I want to tell you a story.
But I can't.
Well, I'm sure I can pull together a few story threads from other places, throw them together, mix them up, and have a basic story I can tell you. But that's not what I want to do.
There's a specific story I want to tell you, a specfic journey I want to take you on, but I can't.
Because it's not a story I can tell with words, on a screen, like this. It needs another format to tell you.
Watch this space for when we get transmitting smells technology.
When they woke up, they struggled against the straps, like all of them.
"The fuck is going on?" they asked, like all of them.
I apologised for pulling them out of their mission early, but circumstances had changed and I needed them to become more overt in their efforts, like all of them.
They clearly didn't remember anything about working for me, nor anything about having had mental blocks placed on them, like all of them.
They then demanded a larger percentage, which I reluctantly agreed to, just like with every good guy I captured and then altered their personality.
He picked up the book, looking it over.
"This is the one that like, made the genre, right?"
I looked over and nodded.
"Yeah, 'Office Block' was the book that started the Neurocapitalism genre, although it wasn't the first book to explore the themes, but it really was the big starting point."
"Cool, so I should read it?"
"Honestly, pretty much every theme and concept in the book is done better and more interestingly in later books in the genre, so outside of completeness, you seen The Simpsons parodies?"
"Sure, clips online."
"Doesn't matter, you've basically read the book then."
I make a habit of buying mad scientists and their ilk's notes and equipment whenever they float up on the black market. I'm usually the only interested party, and get them on the cheap.
Sure, you usually get gets what you pay for, and they are overpriced test tubes and ramblings. But sometimes I get a new idea, or an interesting data point.
And sometimes, I get a step by step instruction manual on how to fake a scientific breakthrough that I can sell to gullible greedy assholes.
On an unrelated note, you want to invest in unlimited power generation?
"Next case!"
A scared looking young woman was dragged into the makeshift dock.
"This civilian is hearby charged with aiding and abetting the enemy!"
I raised an eyebrow as I looked at her.
"In what way?"
"She would sneak injured enemy combatants from POW camps, then accompany them across the border!"
I looked at her again.
"I assume you have proof for this, because I'm not exactly convinced looking at her."
"One of the officers she helped wrote her a thank you letter."
I was handed the letter, then looked at her again.
"Officers are idiots, huh?
Guilty, shooting squad."
When the walls fell, that was when the character of those left standing would be revealed.
With the defences gone, and only death, subjugation, or the most unlikely victory ever, to come, that was when you found out who the survivors truly were.
Some ran, afraid of the options, or the work, trying to delay it in the hope that they wouldn't have to choose.
Some fought, to try and win, or to try to survive, or to try and die.
And some just gave up, and laid down.
My character?
Who do you think brought the walls down originally?
The Personification Of All Knowledge appeared, surrounded by bright light.
"You have summoned me, Mortal! Ask your question, and I shall answer!"
"What's this pain I get in my feet?"
The Personification Of All Knowledge tilted its female coded head as it stared at me.
"You cracked the living code of the universe, sacrificing unique items that will now never exist, solely to ask about your feet?"
"No doctor or mystic seems to know what's causing it."
The Personification Of All Knowledge sighed.
"Very well."
The Personification Of All Knowledge looked at my feet.
"Wait, what the hell is that?"
I couldn't help her.
I knew what the problem was, what she needed, what would fix everything.
But I didn't have it, couldn't get it, and didn't know anyone who could.
So all I could do was commiserate. I expressed my sympathy, I explained how bad I felt for her, and how I wished I could help.
She told me that that helped, that she knew it was beyond my ability to help, but the fact that I wanted to, that did make her feel a little better.
I wish knowing that made me feel better.
But I couldn't help...
I was ordered to pick up the company president at his home address at 7:45am, on the dot. I was to park outside, knock and enter through the front door, and head up the stairs to get him in his office.
Thus, I would be at the crime scene when the police arrived, my shoes implanted with blood from the hidden applicators in the welcome mat, with the planted murder weapon with my prints just sitting there.
Good thing I slept in really late and didn't turn up till much later when they'd discovered the set up, isn't it?
"Stop, thief!"
With timing that was perfect from a comedic perspective but brutal from a common sense one, there was the sound of several tons of stone falling down to block the passageway into the tomb.
The 'independent archaeological consultant' grunted in annoyance as he looked over at her.
"Well congratulations. You've doomed us both. There's no way anyone can get to us in time."
She glared at him.
"It's worth it just to protect this ancient artefacts that-"
He ignored her and opened the coffin anyway, releasing the spirit that then burst through the blockage to go terrorise everyone.
The disappearances weren't noticed for a few weeks, by which point they'd worked out the kinks and were able to speed everything up.
There seemed to be no pattern to those who were taken that could be determined by those who were studying it. It seemed to be targeting more populated areas, but then that's where more people were.
