Chapter 24: Absolute Domination (Part I)

He stood facing the mirror, way before his eyes were so glassy and his hair so long. He wore a blue suit with a red tie; he had a smaller beard back then and his face was wrinkled. He'd always ask himself if that face would linger in history longer than his own life. His dog climbed up the bed, salivating once the man's phone rang, a huge fan of Pavlov he was. Carl rubbed his dog's head, walking around towards the kitchen as the dog threw small steps behind him with his tail swinging left and right. He tossed him his plate, as the dog sunk his mouth into it. His apartment seemed to be almost empty, not much furniture and there was no television. He still used soap phones. On the hallway, people of interest across history, be it in science, art or even spots, were hung there. There was no medal, no congratulations for his contributions; for he thought it would all be meaningless once a group of those of less knowledge and wisdom than he was would toss him six-feet under the ground before throwing the soil back on him. He would pick up his phone on his way out, displaying the picture of a young Louisa sitting next to him.

His driver waited for him by the side of the road. Carl would salute him before walking inside, never taking his time admiring the sea and clear skies of Florida. As he sat inside, he held his note book in between his hands as his eyes reviewed the speech. He even mumbled some of it.

"You're well-dressed, Sir. I mean, you always are, only that you look a lot more impeccable than usual," the old driver said, wearing a suit himself as he usually had done. He then swerved to the left, waiting for a car to pass before gently pressing on the acceleration pad. Carl would adjust his badge around the left part of his chest, hung to his shirt rather than his vest yet he wanted it to appear.

"Carl Owinson, Red Tech Startup President," Carl would rehearse. He stepped out of the car once its wheels froze almost without saying goodbye to the driver. Carl looked up at the three-stories building, co-owning it with a blog business. He owned two stories of the building while the bloggers owned the highest one. A car passed around the street, Carl nodded when spotting the one at the back, Theodor Brinkins as if thanking for funding work location. Carl walked inside, saluting both the bloggers and his own workers. Theodor even funded the budget for the equipment and payment. Of course, as Carl was a university teacher as well, his students, among whom was Laura Billish, Roger's mother, volunteered to work for him. The firm was divided between the accountants, the sales team, the agents and the two professional lab workers, Isaac Garaldson and Bob Polion. There was a section on the second floor, closed, dedicated to keep Isaac and Bob focused while working on the neural interface. The head of the accounting team, Liam Troddle, and youngest of the superiors, sat looking at his boss walking towards his office.

About a minute later, Garaldson and Polion followed him to the office. Two more people from the office walked inside too. As Liam looked back into his computer, a message popped up asking him to enter Owinson's office. Liam blinked and pulled himself back, adjusting his tie and rolling a gel around his neck and palms. He took a deep breath before walking towards the main hall all the way to his boss' office. Two workers from the back gingered and looked at each other.

Everyone was there, even Louisa was sitting at the back. There was a rounded table; Carl sat at the other side of the table while the others spread each other around. Liam stood at the back, his hands straggled in each other while sweat went around his forehead. He was a red headed fellow with a bit of freckles spread across his face. His eyes were bright green; his face was almost hairless. He was so young the council advised Carl not to hire him yet he believed in him, aside from being Louisa's far cousin.

"I welcome you all here, my dear friends," Carl said, taking turns in looking at each one of them in the eyes. The others nodded, some blinked, others rose and sunk their eyebrows in respect. Polion and Garaldson tried not to show much care, nothing but a quick nod.

"Now, that you're all here, I'd like to say that this won't be about Red Tech or the business, I hereby summon you to ask for your council, as my friends before partners. In a world where every person, every corporation, even preachers and social workers seek to further their interest on behalf of the rest, I was thinking about our future. What is the lifespan of a single human compared to the universe? There is no denying that the destruction, our reckoning is coming, be it in our own hands or in the hands of nature. Even if we get to live long enough, the sun, much like any other star, will grow and explode at some time. I know that there is the possibility for interstellar travel to evolve by that time, but the odds are low and not in our favor. You see, I am not saying this because of the wars in the world or the growing political concern, but because of evolution. Yes, only taking a different form this time. Look all around you, dear friends, the face of A.I is invading the markets and then homes, and I cannot go against it because this is our business. Every race is one day toppled by the other, and as you may have seen, despite being led by a preprogrammed algorithm, they will evolve. Yes, they will evolve…"

"Sir,"

"Yes, Mr. Polion."

