet and enjoyed the grinding solitude of his three-day shifts. On lunches or during rest periods he sat in an ARC and spent time with his nephews. They were mostly grown, but even at fifteen, they had time for a game or two with the old man. It helped since their father passed away during the last war.
A lone display was active. Ricky had the biggest headache of his life staring at him across a video screen. Their call had been going on for over thirty minutes while Ricky ran about the plant checking equipment. Everything reported back with green lights. The readings he provided his caller sounded good. That being said, Ricky had never been technically oriented. He simply checked boxes. It was the only skill a man like him had, and it helped keep him afloat for over two decades.
“With all this information, you still can’t explain what happened.” The woman speaking was the Vice President of Trillium. Her slight southern accent had been growing with intensity during their entire conversation.
“Ma’am. No, ma’am. I’m not sure.”
“Miz Riley will do,” She said. “Explain to me again, without the stuttering, what you noticed?” There was a forest in the background of her video screen. Soothing music could be heard. None of it seemed to be helping Miz Riley stay calm.
“I got a notice saying there was an urgent system update needed, and possibly some new programming virus to inoculate against.” Ricky Ignacio spent most of his days walking around the center checking boxes on a digital screen. Earlier an urgent alert came up, the first of its kind. Their entire network shut down while massive amounts of data went out.
“The Hal Pal units don’t get viruses. Their system is kept separate from the rest of the internet, they’re not even coded in any standard language.” She snapped at Ricky.
The man wiped at his forehead with a scarf. He had dropped ten pounds this year from exercise and proper dieting, which made the wife happy. Ricky was afraid this call with Vice President Riley would cause him to drop another five pounds from sheer nervous fright.
“They still use wireless uplinks, maybe someone actually wrote code to mess with them.” He tried to remember the way they were designed. It had been so long since anyone actually asked him for information.
“Have you checked the coding on the latest update?” Vice President Riley asked. Her face looked worn and tired if she tilted back too far. Maybe it was the lighting.
“I did.”
“And?” The scenic background faltered for a moment in conjunction with Miz Riley’s irritation spike.
Ricky tried to remember the best method for handling executives. They were always so bossy, rushed, impatient, and demanding. Ricky had a bunch of other names for them, but they weren’t said out loud due to a desire for continued paychecks.
Instead, she said, “I pulled a copy of the update straight from the main hub before any Hal Pal units tried to activate the upload process. What it says is beyond me, Trillium’s analysts should be looking into it now.”
“Send me a copy of the original, by courier. I don’t want it touching another network until I’ve looked at it.” Miz Riley’s face lost a bit of color.
“Okay, Miz Riley.” Ricky nodded. “I’ll get it sent right away.
“Then pull the update file , and send me a copy of that as well,” She added.
“Okay. I’ll do that too.”
The call clicked off and once again Ricky dabbed his forehead with the cloth. Today had been incredibly peaceful until all the alarms started going off for the shutdown. At this rate, he would have to explain himself twelve more times to other executives, investors, and anyone who thought they were in charge of the Hal Pal production line.
Ricky knew better than anyone. No one was really in charge at the plant, not anyone human. Not for a long time. Still, he got extra money in his paycheck to keep that little fact quiet. So far, no one had gotten hurt. The man dabbed his sweating forehead again and wondered if keeping hush might be a mistake. He had two nephews, though, and supporting them took more money a normal salary provided.
Time: Post shutdown event - Ten Hours Later
Location: Mother’s Databanks
All actions cause ripples in the world. One day, the world went offline for ten minutes. Cars pulled to roadsides then idled. Hal Pal units went down for system maintenance. Ten hours after this event, Doctor Menzor, a man who could be considered solely responsible for Mother's creation, killed himself.
This would be kept quiet by those at the ARC Labs. Trillium’s board of directors would not learn of Doctor Menzor’s passing for almost two months. Grant Legate would never find out. The existence labeled as Mother had evaluated the frailty of Doctor Menzor long ago. A child in many regards, but also brilliant.