Slowly, the entire population was taken, until just a handful of people were left, and the disappearances stopped. Those that were left thought they were special, but really, they were just clerical errors, left behind by mistake on the demolition site.
I was used to odd sounds coming from graves as I dug them and then filled them. But a ringing phone, despite being a sound I recognised, was still something I hadn't expected.
I was paid good money to not know anything about what I was doing. But I knew if this kept ringing, that could cause problems.
So I opened the sack, and found the phone. I should have just smashed it, but instead I answered it. An unfamilar voice answered it.
"You've made a grave mistake."
"You're a bit late."
"You've not buried him yet, yeah?"
I ran.
She walked into the room just as he was about to kick the chair out from under himself, the noose snug around his neck.
There was a long moment where they stared at each other, neither moving a muscle other than to breathe, ironically enough.
Eventually she spoke.
"You've tied that up wrong. You want a tighter drop so it snaps your neck quickly."
He stared for a few more seconds.
"That's how you talk to someone in this position?"
"Well you have to get down to fix it, don't you?"
He eventually got down, and never got back up.
It was the secret to eternal life, sort of. An extract from the eternal jellyfish, altered and tailored to your DNA, would regenerate your entire body to adolescence.
But that included your brain, and worse still, the memory centres of the brain wouldn't survive. You'd need some tutoring to get back up to speed with speech and motor control, but your memories would be completely gone, forever.
Sure, those with diseases or nothing left to lose went for it, but most weren't sure.
So they said there was a very slight chance some memories might remain.
Suddenly everyone risked it.
After five years, the lone scientist stationed in the research station deep in the Arctic Circle was due to be replaced.
On the day, the supply truck rolled up, and as supplies were unloaded, the new scientist strode into the base. He hoped to find a sane gentleman scholar. But he was expecting an unsociable mess of a crazed hermit.
Instead, he found a note, saying that the writer had changed their mind and wanted to leave, and so was doing so.
He noticed it was in his name and dated tomorrow as the weapon came down on his head.
He picked up one of the apples and took a bite, chewing it slowly.
"I grafted over a dozen varieties together, and after a year I've made-"
"Probably the best apple I've ever eaten, and one we can't sell."
She took a step back, aghast.
"But you just said that it's the best you've ever had, why can't we sell it?"
He sighed as he cut the rest of the apple up, carefully keeping the seeds.
"Evolutionarily speaking, humans are attracted to the deepest red apples, and worse still, most people prefer mediocrity.
That said, let me contact cider makers."
I was happy, at one point.
I never had a life one would call comfortable, but I got by. My needs were covered, I had a little wiggle room for small wants, and most of all, I had someone who loved me, and whom I loved, to share that life.
And then it all came crashing down around me. My loved one, dead, my home, destroyed, my way of life, ruined forever.
Now, true, absolutely none of that was due to the King directly, or even indirectly. But I've got nothing left, so why not get in the history books?
"And this device will answer any question you have about your life on Earth."
The Angel gestured to what looked like one of those smart home modules with a human name.
"I thought it'd be a book."
"We like to remain current."
"Fair enough. What's its name?"
"Whatever you want it to be!"
"Ok...
So, Yasmin? What caused my anxiety?"
"Chemical imbalance in your brain and your father's drinking problems."
"Ah. What was my happiest day?"
"June 29th, 2027."
"Ah, I met Lucy that day."
"No record of any interactions that day."
The Angel turned white and hit an alarm.
The conversation occured in a microsecond between two of the programs that ran the simulation.
"Hey, check this out, I think I've worked out how to help identify non-updated data clusters!"
"Oh, do share!"
"Right, so, we get the humans to help us!"
"They're not allowed to know that-"
"No, look, we put onto their proto-presimulation network the idea of remembering things wrongly being a sign of having changed timelines or something, and they'll all share things they remember differently, and we can just sift through them for things we've updated, and fix them!"
"Good work Nel.Son!"
"Thank you Shaz.aam!"
Every one hundred and sixty-six days, the tortured soul that lived deep in the lake would rise up and seek a sacrifice, would claim a human to satisfy whatever drive was keeping it alive long after death.
Obviously it took several cycles of the creature rising, finding the nearest person and dragging them to their death before the local authorities finally considered that the crazy old medicine woman and her sidekick kids might be telling the truth.
Once they did, however, they quickly built a prison on the shore and housed 'obvious' criminals there. Saved so much money on injections.
The last thing I could recall from before passing out was a wave sending a barrel flying into my face.
The first thing I saw upon waking up was a mermaid, staring at me.
I, naturally, assumed I was drowning and this was an hallucination. But the rock I was sprawled on was pointed enough to make me consider the possibility this was real.
"I don't suppose you know English?" I managed to croak out through dry lips.