"I don't see how this is a bad thing in itself. Maybe the role of the human race is to pass the torch to whatever race comes after it, much like whatever race came before us trusted us with the power to carry things out," Bob explained, leaning back on his chair. Isaac seemed to be agreeing with his friend's response. Carl paused a bit, looking at the others before turning back at Bob.

"Oh, I must say, I can't entirely disagree with you, Mr. Polion. Only that even though I don't know what came before, I only know who will inherit our torch. Let me put this in better terms. Since the dawn of humanity, people have been worshiping idols, ancient ones. Whether they existed or not, they're remembered to this day because humanity believes that they inherited their torch. You see, the essence of what we believe as the connection between us and them is that came after, and we know that. Those that will inherit us will be the robots, and the kind of souls we pour into them would be the A.I system itself, whether they evolve or not. Look at them, Mr. Polion, their rate at survival is much higher than us. We are susceptible to diseases, age, feelings… but they only work with a neural box and they're golden."

"Sir, if I may ask, what is it that you're trying to suggest?" an old man said around the table with a few coughs in between.

Carl looked at him, seemingly unsatisfied with the whole rushing of the question. As he looked back at the others, they were all bewildered.

"Fine, what I suggest is for humans to take the place of the ancients."

"You want to impersonate God?" Isaac said, leaning towards Carl.

"No, I never intended to. I only suggest we create our special ruling system within the robotic community after we die. What I suggest is movement, flow… ah…"

"Transcendence," Isaac muttered, unaware that he had said it out loud. Everyone looked at him before turning to Owinson. The old man tilted his head. "You mean… No, Mr. Owinson, this is impossible. To move our consciousness into a system, this can't be. We can't live if our vitals are dead. There wouldn't be much of a living anymore, this… this is mere speculation."

"No, Sir, this is the next step and the final one in the human evolution. How ungrateful can this universe be to us? Huh? Everytime, every damn time we are reminded of how weak, insignificant, small we are. One Billion years for now, who's gonna remember you? Or me?"

"Maybe that's not the point, Sir. Let's just play our roles as we are destined to," Bob explained.

"Nonsense! I don't care if they remember me or not, but I do care about the legacy of the human race. The wars we fought, the cities we've built, the sacrifices we've made would not be in vain. We can't wind up extinct just like that! We have to preserve our own existence. Who knows? Maybe we'll get to revive the human race in the form of metal!"

"Excuse me, Sir, I have to say it to you. This is plain nonsense, and fiction. How are you going to connect the sum of consciousness of a whole human being to a bloody machine? If you know everything so well, Mr. Owinson, please answer me that!" the old man said, seeming to be uncomfortable as he almost heaved himself off his chair before withdrawing back.

"Simple, the neural interface," Owinson said, turning at the direction of the lab duo. "Mr. Polion and Mr. Garaldson, under my supervision of course, had been working on the neural interface that could connect an organic brain to a machine. At this point, we have had minor successes, but more is to come because we keep on upgrading the chips we use. With this exact technology, we can find a way to transmit the human consciousness into a machine, the same way we transmit our nerves to the machine to control it. It is not as hard as you think, we just have to keep trying and erring, and fixing the errors."

"I don't know about this, this is scary."

The other man beside him shook his head while closing his eyes.

"Yeah, It doesn't seem right," Bob said, pulling his chair back. "You, Isaac?"

Isaac craned his head. Owinson loved that look on his face, he always did. "I support Mr. Owinson in his decision. May I speak why?"

Carl nodded, raising his hand in his direction.

Isaac nodded, getting closer to the table with his hands intertwined in each other. "There needs to be guidance, the robotic community can never survive based on algorithms alone. Besides, if we could find a way to mingle our consciousness with their system, they could evolve way beyond us. Maybe I will not fully agree on preserving humanity for the sole sake of doing so, but I'd sign up for this nonetheless. I believe in this project, and this is my pledge to all those who care that I will work day and night to make it true."

"No, no! This is impossible. Listen, Carl, this is too dangerous. Let us say, you make this chip and control technology. Who's gonna hold us accountable? Did you think about the governments, the corporations, even the activists! What makes you better than most to yield this technology? With a little hack you can nuke whole nations, Carl! We are talking about our way of life! Tell me, Carl, for the love of whatever you worship or hold dear, are you ready for a bleak future? More bleak than it is now !" The old man screamed, panting. His face was blood-red. Sweat found its way through the openings of his skin, as he sat back with mopping his forehead. Silence spread across the room, soon broken by an unusual voice.

