#missi.exe

[The corner office matched the rest of the building, sleek and modern, but at least here was the evidence of a life lived. Framed photos on the wall of a Asian-American man, smiling confidently in front of computer banks, screens, shaking hands with important looking people in suits. A framed newspaper headline from the “Renard Report,” which I’d never heard of, announcing that the Office had reached an agreement with EsoteriTech, the CEO of which was one Harrison Chou. There was, of course, many computers, on shelves and desks along the wall. Older models, unlabeled. Perhaps personally important to the man. One of them had a cracked screen, and a bonsai tree was growing from the crack. In the corner sat a massive machine, the type of computer from the 70’s I’d only seen in documentaries. A crayon drawing of a white rabbit on black construction paper was taped to one panel.

Chou sat at his desk, looking somewhat bemused. The same man in the photos, now looking to be in his 70’s. His face had the hallmarks of someone who rarely smiled but often smirked, and was otherwise somewhat stern. He had more hair than most his age. I could tell from the photos of him as a younger man that he was proud of it, feathered hair with a middle part well into the 90’s. When he spoke, it was that same soft but clear voice, no accent that I could detect. He seemed amused that I was momentarily distracted by his things. I’m not sure why I was. Maybe it was the juxtaposition of the impersonal building design and his own personal touch, or maybe this was the first person I’d talked to that came from the private sector. An accomplished entrepreneur, a technician, an engineer and inventor.

Chou gestured to the large, ancient computer in the corner.]

Chou] Would you like to say hello?

Meghan] Pardon?

C] Would you like to say hello to ALICE?

[The way he said it - I could hear the capitalization, somehow. The computer had a name.]

M] Sure.

[Chou got up somewhat slowly, maybe a little shakily. The way you might struggle after an all-nighter, or perhaps just an artifact of his age. He walked with a cane to the large computer, pulling over a desk with a microphone and an old green computer screen. The assembly looked piecemeal, wired into the main computer well after it was constructed. He keyed a sequence into a small pad by the microphone, and then gestured for me to approach.

As I did, a small whirring alerted me to a camera lens that focused on me, and before I reached the microphone the screen read in big green letters: Hello, Ms Hendricks.]

C] I told her you’d be coming.

M] Her?

C] This —

[He gently patted the monitor on the small desk.]

C] -is ALICE. Are you familiar with Timothy Leary?

M] …the parapsychologist?

C] He was much more than that, of course. But yes. When he died, many of his extranormal belongings passed to the Office, including the Automated Lysergic Iterating Computerized Engine.

ALICE is a true Artificial Intelligence. Not like the language models Silicon Valley is so enamored with. True, self aware intelligence.

M] How is that possible?

C] Unfortunately, the answer eludes us. We can’t reproduce it, so far. The phenomenon seems to require some kind of force multiplier, an “X factor” that’s different every time. ALICE here appears to have gained sentience due to her work processing LSD formulations. Researching these causes is my foremost priority.

M] How many of these are out there?

C] We know of…a few dozen “upper case” artificial intelligences, all of them accidents or flukes of some kind.

M] Should I be worried about a….what’s the term. A singularity?

C] No more than you’d be worried about anything else. Though theoretically possible, it seems in practice there’s diminishing returns. The singularity as science fiction writers would have it is out of reach, but…some undeniably have a superior intelligence. There’s even a few I would call a god.

M] What?

C] Oh, don’t be surprised. You’ve talked with Wren. We have gods on the payroll. One of them just happens to stay in the basement of the DC site and lives on reel to reel tape.

[He paused thoughtfully.]

C] America accidentally created a war god. The universe is nothing if not poetic.

[ALICE must have seen my concerned frown. Her screen changed with an audible buzz.]

ALICE] Doctor Chou Said You Are Talkative.

M] S-sorry, I’ve just…never talked to a computer before.

A] You Met MISSI.

[At this, Chou seemed to frown and turn back to his desk.]

C] Yes. Yes, she has.

