Today was the day he was going to die.
Finally.
He was wheeled into the transit facility with a smile on his face, because all the garbage he’d been dealing with for the past ten years, for what felt like his whole life, was finally going to be over. The constant pain, the aches, blackouts, shaking, all of that would go away the moment he entered the simulator and began his new afterlife.
All he had to do was press the upload button.
“Are you comfortable, sweetie?”
He felt his mother’s hand reach down and pat him gently on the shoulder as she pushed the wheelchair, smelled the familiar scent of her perfume.
“I’m fine, mom. Better than fine.”
He coughed, the sharp tickle in his throat leading to a familiar bout of hacking. His throat burned. His muscles ached with an intense throbbing that had accompanied him through his later teen years and into adulthood. A few moments later the coughing fit ceased, and he smiled up at his mother reassuringly.
With that smile he tried to convey gratitude and even joy. It was the least he could do, considering what she’d sacrificed for him, what both of his parents had sacrificed.
His father frowned, hooded eyes ringed with signs of sleeplessness. His dad was being stoic, putting on a brave face, despite the circumstances as he always did. Putting a hand on his son’s shoulder, he was about to speak when a young man in a technician’s uniform walked up to the group, reading from a data pad in a monotone voice as he addressed the group.
“Excellent, you’re here. We’ve completed all the necessary preliminary analysis and confirmed your son is a good candidate for the program.”
He looked up from his pad, eyes staring directly at the wheelchair bound young man, almost suspicious.
“Better than good, actually. Exceptional. You scored off the charts. General intelligence, mental dexterity, resilience. We’re still sifting through the results, but they’re…incredible.”
He grinned. “Yeah, I’m pretty incredible. You know, except for the disease which is eating my body from the inside out and the fact that I’m as weak as a kitten...if that kitten had a brutal disease which made it even weaker.”
The technician smiled, shaking his head.
“I’m serious, son. These scores are remarkable. If you weren’t heading into the simulator, I’d suggest you come and work for us. You’d step right into a third level tech role easily and it wouldn’t take long to…”
He remembered himself, catching sight of the young man’s withered body and his sorrowful parents.
“Honesty though, doc,” the young man offered, “I would have gone for basketball if this hadn’t happened to me. Either that or esports. If it wasn’t for the damned spasms…”
As if on cue, he began convulsing, his muscles tensing, blinding pain coursing through his body. He endured the pain, waiting for it to settle as his mother kneeled by his side, hand on his knee, eyes on the verge of watering. Once the fit was done, he smiled, reaching out to take her hand.
“It’s fine, mom. I’m fine.”
The lie came naturally. He’d had a lot of practice at hiding pain from his parents. Lately, though, the illness had reached a point where it was no longer possible to obscure the true extent of the pain he lived with. An array of doctors had confirmed that the disease was entering its final phase, and within weeks, he’d be dead, regardless of medical intervention.
He squeezed his mother’s hand, feeling genuinely happy, despite the pain still coursing through his body.
“I promise, ma. It’s fine.”
She nodded, squeezing his hand gently, the worry still written heavy across her face. She turned around to address the technician.
“Can you explain what’s going to happen here? We went through the process some time ago, but I believe it may have changed since then.”
The tech nodded. “Certainly, mam. In a few minutes, your son’s consciousness will be uploaded to the Havenspire afterlife simulation, at which point his body will cease to function. His mind and memories, emotions and impulses; everything that makes him who is, will be transitioned into the simulator. Your son will then go on to live a rich and varied life as…”
He looked down at the data pad.
“A custodian.” The word was spoken with a mix of confusion and disappointment. The technician flicked through pages of data, as if to confirm the fact. “Yes, a he will enter Havenspire as a custodian.”
“And what will the role of custodian entail?” his mother asked, her face pinched with worry.
The technician looked uncertainly at the woman, but before he could fumble a reply, her son spoke up.
“I’ll be cleaning the halls of Havenspire, mom. Preparing testing arenas before heroic bouts, polishing golden statues in the upper halls of the Spire, and keeping the coffee machines fully stocked. It was all in the brochure. I work off the debt as a custodian for a few years and then I’ll become a full citizen, and I can start having some fun.”
He offered a smile, but it did little to settle his mother’s fear. He could see she had more questions, and he knew she’d already read the brochure in full many times over.
She was stalling, trying to hold onto her son for just a few more minutes.
“I’ll take you to the upload room,” the technician said, motioning toward an adjoining chamber. “I can answer any further questions you have in there.”
