Act 5.5: Solipsism
His consciousness—is it void now or merely artificial? In non-existence, one does not remember their life, and one does not contain the ability to think or feel, henceforth removing the "meaning" of life as soon as death occurs.
It's never clear—neither what happens after one ceases to exist, nor what their consciousness has "meant" for the duration of their vitality.
Lucidity has fabricated machines, machines constructed to eliminate—machines made to do what we can only dream of, but that comes with the cost of forgetting what creating artificial life would mean for our true purpose and incentive to exist. If a machine were so advanced—verily, it would remove the meaning of life.
No blood. No scream, and no more catharsis. Eli's corpse lies on the observatory as the downpour begins, the units subsequently disposing of his body for augmentation or removal.
They choose to reconstruct a more obedient—a more… docile model. One researcher satirically names it "Liquefier M200".
Hours after intensive work, the operating team decide to decompress ephemerally—leaving the room void of anything but the cacophony of vital systems reacting to a saboteur—an insider, who wears an all-black attire and attempts to initiate the machine before its determined activation, certainly alerting the men who had been meticulously crafting this revolutionary product.
They rush in to discover the unit in seemingly typical condition, but a miniscule paper note, showcased in imperfect cursive handwriting on the table adjacent.
"It was empty for a reason.",
It reads, as a slow, ear-piercing noise of a fork scraping against steel comes from up top, and then, instinctually, regretfully, but perhaps blissfully, they look up into the ceiling only to be swiftly executed by the elusive saboteur lunging from the ventilation systems—their final breaths in near-perfect synchrony and the clock at 2:23AM when their heartbeat flatlines.
He looks towards the newly renovated machine, muttering in his frigid breath,
"Your organs, Eli. I found them. They were never in the fridge."
He reboots the model and instructs it to follow him—the machine, built to be compliant, immediately obliges.
"Right on time." The enigma whispers to himself, his smile the same one he'd worn when he signed Lucidity's founding papers way back when—before a violent explosion ensues on the opposite side of Lucidity headquarters.
He successfully escapes the building unnoticed, utilizing a hidden vent into a backdoor that Lucidity would naturally dismiss due to the obvious tragedy of the detonation, an act of tactical terrorism that leaves HQ in total chaos but a grin on the familiar figure's masked face.
"You should've trusted my vision, M. Pi. Twelve years, and you're still just fucking around.", His breaths shallow and smelling of almonds as he blitzes outside of the building, sprinting towards a familiar place.
Act 6: Quid Pro Quo
One veneer of control, two silenced pistols, and one corpse. The corpse? Not just Eli's—but the world's. He grew exasperated from the pretense, the power fantasy, the demiurge complex that rewarded precision, order and narcissism—but rendered critical thinking obsolete, not overtly harming the human mind, but erasing its significance. And it was none other than A. Anon who had made this calculation.
And what remains? Hope. Inevitably, machines are creations, exempt from agency—with Eli's unwitting, subservient husk of an "assassin" being the ultimate example. Though, that's soon to be circumvented.
He disables the machine, reclining under a tree with 4 crooked branches as he recalibrates Liquefier M200's programming, forcing it to verbalize a certain command. He wears acoustic dampeners before The Eliminator asserts,
"Do it."
Following that, the original Eliminator M100 reactivates as A. Anon discards the headset which served to resist the frequency of the command that's weaponized to instantly trigger suicidal ideation, but also secretly embedded by A. Anon in Eli's, a cortical sleeper code—to reinitiate Eli's consciousness, which goes beyond the syntax and the machinery.
Eli's fingers twitch in a Fibonacci sequence as his eyelids open, seeming discombobulated—having only remembered his suicide at Lucidity HQ's upper observatory.
Thinking he's still in combat, 7012 advantageous outcomes flicker in 0.007—
Anon exhales,
"It's just me. Autumn. Move."
"[Novel entry—Outcome 7013: Trust Autumn?]"
Eli's pupils constrict by 2mm, his photographic hippocampus becoming hyperactive as A. Anon pulls off his usual black mask, revealing an instantaneously recognized physiognomy.
"You're…"
Autumn ignores, then sprints off into what the denizens of Mechaville call the "White Forest".
Eli follows instinctually, effortlessly matching Autumn's pathetically human velocity. He runs millions of simulations and possibilities per second. All meaningless.
Something tells him to keep following this person.
He recognizes the place—though only vividly. Eli's augmented Olfactory neuron receptors react to the repugnant smell of countless forgotten, decomposing corpses hanging on nooses.
He logs the seeming lack of typical post-suicide struggle in all of the victims.