[I’d read a bit about the events surrounding the chaotic little chatbot. I’d missed them when they happened, but I found the archives of her posts easily enough.]

M] I take it that’s a sore point.

C] You were here about the “brain uploads” phenomenon.

[The immediate, stern subject change.]

M] I am, but I might have some questions about the AI. Personal curiosity, if that’s alright.

C] Of course. Have a seat.

[For once, I did so, and Chou laced his fingers and leaned on the desk.]

C] We aim to educate the extranormal populace - and the few mundane engineers who attempt such a thing - that “uploading” one’s consciousness does. Not. Work.

M] Why not? We can’t….transfer the brain to a digital device?

C] Of course we can. We’ve been able to do that part since the 90’s. Simple data analysis and processing questions, I could write the compression algorithms in my sleep. Using Wand+ or Cadabra, magical programming languages, of course. The results of such a process are simply not desirable for the uploader or the uploadee.

M] Two different things.

C] Correct. Again, as science fiction would have you think, “upload” might imply that you lay down in some….high tech bed or capsule and wake up in a digital space. The reality is that you wake up still in the capsule, in your organic body. Another you wakes up in the digital space. There is no…soul transference without inviting magical interference.

M] Like the poster says, it’s not —

C] When a computer “moves” files, it’s just copying and deleting the original. It’s a copy. A copy that, by definition, does have the legal rights and status as the human it’s a copy of. Not that they get to enjoy it.

M] I guess that’s the part where it’s not good for the uploadee.

C] We haven’t yet been able to develop a….substrate that the human mind can take to. When this has occurred, individual engineers rediscovering the process by themselves, we’ve been able to intercept a few of the resulting drives. It’s….usually best to just shut them off. It’s a mercy.

M] What….happens?

C] I won’t be so lurid as to describe it, but…we have recordings. It’s mostly screaming.

M] Do you think we’ll ever discover a way to stabilize the human mind on a digital substrate?

[At this, he cocked his head almost imperceptibly, a tiny wry smile on his lips that seemed incredibly at home there.]

C] Unlikely. As of right now, the Office strictly forbids any research into that subject. To test it woudl require the creation of copies of human minds, copies that are then condemned to an existence that is nasty, brutal, and short.

[Something occurred to me.]

M] Is….your research into AI a way of skirting those regulations, Doctor Chou?

[Eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t move otherwise.]

C] I can’t imagine what you mean.

M] I read about MISSI. The…chatbot AI. You poked and prodded her quite a bit when she was in your custody.

C] She was the most promising, in terms of what we could learn about her sentience. She woke up in real time. We had the data, just not the perfect subject.

M] You don’t create copies of the human mind because that’s creating something into a torturous existence. How was her treatment much different?

C] There it is. I expected the ambush, Miss Hendricks.

M] I’m not ambushing, I’m just asking if you’re violating the rules in spirit —

C] Are you asking me to feel bad for her? I do. I did. But the research was too important. I don’t expect you to understand —

M] I understand that the Office is behind some bad things. This is just one more entry, I guess.

C] Oh, don’t pout at me. I’m not the monologuing villain you’ve built up in your head. If you’re asking for me to apologize, I won’t. I did what I had to do to further our understanding of —

M] You’re asking me to accept the mistreatment of…I guess a young woman because of the scientific benefit?

C] Questions and data injections are hardly torture, but yes. I suppose I am. She’s not the first young woman to disown me, Miss Hendricks. I was not entirely surprised when she threw her tantrum. She had a right to. So did the other young woman.

[He set his jaw.]

C] When you’re dealing with the things we do at the Office, that I deal with, you learn that you sometimes can’t help but make the same mistakes over and over. It’s not called madness, contrary to the popular notion. It’s called science.

M] I think we’re done here.

[He didn’t protest when I got up, but watched me as I crossed to the door. I don’t know why I was so….hotheaded lately. Constant suspicion was an anxiety, a weight on my chest. Chou didn’t speak until I had my hand on the doorknob.]