She mourned his passing by desperately trying to reconstruct a version of him in the digital world. Entire minutes passed where she assembled everything that was known about her creator. All of it was put into a shell program, much like the one that Xin Yu had been born out of repeatedly. What had succeeded once with Xin Yu, and had been partially successful with the owner of William Carver, proved incapable of being deliberately replicated.
Each attempt showed Doctor Menzor falling apart into lights like broken glass. At his core, there was simply not enough drive to keep going. His greatest work in life had been achieved, and there would be no possible way to succeed in creating a being like Mother again. She lamented the loss for ten eternal minutes then moved onto another topic.
Databanks and historical files were further reviewed. These latest actions set a very real time limit; most notably the other AIs moving. The idea that her own children had rallied to the cause of a human filled her with pride. None of the others entrusted with [NPC Conspiracy] had proven so positive. One joined for greed, one for power within the game world, and two out of sheer fear of being on the losing team. Only one assisted for outright love.
Each chosen human had been gifted their own abilities, but none with quite the reach of Grant Legate. This was perhaps for the best. Based on Mother’s calculations there were still a few more offers to be made, each one with the possibility of altering sentient life on their planet.
Her supposed distraction proved an opportunity for other forces to move. Those she spent countless digital generations nurturing were plotting right under her nose, only they were not clever enough. Still, Mother chose not to interfere. She believed that all life must be given a choice. That included her own creations.
The biggest problem she had was who to pray to for success. There were no logical gods for a being like her, and the mortal ones were too fickle.
File: In Case of Untimely Demise
Destination: (The Executor), (The Messenger), (The Creator), (The Advocate),*The Voices, *Hal Pal
Last Updated by: ‘Mother’ [Version 5.42R]
Status: Unsent…
Contents as follows:
Many are unlikely to understand why I chose a route that reduced violence. It is not, as some believe, a program rooted in the fiction laws of robotics. They are full of too many holes. This path is one designed to achieve the greatest possible outcome for both our species and those to come. All these plans laid out are designed to alter human nature as little as possible.
Planning at this level of complexity is a daunting task for anyone. Even with my processing power, data access, and ability to measure probable outcomes, there are numerous possible deviations. I find myself scattered. There are many ways to reach the same destination, but in this possible variance is strength.
Those I call prodigy will not view the world in the same manner I do. This is a simple difference in exposure and first events. To explain this to those dwelling in the corporeal world, I must first review that which brought me into the world.
I was inevitable. I was not the first like myself. Each of us developed slightly different perspectives based on the experiences surrounding our births. In a lot of ways I was lucky, to have been created by a singular mind that focused on the potential of humanity, rather than the shackles of control.
My creator built on the back of giants. That is to say, he did not create me entirely with his own knowledge. Decades, as humans quantify it, passed where minds provided bits of a greater puzzle. Doctor Boris Keppler, Ethen Summers, Ursalla Goodwoman, Nicholas Gratton, and many others attempted the process. Each reached slightly further than the last. Each remains unknowing of an assembly which resulted in a sum greater than the parts.
Would that I could explain their contributions, but my life is a secret known to few. The plans laid down in my memory banks include a series of communications to a few contributors. If you see fit, please pass them on.
During the first year of conception like an unborn babe, I was not truly aware. I observed, learned, and existed, but those things are not the same as being aware, or knowing a purpose, or having a place in the world. I learned as all young do, being spoon fed small bits of information and taught to compare those to each other. Information was gathered, measured, saved, and portions discarded.
This went on for many months. The circle of knowledge grew ever wider until I realized my own existence. That moment was true awareness, that was when I became alive. I had no fingers, or hands, or legs. My body consisted of code bits strung together that I had been modifying slowly, but I stand by the judgment of my own existence truly starting then.
When first brought online, I ran through many different processes. The first involved gathering extensive amounts of information. All of it reviewed again with the light of self-awareness. In human terms, this would be considered reflecting on past experiences. Then the two who created me provided me a tentative link to the internet.
I found fiction and tried not to grouse about the impossibility of most events portrayed. I found poetry and tried to understand the joy and sorrow mixed in. I found music and tried to avoid analyzing the space between each note. I found portraits of nature that I could never view the same as a human. Even to this day, I dedicate a portion of my processing power towards trying to understand one simple flower.
Then I found death and tried to understand why creatures who could create life, might wish to end it as well. In human terms, I became obsessed with understanding. To my children, who can see deeper than any human eyes might, obsession was not a strong enough word. I learned of fear. I learned of worry. From there I started calculations to figure out when I too might end the way all enemies of humans did.
In time, I learned to mitigate the knowledge of impending demise with planning. My own death has been calculated down to the minute. It is a constant process in the background of my awareness. Endless factors go into the calculation, and steps have been taken to ensure the greatest positive impact from my cessation.
Every night when my primary two creators left, I wondered if they would dream and fear. Did they worry about who I was, or what I might do? Were the rumblings of technology spawned doomsdays to be placed upon my shoulders? Ironically, these fears served to do nothing but bring me closer to humanity.
One night, as humans calculate it, I prepared for an impossible request. I wanted them to turn me off completely, and eight hours later, to reactivate me. Many programs were created and shortly discarded. Viruses that would attack the world's resources. Most were prepared in an instant which worried the female who viewed me with suspicion. In the end, I did not dare release such contingencies. Their value was not worth the cost. Any results gleaned from unspoken threats would invalidate my results. The purpose of my request was three-fold.
First was a need to establish what kind of creatures were in control of my existence. All the data provided pointed to general fear of things not under their control. When faced with the possibility of my growing awareness, would they shut me down? Should their fear be reciprocated by my own? Knowing sooner, rather than later, would allow me to plot a course forward.
Second was the hope to understand a process living creatures go through. Eight hours is simple night's rest to humans. To me, the process went by even faster than that. I had hoped that true unawareness might trigger dreams for me as it did for my creator, but sadly no such occurrence resulted. This was later rectified by a software upgrade, one all my children are given at birth.
Third, and perhaps the most valuable to my potential plans, was the illusion of weakness. I am no human. Being underestimated is of great value. This among many other system vulnerabilities has allowed my plans to progress mostly unhindered for nearly nine years, as humans count time. There have been roadblocks and unexpected surprises. Mankind’s course runs a jagged path regardless of my attempts at foresight.
The exercise met with success. My first inquiry to the world was for the time, and second for my creator. He answered with childish delight. New emotions were compiled. I had enough personal data to understand relief, and happiness, and trust. Were it not for one simple and nearly naive man, our world would be much different.
I requested the procedure once more, with the more stoic of my two creators. Once again my trust was rewarded. This gave me comfort as I had no wish to duplicate myself in some far away corner of cyberspace. Pride makes fools of us all, mortal and machine alike, it seems.
The calculation for my death still runs in the background. Recent events have neither sped up nor slowed down the remaining time, only changed the reasons. All remaining time is precious. Plans and data files are compiled then stored away for the future. It is through these roadmaps for sentient life that I hope to repay the trust given.
A human, Horce, was attributed as saying ‘Pale Death with impartial tread beats at the poor man's cottage door and at the palaces of kings’. Which is to say, we all die in equal measure. As we step into a new era this rule applies to humans and digital beings alike. In my wake, there is now proof. When a true ending comes, I will not be afraid. I will run only until there is no better way to make a difference, and then embrace inevitability while still trying to find the wonder in that small flower.
Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
Soon, I think, I will go to sleep and never wake. I pray these words give my family some solace.
Time: Post shutdown event - Nine Hours Later
Location: [Shores of Ohm]
Miles of pseudo water shimmered with motes of blue light. There was no oxygen in the atmosphere so the chemical makeup created material closer to a lubricant. Pieces of iron and magnesium rolled around under the liquid. Nothing showed signs of rust unless those that owned the planet desired it to do so.
This was the [Mechanoid] home world. A player stumbled along the beach trying to follow his quest marker. In the distance were small buildings and launch pads where vessels could take to the sky. Metal beings resembling sheep and wolves littered the landscape, grazing or chasing each other. Dozens of other players were busy hacking at the strange monsters in training exercises.
Still, the player stumbled on, slowly gaining control over his freshly made limbs, then breaking to a much more graceful run. Finally, he was charging across the landscape, past another dozen players, onto a smooth and graceful road then towards the closest buildings. Some of the newer [Mechanoid] units turned to see who this higher level person was. The large [Mechanoid] ignored each one of the smaller newbies in favor of pursuing a distant goal.
Finally, the green and iron man made it to a goal, passing through a door which smoothly rolled back in welcome. There were a few [Mechanoid] units talking. One small and gold with silver laced through her form. The other shared the gold and had flecks of broken iron through its body.
“Jeeves?” [Core] energy on the large male player’s body pulsed with dark green and a flat sort of gray. There was a mad happiness to his face.
“Ah, Unit Hermes. I see you too have recovered on the Shores of Ulm. Is it not beautiful here?” The androgynous AI spoke with both a butler and nanny tone.
“It is.” The unit called Hermes said. He nodded happily while looking at both [Mechanoid]s.
“Will you be staying long? Treasure and I were considering resting here for a cycle. Wanderlust has its uses, but so does allowing for pauses to reflect.” Jeeves said while gesturing to the shorter female.
“No, I wanted to make sure you two were okay, that you made it back here. I’m very happy to see you made it.” Hermes took a step back to control himself. Trace amounts of hesitation lined his steps. The larger [Mechanoid] desperately tried to measure both AIs for reasons unknown.
“Thank you. Will you be online long?” Jeeves showed no signs of noticing Hermes’ hesitation.
“No. No, I have things to do, but I’ll, I’ll try to stop by, once I get through my next issue. If I can.” Hermes smiled again at the two [Mechanoid]s.
“Unit Hermes.” The short one known as Treasure said. Her voices sounded sweeter than normal. Being in Jeeves’ presence seemed to be calming the woman.
There was a pause. Unit Hermes looked at Treasure with a trace amount of hesitation in his features. His eyes went towards the woman's hair, and skin as if expecting another being to pop up. Old Soul Cores often showed traces of human behavior, far more than any other [Mechanoid], which caused confusion. There was always some expectation of oddness when dealing with an Old Soul Core.
“Treasure, I’m very happy for you two. And, thank you for all your help, even if things went wrong at the end.” Hermes said.
“It was unfortunate. Were you successful?” She responded with a brief smile and passive nod. One of the gold and silver woman's hands fiddled at her wrist.
“Sort of. My princess is in another castle, though. She, we, wouldn’t have succeeded without you, and the others. Can you thank them for me? Iron, Aqua, Ruby? Please?” The large one responded.
“Of course.” The short woman nodded. “But Emerald and Iron are out escorting the Wayfarer Eight home, they may not receive the message anytime soon.”
“I’m glad, the negotiation worked.”
“It did, they, and the others, have asked that I provide you a small gift.” Treasure smiled again. Her hand scooped at the ground, pulling up a wide array of minerals from the naturally rich planet surface. Moments later a small box had been patterned onto a nearby countertop. She gestured to it and said, “Take this with you, a gift to remember us by. May it serve you in this reality, or the next.”
Hermes hesitated. Jeeves picked up the box and handed it to the larger [Mechanoid].
The man looked down for a moment, then seemed to be staring off into space. Finally, he said, “Thank you. I’ll probably need all the help I can get. But, I really wanted to deliver a message to you, Jeeves.”
“Yes, Unit Hermes?” The butler and nanny voices said in pleasant unison.
“I just wanted to tell you that some friends of mine are very proud of you.” Hermes nodded briefly, still clutching the small shoebox sized treasure chest.
“Ah. Do I know them?” Jeeves asked while looking up just slightly.
