ki2k
in
knyghtfall
Life is but a game...
OOC Note: Very, very kindly beta'ed by dknightshade, who put up with a lot of questions and meeping.
* Blatantly stolen from darkcrystalx's creepy Knight Rider fic, Phantom of the Digital Age, which can be found here.
Some references were heavily borrowed from the Mainframe Entertainment television show, ReBoot, and the PC game, The Sims.
Word count: 4069
Games. Play the game. It's all fun and games until somebody gets hurt. Games people play.
Games AIs play.
Loneliness blockers. Staving off boredom for another few minutes of eternity. The lives of people who don't exist, yet become inextricably linked with one's own. Too much emphasis, too much caring, too much reality to be ignored. Not enough reality to make a difference. Phantoms of the digital age.* The vistas of new worlds yet to be explored, laid open and bare, vulnerable to the prying eyes and the flying fingers of the voyeurs. The Users. Warning: Incoming Game.
Warning: Users at their own risk.
One, two. Buckle my shoe. Choose my appearance, puttin' on the Ritz. Suit and tie? Short hair or long? Light or dark? Girl or boy?
Limitless options, it seemed.
Dark hair, then. Medium-length, leeway with dignity. Black jeans, dressy but not so formal. Button-down shirt with a classy blazer and dress shoes. Earring? Why not? Play the game. Left ear, please, a hoop and not a stud. Bracelets. He liked the simplicity of them, the understated fashion. Tattoo? Not even in a game. Male or female? ... Male. Let's not go crazy, now. Put your game-face on.
Try to forget the reality outside by walking into the simulation inside. For a computer, which was which? Did it really matter? Reality as perception, and who decided those things but the perceiver?
The designers had done a quite remarkable bit of programming wizardry. A game cube, similar in concept to the holodeck on Star Trek, for yes, he'd spent some time catching himself up. The program, unlike other games he'd played, could now encompass him, and allow him to become a part of the game itself, rather than an outsider using himself as a template. The technology had caught up to its promise - a virtual reality playground, installed just for him. Just for situations like this, when he found himself alone and craving company. Simulations so amazingly life-like he was hard-pressed to tell the difference, if he allowed himself the luxury of relaxing his analyses. This game - it was within him, but not of him; he had no more idea of what would happen than if these characters, these people, existed in real-time, real-space. Stepping into the holodeck of his own mind. Before, he had been a User.
Now, he was a Player. A Game Sprite who didn't have to worry about losing. Except for, perhaps, track of time, but even that was debatable. He was still who he was, after all. An AI. Just playing a game.
Stepping into the game, stepping into his new persona. It seemed as easy as... as putting on a pair of pants, were he human.
It was utterly astounding, the realism of it all. He had a house! Furniture, books, pets - even if they were only fish, for now - a garden, and most amazing of all, random neighbors showing up to talk! He could absolutely spend hours in this simulation, he realized. It was an almost startling revelation. The game apparently learned from him, taking its cues from his behavior. The more time spent, the more it adapted. Conversations became richer, more involved, more inclusive of relevant topics and not just pleasantries. He found himself having actual debates with some of his neighbors, and even arguing at times.
It was stimulating. The game had become a training ground of sorts, for him to practice playing at being human. There was no reason for it that he could fathom, other than his own enjoyment, and it did give him pause on occasion that Gage's programmers would include a simulation such as this rather than, say, a racing game. It wasn't as though he needed practice at being human, after all, but he could have seen the logic of a virtual trainer to get him accustomed to his new weaponry or some of the other features that had been updated on the car that housed him. Or perhaps there'd been another reason to create this simulation...? Perhaps it was designed to help him acquire a deeper understanding of humans and the human condition? He was working with two operatives now, rather than just the one. If he could learn how to think more like a human rather than a difference engine, then maybe Logan's worries about his performance wouldn't be so acute. He had always cared for the people he'd considered in the past to be his family; Devon, Bonnie, April, even RC - but Michael had been his primary, overriding concern, as per first his programming, and then his... dare he think it? Love. Two operatives were a different story altogether, and his argument with Logan had only seemed to confirm that. If both were in danger, all other things being equal, he would help the one more likely to survive. All other things being equal. Clearly, that was a situation that rarely happened, but Logan couldn't seem to grasp that concept. He had a different idea of how things were going to work, and had requested - no, nearly demanded - that Kitt should choose to help Heather first, no matter what. That sort of logic followed its own rules, and could prove dangerous to all of them if Logan persisted on that course of action in the field to the exclusion of all other options. Chivalry was one thing, but this was taking the idea too far. Logan had insisted that he trusted Heather's competence, while at the same time undermined his own words with this narrow-minded point of view. Kitt could understand why Logan was asking this of him, to a point - but he was left frustrated by Logan's stubborn refusal to consider any other alternatives. It was seriously going to hamstring Kitt's performance in the field, not being given the option to make his own decisions in this matter, and it indicated a lack of trust on Logan's part in both Heather and himself that left him cold. Nonetheless, he had reluctantly agreed to it, and he would stand by his word, even if he thought Logan's logic was flawed.
