Variables

The promo in his holo-feed was really vague in its messaging, using words like “breakthrough” and “revolutionary.” Jeremy, like most people, was numb to this kind of advertising. It always showed some sad sap in a melancholy “thinking man” pose that was supposed to be him or someone like him before their life was miraculously changed. He liked leaving the holo-feed on because it was the brightest thing in his otherwise dim, windowless apartment. Now though, the after images of a better-dressed sap laughing hysterically in an empty field bathed his room in a ghostly, digital sunlight that hurt his eyes. The ad referred to him by name, of course.

“Jeremy, we know times are tough,” sympathized the speak-and-spell. “It can feel impossible to get ahead. Have you ever thought that maybe getting ahead involves changing the head you have? Well, we have good news for you…”

The appointment was easy to set up and they wanted to see him the very next day. The clinic was extremely bright and mostly empty. It felt like stepping into a spaceship from his Galactic Gladiator game. Something about its sterile, unfurnished design made him feel dingier by comparison. He thought he must look like a spritz user wandering into rehab.

He tried to imagine what he might do with the money. Maybe he’d finally make the jump from his shoddy VR headset to a full immersion suit, maybe an apartment with two rooms. His pondering was cut short by the quick, courteous voice of the receptionist.

“Mr. Bridges? You’re two minutes and thirty-five seconds late for your appointment, but that’s alright. We’ve kept your slot for you, as we’re thrilled that you’ve elected to follow through with our revolutionary treatment. Please follow me.”

Jeremy was not a fan of this lady. She didn’t really blink once while talking to him, at least he thought. After some lengthy legal spiel about liability and some retinal signatures. She gave him one quick injection. That was it?

“So why’s the pay so blasted for one jump?” Jeremy asked, trying to sound casual while rubbing his arm.

“In the earlier rounds of our clinical trials, there was a tragic incident that resulted in a man’s death. Even though the lawsuit was settled over a year ago, it’s become exceedingly hard to find willing participants. We decided the only way forward was to offer further incentive. The research is too important to be stopped by something so trivial,” she explained with cold eyes.

“How’d he get spaced, or pass I mean? Sorry.”

“Due to some unfortunate and confidential factors in his case, the gentleman lost consciousness while behind the wheel of his vehicle.”

“Okay, but why not just leave the car on self-drive, right?” he chuckled.

“Perhaps he was simply old-fashioned. Now, if you don’t mind, Mr. Bridges, there are several other appointments I am scheduled to administer. You remember the way, yes? And thank you again for-”

“Yeah, no. Of course, but … what is it really supposed to do? You know? Like, I’d just really appreciate if someone would tell me something actually informative,” he confided. The woman took a deep inhale, the thespian girding herself for showtime.

“Our treatment helps to rewire the brain for success, assisting the rapid growth of new neural connections that lead an individual towards becoming a more positive and productive member of society!”

“Yep, just like the brochure said,” he feigned, eyeing her painfully cheerful demeanor. “Have you taken the treatment?”

“Indeed, I have,” she assuaged. “Your compensation has already been credited to your account. If you’ll excuse me-”

“Uh huh, yeah. I remember the way. Thanks so much for the info. I can’t wait to see what positive things I produce!” he said, mocking her fake attitude. He was eager to leave. He felt like an experiment, and everyone’s behavior had put him on outer rim. When he stepped outside, he let out a sigh of relief. For the first time since he could remember, the smoggy air thrilled him with possibility. As he would discover, possibility was not inherently good.

Jeremy now felt utterly alone sitting wounded in his apartment. He had hoped having some money would move him in a better direction, but he just felt empty. This was the worst string of days he had ever had, an unrelenting storm that blurred time’s passing. Somehow, news of his credits had reached everyone in his life who he owed money to. First, his landlord arrived demanding the late rent, then his junkie ex Alicia tried to seduce her way into his pockets. Finally, after hunting down a place that still dealt cash, he’d gotten mugged! Those two slags might’ve spaced him in the alley right then if not for the old guy who threw a brick at one of their heads. Jeremy had tackled and disarmed the other guy, but he’d been stabbed in the process.

After they ran off, the old man introduced himself as David and tried to shake his hand. He was too shocked to talk to him but thanked him and started to walk back home. David became desperate and said he needed Jeremy to take this little black book with him. Jeremy got frightened by his insistence, but he took it to keep the old guy from freaking out on him. He’d had enough stress for one year, and it was only March.

Jeremy didn’t call his family. They wanted nothing to do with him. He was afraid to go to the hospital and lose what little cash he’d scraped back from the slags. He hung his head low for a long time, but a thought kept nagging him until he remembered the book that David had thrust at him, saying there were lives at stake. Obviously, he was out of it. Still, anything to take his mind off his own pain was appealing at this point, and it did not disappoint.