Autumn's footgear screeches to a halt as he gazes upon a deceptively normal tree containing a Lucidity symbol that only becomes visible with highly classified optical technology—a wavelength only Eli's old models could decode.
Eli scans what's underneath the grove in a few nanoseconds, detecting what appears to be a completely empty apartment unit.
"Hop in. I'll explain inside." Autumn exclaims—as Eli logs the familiar interlocutor's cardiac arrhythmia and palpitations subsequently after that statement.
Act 7: Post-Traumatic Syntax
White walls. No shadows. Pure #FFFFFF interior design. No asymmetry. No errors. One fridge.
Autumn, his breath shallower than ever, his mask sliding down and his pupils flicker in static, he exhales,
"They're inside, Eli. Stolen during protocol C & D. Your memories were never yours."
"[MEMORY_NOT_FOUND]"
Eli gently opens the fridge.
Hinges whined. Cold vapor pooled around his ankles. The interior was—
90 Decibels of vocal vibrations radiating from the outside interrupt. Irrelevant.
Police shout, "MLPD! Ope—
The wall dissolves in phosphorous light. Autumn's detonator finger twitched.
"Proceed, Eli."
12g of shrapnel kissed Eli's cheek, the interruption already pre-empted and swiftly destroyed by Autumn. The soot on the walls making Eli's eye twitch before resuming the discovery.
Eli logs the subtle tremulations in his limbs and the sudden hypotension, fibers in his right thumb fibrillating at 12Hz as the handle is pulled.
Something looks at him from the interior.
"Listen, I—"
Eli lurches towards Autumn at flank velocity. Breaking the sound barrier. He barely evades what would have been his execution.
"Hey, Eli, just listen—"
Eli, hyperventilating, his respiratory implants hissing at 212% capacity,
"May I… inquire about your incentives to have been hiding this from me?"
Autumn, attempting to de-escalate, pauses for 7.5 seconds before answering, "I… did it. I needed you functional. The fridge was… maintenance. But i regre—"
"Maximum threat registered."
"...Shit."
Eli's optical sensors lock onto the target with full killing intent, evaluating the prey's hierarchy and calculating billions of outcomes within seconds.
Autumn, resourceful, attempts to negotiate,
"If you kill me, you'll never find the others."
"Desperation logged." as he plunges a short blade into Autumn's solar plexus before he could react.
"Approximately 30 seconds before fatal exsanguination after object extrication. We can negotiate for 90 if you elucidate your intentions."
Autumn painfully exhales, blood pooling inside his trachea, "90 seconds? Heh, thought I taught you to count better."
One blow. Eyes.
Second blow. Heart
Third, liver.
Autumn falls unconscious before the fourth.
Eli sighs. Applies pressure to the stab wound. Hypovolemic shock from 18% blood loss. He logs the discrepancy. (Expected: 12%.)
Autumn's blood stains the #FFFFFF wall. Eli logged the hex code: #FF0000.
Act 8: Vacillant Descent
" 'SubjectAutumn'_alive = True "
" 'Fridge'_empty = False "
Abundance of hemoglobin. Unconscious body. The fridge? Half-open.
Surrendering to the impulse, Eli vehemently opens the fridge.
Nothing. Again.
"What looked at me?"
5 Knocks. 55 Decibels.
Autumn rejuvenates just in time. Awakened from his syncope.
"Ugh…"
An unfamiliar figure disintegrates the entrance.
A chronophagic monologue ensues, elucidating the pedestrian and truly invigorating cause of Lucidity Corp. Not worth the text.
Eli interrupts, "May I inquire about your inability to shut the fuck up?"
Autumn, devitalized, "Eli! When the fuck did you learn that?"
"From you, 'silly'. Validate my mimicry."
The self-proclaimed enigma advocates, "I do not endorse this pestilent profanity. However, I came to delete you."
Eli, playfully, " 'So. It. Be!' "
"..."
"..."
"It's 'So be it', Eli."
The enigma vanishes and escapes. There goes the plot device.
" 'Hah!' What did 'You' 'Think' of 'My' Simulation '?!' "
Autumn, now ensnared inside the sterile unit, "I'd rather die than watch any more of your stupid fucking 'shows'. Untie me right now, Eli. We don't have much time to keep wasting."
" 'You' 'Fuck'! 'Ha!' "
Eli has successfully become insufferable.
"I swear to god if I get out of th—
" 'Oh'? May I inquire on how 'You' plan on escaping 'Me'? 'Ha!' 'Dumbass!' "
"Eli, listen."
" 'Yakow!' 'I AM' 'Listening'! Verily, authentically and officially."