I wasn't expecting Dutch to come out of her mouth, even if it had historical precedent.
I knew 'edibles' in Dutch, thankfully.
The two tough guys were walking down the street and seemed to take delight in not changing their direction when the mother and her small child approached from the other direction, the small child falling on their back as they walked through them.
"Poor risk assessment there boys."
They turned and glared at the man leaning against a wall.
"What you talking about, old man?"
"You wanna feel like big men, I get that. But you have to always think about who you might be pissing off."
"You wanna go, ya bastard?"
He shook his head as the mother attacked.
The phone rang off twice before I managed to lean over far enough to answer it.
"Yeah?"
It was her, sounding concerned.
"Everything ok?"
"Yeah, yeah, just a food coma."
"Food coma? What?"
"Big breakfast in bed to start with, buffet for lunch, and then cake just now."
"And this is enough to make you not answer your phone?"
"You're lucky I'm not yet spherical enough to be unable to answer the phone at all!"
"So you're done for the day then?"
"Of course!"
"Shame, I just ordered pizza for us."
"I'll be there in half an hour, I'm free."
Tommy 'Gun' McClellan was already in the restaurant when Luigi 'Concrete' Lavin was shown to his table across the room.
Both men saw each other at the same time.
Both men scanned the room at the same time.
Both men watched the other for a few moments, waiting for the other to make a move.
Both men did some quick mental calculations about the likelihood of winning a fight.
Both men decided not to go, and just kept watching the other.
Both men ended up dying from the poison Bryan 'Love Handles' Vasanti slipped into their food in the kitchen.
"Good afternoon, and welcome to Flight 9999, this is your captain speaking. Please resist the urge to get up and move about the craft as we cruise.
On the left of the plane, you can see the large pillar of smoke, that is our former capital city, currently burning down. We'll avoid the smoke for now.
On the right of plane, you can see the large number of the undead that has formed and which we are escaping from.
Our flight will continue until such time as we receive a reply to our SOS, or I end our shared pain."
I've worked as a bouncer at this pool hall bar for a few years now, and every night someone tries to pick up the woman who runs the tables. I've seen every type of attempt, the drunken 'subtle' pass, the flashy spender, the put down artist, all of them. Every type of guy and girl, and only one has ever succeeded, that I've seen.
I'd do something to stop it, but I have three reasons not to.
One, she's asked me not to.
Two, my intervention usually escalates things.
Three, I'm the one success, and I enjoy seeing others fail.
The hood was pulled off his head, leaving him blinking, blood smeared across the bruised cut under his ear.
The figures standing before him were masked, but he could tell which one was the leader, and that he was furious.
Much yelling in an unfamiliar language followed, with some pointing between his bruised face and a picture of a guy who, admittedly, vaguely resembled him.
When the gun emerged, he hoped for a quick death.
Luckily enough, the guy who vaguely resembled him was able to complete his mission because of this mix-up, and he quickly repaid debts when incured.
She placed it on the table between us.
"Before you is one of the most powerful magical tomes in all of creation, the Infincom Text. It contains spells to create and destroy entire levels of reality, and also can provide the energy to do so, if you're willing to pay the price."
I stared at it, the tome I'd sought for over a century.
"Why is it a Kindle though?"
She sighed.
"It's alive, for a given value of the term, and shapeshifts to remain current. Be glad you missed the Magic Eye version, that was so hard to read."
Imagine, if you will, a vampire. If they bite you and do not drink enough blood to kill you, or just enthrall you, you will become a vampire yourself.
Now imagine a werewolf. If they bite you and you don't die, you become a werewolf as well. Loyalty to the originator of the condition is societal and thus can be ignored under controlled circumstances.
Now imagine a zombie. If they bite you, you will die, and you will become a zombie.
We're currently a year into testing, and so far zombie vampires are depressingly stupid, but vampire werewolves show promise!
Brent leaned over the low wall of potted plants next to my desk.
"Hey, quick tip, man. Decentralised debt future options! Gonna be the next big thing!"
"Hey, thanks man, I'll look into it!"
He fingergunned me, then wandered off to test the limits of the company's harassment policy. Zola looked at me with disgust.
"You take advice from that slimeball?"
"Sort of, but not how you think. If and when he tells me about something, I know to never use it, and not to trust anyone who does."
"But he was right about cryptocurrency!"
One less person to trust.
I materialised in her observation station to find her half-naked, eating from a bag of some sort of fried corn sustenance, watching just three screens.
"Officer Saothab! Report!"
She coughed and stood up, corn remnants falling off her body.
"Nothing to report, Sir! Humanity is no closer to requiring destruction due to technological advancement!"
I glanced at the screens.
"These are not our feeds! Where is the one in their first advanced learning centre?"
"I turned them all off, why bother risking them being found when Humans broadcast their most important people themselves? Reality TV, they call it. Very useful."