"I would like to say my opinion in the manner," the young Liam said, the others seemed to be less interested in what he had to say, excluding Isaac. Carl looked back at his girlfriend; she nodded, wishing for Carl to let him speak at least. Carl gave him the permission to speak.

"At first, as I came here, it was because Louisa Rain, a far family member, said this man Carl Owinson was recruiting for his company. I never wanted to work under someone else at least for as long as most people do, it's just how I see life. I came here and started to work as an accountant, I did start to admire Mr. Owinson even though I thought he was still one of those arrogant bosses that ruined American Capitalism. Now, after I heard what he had to say about the future of humanity, I see a man concerned about his own race than more than he is about his own self, despite living at times where all are selfish. I know I seem naive, or that what I say is of little significance. But if I were given the choice, to control people, to infiltrate systems, to be able to destroy whole nations, for the sole purpose of preserving the human race, I would do it and I would support whoever had the courage to do it. Sir, Mr. Owinson, you have my support and I will not sleep if that is what you require," the young Liam said, sitting back in his chair trying to avoid eye contact. Carl could bet he saw the young one's eyes watering. He had never been more amazed for a while; the level of dedication was beyond him.

That was it, that was the start of the Future Dictators.

"I was the youngest of them all back then, the first council to ever to discuss the goals of this organization," Liam Troddle said, wearing a long red cloak with a mask in his face, that same glitch painted at the center just under the eyes. He was standing on the top of a platform as if on a play while a small mob of cloaked men and women said down, focusing at him speaking. Aside from the light and the crowd, they seemed to be sitting at the center of dark infinity that would seem darker the harder one looked.

"Now, I am the only one left. Both Mr. Polion and Mr. Garaldson passed away, betrayed us before that. The other two stepped away from the project. I heard one of them pleaded for Owinson to bring the subject again, to help preserve his consciousness especially as he saw how cancer took his life bit by bit. He didn't matter once he was under the ground, no one does. Only those that survive do matter, the likes of you and I, my friends. Our creator, Mr. Owinson soon disappeared, and we know not what has become of him. The only thing for sure is that the youngest of them, the one to once be there by luck, is now the leader of this organization," He said, putting his hands on the railing. The members raised their hands and started clapping and cheering.

Liam raised his hand to stop the cheering, intending to speak further. "The only problem with our mentor's suggestion was its method of execution. The nobility of our goal was what tricked us into thinking into the distant future, that is why there has been divisions. Owinson thought that this technology, the fact that we want to preserve our consciousness, should be executed in the future. That is why we were named the Future Dictators, and we sure did all what we could, no matter how immoral, to execute this vision. But this is exactly where he was wrong, our problem was that we did not focus on what we can do now. We could become the new chip bearers, connect ourselves to technology. Why wait until the world is ashes? Why not make sure it doesn't become ashes? Or if it does, it shouldn't be with us. Why is everyone so obsessed with the mind alone? What happens to pleasure, to sensation, to feeling in itself? What I intend to say is that the direction of this organization will be intended to infiltrate every system in the world to make sure it stays intact. If you dare to call it control, privacy invasion, dictatorship, then so be it. Those of you who think this vision is flawed, you are well welcome to step away. But those of you who genuinely believe that we could dictate the present, keep the connection intact, act like a sort of virtual divinity, can stay and ascend with me to the heavens."

The members looked at each other in wonder of why such an offer was presented in the first place. They all looked back at the platform, at the focus of the light. Liam Troddle rejoiced, raising both of his hands in excitement. With his smile, the other members smiled behind their masks, others even teared.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, we are going to present to you our first chip carrier, a successful experiment that will pave the way for all of us," Liam Troddle said, stepping away as the light was directed at a coming figure from the hall. A little girl came walking from within the heart of darkness. She was shorter than the usual twelve year olds. She wore a purple robe spotted with pinky circles that gave a more open color. Her sandals were white and so was her skin, whiter than usual anyway. Her eyes' colors were difficult to recognize, they seemed glassy. She stood near the railing of the platform, Liam stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders. The crowd was bewildered, they couldn't keep their eyes off her. She was more of a ghost than a blood pumping human being. How pale her face was, how abstract were her eyes, the way she even stood, it was all frightening for some and amazing for most.