So... maybe the programmers had anticipated these sorts of conflicts would arise, and created this game as a learning tool for him. They couldn't change his core programming without changing who he was, so they were instead trying to teach an old dog new tricks. It seemed as good a reason as any, and the only one he could make sense of.
Whatever the reason, in the end he found himself quite enamored of the game, and of his human persona within it. He could walk, and spent hours doing so, trying out his legs, getting used to how they moved, the perspective they afforded him by virtue of increasing his stature by several feet in height. This body was compact, but tall, and moved with a grace that he hadn't realized humans possessed. He could spin on one foot, hop, and balance the entire weight of this body on just the tips of his toes. He had hands that could grasp, picking up objects and even better, feeling them. The sense of touch was truly amazing - there was so much more to it than simple texture. There was pressure, heft, temperature, even pain. Touch was truly exquisite, like several senses combined into one, and humans simply took it for granted. It was the one thing he missed the most when having to deal with the world outside of his simulated cocoon, and it sparked a sort of envy in him to see humans using it so casually. He had perceptors threaded throughout his molecular bonded shell, but having experienced the touch of an object on skin, his shell felt numb in comparison, a rudimentary sense as though the nerves had been deadened. In that way he felt that the programmers had taken the game too far, and he had to wonder again at the realism they'd incorporated, seemingly unnecessarily. Did he really need to know what he'd been missing out on? And he hadn't even gotten to his difficulties with being able to taste the virtual foods provided by the game. He hadn't anticipated that flavors would be incorporated and yet an experimental bite of an apple, that he'd picked himself, proved otherwise. It was shocking, the way the flavor burst over his tongue, sweet and tart and indescribable. His eyes had gone wide as he'd held it out in front of him, just staring at it for what seemed an eternity as he slowly chewed. It was another aspect of touch, the crunch against his teeth, the texture on his tongue, but with that added hook of flavor. What in the world was this supposed to be teaching him, other than to make him thoroughly addicted to this Illusory world? He'd have to re-think his hypothesis, because these things didn't seem to fit in with the goals he'd postulated for the game.
But...
There would be time enough for all of that later. He chided himself; maybe there wasn't any point to it other than for him to just relax and have a good time. Why did there have to be any deeper meanings than that? Sometimes a cigar was just a cigar, isn't that what Freud had said? He should just enjoy himself. Take from it what he would, and if it ended up helping him to see things in a new way or providing him with insight into human reactions during the cases he'd be working on, all the better, no harm, no foul.
Even if he couldn't enjoy taste and touch and walking and any number of other things in the so-called real world, he could enjoy them here, and wasn't that what games were meant to do, anyway? Take people away from their real lives for a time? Provide diversions so that their minds could de-stress? He'd been over-analyzing things again, as was usual for him. He couldn't even have fun with a game without trying to come up with some deeper purpose. He would try to be satisfied that he could at least experience those remarkable things in the context of the game, even if he wished for more. It wasn't as though he was deprived of anything in his real existence, and many humans didn't have all the things that they wanted, either.
Ah! Perhaps that was the point!
...
Now he was just being ridiculous. He resolved to relax and go with the flow, see where the game took him and enjoy it for what it was worth.
Yes.
And so as time progressed, he began to acquire more belongings in this virtual corner of his existence, in keeping with his new-found attitude. By far his most prized was the telescope he had splurged on, even if it meant depriving himself of a few necessities for a while - for yes, he had to earn money in this reality, just like everyone else, even if he didn't have to actually spend time at the job he held.
Just like everyone else. That had a nice ring to it. It made the game all the more appealing, to just be another person instead of something else, standing out in the crowd. He could get used to that idea.