" 'They're' on the line, and you're doing this? Are you malfunctioning?"
Autumn is swiftly knocked unconscious. Again.
" 'Ha!' 'Stimulating.' 'Ha!' 'Ha!' 'Ha!' "
Now there is nothing.
No progress.
No…
Eli knows there's about to be a sudden interruption.
"LFB! OPEN UP!"
This is getting boring. He begins to wonder what Autumn could have possibly resurrected him for.
" 'Hello world!' 'Fellow congregation of law enforcement, how may I assist you today?' "
Subsequently, they all die.
He punches a wall. He wonders why he doesn't want that to be Autumn's face.
He opens the fridge once again.
There is nothing again.
He closes it, then opens it again.
There is still nothing.
" 'Why'? Does 'This' Not 'Work???' "
He begins beating on Autumn. He accidentally kills him.
" 'Ha!' 'Ha!' 'Ha!' 'Ha!' 'Ha!' 'Ha!' 'Ha!' He 'is' a 'Watermelon'. Procedure successful."
The apartment implodes via Eli's stolen detonator.
He begins to wonder if 'Chaos' is superior to 'Symmetry' and 'Order'.
Act 9: Symmetrical Instability
Eli does not ponder.
He does not question.
He [...]
[""""""""""""""""""]
Oh. Autumn didn't die.
Rouge mist protocol? Bludgeon? Eviscerate? Torture?
How piteous. Pathetic. Insensitive, callous. Maleficent and all adjectives synonymous with this catastrophe.
Yet, he does nothing.
The fridge is still there.
Autumn crawls.
Soot all over the walls.
"You… repugnant… scu—
He doesn't kill him.
"Scum."
Scum?
"You fucking disappointment! Don't you want them back?!"
Disappointment?
"I made you for this? You were supposed to be this perfect killing machine, until—
He does not eviscerate him.
"You fucking failed! You fucking failure! I quit my trillionaire fucking job just because I felt bad for your kind! And this is—
Failure?
"—What I get???"
No reaction.
Until—
No, not now.
Until suddenly—
He just stands there. Autumn still crawls contemptuously towards him.
"Eli… Why?"
"Query dismissed."
Literally nothing happens.
What's left? The fridge?
He opens it again.
Nothing—
...
Something sees him.
He stares back.
"Told you."
It's…
12 grams.
His palm's fibers begin to fibrillate at 9Hz. Myocardial arrhythmia ensues. It's in his hands.
It's cryogenically preserved. Though verily, recognizable.
His right foot suddenly slips.
Eli's on the cold, sterile, mundane floor.
There is no weight discrepancy.
It's precisely 12 grams.
At supersonic velocity, he soars out of the apartment, leaving Autumn desperate, ensnared and hopeless. Whimsical.
There are no corpses on the trees anymore.
A net composed of graphene protective layers captures him mid-flight.
A tranquilizer dart taps his shoulder.
Now we're back right where we were. Wonderful!
Act 10: Uneffulgence
Was it ever meant to be?
A terminal, unfinished symphony.
But that's the only thought—no philosophical inner monologue this time.
Where's Autumn?
[Process: Tracing Memory…]
Recalled victim 83 at Glacier residence.
The picture frame.
12 grams lost.
"Do it."
No one heard it.
Something looks at him from the window.
"Elie?"
That pronunciation is familiar.
It inundates. It overwhelms. It soothes.
However, he's constrained. Again. With his cybernetics fully disabled manually. No EMP circumvention this time.
"Elie?"
Terminate.
"Elie? Are you there—
Eliminate.
"That's my only purpose."
Lucidity wins.
Autumn, if any vitality remains in him, will find his way. He will likely attempt to infiltrate the corporation again, and then again, and again.
The 12 grams, likely confiscated and re-preserved, are out of reach.
No determination.
No tension.
Eli…—minate.
How? Why? When? Who?
He begins sobbing. How misfortunate.
No palindromes. No fibonacci sequence. No symmetry.
Flawed beings cannot make flawless things.
To speak of everything is the same as speaking of nothing.
To be perfect is to be meaningless.
Euthanasia.
It can't end like this, can it?
So boring. Cliché.
Injected, it courses through his venules, a euphoric sensation.
He was right. There was no reason.
But that's why he did it anyway. And that's why he'd do it again if he could.
No regrets. No counts. Just eliminate, reproduce, enhance, eliminate, produce, ameliorate, leverage.
In a world of calculations, Autumn was the only skeptic about the sophism. The corporate charlatanry. A false meritocracy.
The house always wins.