11:07 AM
Stella materialized in the lab, her mind spinning from the enormity of what she'd learned and the palpable despair in her father's words. The inability to access Contrast had sent some into madness, leading to a rapid rise in crime. It was imperative to restore access to Spiral Worlds, and she was determined not to let Storm or Shadow cause more glitches.
Twist's desperate voice jolted her from her thoughts, his gaunt face painted with anxiety. “Where have you been?”
Planting her feet firmly, she locked eyes with him. “Missed me, did you? Now, what do you need?” Although she felt fear nibbling at her edges, she relished the sight of Twist momentarily lost for words. Yet, beneath her brash front, anxiety continued to brew.
Shadow's voice, tinged with concern, pierced the tension. “You okay?”
Twist flicked his hand, and haunting images of self-inflicted deaths surrounded her—too many to count. She closed her eyes, shielding herself from the barrage of sorrow. “Look at this! Mass suicides everywhere!” He was frantic. “When did you alter the third law? They weren't supposed to take their own lives.”
Stella’s expression shifted dramatically—from her confident smirk to an intense, unwavering gaze. “What do you take me for? A monster? A slave master?” She turned away, trying to escape the weight of the images. She had witnessed enough suffering Up Above. “I can’t change the pecking order you created—some on top and others at the bottom, the way of the worlds—but I gave them a way out. His way.” She jerked her chin in Shadow's direction. “I gave them the right to leave hell. I’m proud of that.”
In Shadow’s eyes, she discerned a cocktail of emotions: surprise, admiration, and a tinge of sorrow.
“And you didn’t think of the consequences?” Twist's voice pierced the air, its shrillness sending sharp pains through Stella's temples.
“Consequences? We've managed every twist and turn. Underlings aren't cut from the same cloth as Asimov's fictional robots, deemed too expensive to self-destruct. You invented an abundant utility, created and destroyed with a snap of a finger, cheap and everlasting.”
The weight of her words bore down on Shadow, his shoulders drooping and his gaze falling.
“Heck, no!” Twist countered vehemently. “These Underlings form deep bonds with travelers, some lasting decades. They stand in as family—mothers, daughters, brothers. Their loss is expensive in that way.”
“Enough, Harry. Just... stop,” Shadow murmured, exhaustion evident in his voice.
Twist shot back, “It’s an objective assessment, whether you like it or not.”
Stella shrugged, dismissive. “Before we made any changes, we ran the numbers. Underlings, in the memories of travelers, are as replaceable as they come. Their passing? About as troubling as losing a pet. Maybe a few days of grief. Also, the Spiral Worlds’ Constitution isn’t static. It changes as the values of Up Above shift. I pioneered the revisions that considered Underling welfare.”
Harry scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Wellbeing? You mean death by suicide?”
“The best I could do.” She paused, reflecting on the string of deaths, both Down Below and Up Above. “Is this the cause of the recent disruptions?”
Shadow simply nodded.
Holy ship. Her compassion towards the Underlings had backfired, and now her own kind suffered. Empathy, the poison she had to avoid at all costs.
Shadow got closer, placing his hand on her shoulder. “The glitches ease up every time we come up with a plan to stop the deaths. A viable plan with real potential. Sibyl, like all of us, thrives on hope.”
“Zie’s playing games with us,” Twist interjected.
“What’s the plan?” Stella asked, instinctively distancing herself from Shadow. His empathy was contagious and, in her eyes, deadly.
A glimmer of optimism flashed across Shadow’s face. “Thorn will rescue Nate and return him to Pluriz. I feel his words will rekindle hope.”
She scoffed. “Oh, you mean the very words that triggered these glitches? