It was standard practice to include a few lines of code; it was even enshrined in the compensation package with a single stipulation: the applied changes cannot affect the game as a whole. It was unusual not to do so, with it being the rest of our lives, and with such privileges being taken away once inside the simulator.
Most of my colleagues took advantage of this, making simple cosmetic changes to their character that wouldn’t be possible with the character generation (e.g., flashing titles that’d appear under their name bar). Some of the additions were good enough to be made official with a patch, or at least archived, after being forwarded to the relevant departments, but it being cosmetics had squared it primarily under the jurisdiction of the character design task force.
Yeah. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting before signing on; maybe a group of super smart, hyper-focused people intent on saving humanity and a management hell-bent on meeting deadlines. What I found were many Joe’s, systematically underworked, and incredibly laid-back. As it turned out, four decades were enough to cool the initial mania that caused people to work themselves to burnout, and with all of the efforts with nurturing talent and recruiting, every department was overstaffed.
That is not to say people didn’t work hard, or that some people hadn’t willingly pulled 70-hour weeks for the sake of humanity, or that there was ever a shortage of work. One could always find someone willing to do work – one just couldn’t diagnose a problem fast enough for the AI to assign. For every solution, there was another problem to fix. The actual simulation was fleshed out and able to operate by the second decade, it was just stability and playability that was constantly under maintenance.
So, it was a surprise to nobody when, on December 27th, an email was sent out, stating that the project would be accelerated to launch by March, a full seven months before the simulated deadline in order to minimize damage to the ship. People would start being sent over on January 1st.
So, naturally, I gathered all of my code and sent it through the normal channels.
No. No, I did not.
Normally, drafting the lines of code began with a collaborative session between the developers and our AI counterparts. You could prompt the AI with a concept or a problem you were aiming to solve, and it would draft a preliminary version of the code. Then it was up to us, the human developers, to refine the draft, ensuring the solution was not just effective but also aligned with our ethical guidelines and project goals.
After refining the code, the AI took the first pass, running the code in a sandbox environment. If there were no issues, it would be sent directly to the, to the upper management. Here, a dedicated team of senior software developers, always on standby, would review the submissions. But they weren't sifting through every minor tweak or adjustment; their focus was on the bigger picture. What would the code do and how would it affect the project.
The sudden shifting of the schedule had all of them inundated with requests until they had decided to just close the request window.
That left me with three options: one, battle it in court for the breach of contract; two, sneak in the code; three, give up.
—
Project Digital Human RSVP form. All dependents and invitees of the Project Digital Human employees and contractors must be included below in the attached form. All participants must be present at the selected time or entry will be denied.
Jord, undetermined address, two o’ clock, January 1, no dependents, no invitees. There was a whooshing animation and a similarly airy sound effect, and it was sent. I put my hands togethers and whispered, “Sorry, Jana. Sorry George. You’ll just have to join the plebeians.”
—
An eternity of pleasure. An eternity of love. An eternity of adventure. Whatever you want, Ark has it all. A new life for you all.
I brushed past the street level billboard, sending the hologram on the fritz. It quickly restored itself behind me. Anyone who didn’t sign onto the project was an idiot, and if there was anything in the world that scared me, it was an idiot. It’s better if the governments just gave up on them.
The street was calm, people still milling about purchasing such and such goods, mainly flowers, some heart chocolates, and the trend: coffee in clay mugs. The high spirits and strong smells left me disgusted.
Still, I plastered on a smile and approached one of the manilla colored vending machines. When the display lit up, I waved my hand in front of it, then said “Chocolate, chocolate, black coffee, please.”
Beep. Two shots of chocolate. 150 milliliters of black coffee. Thirty-three calories.
The mug came spinning out of an aperture that suddenly opened followed by a nozzle already spraying brown-black liquid. Something clicked inside the internal structure of the machine and a second nozzle appeared, this time bearing the liquid chocolate; the liquids came out more sappy this time, two distinct pumps ejecting its contents before both returning whence it had come. I snatched the handle and continued along my way, the strong scent of coffee beans and cacao joining the other pleasant smells in the air.
I had expected more panic – more arguments – more mania. And yet everyone else clung to the idyllic sense of normalcy.
I reached the address. A barbed gate stretched from one end of the street to the other, connecting to a wall, ending the thoroughfare. A wave of my hand and the gate began swinging open. Before I could move forward, a guard turned the corner and motioned for me to follow it.
I nodded politely, and the gate opened. The robot led me far, far, right, past the main reception building and a dozen different complexes. My legs were aching by the time we reached a nondescript warehouse-like building, fit with a large entrance, tall ceiling, and vast interior.
“Follow directly behind me.”
I nodded assent. I hadn’t quite completed my nod when, three steps into the building light assaulted my eyes. I caught myself before I stumbled, hands fumbling. I caught something – a wall – and continued forward. When the light dimmed and I reopened my eyes, my heart tightened. Gone was the open space, replaced by black walls pressing tight on both sides. The only way forward was a single corridor leading down at a slant, the corners of the path outlined by white LED lights.
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I looked back, searching for the projector, but the narrow entrance allowed me to see only a sheet of light pulsating outside.
Beep.
I took it for the reprimand it was and continued walking forward.
–
I burst out, “You’re doing this for every person that’s going to come through here?” The corridor had been wearing on my patience, and after the small LED lights lining the top and bottom of the corridor grew sparser and sparser until the only light was the soft blue glow pouring off the lines segmenting the robot.
“No. Just you, sir. You’ve been flagged.”
I grimaced. “Oh. What for?”