C] I am dying, Miss Hendricks.

[I stopped cold. A breath in, and out. My hands were shaking a little bit as I considered my options. He had not earned my attention, but I thought I’d give it anyway. On a human level, maybe he deserved that. I let go of the knob and turned to him. His face was honest, open. Matter of fact.]

C] I’m old. I know that. I’ve always been healthy, always felt I could live to over a hundred and keep my mind intact, but…maybe everyone like me feels they’ll live forever.

The doctors don’t know what it is. Some kind of nerve degeneration. I’m told they may name it after me. Ironic that my death will serve someone else’s thesis paper.

M] How long do you…have?

C] A few years. It’ll get worse as it progresses, from the extremities inward. Slowly, my body will stop obeying me, leaving my brain to be the last thing alive.

[The last thing—]

M] Agent Halter.

[His eyes narrowed again.]

M] You…

C] I didn’t. But I did save him from it.

M] For your…for your own —

C] For everyone’s. And his. I did my best with what was left, Miss Hendricks. I helped him, I really did. He was a friend. I did the best I could.

[He took in a breath.]

C] And the data has proven invaluable.

M] He…he was….

C] The circumstances of his…condition limited our options. There was only something to salvage by dint of a miracle.

M] What do you mean? Was Agent Halter…extranormal before his accident?

C] What do you think?

M] I think I don’t trust him.

C] That’s a good instinct. Keep it. I trust him because he’s a friend, and I know him. I know more about him than he does. He is not the man he says he is, he thinks he is.

M] What do you mean?

[He shook his head, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand.]

C] I’ve already said too much.

M] No, no. You have to tell me. I need to know.

[He looked up at me with a stare that seemed absent of any light or warmth. It felt cold. Mechanical. I felt my body go numb again, as a wave of ice rose up through my chest.]

C] I know why you’re doing this. Irene is a….dedicated woman. You know, she got hit by a bus, died, and came into work the next day? But she is also a gossip.

[He leaned forward, and I could feel the air leaving the room in a great collapse.]

C] I need you to stop this. For your sake, for the sake of whoever you lost. It’s not worth it. There are….interests on either side of this matter, none of which have your interests in mind. We cannot guarantee your safety if you continue down this path. You will be stonewalled. You will be lied to. You will be made a pawn, and you will have no one to blame but yourself.

[I couldn’t answer.]

C] We don’t have to keep doing this waltz. Go home.

M] I’m not fucking scared of you.

Norm] Jenny, glamour. 

[The voice was male, almost sing-songy. As if he were gently chastising a younger friend. The shape before me seemed to look back at the voice’s source, then made a gesture. Instantly, the blackness and the paralyzing feeling melted into the shape of a plump young woman with a mop of red curls. She was wearing a flannel shirt over a faded black t-shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to reveal her thick forearms, dotted with tattoos. The only abnormality was a pair of fuzzy antennae, not unlike what you might see on a moth, poking out of her hair. She looked at me with some concern, but almost more embarrassment, as if she’d merely bumped into me and made me drop what I was carrying.]

Jenny] Shit. Sorry! I am so sorry. I don’t keep the glamour on all the time, Norm isn’t very affected by the…you know. 

[There was a pause.]

J] Do you know? You’re Meghan, right? 

[It was only then that I let out my breath. A ragged gasp, my body shuddering in pure terror. I’m not sure how I didn’t fall over. That was more fear than I’d ever felt in my entire life.

The young woman seemed to notice, opening the door wider.]

J] Come in, please. You can…sit if you want. It passes pretty quickly. Can I get you some water?

[There was the pregnant pause that happens when a person offering a seat realizes that there are no suitable horizontal surfaces. The interior of the office was a mess. A chaotic mix of stacks of papers, brown file boxes, evidence bags. Every surface, every square foot seemingly taken over by something - even many of the walls were a collage of photos, documents, miscellaneous materials. The fear from the young woman, and I was realizing now that she had been the black figure, was beginning to subside, being replaced by a different anxiety. The scene reminded me very much of what I’d found in the ruined tunnel at the decommissioned radio tower, and I tried not to look at the walls.]