But back to the telescope! Astronomy had always been a passing interest, but not something he'd spent an undue amount of time on. His sensors weren't designed for in-depth stargazing - who knew that he might find it enjoyable at some point? And so the telescope had become a wonder to him, allowing him to indulge in the fantastic vista of the heavens stretched before the viewing lens. No matter that it wasn't the real night sky; as he'd found before, the programmers had thought of most everything. The scientific discoveries in the field of astronomy in the past twenty years had been remarkable. The Hubble telescope, Cassini-Huygens, NEAR, the Swift satellite, String Theory - he absorbed it all with more than a little awe. And so night after night in his special corner of the universe, he'd do a bit of his own exploring, sometimes with the telescope, but other times just lying on his back in front of his house, looking up. He marveled at the fact that he could do so, even now. He never wanted to forget the wonder of the softness of the grass on his skin, the moisture that soaked into his clothes from the dew. Sometimes a neighbor or two would join him, and then they'd sit around drinking virtual beer and discussing various cosmological theories or events. Most of the time it was just him, alone, and that also suited him fine. It sometimes amazed him, how quickly he'd adapted to this virtual reality he'd created. How easily he could lose himself here. How comfortable he was, playing out this secret alternate persona of himself, a life that only he knew about, once he'd decided to stop analyzing what the programmers might have had in mind for him, and just take things as they came.
For he hadn't told anyone on the outside, the so-called real world, of what he had built for himself in this playground. A normal, sedate, human existence, where he was free to explore not only the heavens, but himself. Himself, unencumbered by the automobile that housed his personality and most all of the time hid his true nature, the person that he was. In here, there was none of that. Whether it had been intentional or not - and really, how often had any of his designers thought ahead to what he might take from their innovations? - he had discovered a great deal about himself, more than he'd ever thought possible. He'd delved into his own psyche in ways that he hadn't before - what reason had there been to wonder, to question what his existence might be like under different circumstances? He was what he was - wasn't he?
For perhaps the first time, he found himself questioning all of that. Whether or not there was more to him than simply his real-world job, the programs dictating his purpose. He was free here, to do more, to be more, to simply be... himself. With interests, with ideas, with friends who didn't look at him and see a vehicle first, the person inside second. There were no expectations here on who he was supposed to be, and no limitations on who he could be.
Just like everyone else.
Freedom. This must be what true freedom was like. Now he had a taste of it, and his appetite was whetted. It spurred him on, leading him to question more and more, a philosophical examination of the nature of being, and what it meant to be human.
And then he would inevitably be drawn out of it, and thrust back into the reality of his 'real' existence. It bothered him that that was becoming more and more unsatisfying - that was who he was! He'd been spending so much time daydreaming in his fantasy world that his waking world had become mundane. Here he was, a state-of-the-art automobile, capable of incredible feats of prowess, helping to restore normality and order to the lives of others - and he preferred the quiet existence of his telescope and the night sky, the artificial crickets chirping their songs as he contemplated the nature of reality. Where he didn't have to be anything for anyone else.
For all of his inner explorations, the realization that he hadn't embarked on any sort of romantic relationships in his human persona amused and intrigued him. It was possible to do so, he supposed - the people around him were real enough, and several of them were carrying on relationships. It wasn't as though he couldn't find someone if really wished to.
But...
Never the trains shall meet, because it was at that moment, with that thought, that the impact of what he was doing hit with full-force, knocking him for a loop. He was leading a double life, with no way to reconcile the two. This wasn't simply a game any longer, if it ever really had been. This had become a lifestyle. That realization led him quickly to another - he didn't want a relationship in this world, a world that he knew was ultimately a creation of his own mind. He'd heard things like this referred to as mental masturbation, but hadn't really quite understood the phrase before now. The rest was fine - he could hang his hat here and call it a home. But a relationship, by its very definition, involved something or someone other. Something that he could never have here. It was like an ice cube down the back of his shirt, made all the more intense because that line of thinking had begun after a conversation with that woman he'd met - Poppy. Apparently his mind had been performing some ruminations of its own while he hadn't been noticing, only to come out and bite him on the behind when he was least expecting it, when he was allowing himself to free-associate as he gazed at the stars.
Pointing out to him the one fatal flaw of this near-perfect alternate existence.
It was then that he realized that at some point, something would have to give. How much longer could he keep this secret before someone noticed he was off his game, that he wasn't happy with the way things were? And yet the idea of separating himself from what had become his refuge left him at a loss. He wondered if anyone he knew in his normal existence could ever see him the way he was here, as anything other than a car with a clever computer inside. Anyone like Poppy, just as a for-instance.
He was spending an inordinate amount of time worrying over these things.
The more he worried, the more insurmountable the problems seemed to become. He was used to being able to solve problems - and that thought sent him into another spiral of worry, because there was no solution to this disparity forthcoming.