“Troublemaker.”
“What gave them that idea?”
The robot beeped two quick chirps. “You know that better than anyone, sir. You’ve been paying other employees and contractors to submit code under their names.”
Snitch? “It’s just some good fun. I wanted them to improve my code, you know? And I like showing off a good toy.”
“Do not fear, sir. Upon its discovery three months ago from an undisclosed source, the higher-ups have decided to excuse your breach of contract on three accounts. One, after reviewing all camera footage from the time you were employed to the present, we have located at least a dozen instances where you’ve approached others, and they accepted, totalling to over eight hundred additional lines of company standard code than was outlined in the contract. After extreme analysis, despite the sheer quantity, we’ve found that very few of them can interact with each other, and even if they do, their effects are entirely superfluous, or, in other words, unintentional, and not malicious. Two, disciplinary action would have to be taken against those abetting you, and most have found such measures distasteful. And three, we cannot pursue meaningful legal action at this time.”
After my amusement passed, a thought occurred to me. “Will my virtualization be denied?”
“Virtualization will not be denied to anyone, though there will be severe penalties for certain offenses.” Anticipating my next question, the robot continued, “No penalties will be exacted upon you, but you will be denied entry to the company guild. The same will apply to those abetting you.”
“Mmhm.” We lapsed into silence. “Can you tell me where we’re going?”
“We are headed to a secure facility used to facilitate the virtualization of humanity.”
“Oh, no, I mean, where’s the main one where everyone else is going?”
“There is only one virtualization lab for hundreds of miles around. Most other labs are located at airports for ease of access.”
“Ah, secret passages.” Silence. “Actually, I never thought about this before, but will you be joining us? Virtualization, I mean.”
“Yes. Wherever humans go, we shall follow.
“Can all sentient AI do this? Or, well, are they allowed to?”
“Yes. A memo will be sent out shortly. A decision will be individually reached, and transference will begin shortly should they agree.”
I began pawing at my watch. It refused to even turn on.
“Sorry, sir, but per our security measures, all electronics are disabled.” Almost like an afterthought, it added, “All AI will be thoroughly scanned for malware.”
“I see.” Silence relapsed. My mind whorled. I had hoped to sneak in with the early birds while security risks were still being identified and patched, then upload all of the code directly on the servers. Now? At least one smart sentient robot watching my every move, a dozen more likely analyzing me through the hidden cameras, all while I had precisely zero robot hijacking tools. “Would you like to check out my code? I’ve been working on it for–” Years? No, too long. “–months now. I’d hate for it to not be appreciated.”
“What does it do?”
“Silly stuff. Some models of a few dream houses, an updated version of my home and a few of my buds, and some AI stuff. It’d be easier to show you; run it in sandbox mode or something.”
“It goes against security protocols.”
“No it doesn’t. If you don’t want to try it, just say so. You don’t have to appeal to authority.”
A few seconds passed before the robot responded. “It will be archived. Is that your goal?”
“Yes. It’d be a lot easier than trying to recall from memory, especially when I’m not sure how much I’ll actually remember after being virtualized. Besides, maybe, I’ll value it more if I have to work hard to craft and copy all of the items rather than just generating it.”
“Very well. But you will owe me a favor.”
I took out my USB drive. The robot slowed, extending a hand. I handed it over. One of the compartments on the robots snapped open and it began running the code.
We continued in silence.
Eventually, the corridor stopped slanting downwards, and the LED lights grew in number until the walls finally fell away to a dimly lit room. I squinted as I entered, allowing my eyes to adjust.
“It is nice, what you’ve built. I will not mind archiving this. I will not look at the AI portion, however, so it will not be archived.”
My heart sank, helplessness rising.
“Now, eat this. It will knock you out.”
Pleading won’t work. Overpowering won’t work. Hijacking won’t work. I grabbed the offered pill – it was transparent, containing red powder – than scanned the room. It was entirely empty of objects and furniture; the only feature of note was yet another corridor stretching ahead. I popped it into my mouth, tucked it to one side of my mouth, then swallowed. “How long will it take for the pill to take effect?”
The robot’s arms closed around me, lifting me into the air and began dragging me down the corridor. “Soon, sir.”
“What is your name? I… never asked.”
“Jack.”
“What if I’m super resistant to whatever you’re using to knock me out, or if I manage to fight it off?”
Beep. Beep. “I’d like to see it. Simple willpower has never gotten anyone anywhere.”
“I’ll start counting sheep, then, so that I don’t see whatever super secret thing you don’t want revealed. One, two…” I trailed off.
“Already?”
“Of course not, silly. Three, four…” I continued counting until forty-six, at which point I slumped over.
The robot beeped again. It sounded… appreciative.
The trek was much swifter this time, light flooding my eyes after only a minute of travel. There was a loud, harsh beeping, like that of an alarm.
Rough metallic arms fingers unclasped my watch, then fished around in my pockets, extracting the back-up USB flash drive and phone. Jack backed up, and then moved forward. There was no beeping.
Jack seemed to cross the room, lowering me onto a wooden table of some sort, or perhaps a stretcher. It was cushioned by several layers of fabric.
Sound erupted around me, loud clicking and mechanical snapping, a machine whirring to life, and the next thing I knew I was shooting head first.
I resisted the urge to open my eyes, even when the sounds intensified to a deafening cacophony of noise, and the light was extinguished.
Before I could even fathom what was happening, I felt a slight pressure on my head, a resounding click echoed around me, like a piston snapping into place, and then the message, Welcome to Arc, appeared.