December 21 2020. Lancelot Amon
The sirens are wailing, red lights incessantly flashing, dyeing everything in crimson. The oval situation room is rendered incandescent, glowing with a vermilion hue. All the indicators are blinking, the computers signifying our impeding crisis. We are in a state of emergency—under the highest threat level.
Damn! We've been found out. I smash my fist into my palm, How did it get this far? Our tracks are supposed to be non-existent, and our base perfectly hidden. This is but one of the thousands of safe houses we have all over the world. However, unlike the majority of them, this is one of the few known to only Hercules, Dragon and I. The other members of The Knights of The Round Table shouldn't have been cognisant of its existence, let alone able to find its location. How the hell did this happen? How did it degenerate to this stage?
Shit! This shouldn't be possible. It isn't supposed to go like this. Every component of my plan is more than ten times redundant; I have contingency measures in place for every foreseeable scenario, and even several unforeseeable scenarios. I'm not going to get done in like a rookie; simply because I don't plan for a possible outcome. I am no neophyte that will stumble just because I face an irrational opponent, just as a consequence of facing situations outside of my predictions. I've rigorously calculated probabilities, even going as far as to accommodate for Murphy's Law and the planning fallacy. The probability of success of my plan should be greater than 0.95. And my plan has been pulled off without a hitch—every component successfully executed. Yet I'm losing? Impossible. Ever since my rebirth a decade ago, I've put in more effort than anyone else; painstakingly grooming myself to be stronger. Stronger and stronger, until I am the acme of human existence, until I am strong enough to claim this world.
I don't believe in a just world; don't believe that the Universe would reward me just because I've laboured a little harder than the rest. No, I am going to seize this world with my own hands—my own ability. So I planned, painstaking, agonising, scheming, laying my foundation and preparing everything to win. I planned, until I was sure I could win. Until I was certain I would win. I've done a lot of things in my quest for world domination; I've overseen the assassination of two U.S presidents and several other heads of state. I've formed countless alliances, countless circles, placed my pieces at opportune places. Backroom deals, and bribery? I have done it all. My preparations aren't lacking in the slightest. They are far more than enough. Yet the situation deteriorates to this stage? Just where did I go wrong? Was it when I spat in Arthur's face 6 months ago? Or even before that, was it when I fractured the United States of America a year ago? Or was it at the very beginning; was it when I started this war two years ago?
Nevertheless, I had prepared. Over prepared even. All of my plans had been flawlessly enacted. I'd gone to great lengths to make sure I didn't overlook anything. Even when the Knights of the Round Table abandoned the three of us, it was naught but another scenario I had set up suitable contingencies for. Even the movements of the British Imperialists had been accounted for. I had planned everything, choreographed this entire war: the break down of law and order globally as nation states ceased to exist, the crippling of military power across various countries, the crashing of Wall Street and the global economy; I had designed it all, yet another part of my gambit for this world. How then can I lose?!?! What mistake did I make? What lead to this outcome? I'd been methodologically rational in all my moves, so where? Where did the error slip in? Did I not adhere to Bayescraft since my rebirth? So when? When was it that I stumbled?
None. I can't think back to anything I would have done differently. All the decisions I made were the best possible given the available information. Even with hindsight bias, I can't think of any move I would have altered. Was not my game seamless?
Is that really true? Did I truly make no error? Were all my tactics truly indefectible, the totality of my moves ideal? Can I objectively look at myself and say there was no defect in my schemes, no seam in my blueprints, no weakness in my strategy?
Was it really the Bayesian advised decision to reject Arthur 6 months ago? Would this not have been averted had I merely accepted him?
NIET! Absolutely not. To abase myself such that I take another as my liege, I wholeheartedly repudiate it. My soul renounces the very thought.
Is this not pride? The zenith of hubris?
"Lancelot! Snap out of it. We need to make a decision, and we need it made an hour ago". Dragon shouts as he rebukes me. Nevertheless, he is right; this is no time to be stuck in a reverie, and even less appropriate a time to panic.
"Panopticon! Quantity and quality." I ask the AI supercomputer.
"60,162 personnel—twelve 5 star espers, a hundred and fifty 4 star espers, three thousand 3 star espers, and 57 thousand 2 star espers."
