Tale:Why I Finally Started Leaving My Room

OZONE. That is my name. There, where the real me lies. There, in the 'NET. Out here, I am nothing. I am nobody. I am Occi. I step into my apartment and lock the door. Totally dark, as I like it. I flick on the light on my PoComp using my tail.

I approach my machine. A beautiful arrangement of PCBs lies in a pragmatic metal casing. The black goop akin to that in my skull sticks to certain parts of the device. This is what allows me to traverse the ONET.

I power on the assembly by throwing a switch on the tower. The fans start to whir, the coolant begins to flow, and the goop starts glowing electric blue and indigo in the pattern of a nervous system. The 4-part display unfolds and powers on. The central monitor is my scrying mirror into cyberspace, the largest and the most important. Two smaller monitors hang to the right of it on a hinged chassis. The higher one is my status display. It reveals the computer's memory usage, disk write and read speed, my network connection and upload and download rate, and importantly, a list of running processes. Currently it is idle, using a minimal amount of resources. The lower right monitor shows me a list of peers, computers I am connected to. I haven't jacked in to the ONET, but when I do, it'll read out the network connection, abbreviated psigram, and resource sharing of each peer.

The monitor to the left is ingenious. My psychic display. Most users, at least the older generation, focus entirely on the electronic side of things, total Sarkists. Even many hackers neglect the mental side of things. Fools they are, damned to work for centuries making it up in the afterlife. It shows my own psigram, in full; a detailed psychograph, representing my machine's mental health; a stream of consciousness that lets me track what thoughts are entering my machines mind; and most importantly, a selection of prayers and meditations to remedy mental instability, even a few directly from the EIGHT.

I place my hands on the control board. It's an ergonomic, split model, perfect for preventing wrist pain, with a cushion to prevent my scales from getting calluses. There's a trackball for point-and-click, but I stick to the keys, mainly. I open my terminal, activate my network modules, and start a text chat program. On my peer list, the username "redshift" pops up. The psigram looks right, so I use a dial to target the peer window for input and begin peering with Red.

Soon enough, I receive an instant message.

<redshift>: hey your online now
<OZONE>: Yeah how's it going?
<redshift>: fine, my parents are busy with research rn
<redshift>: so im not constantly hiding from them
<OZONE>: Was it education or employment this time?
<redshift>: it was school
<redshift>: i havent been studying enough and my marks are dropping

I think about my own school. I moved out of my parents' house in the middle of secondary school, not too long ago. Most other students still live with their parents. Father, mother, child. Father, mother, child. Father, mother, child. Occasionally more than one child. But always the same. This whole country is built on mass-produced family units. I'm never marrying nor having children.

<OZONE>: idk what to do school is stupid.
<redshift>: yeah but like they're like "oh red you need to do this or you have no future"
<OZONE>: sounds bad

I don't have a future either, really. The swarm's probably causing an apocalypse soon. I'm lucky Ousia is far from the galaxy and armed with the greatest network in existence. I can communicate with people across the cluster as well as—or better than—someone next door. No point in talking with neighbors anyway, they'll just ask me about school or work. This country sucks. It's just school forever, then whatever job the exams pick me for forever, then I die. I feel like stepping into bed and crying myself to sleep, so I grab a stimcan from the shelf by my workstation.

I pop it open and inhale its fruit-flavored, viscous orange mist, bringing it first into my esophagus and then into my lungs. Double ingestion, its called. I hold it in for half a minute before exhaling. My nerves start firing like crazy, but I feel hyper-focused. It works wonders. My room is littered with the things, but they're the only way I can stay awake after a long day at the academy, and not as bland as water. It smells like something died in here. I think I should get my shit together.

<redshift>: girl if you're huffing that tang again im gonna end the blockade just to come over there and make you drink water
<redshift>: btw i found this new server connecting to our mainframe.
<redshift>: ill send its psigram

Servers are on a higher echelon compared to personal computers. Of course, get enough PCs peered and you can match a server, and my PC is on the higher end anyway. On top of that, with some hacking, any tech's resources can be put to use. I've snooped around the mainframe Red mentioned before. It's so hi-tech that servers are like PCs to it. Since it's on Flaeyaer, orbiting Ithillid, it's near the center of Lowiras, making it ideal in pre-ONET days for telecommunications, according to the docs on there.

I accept the data transfer from Red and save the psigram to my address book. The network connection is unstable, as it only has a couple peers. This isn't a node I'll be able to pass by from time to time in the 'NET. The hostname is "UNTIED." If it will play server, I shall play client. I attempt to jack in to it, to activate an automatic peering process these unmanned machines have. A loading message pops up. My connection is at about 10%...50%...40%...90%...then it's interrupted. My computer crashes, leaving me in the dark. I flip the power switch off and on again and it begins to boot up. My psychograph shows mental instability. I check the system logs. Nothing seems out of the ordinary...until I see my name. Not my username.

...90%...Critical failure!
Occi: Leave it alone. You can't stop UNTIED and you sure can't hack them.
I'll help you out a bit. I'll leave you my psigram.
Oh, and just to be clear, ignoring me isn't an option, sweaty.

Creep. This guy—'cause he's almost definitely a guy, knows my name, and he crashed my system. I'm not going to let it slide. He left me his psigram...could be a trap. If I play along I might be able to catch him by surprise. I set up a program that will catch any attempted system calls from peers. I start my LITANY process and select a contemplative prayer to restore my computer's stability. The stream displays messages such as "nil," "infinity," and "creation." His psigram, labeled, "Eater451," lies just below the server he seems intent on stopping me from investigating I peer with the mysterious stranger and begin chatting.