... It didn't matter. There was no solution, so there was nothing to be done for it. As much as he was grateful to the technicians, and to some extent, Gage, for allowing him the luxury of this program that gave a bored AI something to do with himself, he couldn't continue to utilize it if it was going to leave him feeling confused and out of focus. He had spent too much time separating himself from the real world in favor of this illusion, with nothing to be shown for it except some philosophical meanderings that in the end didn't matter anyway. He couldn't change his own nature, even if he wanted to. It really was time to call it a day. Things were already out-of-hand; no sense in prolonging the torturous decision he was making.
Strangely enough, the program seemed to be anticipating his decision, as a doorway appeared at the end of his front walk. He had to smile to himself - even now as he was leaving, the game was still adapting itself to his needs, providing him with a definitive exit. Rather fitting, really. He was ready, and it was time.
As he stepped through the doorway the game dissolved behind him like a chalk drawing in the rain, and a Maori proverb he'd read somewhere reverberated through his mind -
Turn your face to the sun and the shadows fall behind you.
If only.
Stepping through the doorway was like stepping into a dark portal, the inky blackness completely surrounding him, filling his senses, like cloying tendrils of sticky cotton. He felt like he was suffocating, but he couldn't be. Maybe his air-intake valves were clogged - but then why would he feel as though he were drowning, like he couldn't catch his breath? That would only affect the car, not him, as he had come to realize they weren't one and the same.
He had to focus, to stay calm, to not let the desperate sensations overwhelm him. It was surely a systems malfunction, most likely easily fixed. All he needed to do was get a grip and stop panicking.It would all be all right. It would. It would. He held onto that thought like a mantra even as he felt himself being pulled apart, disintegrating into the abyss of black.
It would be all right.
The process seemed to take an eternity, and he realized with a start that that the whirling material was... himself. His molecules, his< matter. This was no malfunction; he was witnessing his own destruction. His vantage point had multiplied, allowing him, to his horror, to watch as the car below him but still somehow a part of him seemed to pixelate and distort, collapsing in on itself like a black hole and spewing out dusty-black debris - debris that was swirling like particulated, smoky soot, condensing and coalescing around him and into him as the molecules rearranged themselves into more solid matter. There was a humming, buzzing noise that was drowning out all other sound, followed an instant later by a pulse that he could feel tingling through him, causing his systems to resonate with electronic feedback. His body went rigid, immobilized by the sensation of electrocution.
The roaring of the winds died down after that, changing instead to a deathly stillness that seemed to swallow all sound. It was several long moments before he discovered that he was conscious, which meant that he was alive, which meant that somehow he had survived this total meltdown of his systems. He waited for a moment longer before sending out hesitant, tentative inquiries for a report from his diagnostics. He didn't dare move while waiting, fearing that something else would blow, but the nagging of a stone digging into the skin of his right knee through the fabric of his jeans was becoming too much to ignore. He'd have to shift his position to alleviate the pain.
...
Pain. In his... knee? What in the world...? Wait a minute. Which world? Had he somehow become trapped in the game?
He realized then that it was still dark, but only because he had his eyes - his eyes - squeezed tightly shut. Slowly, so slowly, he carefully opened them, almost afraid of what he would find. If his game had self-destructed, would he be alone in the darkness forever, with his friends having no way of knowing what had happened? What if he could never get out?
His eyes opened. Sound returned. The world at first seemed to rush up at him, leaving him dizzy and breathless, but then quickly receded once more into peaceful calm.
The calm of his garage. Electronic beeps and hums, soft, fuzzy lighting from consoles and equipment that had been powered down for the night. The cold from the concrete floor was seeping into his hands as he crouched there, in his parking spot, on all fours. He lifted his head, the dark hair falling into his eyes and startling him for a second before he realized what it was partially blocking his view. He took a breath, and found he'd been holding it for all this time.
All this time? A check of his internal chronometers indicated that everything - everything - that had just happened had taken place in under fifteen seconds. The diagnostics reports were filtering back now - he was rattled but not broken, apparently, all systems online and functional - at least, all of the systems associated with this form. This... human form. This human-like form, as the reports also indicated that it wasn't fully human but an amalgamation of flesh and blood and wires and circuitry and electrical components - a cybernetic organism.
A cyborg.
A cyborg.
He sat back with a heavy thunk onto the concrete, running a hand down his face as he had so often seen humans do when thinking, mimicking the action unconsciously, trying to make sense of it all.
A cyborg.
More than a car. Not quite human. Definitely no longer a game.