A full esper corps, Arthur is really holding nothing back. To take them on would be a simpleton's errand; Hercules is our main combatant, yet he is naught but a single person. Notwithstanding, using the doom bots he created, we can escape. Those Iron-man esque Orichalcum suits of armour have combat abilities of around rank 4. And while they may be insufficient to grant us victory, they are more than adequate for a tactical retreat. Abandon this base, and lead half of our forces to face them. We have enough traps to stall them for a while, and we can self destruct the base after we flee. We'll randomly assign the remaining half of our robots different directions to flee in, ourselves disguising as them, or so they'll think, and move towards the most secure safe house within a thousand kilometers. Alternatively we could each go into 3 different directions. We'd go undercover, and a few months later, bounce back. As long as we have Panopticon—our global real time surveillance system—world domination is still feasible. We'll knock Arthur off his feet. It is still possible; it isn't hopeless yet.
"Hercules prepare for plan ZA-10. Dragon, retrieve the SSDs that contain Panopticon's source code, we'll recreate it after we've escaped. We're going to go under."
"Plan ZA-10?!?! Are you off your rockers Lancelot? We'd go into hiding, and then what? Delphi would just locate Dragon and I again. What on earth are you thinking? Where's our fearless leader? The man willing to sacrifice anything and everything in his pursuit of power. That's the man I chose to follow, not this sentimental excuse for a strategist."
Shouting, Hercules walks over to me with his massive towering frame, sporting a green T-shirt and blue Jeans, they're a size too small for him, hugging his ripped body. His bronze skin makes him look more like Talos than his demigod namesake. He grabs my shirt and collar with his right arm, then raises me up to his level, forcing me to stare into his maroon eyes.
"In case you don't understand, let me spell it out for you; IT'S OVER! We have LOST the war! Arthur's won. He's stronger than you Lancelot. Even if it were possible. Even if we could hypothetically escape, hypothetically go undercover, then what? Resurface just to get crushed again? Face it Lancelot; You're WEAK."
He throws me down on the hard metal floor, then looks down on me with eyes holding a mix of disappointment and disgust.
"Now give me an order I can adhere to Captain.”
He is right. I am being overly sentimental, to think that I who have sacrificed everything in the pursuit to power would hesitate at this critical juncture. I can't help it; our brotherhood is steadfast. They are my most precious pieces—the last vestiges of my humanity. They have been with me since my rebirth, the first pieces I've ever acquired; they are my companions, my friends, my brothers. When I was naive and powerless, ignorant about the ways of the world, with nothing going for me but eloquence and rhetoric, they had chosen to follow me, to join me. They've been there for me since the inception; they are my bottom line, the two pieces that I am not willing to sacrifice, and yet...
"Hercules, Dragon resolve yourselves. We're going with plan Omega-Z"
Rising up from the floor with as much royal grace I can muster, I deliver the heartless order, my face phlegmatic, not a trace of my turbulent heart visible.
Hercules puts me down and almost crushes me with his bear hug.
"Allow me to do this Lancelot, it'll give us a chance for resuscitation, a chance to bite back. All is well. After all, if there's anything you excel in, it's giant killing. My only regret is that I won't be able to see the world that you would bring about. "
Plan Omega-Z: a contingency measure for when all hope is lost. A plan that ensures that at least I—at least the King would survive. A plan to suspend the board, a plan to stave off defeat.
Dragon walks up to me in his lanky frame, sporting his favourite blue tuxedo, with matching blue loafers. He pats my back, trying to grant me reprieve.
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His comforting words come out in his thick British accent. In this day and age, patriotism may not mean much to some, but I've seen no greater patriot, than the green eyed youth who stands before me now. Yet, he chose me over his most beloved country in a yoctosecond.
"Hercules is right Lance. If Arthur gets his hands on Panopticon, it would truly be game over. Arthur's side has another Wizard class hacker that is at the very least on my level. Relax, we haven't lost yet; this is just our penultimate card isn't it? "
He gives me a wry smile as his forest eyes take on a devilish glint.
Our penultimate card: a plan to force a stalemate and prolong the game—a plan to avert defeat. As opposed to our final card: Omega-Delta - Nuclear winter. If you're fed up with the board, and defeat is inevitable, then what do you do?
Flip it off course.
""The game can be restarted at anytime. We're just putting it in moratorium for now. The rest is in your hands Lancelot—our king.""
My two brothers kneel down on one knee bringing their right fist to the palm of their left hands, and lowering their heads; a salute after the style of Knights as they deliver their words in perfect harmony. It tears my heart so, yet, I must accept this burden.
Hercules stands up and walks over to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of sake, and 3 cups. He pours for the three of us, setting the platinum cups down in a triangle formation upon the glass table in the middle of the room. The room is silent, eerily quiet. Simultaneously, as if with practiced movements, we reach our hands for the cups and grasp them. We drink each—our final drink together. The atmosphere is still, and solemn, pregnant with the despair that seeks to claim us. Steeling our hearts, we three resolve ourselves to do what must be done.
