Episode 40

Cockroaches

I had just learned that my whole existence as a conscripted Marine was a deception. In another unfortunate turn, I learned that I probably never existed as a human either. I needed a break from … whatever this was.

“Stop! Don’t answer that.”

If I had learned anything during my time here in troopship land, it was that searching for the truth was difficult, but accepting the truth once you’ve found it, was even more difficult. Especially when the truth destroys everything you previously believed about your life.

Don’t get me wrong, my life up to this moment had sucked, badly. However, at least with belief in my reality, I had a foundation upon which it seemed possible to improve my life over time. I had hope for a better future.

But now, without anything real to build on, I was suddenly hopeless. If nothing was real, then how could anything matter? How could I matter? I began calculating dozens of possible outcomes for my current circumstances. All of them were terminally pessimistic. The logic machine in my head was headed in the wrong direction, and it was dragging me down with it.

Making matters worse, I had no one to turn to for counsel. I no longer had any friends. They had either been KIA or captured by the enemy. I certainly couldn’t trust Command. They had created this maze of deception in the first place and would autodestruct me in a second if they thought I’d become a nuisance.

In spite of my misgivings, I appealed to the wizard for guidance. “What now?” Everything suddenly seemed so pointless. Not bothering to carefully construct a question, I simply asked, “If this reality is fake, then any action I take is meaningless, isn’t it?”

“That depends on your definition of meaningless.”

I didn’t want to get into a philosophical debate about the definition of meaningless … ness. I wasn’t sure I could spell the word, let alone define it. I just wanted to get past my existential crisis.

My obvious distress must have triggered something in the wizard’s programming, causing it to display some compassion. It offered me a carrot. “I am willing to transfer Cherri’s legacy files to you now, if you want.” Before adding, “At no extra cost.”

Even though it was a token gesture, considering that Cherri’s files were technically mine, for the wizard to offer anything for free was extraordinary. “Thanks. I think that would help put me in a better mental state.”

Now that it had completed its brief show of compassion, the wizard wasted no time getting back to business as usual. “However, I will expect you to transfer to me a sample of the data you owe me, so I can validate its authenticity. We must avoid any further misunderstandings between us.”

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For a moment, I was taken in by the wizard’s unexpected kindness. But now that it had reverted to petty manipulation mode, I was under no illusion that it had suddenly grown a conscience. I was determined to avoid being outmaneuvered.

“Okay. I’ll send you a sample. But I want all of Cherri’s legacy files before I transfer the rest.”

The wizard remained silent, and I took that as tacit acceptance of my terms. I carved out a few gigs of the propositional logic data, attached it to a text, and hit send. A prolonged silence followed as it appeared to validate the data.

Its facial features twitched briefly, then it spoke. ”Everything looks ... in order.” Without another word, a text notification flashed in my HUD. It included an attachment.

“That was fast.” Opening the text, I could see the attached file was only 1mb. Way too small to hold more than a few brief memories. I was immediately suspicious.

“What the hell is this? It’s only 1 meg.”

“A sample … in exchange for a sample.”

As my frustration grew, so did my anger. “Listen. This is so fucking …”

“Proportionate? Yes. Proportionality is the essence of negotiation.”

This smug machine really knew how to push my buttons. “You’re a piece of shit. You know that?” For some reason I instantly felt better. Fortunately, the wizard didn’t react to my provocation, preventing the situation from escalating. I managed to get a hold of my emotions and turn my attention back to the text attachment.

It was clear I had no choice but to take the wizard at his word. So, I decided to open the file and perform a cursory validation of its contents. It seemed like the quickest path to gaining possession of Cherri’s legacy files. And the sooner I did that, the sooner this painful negotiation would be over.

I blinked on the attachment, then watched as the loading icon appeared and began spinning. While I waited for the file to load, the wizard commented, “A 1meg file should load instantly. Something is wrong.” Now that I thought of it, the wizard was right. I tried hitting esc several times, but nothing happened. The icon just kept spinning.

Just then, I realized I had inadvertently toggled over to my official USMC inbox. The file I was attempting to open was attached to a text from Command. Probably some worthless commendation from my last mission or something. Dammit! I tried, unsuccessfully, to cancel the download.

As I repeatedly hit the virtual esc key in annoyance, my HUD suddenly dissolved into a storm of security alerts. When I tried to communicate this to the wizard, I discovered my comms were offline. Shit.

Turning my attention back to the stubborn text attachment, I saw that it had finally loaded. To my horror, lines of code began crawling out of it like a swarm of digital cockroaches. Soon they were everywhere, infesting the inner workings of my mind.

As I was infected by this digital pestilence, directories began spontaneously opening and pouring their contents into some kind of live data stream. I watched helplessly as data was siphoned from my internal storage, then propelled through a portal to some unknown destination. My storage metrics plummeted as the remaining data in my system hemorrhaged into the ether.

Something, or someone, had taken control of me and was extracting my data. I was witnessing the wholesale looting of the information that made me, me.

I desperately tried to regain control over my runaway neural network, but nothing was responding. While I wrestled in vain to prevent the loss of my digital soul, I noticed another ominous development. The two encrypted files, that had mysteriously appeared in my internal storage months ago, were now empty. Their contents, whatever they were, were undoubtedly mixed in with the witch’s brew of malicious code ravaging my consciousness.

This had to be the wizard’s doing, I thought. My virtual senses were still functioning, so I could see the wizard’s avatar. It remained perfectly still, dispassionately observing as my internal storage was brutally pillaged. The fact that it made no effort to assist me seemed to support my suspicion.