They were led into a small room littered with advanced technical machinery and a series of holographic monitors that showed a complex series of technical readings and circular graphs. Even at a glance, he could begin to decipher some of that data. He’d done his research, looking into the upload process and delving into a number of technical rabbit holes throughout the process.
He wasn’t as interested in the medical aspects of the transition. The fact was, the process did nothing to heal the body or even maintain it once the patient’s consciousness had been uploaded. The real genius of this whole enterprise was in the way neurological signals, memories, impulses, and the emotional and mental structure of a person was transitioned from a biological home to a purely digital existence.
Several minor technicians began strapping electrodes onto the sides of his head while his mother and father backed away and watched nervously.
“This is the second family member of yours to enter Havenspire, correct?” the technician asked.
His mother nodded.
“Yes. We lost our youngest…a few years ago.”
“Twelve years,” his father corrected. “Our youngest was uploaded twelve years ago.”
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“Right,” the technician went on. “Well, we can send your boy here to the same entry point as your other son, but that’s just an entry point. Havenspire is a big place, so it may take a little while for your sons to connect. There’s also a significant time difference between this world and the simulated world. It runs a little faster, so your youngest son will have been in the simulated environment for a little longer than twelve years, when it comes to in-simulation time, that is.”
The young man’s mother nodded, blinking as though she wasn’t really absorbing anything the technician was saying.
“Will it hurt?” she mother asked.
“No. Not at all. We administer a cognitive brace as part of the upload process which removes any sensation of pain.”
“Damn,” the young man said. “Where the hell have you guys been keeping that tech all these years? I could have used it back at the hospital.”
The technician grinned. “It’s proprietary technology, son, so not available to anyone outside of the Company. Also, it’s only as effective as it is because this is a one-way process. The brace blocks all pain receptors, but it will only last for a few hours before that block extends to all mental impulses as well. There’s no going back once its implemented.”
The minor technicians finished their work, leaving the young man attached to half a dozen wires. The monitors surrounding him were alive with scrolling data relating to his physical and mental functions, as well as what looks like game code.
“Alright,” the technician said, moving over to a control pad next to the largest of the monitors, “we’re ready to begin.”
The young man’s mother stepped forward, bending down and clutching his hands in hers. She was crying, her shoulders hunched as she sobbed. With what little strength he still possessed, he wrapped his withered arms around her, pulling her in close.
“Love you, mom,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek.
“I love you…,” she managed between sobs as the young man’s father stepped over and put a hand on his shoulders.
“Take care, son,” he said, voice quivering. “Look after your brother and tell him that we think about him every day.”
He looked up at his father, nodding. Seeing them both like this tore his heart. He felt the guilt of years of pain and struggle which his illness had caused them both, heaping sorrow upon tragedy and crippling his parents financially and emotionally.
At least, once this was done, they could get on with their lives, free from the burden of a stricken son.
“Okay,” the technician interrupted. “We’ve got a limited window folks, so we’ll need to proceed if we want to make the current upload window.”
Reluctantly, his parents backed away from the young man. His father hugged his mother and they both cried as they were led out of the room and into a smaller viewing booth with a window that looked out into the transfer chamber. The technician leaned over and presented a data pad to the young man. It had a long series of stipulations and clauses written in fine script and it took several moments for him to scroll to the bottom of the list. There was a rectangular space below the text large enough for a thumb print.
“When you’re ready,” the technician said.
The young man scrolled back up to the top of the document and quickly scanned the statements. Most of it was jargon he’d already gone through as part of the induction process. It essentially stipulated that the Company couldn’t be held liable for any mishaps and stated that everyone’s Havenspire experience was unique and that, due to the nature of the afterlife simulator, unforeseen circumstances might adversely affect the individual’s experience. It also stated that contact between the uploaded individual’s family would effectively be severed as part of the transition process, but that updates would be provided to family and friends by the Company on an annual basis.
Still aching all over and anticipating another fit, the young man skipped ahead and pressed his thumb against the pad. The rectangle was illuminated with bright green light as he pressed the pad, giving off a pleasing ding sound in recognition of the signed agreement.
The technician pulled back the pad and turned to the system controls.
“Excellent. Okay, so in a moment you’ll feel a little pinch at the back of your neck.”
The young man yelped. That little pinch was more like a snake bite.
“The brace has been enacted, so you should start to feel the pain drop away now.”
While the technician spoke, the young men felt the constant pain that he’d been forced to live with for so long begin to fade. It felt unreal, euphoric. He blinked, grinning widely as he flexed the fingers of one hand and, remarkably, felt none of the sharp agony that movement usually brought with it.