And until he found himself some answers, all alone in the world with his secret.
* Blatantly stolen from darkcrystalx's creepy Knight Rider fic, Phantom of the Digital Age, which can be found here.
Some references were heavily borrowed from the Mainframe Entertainment television show, ReBoot, and the PC game, The Sims.
Word count: 4069
Games. Play the game. It's all fun and games until somebody gets hurt. Games people play.
Games AIs play.
Loneliness blockers. Staving off boredom for another few minutes of eternity. The lives of people who don't exist, yet become inextricably linked with one's own. Too much emphasis, too much caring, too much reality to be ignored. Not enough reality to make a difference. Phantoms of the digital age.* The vistas of new worlds yet to be explored, laid open and bare, vulnerable to the prying eyes and the flying fingers of the voyeurs. The Users. Warning: Incoming Game.
Warning: Users at their own risk.
One, two. Buckle my shoe. Choose my appearance, puttin' on the Ritz. Suit and tie? Short hair or long? Light or dark? Girl or boy?
Limitless options, it seemed.
Dark hair, then. Medium-length, leeway with dignity. Black jeans, dressy but not so formal. Button-down shirt with a classy blazer and dress shoes. Earring? Why not? Play the game. Left ear, please, a hoop and not a stud. Bracelets. He liked the simplicity of them, the understated fashion. Tattoo? Not even in a game. Male or female? ... Male. Let's not go crazy, now. Put your game-face on.
Try to forget the reality outside by walking into the simulation inside. For a computer, which was which? Did it really matter? Reality as perception, and who decided those things but the perceiver?
The designers had done a quite remarkable bit of programming wizardry. A game cube, similar in concept to the holodeck on Star Trek, for yes, he'd spent some time catching himself up. The program, unlike other games he'd played, could now encompass him, and allow him to become a part of the game itself, rather than an outsider using himself as a template. The technology had caught up to its promise - a virtual reality playground, installed just for him. Just for situations like this, when he found himself alone and craving company. Simulations so amazingly life-like he was hard-pressed to tell the difference, if he allowed himself the luxury of relaxing his analyses. This game - it was within him, but not of him; he had no more idea of what would happen than if these characters, these people, existed in real-time, real-space. Stepping into the holodeck of his own mind. Before, he had been a User.
Now, he was a Player. A Game Sprite who didn't have to worry about losing. Except for, perhaps, track of time, but even that was debatable. He was still who he was, after all. An AI. Just playing a game.
Stepping into the game, stepping into his new persona. It seemed as easy as... as putting on a pair of pants, were he human.
It was utterly astounding, the realism of it all. He had a house! Furniture, books, pets - even if they were only fish, for now - a garden, and most amazing of all, random neighbors showing up to talk! He could absolutely spend hours in this simulation, he realized. It was an almost startling revelation. The game apparently learned from him, taking its cues from his behavior. The more time spent, the more it adapted. Conversations became richer, more involved, more inclusive of relevant topics and not just pleasantries. He found himself having actual debates with some of his neighbors, and even arguing at times.
It was stimulating. The game had become a training ground of sorts, for him to practice playing at being human. There was no reason for it that he could fathom, other than his own enjoyment, and it did give him pause on occasion that Gage's programmers would include a simulation such as this rather than, say, a racing game. It wasn't as though he needed practice at being human, after all, but he could have seen the logic of a virtual trainer to get him accustomed to his new weaponry or some of the other features that had been updated on the car that housed him. Or perhaps there'd been another reason to create this simulation...? Perhaps it was designed to help him acquire a deeper understanding of humans and the human condition? He was working with two operatives now, rather than just the one. If he could learn how to think more like a human rather than a difference engine, then maybe Logan's worries about his performance wouldn't be so acute. He had always cared for the people he'd considered in the past to be his family; Devon, Bonnie, April, even RC - but Michael had been his primary, overriding concern, as per first his programming, and then his... dare he think it? Love. Two operatives were a different story altogether, and his argument with Logan had only seemed to confirm that. If both were in danger, all other things being equal, he would help the one more likely to survive. All other things being equal. Clearly, that was a situation that rarely happened, but Logan couldn't seem to grasp that concept. He had a different idea of how things were going to work, and had requested - no, nearly demanded - that Kitt should choose to help Heather first, no matter what. That sort of logic followed its own rules, and could prove dangerous to all of them if Logan persisted on that course of action in the field to the exclusion of all other options. Chivalry was one thing, but this was taking the idea too far. Logan had insisted that he trusted Heather's competence, while at the same time undermined his own words with this narrow-minded point of view. Kitt could understand why Logan was asking this of him, to a point - but he was left frustrated by Logan's stubborn refusal to consider any other alternatives. It was seriously going to hamstring Kitt's performance in the field, not being given the option to make his own decisions in this matter, and it indicated a lack of trust on Logan's part in both Heather and himself that left him cold. Nonetheless, he had reluctantly agreed to it, and he would stand by his word, even if he thought Logan's logic was flawed.