"This little darling is named Catherine Ditch. When she was a lot younger, she was struck by a rare disease. Her brain functions started dying, each following the other. It began with the hearing, the touch and then even smell. She could only see. The nervous message could never be delivered because the source was broken, it was a pity. Her father trusted me with her, giving me the honor of finding a cure to help her. So with the knowledge we took from Polion's mind, we created a chip that reversed the function of most chips. Instead of killing brain cells, this one created new ones to replace the functionality of the brain regions. Now, look at this angel, she can move however she wanted, smell and hear. But most of all, this girl is fully capable of controlling technology. Catie, darling, show them what you can do," Liam explained, turning to Catherine with his instructions. The girl nodded before taking a step closer to the railing, stretching both of her arms. Some of the present members had their hearts beating next to their chests. The whole sight of her was frightening. There was a moment of silence, a moment where one could cast out her understatement.

The girl opened her eyes. The sounds of the radios mingled with the light created a frustrating atmosphere. Lights were different in brightness and color. The protection bots at the door started moving and jumping. Those at the front and left side started clapping, cheering even. The others were afraid, more afraid of what the chip could do to her than what she could do them, but the second was present as well. Liam grasped her shoulders tightly as if inciting her stop. The noises were less; the lights were as bright as they were before her mind dove into the game. Still, before she closed her eyes again, she turned to the left side towards a darker corner. All the light platforms at the top started turning before they were all focused at one point, at one man. The whole of the crowd turned to his direction, looking at him in intent. Liam Troddle smiled, even let out three claps with a chuckle.

Roger was cornered, his infiltration was blown. His chip started sensing a strange connection between his and the girl's chip. He raised both of his hands, looking at protection bots climbing from all sides with their laser hands directed at him. Roger took a step back, his back hitting the wall. The bots stood in an unusual manner, similar to that of the girl. She started breathing faster, her fists about to be clenched. Liam descended and whispered in her ears.

"No, darling, we need him. Do not kill him."

"He is a threat. Priority is survival. He needs to go."

"No, darling, we cannot kill him now. We will get rid of him later, but now he is needed. You will have your chance shortly, but bring him to us first," Liam whispered. She could sense the heat of his breaths on her ears, yet she could not care any more than a robot did. She released her fists, her eyes shaking as the bots gripped Roger by his shirt and hoses, throwing him into the main hall as the crowd went apart and Roger fell in between them. One of them punched him; the other kicked him on the back. Roger stayed down, muttering. "Don't get involved yet."

Liam walked down the stairs, the little girl following him. The crowd stepped away, Liam walking in the middle with a bit of pride in him. The little girl followed without question, yet an urge to get rid of Roger consumed her. Roger craned his head, blood spilling from his left nostril.

"Hello there, Roger, last time the other girl, Polion's daughter, came to save you. You know, one look at her and I've seen the potential she had, which makes you disposable. But one look at you again, at how you can benefit us, I'd say you're as important as her. We'd have you both."

"You can't control me like you control this girl," Roger said, spitting on the floor.

"Oh, of course I can't. Only chip bearers can mess with each other, so I'll let her have fun with you," Liam said stepping away. Roger tried to move before he found himself once more on the ground. The members, old or young, had their hands on him gripping his back and shoulders, keeping his hands tethered to the ground while he wriggled and shook. Liam stretched his hand for the girl. Roger could only see her sandals under that tiny robe. The girl sat on the floor, feet crossed, and placed her fingertips on Roger's temples. Roger started to feel the aching in his head. The girl closed her eyes. Roger started to calm.

She opened them again, and Roger's eyes went glassy.

They were both into a fusion simulation. Once Roger woke up, he was sitting in his half as a spreading yellow sort of simulation was containing his own. He took a couple of steps back, clench both of his fists as his numbers were sealed while trying to stop her expansion. If the last number in Roger's simulation turned yellow, Catherine would be in control of his mind and body. The numbers at the border of the spreading simulation were sealed. Roger had a tendency to smile; maybe it only bought a couple of minutes. The seals were broken, one after the other before more of his numbers were toppled. Roger fell on his knees, the girl didn't stop marching in his direction. He stood again, eyes on the numbers.

He raised both of his hands, shrilling as each number created a fake simulation of its own. Roger raised both of his hand as more simulations acted as a defense mechanism against the spreading virtual disease. Back in the real world, the crowd was frightened at the sight of a river of blood falling down his nostrils, more than it ever did.

"She can't match my speed of duplication," Roger said.

