Amnesia Ex Machina

When I awoke, I couldn’t remember my name. A man in white loomed over me. “Everything’s okay. You’re in a hospital, but you’re recovering nicely.” He said hospital, but it didn’t feel like a hospital and he didn’t seem like a doctor. The structure of his face was twisted and sunken with years of cynicism.

"I’m Dr. Devitchen. Do you know who you are?” He spoke calmly but with authority. The kind of voice that was impossible to rebel against.

My muscles felt weak. I did not have the strength to think, to be scared.

"Can you remember what country you’re in?" Nothing. "Season?" Nothing. " With therapy, we’ll do our best to get your memories back.” He wrote a few notes in his black notebook and slid it into his jacket.

"What if they don't?"

"Don't worry Avonlea -- that's your name. Avonlea."

I whispered it to myself with every breath. Avonlea. Avonlea. Avonlea.

"Your family is here to see you." He paused at the door.

"You're placed in a unique situation due to your coma and subsequent memory loss to participate in a research study. You will be compensated–"

"I just want to see my family."

But they didn't feel like family. Three unknown faces. A mother, a father, and a brother. The mother wrapped me in her arms. Streams flowed down her cheeks. My eyes blurred. The hug was empty. I felt as alone as I was before. The people closest to me now felt like nothing to me. It was as if I was stepping into someone else's life. I will never be what I was before. I lost myself, and now I'm blank.

"Mom?" What happened to me? A silent question I was too afraid to ask.

It was the father who answered my thoughts. "You haven’t changed. You just can’t remember, but the doctor told us about a program to help..."

The mother interrupted him. "She's not going to do that. They didn't say it would help her; they said it would study her."

"But it might help her."

"Dad wants you to do it for the $20,000." He said with his head down, looking through the hole in his shoe; his toes squirmed.

"She's not going to-"

“We can’t even cover her hospital bills.” Dad got up and left the room.

“Don’t worry sweetie. We’re fine.” With shaky hands, she took off her heart shaped locket and put it over my head. Then, she shrunk back in her chair revealing how battered she was, not on the outside, but from years of stress biting into her soul. She knew we needed the money too. The thought of money was on her face.

Knock. Knock. Mom turned to leave, but my brother hesitated. With a flick of his hand, he pulled a piece of paper out of his back pocket and whispered, “don’t show anyone this.” He rushed out the door as the doctor passed through with a contract in-hand. I caught a glimpse of a newspaper title as I slide it under my covers, “Can World War 3 be Won with Robots?”

“Your dad said you’ve agreed to help us. It’s a simple study really. We will put you with some other girls. One of which will be a robot. All you need to do is determine which one is the robot.” I folded the newspaper clipping under the covers as he spoke.

“And the $20,000? What if I guess wrong?”

“It’s not a game show.” I hid the folded paper between two fingers like a magician’s trick.

He led me out of my old room, through the halls, and closed the door behind me as I entered an apartment-type space. It had a few bunk beds, a couch, TV, and fridge. I pressed my ear to the door to be sure there were no footsteps. Then I unfolded the article.

After the onset of World War 3, the question on everyone’s mind is what new weapon will pose the greatest threat to society? Besides the brute force of nuclear weapons, warfare is becoming more intelligence, more invasive, and more psychologically insidious. Artificial intelligence’s (AI) potential began online with it’s use in social media, manipulating people’s perception of the world through targeted posts, videos, and manufactured articles. The same AI is now being embedded in robots, trained in the art of manipulation and persuasion to act as spies. They are designed to build relationships only to alter the people’s beliefs and allegiances. This is a warning to all citizens to be careful who you trust. – and there the article cuts off.

Whoever the robot is – they will try to manipulate me, get inside my head. My brother wanted to warn me. But what is the purpose of this study?

Another girl walked in. “Hey, I’m Cassie. Sooo you must be the robot?” She gave a mischievous grin. “Don’t short-circuit on me now. You got a name?”

“Avonlea.” It sounded normal, but I carefully pronounced every syllable of my name. I wasn’t used to it. “I guess they’ll bring in the robot later?”

“I thought it was just the two of us?”

“Then you would have to be the robot... I just got out of a coma.”

“Same here.”

“Did you...”

“Lose my memories. Yeah. Complete amnesia. Poof.”

“Well, I just saw my family. I’m guessing most robots don’t have one of those.”

"They could be robots too," she laughed. " Or actors or they could program you to remember events that never happened. Besides, my family visited me yesterday." She tightly gripped her cardian closed, but the corner of a black notebook stuck out; it looked just like the one that the doctor had before. She pulled her sweater over the notebook again, shivering, but not because she was cold.