<OZONE>: Identify yourself.
<Eater>: Hey there sweaty ;;)
<OZONE>: I gave you an order.
<OZONE>: You know more than you should about me.
<OZONE>: So how about you?
<Eater>: Right to the point aren't we? So firey ;;3

I want to bash my head in to the wall but he deserves it not me. Wanna kill him. If only there was a way to cyberkill him. Ha, ha.

<Eater>: I'm nobody, you know? ;;)
<OZONE>: Name and planet.
<OZONE>: Now.
<Eater>: ugh you're being hysterical rn learn some manners.
<OZONE>: Now. Or else.
<Eater>: Or else what? ;;))

Immediately my security program blocks several processes trying to seize my RAM. I change the mode of my psychic display to show his psychograph as well. His graph looks...but it can't be. Oddly, a name and planet pop up on the display: "Loadhar: Wrye." Must've gotten scared and almost sent it to me, putting it in the machine's working memory. Time to play.

<Eater>: Haha. ur smart <3
<Eater>: I know ur name but A/S/L?
<OZONE>: 27/Lacertian/You already know you fucking bastard.
<Eater>: Ahahha we're so close. 30/Nunya/You'll never find out.
<OZONE>: Alright, Loadhar of Wrye. You should know something.

His graph scrambles a bit. The language of fear displays on his stream. Somehow his computer is afraid.

<OZONE>: So you're a Griyosht. You'll live to about 60 on average. You reach maturity at 20.
<Eater>: Hey, I'm very immature for my age ;;) 20 5ever!
<OZONE>: Interesting dillema. I'm Lacertian. I'll outlive you by over 6 times.
<Eater>: So? Live fast die young ;;S
<OZONE>: I'll be an adult in 3 years. LMAO.
<Eater>: You're very mature for your age.
<OZONE>: I have this all logged and sent to multiple peers.

His graph goes ballistic. Thoughts of suicide show up on his stream. And mine. I back away from my computer. I want to go outside for the first time in months. But he's got my name. He could have my location. He could be watching me. Right now. He could kill me in my sleep. Or worse. It's not safe to leave it alone. I've got to take a risk so I can make sure I can protect myself. I start sending the running logs to Red.

<OZONE>: Mic up and cam up.
<Eater>: Haha... I like how you think.

I open my video chat client but don't turn on my camera. He turns on his. Surprisingly he's fully clothed and has all 4 hands on the computer's controls. His four eyes are stern. I'm horrified. His hands aren't on the controls: they are the controls. There are wires and interfaces all across his hairy arms and a full headset on his head, jacks and cords sticking into his brain. Loadhars's graph relaxes a bit. This is wrong...was he even trying to?...I screenshot him several times and send it Red's way.

"Turn it on!" he demands. His voice is rough and...compressed. It's digital in some way. He's a cyborg.

"I won't let you see me. I'm not scared of you." A complete contradiction. The meekness is present in my voice. His stream fills with descriptions of violent acts. It's his thoughts. His thoughts. He managed to sync himself with his PC. That's why his graph is like that. It's his own brainwave.

"You won't stop us!" UNTIED. It's not just a server, it's an organization. What do they want? Do they have an army of creeps to harass kids? "I'll send agents to your location!"

"Bullshit. The swarm'll take 'em out."

"We're everywhere. Everywhere! And we'll get rid of the swarm!" Get rid of the swarm?

"How?" I ask. He smirks.

"If you want to know you'd better turn on that camera and listen to what I say." I comply. I want to see the stars. My blue snout comes onto the screen. "Alright, Occi," he says, "ready to listen?" I nod. "To keep it at a level you understand, we're gonna mash everyone's brains together. No more lonely people like yourself."

I interrupt, "Is that why you tried flirting with me?" He just laughs. Then he nods. Sicko. I'd record it for Red but he has my name and face.

"So, as I was saying before you so rudely interrupted, we'll fuse into one electroneural singularity. The mother of all mainframes. An endlessly growing intelligence. At the core will be a perfectly unbiased Artificial General Intelligence," he explains.

"Blasphemy," I say, "The EIGHT were the only ones in history to create intelligent life, and they didn't start from machines. The idea of AI sapience is ridiculous. Programs have no divine intellect."

He twitches a bit. He rebuts, "We have found a way. You must join us. You'll rule ONET. You'll rule Ousia. You'll rule Cosmoria." Tempted as I am, I refuse. "But we've those agents. They'll make you join us."

"Fuck you bitch!" I activate a memetic agent that'll shut down his internet connection. Yes, he'll be fine, and all it will do is shut off his ONET connection. His psychograph starts going haywire, experiencing immense levels of pain and pleasure at once. The thoughts on his stream aren't coherent anymore.

The camera somehow still functions. I watch him jitter and jerk and groan from the slew of thoughts I'm injecting into his computer, and therefore, to his brain. It all intensifies as lightning arcs across his video output, causing digital distortions on the camera, glitches and corruptions. He mumbles something about the singularity, about how the only way for Ousians to reign supreme (ick) over the lesser species of the universe (Blech!) is to fuse with our machines. His flesh burns and sizzles. I see smoke come from the neural interface piercing the exoskeleton of his head. His last word is "Accelerate!!!" before it all shuts off. His psigram isn't just offline, it's completely erased. Dead silent. Maybe it's time to log off.