We rise together, with the same coordination as before, and stretch out our right arms, grabbing one another's arms—from me to Dragon, from Dragon to Hercules, from Hercules to me; we form an equilateral triangle.
""Ne plus ultra!""
We recite our maxim, the irony of the situation not lost on the three of us.
"Don't be disheartened Lance; Arthur is a monster after all." Ever the cheerful one, Dragon seeks to comfort me, as he places his hands on my shoulder.
And so? That is no excuse for our failure to uphold our maxim. Unlike Arthur who has more than justified his "Nihil Supernum", we have completely failed to defend our "Ne Plus Ultra" and are frankly unworthy of it.
How then can we boldly say "Ne Plus Ultra"—take hubris in our own inadequacy, our own insufficency.
As P.C. Hodgell said:
"Whatever can be destroyed by the truth should be."
We, no I am wholly unfit for the maxim "Ne Plus Ultra". This is the truth, and it shall destroy the falsehood that I carried these last ten years.
Hercules walks over to me his face serene, the turbulence that grips me seemingly absent from him. He hands me a bunch of keys.
"This is the set to my van. Opening it is quite the complex puzzle, though if it's you, you'll be able to do it. Inside you'll find a gift that I've prepared for you. I hope you'll like it. "
He says to me beaming. I smile back. I can't be the only unsightly one—wearing my heart on my sleeve.
Dragon walks across the oval room to the large monitor that takes up the North wall. He places his hand on the interface, and blue lines move from his body to the monitor, then across the entire underground complex at blinding speeds. The lines start pulsating, as Dragon begins the fusion. He is going to merge with and absorb the entire global Panopticon construct, several petabytes of data that keep updating and upgrading several times each second—continuously changing to reflect the current state of the world—a system that keeps an omniscient eye globally, tracking all electronic communications, and more. It's doubtful he'll remain conscious beyond this. Albeit, he is unperturbed, resolute to do his duty.
I am trying to put on the mask of a fearless leader, but my insides are a mess; a boa constrictor has bound my heart, and starts squeezing it. Tighter and tighter and tighter. I try to speak, to rescind my earlier order; tell them to cease at once.
"..."
My breath fails me, no sound comes out, only the same empty silence. Chains bind and shackle me, chains that won't let me stop this suffering. The chains called "Rationality", "Bayescraft". The serpent wounds around my heart again, and continues squeezing with more pressure than before.
"..."
Again, I try to end my sorrow, again my voice fails me. Despite commanding it to, my body refuses to move; it refuses to violate Decision Theory, refuses to go against my priorities. Massive stakes are driven into me, immobilising me the more. I can see the name on them: "Efficency", and "Optimisation". More chains rise up from the floor, and bind me sealing me in place. A padlock rises over them and secures all the chains in place: "Priorities". The serpent squeezes tighter, and I can't even breathe. I watch, as Dragon continues to throw away his life.
I don't want to. I don't want to sacrifice them like this, and yet; what other choice do I have? We've all agreed that winning the game is more important than our lives. I can't sacrifice this game just to save them, and they won't even accept it. What other path is left to me, than to accept this fate. That's why:
I swear on Bayes, not to let their sacrifice be inefficacious.
Hercules moves out majestically, with all the Royal Grace I so sorely lack. He is at peace with himself; a man pertinacious to his assigned responsibility. The remnants of his infamous Doom Bot division trail behind him as he sets off through the tunnel that leads to the surface. I watch the young Indian depart—never again to return. The serpent tightens again; my heart is all but bursting.
As Dragon finishes the fusion, he slumps and faints—a puppet with his strings cut. The restraints vanish, a phantasm in the fleeting night. I go over to the South wall, and place my hand on a scanner, raising my head to look into the camera.
A tray is pushed out from the wall, and a pistol shaped device lies there. I pick up the injection gun on the tray and watch the incandescent green fluid glow with rhythmic hues. This fluid is supposed to suppress psionic radiation, and will give Dragon the same psionic signature as a mundane. With this, Delphi won't be able to pick up his psionic signature and he'll be perfectly incognito. The only downside, is that he won't be able to use esper abilities while under its influence. Nonetheless, it is alright; I'll fight this war myself, so slumber brothers of mine:
"I swear on Bayes thy sacrifice shall not be in vain."