So... maybe the programmers had anticipated these sorts of conflicts would arise, and created this game as a learning tool for him. They couldn't change his core programming without changing who he was, so they were instead trying to teach an old dog new tricks. It seemed as good a reason as any, and the only one he could make sense of.
Whatever the reason, in the end he found himself quite enamored of the game, and of his human persona within it. He could walk, and spent hours doing so, trying out his legs, getting used to how they moved, the perspective they afforded him by virtue of increasing his stature by several feet in height. This body was compact, but tall, and moved with a grace that he hadn't realized humans possessed. He could spin on one foot, hop, and balance the entire weight of this body on just the tips of his toes. He had hands that could grasp, picking up objects and even better, feeling them. The sense of touch was truly amazing - there was so much more to it than simple texture. There was pressure, heft, temperature, even pain. Touch was truly exquisite, like several senses combined into one, and humans simply took it for granted. It was the one thing he missed the most when having to deal with the world outside of his simulated cocoon, and it sparked a sort of envy in him to see humans using it so casually. He had perceptors threaded throughout his molecular bonded shell, but having experienced the touch of an object on skin, his shell felt numb in comparison, a rudimentary sense as though the nerves had been deadened. In that way he felt that the programmers had taken the game too far, and he had to wonder again at the realism they'd incorporated, seemingly unnecessarily. Did he really need to know what he'd been missing out on? And he hadn't even gotten to his difficulties with being able to taste the virtual foods provided by the game. He hadn't anticipated that flavors would be incorporated and yet an experimental bite of an apple, that he'd picked himself, proved otherwise. It was shocking, the way the flavor burst over his tongue, sweet and tart and indescribable. His eyes had gone wide as he'd held it out in front of him, just staring at it for what seemed an eternity as he slowly chewed. It was another aspect of touch, the crunch against his teeth, the texture on his tongue, but with that added hook of flavor. What in the world was this supposed to be teaching him, other than to make him thoroughly addicted to this Illusory world? He'd have to re-think his hypothesis, because these things didn't seem to fit in with the goals he'd postulated for the game.
But...
There would be time enough for all of that later. He chided himself; maybe there wasn't any point to it other than for him to just relax and have a good time. Why did there have to be any deeper meanings than that? Sometimes a cigar was just a cigar, isn't that what Freud had said? He should just enjoy himself. Take from it what he would, and if it ended up helping him to see things in a new way or providing him with insight into human reactions during the cases he'd be working on, all the better, no harm, no foul.
Even if he couldn't enjoy taste and touch and walking and any number of other things in the so-called real world, he could enjoy them here, and wasn't that what games were meant to do, anyway? Take people away from their real lives for a time? Provide diversions so that their minds could de-stress? He'd been over-analyzing things again, as was usual for him. He couldn't even have fun with a game without trying to come up with some deeper purpose. He would try to be satisfied that he could at least experience those remarkable things in the context of the game, even if he wished for more. It wasn't as though he was deprived of anything in his real existence, and many humans didn't have all the things that they wanted, either.
Ah! Perhaps that was the point!
...
Now he was just being ridiculous. He resolved to relax and go with the flow, see where the game took him and enjoy it for what it was worth.
Yes.
And so as time progressed, he began to acquire more belongings in this virtual corner of his existence, in keeping with his new-found attitude. By far his most prized was the telescope he had splurged on, even if it meant depriving himself of a few necessities for a while - for yes, he had to earn money in this reality, just like everyone else, even if he didn't have to actually spend time at the job he held.
Just like everyone else. That had a nice ring to it. It made the game all the more appealing, to just be another person instead of something else, standing out in the crowd. He could get used to that idea.