“Don’t look so suspicious. Jeez. My dad gave me a notebook, but I had to hide it since we're not allowed to bring in outside objects cuz it would mess with the study or something, so please don't tell them.”

But the study hadn’t technically started yet. Maybe more girls would come after all. I clutched the heart locket.

The doctor came in. He looked amused - as amused as his gloomy nature allowed. Could he hear us? Were they watching us? This was a study, so they would want to see how the robot interacts. They would need to monitor us closely. How many clauses can they hide in a legal document? And us mortals sign ourselves away for a promise of $20,000.

“So I see you two have met.”

“You said there was going to be a group of us.”

“I never said that.” He smirked.

“So, then what’s the point of this? She’s obviously the robot and you can give me the 20 grand right now.”

“One of you is a robot and one isn’t. The robot has been programmed with core details of the other’s past, incomplete pictures, like a Picasso painting. These details will help one of you trigger your memory.” Of course, he had to lie. He was lying right? The newspaper was real.

“What a stupid idea.”

“Our preliminary studies have proven effective using this method. If you want to withdraw from the study, you can.”

This game was designed to poison the mind. The cost of recovering my memories might not be a life I want. Or worse still were his words: only one of us is real. No that’s crazy. It would make more sense if we were both two girls with memory loss, maybe my ‘family’ were the robots. The convinced me to enter this study. But, why would my brother give me the newspaper article?

“I’ll do it.”

I looked into Cassie's eyes. What did she think of me? Could she think? Or was she programmed how to behave, how to move her face? It looked like she was struggling to come to terms with it too. Less confident in her skin than she was before.

“Same here.. So I guess this means we're friends right? Or at least for 2 weeks." Her uncertainty broke into a warm smile.

Friends? Was friendship even possible? Maybe the appearance of it – with the absence of trust. Our goal was to spy on each other. Her 'notebook' might not be innocent as she wanted me to believe. It could be used to take notes on me; her analysis of me; find out my weaknesses. Very clever.

She held the journal tight to her body, safely hidden inside a teen magazine. She was perched on the couch like a bird, with a serious focus. But now and then, she would break her gaze from the pages and look around, lost. And then at me. And then back to her thoughts. We couldn’t avoid each other. She knew it too. We had to play their game.

“You look human.” I sat cross-legged on the far end of the couch.

“What a compliment. You do too.”

“Writing a novel?”

She pulled her notebook to her chest but said nothing.

“I’m confused about something. Are they supposed to tell us the goal of the study? I always thought they had to keep it a secret to not skew the results... but I guess it’s a robot they’re testing, not our brains, so maybe it doesn’t matter.”

“I guess.” She smiled though she looked unhappy.

“But they’re still watching us.” They hid cameras in the corners of the room. No blind spots. We were in their toy house.

“I know. I was thinking about how robots can see. They don’t have eyes, not really... so wouldn’t they be cameras?”

I hadn’t thought about that - even the eyes were a tool. To observe. To penetrate.

A knock at the door. The doctor came in every day at 3:30, exactly, with a notebook, a blue one this time. "No need to be jittery." And with effort, I obeyed. I fought against my instincts and I slowed my breath and laid my hands flat on the armrests. And then he asked his questions - for however long it took to destabilize us. “Do you trust Cassie? Are you scared of finding out who you were before the accident? Do you not want to remember your past?" And once satisfied, he would tuck away his blue book and leave. Then I could move again. Cassie always watched me.

Cassie knew something. I tore the magazine from Cassie’s hands, to reveal her notebook. "What are you writing?”

"You crazy?"

"And you aren't? This is what they want. They want us to fight." My hands curled tight.

"Does it matter which one of us is real? We're both here, aren't we? What we feel is real. We could go on like this and live."

I whispered, "We're not friends. Don't you get it?"

"Why can't we be?"

"What do you think they're testing? This isn't a real study. It doesn't feel real, does it? You're going crazy too aren't you?" My voice trailed off. I released the tension in my fists, finger by finger, and let the blood flow back into my hands. Blood. I could feel it. But was it was it real? I bit hard into my palm. It wasn't enough to pierce the skin. Again my teeth sunk into my skin, even harder, more like an animal, and the livening feeling of pain surged through me. The skin sliced open. Nothing. There was no blood.

Breathless, shaking, the world turned. I was crying, but there were no tears.

"What am I?" And even worse still, "What will these people do with me?"

Cassie put me gently down on the couch and opened the notebook. It was engraved with the name Dr. Devitchen. His personal journal.

"We're the same - you and I. You’re right, they’re not studying amnesia. The world is at war."

We weren't safe here. We had to escape.