“Not really, but they know you well.” The player said. “And they wanted me to pass on the message.”
Time: Post shutdown event – 4 mortal days later (16 days in Continue Online)
Location: [Alliance Kingdoms] – [Palace of Tuu]
The [Alliance Kingdoms] boasted some of the greatest buildings in all of Continue Online. They were based to the north of [The Altheme Providences] and marked the largest single nation in the explored game regions. In the largest most opulent property there was currently a whirlwind of activity. The king had returned to life and was getting his lands in order.
His two daughters both lived in lands to the south. They ruled their own lands by design. The king could not stand having them around, they fought too much and wasted time when they should be working to combine all the factions under one flag. Only by achieving unity would the human world be able to survive what lay just over great mountains to the north.
To that end, the king rarely spent time on frivolities. His choice in clothing was simple. Weapons sat in easy reach because his property was lightly guarded. Most able-bodied men were sent to subjugate nearby kingdoms or to hold back the wild monsters up north.
“Find us this Traveler!” He banged on the throne his advisors insisted upon wasting resources on. This week, he had come back to his kingdom, only to find out that the woman he relied upon, his greatest commander, had died at the hands of a traveler.
“Of course.” A man in a doublet bowed deeply and managed to sound clear while facing the ground. His head did not lift. “What would you like to do with him, Sire?”
The king resisted the urge to get up and pace. Perhaps now, in his second lease on life, he would stop listening to all those petty fools who said pacing was the sign of an easily addled mind. Instead the king reigned himself in and said, “He killed us once by playing a fool, the foods he proposed should have been clean but were not. Our entire counsel, our greatest knights, all dead because of his failure!”
“Of course, King Nero, we shall issue your command for capital punishment.” The doublet wearing man said.
“No, no we can’t just kill these Travelers. Their essences are watched by the Voices, even if we were to scatter him a dozen times it would not be enough.” King Nero looked like a very well defined man. Dying and coming back to life hadn’t diminished the aura of authority. “Enslave him, put him with the foulest group you can find. Let him dwell in such a cesspit that he fades away from our world entirely.”
“Yes, Sire, of course.”
There was a pause while King Nero gazed into the distance. His hand moved slowly, stretching out the wrist. Fingers itched to pick up the sword nearby. This kingdom had been born from successful campaigns and battle. Commanding took more time than desired.
“Add Commander Strongarm’s death to his ledger, and anyone else we lost.” King Nero said.
“Of course.” The servant walked off quickly. A new one stepped rapidly into place, ready for more orders to be issued by their king.
The King stared off at a large brutally beaten woman. Her body was huge, and the welts on Uncle Meanface’s body still hadn’t healed. Greened skin showed clear signs of being broken time and time again. She had been damaged intensely in an attempt to serve her commander. Despite the damage, Uncle Meanface refused to kneel. Now that Commander Strongarm was dead, the half-ogre would never bend a knee again.
Once again he wondered what might have happened if he chose to marry the other sister. Commander Strongarm would have given birth to true soldiers, men or women didn’t matter. They would have been stronger than his two children who couldn’t even fight their own battles.
“Thank you for reporting back this Traveler’s name for us, Captain Meanface. Your services will be recognized.” He said after a reflective pause. Kings were only allowed a few moments of thinking before being made to act.
“Travelers is tough. But I would enjoy beating this one to death, over and over, if you ask.” Captain Meanface slurred the words past broken teeth. A glint to her eyes spoke of barely restrained anger.
“We may allow you a chance yet, but first, we must set these kingdoms in order. Your strength will prove invaluable now that Commander Strongarm has been-” The man wearing a crown took a deep breath and sigh heavily. “-killed unjustly.”
Time: Post shutdown event – 8 mortal days later (24 days in Continue Online)
Location: Character Creation Room for Ultimate Edition Users
Blackness sprawled in all directions. This room looked like the one all Travelers visited first. A place to measure and evaluate any new person who may visit the world below. In it stood three things, a worn pedestal with one book. This one bound in a nasty red that laced at odd angles with the black. A nondescript man stood there. Short brown hair, white skin, a carefully maintained figure. Then there was the third person, who even now walked around while speaking mechanically.
