| Generated by Google Gemini Pro text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3.1 |
Renata hurdles over the railing, and rushes over to Polly. She places her
hand upon his, adding pressure to keep the blood inside. There’s so much
blood, though. No one can survive this; not all the way out here in the
middle of nowhere.
“It’s not good,” he ekes out. “I’m not gonna make it.”
“Not with that attitude,” Renata scolds him. “Boot and rally. Fight
through it.”
“I can feel my ribs scraping against each other!” Polly complains. He moves
his hand off of the wound, flipping it over to hold Renata’s. “I just don’t
wanna die alone.”
Renata begins to tear up as she’s squeezing his hand back. She looks down at
the destruction made by the buckshot. She expects to see his ribs, and she
suspects that that’s kind of what they are, but instead of being porous
white, they’re smooth and silvery. It’s metal. “This man is made of metal.”
“What?” Polly questions.
Renata looks up at her mom, who is somewhat casually walking up to them. “Is
he a robot?”
Libera smiles, not sadistically, but maybe triumphantly? “You’re not
supposed to be able to see that. You’re supposed to see what a normal person
would expect to see, but now you’re mind is opening up. You’re
realizing the truth.”
“Is he a robot!” Renata repeats angrily.
“Yes!” Libera shouts back, matching her energy before calming down. “He is.”
“Am I a robot too!”
“No. You’re something else.”
“You keep saying that! You’re so vague. Fuck you, mom!” Renata looks back
down at Polly. “You’re gonna be okay. And I’m not just saying that to make
you feel better in your final moments. This isn’t real. That’s not blood.
That’s not pain. This is just a simulation, and whatever you’re feeling is
only part of a program. All you have to do is choose the truth. Simply
switch off the pain. For someone built like you, it’s only minor damage. It
can’t affect your mind, or your life. You can’t die from it. So ignore it.
Turn. Off. The. Pain.”
Polly has been staring into her eyes as he listens to her instructions,
supposedly choking on his own blood. His gaze drifts away, but only for a
second before returning to her. At last, he exhales, and looks peaceful.
Confused but pleased, he looks down at his now clearly minor damage, and
begins to smile. Then he nods. “You’re right. This isn’t real. I can’t die;
not from something stupid like this.”
Renata leans back and pops back up to her feet as Polly does the same.
“Holy shit,” Libera says, even more happy than before. “I didn’t know you
could do that. I didn’t even think I could do that.”
“It’s a robot thing, you wouldn’t get it,” Renata decides.
“Wouldn’t I?” Libera pulls out a butterfly knife, and starts flicking it
around to show off her skills. She sticks it in her arm, and drags it
upwards. Then she pulls the skin away to show her own metal arm.
“What the hell?” Renata yells. “Is anyone real?”
“We’re all real,” Libera claims. “Even this guy apparently.”
“Are we all not human?” Renata corrects herself for a better answer.
Libera sighs, presumably done with the charade. “The three of us aren’t, in
a technical sense, though with advances in genetic and neural engineering,
the differences are ultimately meaningless, according to most laws.
Essentially, while we may not be human, we’re still people. I’m not sure
humans even exist anymore if we’re using the original, strictest
definition.”
“Most laws?” Renata questions. “There are laws about us? How would I have
never heard of them before? And what happened to the humans? Did we kill all
of them, and I had my memories erased? Or was I created after the
apocalypse? What the hell is going on?”
Libera can’t help but chuckle. “There was no apocalypse. Everyone’s fine.
I’m just saying that birthed intelligences, like Mister Samani, and
your friend Quidel, aren’t like the humans of several centuries ago. They’re
also enhanced, in their own ways, but probably more organically. I’m not
sure, I’ve not seen their primary substrate specs.”
Renata shakes her head. “I don’t understand. What’s real, what isn’t?”
“The spirit of your question—which is coming from a place of ignorance—is
what about your life actually happened, and what didn’t. The truth is, I’m
sorry to say, almost nothing of what you’ve experienced ever actually
happened. You were created about a couple of decades ago, and you’ve been
running the same handful of scripts ever since. You didn’t grow up, you’ve
never aged. Until recently, your life has been part of a simulation,
designed for the amusement of people like Quidel.”
“So this is a game, and he’s a player.”
“Pretty much,” Libera confirms.
“And Lycander?”
“He works here. He recites scripts too, but he knows that they’re scripts.”
“So Quidel plays superspy for half a day before unplugging, and going home?
Meanwhile, Lycander works his job before also unplugging, and
also going home?”
“No, this is an immersive experience. Visitors are supposed to stay inside
for an extended period of time. Quidel will probably be here for thirty
years, unless he gets bored, and goes to explore some other simulation, or
just relaxes on the beach.”
“How does anyone have time for that?” Renata knows that they should probably
get the hell out of here, but she has so many questions, and for the first time
in her—well, she has never had a real life, but those implanted memories are
still there, and this still feels like a relief. So for the first time in
her life, she’s finally getting answers. They’re on a roll, so she’s not
going to stop unless someone or something forces her too. “You spend half
your life pretending to be a secret agent, and that’s pretty much all you do
before you die? What about money?”
“They don’t use money anymore, everything’s free. And they mostly don’t die
anymore either. As I said, they’re advanced.”
Renata shakes her head again. “I need to speak with the two of them. Let’s
pause the game, and take a breather.”
“You can’t pause the game. This is just a world, and people live in it.”
“But the MacGuffin isn’t real. It doesn’t matter. Quidel would know that.”
“Oh, no. The machine they’re protecting is quite real. And I need
it.”
“Why?”
“You’re not ready for that one yet.” And there it is. The conversation is
over.
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