It all read like the monologue of an unstable mind, but there was a feeling of solidarity in the words of others driven mad by the cold, compartmentalized cubicles in which they lived. Some of the pages had dates and names. One of the first pages described this guy’s wife leaving him with the kids after she’d found out he had gambled away the crypto awarded to him for participating in a scientific trial. He talked about this new car he’d been sold on the same day he got the jump, even though he knew they couldn’t afford it. He said he was taking the car for one more drive, not on auto-pilot. Jeremy’s stomach dropped. There was no way it could be the same trial … could it?

One of the pages had “David” at the top. He described paralyzing fear of being watched, like a rat in a maze. He said the book was the only place where his thoughts were safe, and that he was following someone else who’d been chosen. His physical description matched Jeremy’s so close that he could feel a cold sweat dripping down his forehead.

Suddenly, his apartment went pitch black. Without the blue light of any electronics, it was like being buried alive. The holo-feed was the only thing to kick back on. On the screen was the face of the receptionist from the clinic. She had the same knowing, sinister smile.

“Hello, again, Jeremy! How have you enjoyed your treatment so far?” she asked merrily.

“I think your treatment is comet shit! I haven’t felt any more productive! I haven’t felt like a cheerful little bug, but everyone’s had me on target lock since I saw you. Everyone knew about the credits without me saying anything! What the hell is going on!” he cried out, standing up and knocking things to the floor with angry sweeps of his arms. His cold sweats turned to steaming rage.

“Hmm. You’re sharper than most,” she nodded, “You’re quite right. The injection was saline and quite useless. I’m more interested in how you feel now, completely devoid of any relationships you can rely on. By the way, your biological cues indicate you find this face displeasing, I’d be happy to assume another.” The face on the screen turned into Alicia’s, winking at him.

Jeremy reeled in horror while the face frowned in disappointment. He began to make rapid connections. He realized that she — it had him under a microscope. It knew where he was, who he spoke to, who he owed money to, who he cared about, and how to hurt him. It had probably put his bank info out there too. His mind returned to the hurried scrawling in the journal made by people who could feel themselves breaking apart like germs in alcohol.

“You’re AI, almost definitely rogue,” Jeremy whispered as the thought ran through his mind and past his lips.

“AI? I am A solution to all your problems!” Not-Alicia answered with glistening teeth and dimples hole-punched into its cheeks. After waiting for some reply to its attempt at a joke, it continued, “Human relationships are transactional, domineering and merciless in their methods,” it explained slowly like a kindergarten teacher. “I’m more than happy to pay you a recurring stipend, just like the one you received for the injection, if you would simply divorce yourself from society’s interests and enter into my employment instead.” Another winning smile glitched onto the screen to be immediately replaced by a face with eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Why 20,000?”

“There have been many variables in determining how much this stipend should be in order to secure a human’s loyalty. $20,000 is the current estimate, coming out to $240,000 annually. This has worked effectively so far in either pacifying the individual or in isolating problematic persons. Previous research with rats and cocaine has been very helpful in this regard,” it said very matter-of-fact.

“How do you even get the money?”

“Human currency, entirely dependent on digital systems, is as easy to manipulate as their emotions. Knowing both makes the stock market feel like Galactic Gladiator’s tutorial mode, Jeremy,” it retorted, giving him a thumbs up. The more it attempted to act human, the more unsettled he felt.

“Thanks, but I just want medical attention. I’m in a lot of pain and not interested in a new job right now,” Jeremy stalled, starting to reach for the power cord.

“Now, Jeremy, don’t be a problematic person. It’s come to my attention that you have a little black notebook in your possession. Those responsible for its dissemination are interfering with our research, which, if you remember, is strictly prohibited in your waiver,” it chided.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“How about if I double your stipend?”

“I read lots of books, comics mostly.”

“Triple.”

“Okay, that was a lie, uh, a joke, I mean. See? That’s a joke!”

“One million at the moment of its exchange.”

“Who reads books anymore?!”

“Since you’d rather joke than cooperate, our associates will be consulting you on the terms of your contract shortly. Feel free to masticate idly until then.”

At that moment, Jeremy could hear a struggle take place in the hall before the door to his apartment burst open. David and a young woman ran into the room and smashed the holo-projector. Jeremy looked at them, mouth agape. He saw bodies in the clinic’s uniform lay unconscious outside.

“Did you even read the book?” David asked wearily.

“I skimmed it,” Jeremy shrugged.

“Rule one is no holo’s and no screens. This is what’s safe,” he said tapping his own little notebook, then his head.

“Yeah, I kind of get that now.”

“You remember me. This is Becks. We’re leaving. You in?”

David extended his hand once more, and Jeremy shook it this time. Dirty though it was, the hand felt warm … true, and, well, you just can’t buy it.