He looked over at the window where his parents were both standing and waved. His mother pushed a handkerchief against her mouth, sobbing and smiling at the same time, in recognition of the fact that her son had finally been freed from his prison of pain. She managed to wave back to him and both parents smiled despite their falling tears.
He turned back to the technician to find the man tapping at his control pad and shaking his head in frustration.
“That doesn’t make sense. Damned configuration is all wrong.”
The young man leaned forward, squinting as he read the peculiar lines of script on the main screen. The technician tried once more to initialize the upload process, but an error showed up in the form of a triangle with exclamation mark and a string of nonsensical symbols beside it.
“I don’t understand,” the technician said, trying and failing again to initiate the process. “We’ve never had an issue with this before.”
Panic swarmed across the technician’s face as he searched for an answer. The young man gently reached out and pinched the display screen, zooming in on several lines of code as he leaned forward and examined the information.
He felt giddy, with the pain now removed from his body. That fact also gave him a burst of sudden clarity. For the first time in years, he could actually think clearly, without his thoughts being constantly muddled by sharp stabs of agony and the dull pain that had plagued his life for the past decade.
He pointed to the bottom right corner of the screen and a cluster of code that didn’t look right.
“You’re doubling up on the Rosenstein sequence there. See, it’s repeating itself. I’d say that’s what’s screwing everything up.”
The technician zoomed in on the section of the screen in question and examined the data more closely.
“You’re right,” he mused, astonished. “How on earth did you see that?”
“Sticks out because that sequence should only be duplicated if it's forming a conduit on either side of alpha waves. Maybe beta too. Problem is, you’re trying to channel everything through that one area there, anticipating theta and delta waves too. The sequence can’t predict those yet, so it’s trying to form around something that doesn’t exist. I’d need to be asleep, or daydreaming or something for those to be captured.”
The technician turned to the young man, mouth agape.
“Where on earth did you learn about wave transition theory?”
“I read a few papers on it a while back. Something must have stuck in my head.”
The truth was, he’d read everything he could on the transition process in preparation for his entry into the afterlife simulator and, despite his usual inability to concentrate, most of that information had sunk in.
The technician turned back to the screen and adjusted the settings on his control. The script on the display shifted to a subtle green color as the data began flowing correctly.
“Alright then,” he said, still looking at the screen. “Let me test you. What’s your best guess as to what caused that little issue?”
The young man shrugged. “Lack of maintenance, I’d say. You’ve run these sequences so many times that there’s a slight residue build up. It just reached a point where one of the Rosenstein sequences was complete enough to mimic the real thing and that’s caused the code to cascade.”
He grinned.
“You need to get yourself a decent custodian. Clean that all that garbage code.”
The technician laughed, quickly remembering himself as he caught sight of the grieving parents still waiting behind the glass window. He gave them the okay symbol and turned back to the display.
“Alright then. It’s time. Normally, I’d say good luck, but honestly, I don’t think someone with your mind will do just fine. Probably be running the place in a year or two.”
He paused, turning to look at the young man.
“You know what, I’ve got something here than might help.” He started tapping away at his consol, grinning as he flicked through different screens, past blocks of code and various widgets.
“It’s one of the earlier tutor AIs and they can be a little wiggy, but this should help you get ahead quickly. Once you’re done with the custodian stuff and you’ve paid back the debt, this should speed up your progression a little.”
He looked over at the young man.
“You’ll find that there’s a ton of information in the simulation and it can be quite daunting sorting through it all manually. The sigil is easy enough to navigate and it’s quite intuitive, but having a bespoke AI on your side will really help. Especially in early game, once you’ve cleared the debt.”
He tapped away at his consol for a few seconds, then nodded to himself.
“There, all done. It won’t appear right away. It’s triggered to start up once you get your sigil, or anything with a sophisticated enough HUD and processing capabilities to house a tutor AI.”
The young man nodded. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it. You saved my ass here, so the least I could do is return the favor. Just…keep it between the two of us though, right? This isn’t strictly allowed.”
“Yeah, no problem.”
“Great,” the technician replied. “Okay, well we’ve commenced the upload process, so you should feel yourself drifting off at any moment. Thanks again for the help, and good luck!”
The young man felt a rush of warmth through his body followed by a sudden loss of feeling. It wasn’t alarming. In fact, it felt quite nice, like dipping into a hot bath.
He kept his eyes focused on his parents as consciousness began to fade. His mother leaned against the glass, one hand outstretched, smiling despite her tears. She mouthed words of encouragement that he struggled to understand in the moment before darkness swallowed him.
“Find your brot…”