His worlds shrunk one by one at a speed faster than the one he used to create them at first. No matter how many fake worlds he had created, she would topple them with a faster pace. Her mind was young and fresh, her chip allowed her to generate fake brain cells to maintain her control over the limbs. Roger resumed his resistance, raising both of his hands as the whole of his world started to shake once the data control was closing on his own core, his own brain. More worlds were spawned, even worlds generating from the connecting lines themselves instead of the numbers. More numbers flowed in like a tornado, all to keep his consciousness intact. The girl wouldn't stop marching as her data overthrew his, one after the one without a second's pause. Roger felt his feet sliding atop a sea of numbers, snarling as the aching in his head represented the last line of his defense. Nothing then but the shaking, the numbers stopped as they were both lost in a loop of control. At that moment, something seemed to be cracking, releasing a river of numbers atop each other before an explosion took place. Even back in the real world, Catherine fell on her back and Roger stopped moving. The members carried both of them, plugged them into a reader to see their brain activity while keeping them next to each other. It turned out their brains were still active.

Roger found himself stepping into a yellow realm all alone, looking at fragment of a glitching memory, caught in the world of dripping slowness. Roger landed a couple of steps forward noticing how the smaller simulations were unfolding. There was an image of a baby in her mother's arms with her father sitting on the background. Her mother's long hair flowed and played with the baby's nose. The father had his lips spreading across his face. Roger went on to walk to the other stage, standing behind the concerned parents as they stood behind the glass looking at the test analysis. The man had his arm around his wife's shoulders, eyes closed and head tilted down.

These must be her memories. The poor girl…

Then there was a sight of her father pushing the cart. The girl was numb, unable to move a finger. Pads were tied around her head and hands. A single move could break her. The father wept, unable to hold his tears. The other memory contained them both wearing the black, facing a grave. Roger put both of his hands on his head, her dead mother reminded him of his, despite being young at that time, young enough not to be able to remember every bit of it. The girl's face became pale, her lips dry. There was a sight of her father cutting her hair, and then one with her father tossing her into the bathtub and then one of him covering her with the blanket. Every scene portrayed her father tearing, lacking sleep and living in torment. There was one last scene, the one at the very center of yellowness. There was the sight of her father shaking hands with Liam Troddle while they both looked at the little girl, looking at them both, either clueless or careless. Only her brain worked, everything else was limp.

"You didn't suffer as I had," a voice came from behind Roger. He turned back, seeing the yellowness bordering the blueness of his simulation as Catherine stood on the other side, realizing the glitch made them switch roles. The other side portrayed a number of scenes from Roger's life, focusing on when he met Jeremy, his relationship with Uncle Derek, when he loved Tamara and when he managed to make peace with her father. His own simulation for some reason couldn't portray the lonely nights, the suffering from the chip, the deaths and being left at the end of a struggle. Roger could finally grasp it; the simulation was whatever they both wanted. It seemed that she desired the suffering, the dark part of her life and the happy one in Roger's life in order to make her superior over him, based on the criteria of who suffered more.

"Listen to me, Catherine, he is using you. Liam Troddle is using you to reach his own ends. I know you may not understand but you need to stop this, someone can help you otherwise. This isn't the right thing!"

"Really? Roger Garaldson, did you even bother looking at my memories? I wanted to cry and break a whole room for my mother, but I could do nothing but weep. Weird how a little girl can be so deep, don't you think?"

"I know! I feel you, I really do!"

"No, you don't! You have no idea how it felt like to be so hopeless, to hear the doctors say there is no hope for me. You made friends, you had people that loved you."

"Your father loved you!"

"Because he pitied me! He did not choose to love me!"

"You look like a brilliant girl, Catherine. I know you're smart enough to realize what Liam doing is wrong, and I know he hadn't told your father about the plans he has for you."

"Stop it with all your advices! You are trying to divert me away from this, to stop me because I'm stronger than you can ever be. Everyone is playing their own mind games on everyone else, nothing is true but what we say it is. I will destroy you, Roger Garaldson!"

Roger tried to jump into the other realm to hold the girl.

The glitch was finished, breaking the illusion as Roger was back in his defensive line while Catherine unsealed the numbers faster than before. The yellowness was closer to hit the core.

There was a strange movement at the back, behind Roger near his own core. Something of a purple color started spreading and mixing with the blueness of Roger's simulation as it slowed the collapse of the blue numbers. The numbers changed, moving back and forth as a strange offensive force was resisting the yellowness alongside Roger.

"I knew you'd come," Roger said, smiling.