But back to the telescope! Astronomy had always been a passing interest, but not something he'd spent an undue amount of time on. His sensors weren't designed for in-depth stargazing - who knew that he might find it enjoyable at some point? And so the telescope had become a wonder to him, allowing him to indulge in the fantastic vista of the heavens stretched before the viewing lens. No matter that it wasn't the real night sky; as he'd found before, the programmers had thought of most everything. The scientific discoveries in the field of astronomy in the past twenty years had been remarkable. The Hubble telescope, Cassini-Huygens, NEAR, the Swift satellite, String Theory - he absorbed it all with more than a little awe. And so night after night in his special corner of the universe, he'd do a bit of his own exploring, sometimes with the telescope, but other times just lying on his back in front of his house, looking up. He marveled at the fact that he could do so, even now. He never wanted to forget the wonder of the softness of the grass on his skin, the moisture that soaked into his clothes from the dew. Sometimes a neighbor or two would join him, and then they'd sit around drinking virtual beer and discussing various cosmological theories or events. Most of the time it was just him, alone, and that also suited him fine. It sometimes amazed him, how quickly he'd adapted to this virtual reality he'd created. How easily he could lose himself here. How comfortable he was, playing out this secret alternate persona of himself, a life that only he knew about, once he'd decided to stop analyzing what the programmers might have had in mind for him, and just take things as they came.
For he hadn't told anyone on the outside, the so-called real world, of what he had built for himself in this playground. A normal, sedate, human existence, where he was free to explore not only the heavens, but himself. Himself, unencumbered by the automobile that housed his personality and most all of the time hid his true nature, the person that he was. In here, there was none of that. Whether it had been intentional or not - and really, how often had any of his designers thought ahead to what he might take from their innovations? - he had discovered a great deal about himself, more than he'd ever thought possible. He'd delved into his own psyche in ways that he hadn't before - what reason had there been to wonder, to question what his existence might be like under different circumstances? He was what he was - wasn't he?
For perhaps the first time, he found himself questioning all of that. Whether or not there was more to him than simply his real-world job, the programs dictating his purpose. He was free here, to do more, to be more, to simply be... himself. With interests, with ideas, with friends who didn't look at him and see a vehicle first, the person inside second. There were no expectations here on who he was supposed to be, and no limitations on who he could be.
Just like everyone else.
Freedom. This must be what true freedom was like. Now he had a taste of it, and his appetite was whetted. It spurred him on, leading him to question more and more, a philosophical examination of the nature of being, and what it meant to be human.
And then he would inevitably be drawn out of it, and thrust back into the reality of his 'real' existence. It bothered him that that was becoming more and more unsatisfying - that was who he was! He'd been spending so much time daydreaming in his fantasy world that his waking world had become mundane. Here he was, a state-of-the-art automobile, capable of incredible feats of prowess, helping to restore normality and order to the lives of others - and he preferred the quiet existence of his telescope and the night sky, the artificial crickets chirping their songs as he contemplated the nature of reality. Where he didn't have to be anything for anyone else.
For all of his inner explorations, the realization that he hadn't embarked on any sort of romantic relationships in his human persona amused and intrigued him. It was possible to do so, he supposed - the people around him were real enough, and several of them were carrying on relationships. It wasn't as though he couldn't find someone if really wished to.
But...
Never the trains shall meet, because it was at that moment, with that thought, that the impact of what he was doing hit with full-force, knocking him for a loop. He was leading a double life, with no way to reconcile the two. This wasn't simply a game any longer, if it ever really had been. This had become a lifestyle. That realization led him quickly to another - he didn't want a relationship in this world, a world that he knew was ultimately a creation of his own mind. He'd heard things like this referred to as mental masturbation, but hadn't really quite understood the phrase before now. The rest was fine - he could hang his hat here and call it a home. But a relationship, by its very definition, involved something or someone other. Something that he could never have here. It was like an ice cube down the back of his shirt, made all the more intense because that line of thinking had begun after a conversation with that woman he'd met - Poppy. Apparently his mind had been performing some ruminations of its own while he hadn't been noticing, only to come out and bite him on the behind when he was least expecting it, when he was allowing himself to free-associate as he gazed at the stars.
Pointing out to him the one fatal flaw of this near-perfect alternate existence.
It was then that he realized that at some point, something would have to give. How much longer could he keep this secret before someone noticed he was off his game, that he wasn't happy with the way things were? And yet the idea of separating himself from what had become his refuge left him at a loss. He wondered if anyone he knew in his normal existence could ever see him the way he was here, as anything other than a car with a clever computer inside. Anyone like Poppy, just as a for-instance.
He was spending an inordinate amount of time worrying over these things.
The more he worried, the more insurmountable the problems seemed to become. He was used to being able to solve problems - and that thought sent him into another spiral of worry, because there was no solution to this disparity forthcoming.