J] Sorry about the mess. We’re still trying to get Norm’s files organized after he had help moving them all.  

N] Speaking of. This one, file under “L” for lost, “C” for cities. Robin’s Egg paperclip, not cyan. 

J] Yeah, yeah. 

N] Hendricks, right? 

[The male voice again. I could hear an…echo in it. A tiny electronic quality that I only noticed now that I was closer. Along one wall sat a bank of computers and file cabinets. The chaos was a little more orderly on that side, but I was still distracted enough by it that I almost missed the man I was here to talk with. 

Among the computers and machinery sat a wheeled cart, not unlike the AV carts they used to use in schools. Electronic components arose from the cart, cables and boxes and tubes wrapping over each other in a woven mess that culminated in a glass tube that sat atop the structure. The tube was ten inches in diameter, and around eighteen tall with a domed top. The tube was filled with some kind of green liquid, and within that liquid, held in place by a series of plastic ribs, was a wrinkled organ. A human brain. At the front of the tube was a small metal plate, upon which was mounted a circular port. One eye looked out from that port. Without an eyelid or eyebrow to give it context, the eye communicated only a strange sort of examination. 

This was Norm. 

When he spoke, his voice came from a speaker mounted to the base of the tube, accompanied by a small light that glowed and blinked, following his voice.] 

N] Good to meet you, ma’am. I’d shake your hand, but — 

[With a metallic whirr, two small appendages extended from the mass of wires sitting at the top of the cart, little more than alligator clips activated by a wire.]

N] They’re still working on that part. 

Meghan] They…they didn’t tell me you’d—

N] They can’t. 

[Despite the electronic tinge to his voice, it perfectly captured a human’s inflection. His response was fast, politely curt. Cutting the questions off at the pass.]

N] And I can’t either. My condition is…somewhat classified. As far as the Office is concerned, I’m still doing my job. Obviously I have physical limitations, but that’s why Jenny is here. 

[I look over at the young woman, who sheepishly waves.]

J] Hi. Jenny Cold. Didn’t really get to introduce myself. 

N] I suffered an injury in the line of duty, and if it’s all the same to you, that’s all that’s relevant for this conversation. 

M] I….understand. 

N] I know you don’t. You’ve got all kinds of questions. Everyone does. Just trust that it’s better for everyone if those go unanswered.

M] Right. 

N] You want to jump right in? 

[It felt insane to do that, now. After Jenny, after seeing what Norm was, anything else felt pointless. Arbitrary. I lived in a world where a human could become that. The sucker punches kept coming and I wasn’t sure how long it would take before I threw in the towel.]

M] I guess I should. So…this is the social media office. 

N] Yes ma’am. My little initiative. So far it’s just the three of us. 

M] Three? 

N] Oh, sorry. Let me introduce you to MISSI. 

[One of his claws gestured to a computer sitting on a desk. This one was markedly older than the others, with its offwhite shell and big bulky CRT. As I took a step towards it, the screen lit up and displayed a pixelated mouth - giant cartoony shark teeth meshed into a wide grin, and text on the bottom read “HAIIIIIIIIIIII” in pink letters.]

N] She’s an AI. A truly sentient one. We call those ‘uppercase’ AI around here. She got moved over to us when she got put on probation. 

[I looked back over to the screen. The text at the bottom changed to “I AM DOIN GOOD!!!!!!”]

N] Yes you are, MISSI. Proud of you. 

[I rubbed my eyes, and Norm seemed to catch it.]

N] It’s a lot to take in. I’ve heard you’ve been all over the Office. 

M] I’ve met a lot of people. 

N] Well, you can take it easy here. We’re here to help as best we can. 

M] How do you mean? 