I steady my shaking hand, and raise the gun to Dragon's neck. I Place the needle tip on his carotid artery, then I squeeze the trigger; the tip pierces his skin, injecting the fluid into him. I watch the liquid move across his body under his pale skin; he always has never been one for physical exercise. I caress his brown hair that I have so often ruffled. Suddenly, I see a bead of water forming on his face, then two, then a stream. Aah, there’s no fire, why are the sprinklers out?
I pick my younger brother up, holding him like a princess as I head downstairs. On getting there, I reach the sleek black van made of Orichalcum. I solve the 7 dimensional Rubiks cube Hercules had set, then open the van; I spot the "gift" he has prepared. My mood is lifted, albeit by an infinitesmal amount. With this there might yet be hope, with this, I just might be able to bounce back.
I load Dragon into the van, and place him on the stretcher, as gently as I can. Subsequently, I strap him down securely, and triple check all the fastenings. Afterwards, I drive off down our escape tunnel and out into the Tibetan wilderness. Some minutes later, after we’ve put considerable distance between us and our base I park the van and step out:
"KAAAABOOOM!!!!!"
The Tibetan night sky is lit up by an ochroid sun, an effervescent wave of annihilation spreads across the Tibetan forest, committing grand larceny of life. A majestic amber cloud rises up into the sky as if proclaiming its sovereignty.
Aur Soleil.
I spread my arms wide as I feel the wind blowing by me, as I appreciate the divine sight before me. It is wondrously beautiful, a kind of surreal aesthetic—an ethereal beauteousness. Gazing at the golden sun, I feel a sense of rapture, of true upliftment. Liberated from all my troubles, I have at long last attained eudaimonia. Taking a deep breath, I sigh:
"Wunderbar..."
My mood, dejected as I am has been raised, and for the duration of the explosion, I am able to forget my troubles, and just lose myself in the magnificence of the sight before me. I am grateful for this lone solace. This is the apex of human weaponry, the truest manifestation of the dominance of man over nature, and the greatest product of Science; this is the penult component of Omega-Z—250 megaton Thermonuclear warhead - Tsar bomba V.
"Gracias Hercules, and sayonara; thy sacrifice shall not be an exercise in futility."
Even the euphoric high from watching the explosion eventually abates, and I am once again gripped by Melancholia. I have lost, and though Arthur has lost one of his finest esper corps, yet, that is less than cold comfort. Hercules has pulled off his mission flawlessly, I sigh as I think about the little brother I have just lost forever. Uhn? Why is there suddenly a downpour above me?
My other brother lies comatose; who knows how long till he awakes, or if he'll ever rise again. He's sacrificed himself to preserve Panopticon, to keep it alive; that I might be able to make a comeback, that I might rise again. Due to my incompetence, because I am dependent on Panopticon to even put up a fight, he bet his life on a hopeless plan—that I might have a fighting chance. Undoubtedly, this predicament—it is my fault. I lie entirely to blame; this is the truth.
"That which the truth nourishes should thrive"
I am the cause of my own misery, my own dolour.
I walk back to the van and drive away, the deluge somehow managing to get through the roof. The serpent returns, only this time it brings it's mate along. They attack my heart again. It is excruciatingly agonising—the reason for my troubles. It tears my soul; the reason I had to sacrifice those dearest to me, my most precious comrades, my brothers. I have found my answer, Hercules has spelled it out for me. The answer I have refused to consider, the answer I am running away from, the answer I don't want to accept. It is yet another flaw in myself that should be destroyed by the truth about my abilities; I am WEAK.
Why have I lost? It is not due to any error in my planning, any discrepancy in execution, any flaw in my gambits, nor any debility in my strategy. Nay, the reason is much simpler, far more primitive; I am WEAK.
That is all. There is my answer. I am WEAK. That is my sin, that is why I had to sacrifice my brothers. Because of it, I have lost the last two humans I've loved. Due to it, I'm fleeing into the night, tail between my legs—the beaten dog that I am. A decade of labour has been lost, the fruits fallen and soon to be forgotten. Now I am powerless; I am a king without a kingdom, a player with naught but one piece. Affected by it, I am lonely—deprived of my nakama. Weakness that is my sin, and the origin of my predicament.
I can't stay like this, I can't remain in sin. I can't be weak.
A stream of water running down my face, I scream:
"TSUYOKU NARITAI!!!"
Stronger, stronger and stronger again. Yet, superior to before. I will never lose a second time. I will keep striving forward, keep improving myself, endlessly growing. Rising higher and higher, continuing to surpass myself ad infinitum. I shall wake up each new day; stronger than the last.
"Tsuyoku Naritai."
My new oath.