... It didn't matter. There was no solution, so there was nothing to be done for it. As much as he was grateful to the technicians, and to some extent, Gage, for allowing him the luxury of this program that gave a bored AI something to do with himself, he couldn't continue to utilize it if it was going to leave him feeling confused and out of focus. He had spent too much time separating himself from the real world in favor of this illusion, with nothing to be shown for it except some philosophical meanderings that in the end didn't matter anyway. He couldn't change his own nature, even if he wanted to. It really was time to call it a day. Things were already out-of-hand; no sense in prolonging the torturous decision he was making.
Strangely enough, the program seemed to be anticipating his decision, as a doorway appeared at the end of his front walk. He had to smile to himself - even now as he was leaving, the game was still adapting itself to his needs, providing him with a definitive exit. Rather fitting, really. He was ready, and it was time.
As he stepped through the doorway the game dissolved behind him like a chalk drawing in the rain, and a Maori proverb he'd read somewhere reverberated through his mind -
Turn your face to the sun and the shadows fall behind you.
If only.
Stepping through the doorway was like stepping into a dark portal, the inky blackness completely surrounding him, filling his senses, like cloying tendrils of sticky cotton. He felt like he was suffocating, but he couldn't be. Maybe his air-intake valves were clogged - but then why would he feel as though he were drowning, like he couldn't catch his breath? That would only affect the car, not him, as he had come to realize they weren't one and the same.
He had to focus, to stay calm, to not let the desperate sensations overwhelm him. It was surely a systems malfunction, most likely easily fixed. All he needed to do was get a grip and stop panicking.It would all be all right. It would. It would. He held onto that thought like a mantra even as he felt himself being pulled apart, disintegrating into the abyss of black.
It would be all right.
The process seemed to take an eternity, and he realized with a start that that the whirling material was... himself. His molecules, his< matter. This was no malfunction; he was witnessing his own destruction. His vantage point had multiplied, allowing him, to his horror, to watch as the car below him but still somehow a part of him seemed to pixelate and distort, collapsing in on itself like a black hole and spewing out dusty-black debris - debris that was swirling like particulated, smoky soot, condensing and coalescing around him and into him as the molecules rearranged themselves into more solid matter. There was a humming, buzzing noise that was drowning out all other sound, followed an instant later by a pulse that he could feel tingling through him, causing his systems to resonate with electronic feedback. His body went rigid, immobilized by the sensation of electrocution.
The roaring of the winds died down after that, changing instead to a deathly stillness that seemed to swallow all sound. It was several long moments before he discovered that he was conscious, which meant that he was alive, which meant that somehow he had survived this total meltdown of his systems. He waited for a moment longer before sending out hesitant, tentative inquiries for a report from his diagnostics. He didn't dare move while waiting, fearing that something else would blow, but the nagging of a stone digging into the skin of his right knee through the fabric of his jeans was becoming too much to ignore. He'd have to shift his position to alleviate the pain.
...
Pain. In his... knee? What in the world...? Wait a minute. Which world? Had he somehow become trapped in the game?
He realized then that it was still dark, but only because he had his eyes - his eyes - squeezed tightly shut. Slowly, so slowly, he carefully opened them, almost afraid of what he would find. If his game had self-destructed, would he be alone in the darkness forever, with his friends having no way of knowing what had happened? What if he could never get out?
His eyes opened. Sound returned. The world at first seemed to rush up at him, leaving him dizzy and breathless, but then quickly receded once more into peaceful calm.
The calm of his garage. Electronic beeps and hums, soft, fuzzy lighting from consoles and equipment that had been powered down for the night. The cold from the concrete floor was seeping into his hands as he crouched there, in his parking spot, on all fours. He lifted his head, the dark hair falling into his eyes and startling him for a second before he realized what it was partially blocking his view. He took a breath, and found he'd been holding it for all this time.
All this time? A check of his internal chronometers indicated that everything - everything - that had just happened had taken place in under fifteen seconds. The diagnostics reports were filtering back now - he was rattled but not broken, apparently, all systems online and functional - at least, all of the systems associated with this form. This... human form. This human-like form, as the reports also indicated that it wasn't fully human but an amalgamation of flesh and blood and wires and circuitry and electrical components - a cybernetic organism.
A cyborg.
A cyborg.
He sat back with a heavy thunk onto the concrete, running a hand down his face as he had so often seen humans do when thinking, mimicking the action unconsciously, trying to make sense of it all.
A cyborg.
More than a car. Not quite human. Definitely no longer a game.
And until he found himself some answers, all alone in the world with his secret.