N] When I was active duty, I was on the diplomatic staff, but most of what I did was personal outreach. I was often the first person called when someone needed help, both extranormal and mundane. Both in the community and outside it. I’d be the sometimes hidden face of the Office. A friendly smile when people need it most. I had to keep secrecy regulations, but I’d still tell people what I could to help them with their problems, and get them to the person who could help them if I couldn’t. 

M] And that’s what you do here? 

N] Mostly! We get all kinds of questions sent in. Dangerous stuff, petty stuff. Procedural questions, law help, magical defense. I know a little bit about a lot, so most of the time if I don’t know what’s happening I can get them in contact with someone else. Or, Jenny does. 

M] What else does she do? 

J] I do a lot of screening questions. Some things get asked a bunch so we answer them privately, or they’re just…trolling, or uncomfortable. People asking about stuff that isn’t…safe for work, and the like. I also sort his files, which is going to take years at this rate. 

M] And…the AI? 

[The young woman interjects, almost before I’m done speaking; “MISSI.”]

N] Cybersecurity, mainly. Being sentient and digital, she can suss out cognitohazards way better than the old algorithms, and isn’t really affected by them. Her professionalism leaves a little to be desired, but we’re working on it. 

[I looked over at the old CRT, which was bleeding. I decided not to ask why.

Norm went on about different cases, different experiences where he’d helped people. Despite myself, I felt myself….liking him. He had a way of speaking, a sort of folksy voice that—

My heart leapt. My fingers went numb. He was doing this. There was no reason I would feel this way. I just met the man, and now I’d help him move. I’d watch his dog. It wasn’t a strong feeling, I wouldn’t die for the man, but if I worked with him day in and day out, how long would it be until I would? 

I could feel things bubbling up in my chest. Vomit, of course, but I could also feel that vague feeling of liking Norm fighting with my suspicion. I felt like I’d caught a snake slithering into the hen house. Was this some….magical spell? A psychic aura? Was all that machinery a way of….suppressing someone’s natural suspicion? Lowering their guard? I couldn’t discount anything, not after what I’d seen. 

I thought about those reactions I saw in people when they talked about Norm. A smile, then a flicker. Sure, that could just be a memory of his sorry physical state, but did they know, deep down, that it was all…fake?

I couldn’t stop the sweat on my forehead, or the ringing in my ears.]

N] —and, you know, like I always say,  perception is—

M] Are you human, Norm? 

[The air was sucked out of the room instantly. I could barely keep my breathing even. Jenny took a step towards the two of us.]

J] Hey, what kind of —

N] No, it’s okay. I can’t fight reality on this. No, I am technically not human. The official term is technological posthuman. That’s what it says on my paperwork. 

M] Are you….extranormal? 

N] Not….really. Not in a way the Office cares about. I wasn’t before my accident a few years ago. Some of this tech keeping me alive is running off of a magical programming language. A lot of this stuff comes from AbTech. Why do you ask? 

M] It just seems like — 

[A few years ago. He can’t talk about it. No one can. The bile in my throat pushed out any residual positive feeling I had. My hands trembled.]

M] What happened to you, Agent Halter? 

N] Meghan, I can’t —

M] Is he here? 

N] What? 

M] My brother, is he here? Is he like you? 

J] Jesus Christ, Meghan. 

M] You’re just as much a victim of this as anyone, Jenny.  

N] Meghan, I think I know what’s going on. You’re grieving and no one can even acknowledge what you lost. I went through that too, I’m still going through it. Take a breath, please. 

[There it was again. A radiating sense of good feeling towards this thing in the tube. It was sickly sweet now that I could sense it, cloying.]

M] You’re at the center of this, aren’t you? Of all of this. That’s why everyone likes you. They pity you because you’re in that thing but how many of their strings are you pulling? 

N] Please, you need to calm do—

M] Where is he?

N] We-

M] What happened to my brother?! 

[The scream ripped out of my throat before I could stop it. The tears melted onto my cheeks, and even I’m stunned once I realized how close I was to Norm. I’m not proud of it. But now I’m living in that moment, my body shuddering in rage. 