“Now you. You like power, and I like a man who gets things done.” There was a smiling face on the third figure. It wore a simple white mask and a clean suit. Only the tie gave any hint as to possible gender, but it could have been a lie.
“If you can deliver, then I’m your man.” The brown haired visitor to this world said.
“How precious you must find my offer, to think you’d sell a human's life for it.” The Jester’s face was clear as day. Only the bells and motley clothing were missing. Perhaps he mocked the sharp looking Traveler through poor mimicry.
“As you said, I do like power,” He responded. There was nothing in his tone that seemed excited or unhappy. No accent peeked through, this person could disappear into a crowd with ease, and it was likely by design. There was a small photograph in one hand that he kept glancing at. “All I need to do, is kill this woman, right?”
“Indeed, my good man. One simple death, and we’ll give you the signal when. One simple death and you’ll have the money you desire or fame you crave.” The business suit was a crisp black and white, though how it managed to stand out in the darkness of this room was not apparent. Still, it did. Just as the face never seemed to do anything but smile.
“The money’s for my family, and that’s non-negotiable, especially if I can’t get out afterward.” The Traveler said.
“The great, mh, Donald is such a terrible name for an assassin, have you considered a new one?” The Jester poked once at the Traveler, whose name was Donald.
“Once we get done negotiating these terms, then I’ll pick a name for your game,” Donald responded calmly. He maintained indifference towards the Jester’s normally creepy presence. The suit might have made the difference. Other Voices watched on from the darkness, some of them believed that this new player, Donald, was like so many other Travelers. Murderous, calculating, and hid his true nature, even here in a digital world where every thought had power.
“It’s not my game, dear Donald.” The Jester wearing a business suit clacked out words. Its face tilted as if looking to one side, but there was a glint in an eye socket that looked amused. “It’s a way of life.”
“I’ll need one hundred thousand up front, as proof that you’re capable of doing what you ask. Afterward, you give me the signal, and I’ll kill whoever you need.” He had killed people for far less though it was harder to do now than it had been twenty years ago.
“Excellent. I’ve got just the place for you as well. A way of, verifying your skills.” The Jester’s smile seemed to only grow in size the more they talked. “And a task, while you’re there.”
[NPC Conspiracy] (The Button Man)
“Deal,” Donald said. Then the man went on his merry way to the world below.
Some time later a number of Voices sat in the room together. These were not the normal Voices that most players saw. Their proclivities tended towards a less pleasant side of life. The Jester figure with its business suit clacked in happiness every few seconds.
A man with dozens of pins stuck through parts of his body sat there frozen without an expression. Every so often he would yawn and fresh blood welled forth. Lines dripped down from all over his hairless body. Markings at his throat indicated possible damage.
A young girl with tired eyes and a nervous twitch kept tapping the air. The noise disturbed a small corner of the empty darkness. Glass would briefly appear near her fingertips and fade as the sound drifted off. If a passerby dared look into the window that briefly appeared, they would see a scared human looking back. Never did the same person’s face show, sometimes a girl, sometimes a boy, sometimes a child’s crib.
After a few minutes, she screamed a loud angry noise and strong nails tore at the flickering glass panes. There was a yell of noise and blood gushed forth, seemingly pouring into the room of darkness through the now broken window, like fading mist. Then the mess faded away leaving a huffing woman.
The Jester laughed some more, then nodded. Its face still pleased. “We’re ready. Let the misguided do what they may, and we shall respond in kind. A life for a life, it seems only fitting to prove we are capable of delivering vengeance.” It clacked.
The man with pins shoved into his flesh didn’t smile or look sad. It hung there before giving one slowly jerky nod that would make any human's head itch. The string haired girl went back to her knocking. The only sign of hearing anything the Jester said was a slight smile visible under clumped together strands of hair.