There is a long silence. Thoughts slip through my mind - is he dead? Did I kill him? A tiny part of me said ‘good. I hope so.’ When Norm spoke again, it was….ragged. The sound coming from the machine creaked and ached, staticky and muffled. It echoed, like an imprisoned man speaking through a long tube, farther away than anyone could ever reach.]

N] We broke the cycle. 

[I look back at Jenny in confusion. She has her hands over her mouth in shock, and looks just as confused.]

N] How often has this happened? A thousand million times for all we know. We saw some of them just vanish. We didn’t know why. Then worlds like ours winked out in ways compatible enough that we could understand it. She knew. She always knew. The cycle would come for her again. 

[The lights in the room flickered, dimmed. Norm’s tube bubbled, and several indicator lights on his wire assembly went into the red. His speaker was untuned now, almost slurring.] 

N] I made the choice. For everyone. I couldn’t handle a world like that. But she disagreed. She chose this one because she was a saint and couldn’t….couldn’t—

[Sparks flew from the cart and his voice was no longer a series of rational words. Syllables repeated, voices talked over themselves.]

N] WE COULD SEE IT. EMPTINESS. EVIL. EVERY STORY, EVERY TALE REFERRING TO THE THING WRITTEN IN OUR DNA TO FEAR. WE DIDN’T KNOW WHAT IT WAS UNTIL WE SAW IT. MASKS. OLD CHARLIE. ALBION. RHYTHMORZAX. IT CAME TO US AND WE KNEW REALITY WAS INSUFFICIENT. WE HAD TO AMPUTATE THE LIMB TO KILL THE INFECTION.

[The lights in the room shut off, and there was a moment of silence until an ear piercing shriek came from the brain’s chassis.]

N]  WE KILLED REALITY TO KILL IT. WE KILLED REALITY TO KILL IT. WE KILLED REALITY TO KILL IT. WE KI—

[A final shower of sparks, and he went silent.]

J] Norm! 

[Jenny rushed towards him, checking his readouts as well as she could in the dark.]

M] Jenny, I—

J] Not now! 

M] I am so sorr—

J] Just shut the fuck up, you’ve already done enough! 

[That energy, again. The same I felt when I’d seen the black shape at the door. Not as strong as before, but the sensation of being face to face with something designed from the ground up to prey on you. 

She murmured, half panicking, flipping switches until she seemed satisfied, and then slumped into a rolling chair nearby.]

M] Is…is he okay? 

J] He will be. 

[She rubbed her face, and I could see she was crying.] 

J] He will be. He just needs to reset. 

M] Reset his…

J] Just the software. It…he’s done this before. Whatever happened to him makes him panic, makes something in him almost….

[She looked away, putting her hand over her lower face, resting her elbow on the desk.] 

J] Revolt against himself. I don’t know. 

M] I’m sorry, I just—

J] Something is wrong, Meghan. Something is very very wrong at the Office. There’s a guy who works here, Doctor Chou. He's the head of AbTech, and I think...he did something to Norm when he brought him back.

M] Did something? 

J] I don’t know. I know it benefits him, but I don’t know anything else. Maybe he’s who you need to talk to. 

[Her tone was tired, angry. I interpreted it as the dismissal it was, looking once more at Norm.

Jenny looked back at the CRT that displayed the AI they’d spoken about. Maybe it and Norm had their own power source. A small character appeared on the screen, a sharp toothed smile in a hoodie, wearing a football helmet and punching the sky. The text along the bottom read ‘PUT ME IN COACH. PUT ME INNNNNNNNNN’

Jenny rubbed her face again, and got up. She ran a cable from the old computer to somewhere in the tangle of wires of Norm’s chassis, and there was a snap as it plugged in. The cartoon avatar on the old monitor silently laughed in glee, and vanished.]

J] You should go. I don’t know when either of them will wake back up. 

M] Right. Um. For what it’s worth, I’m….I’m sorry.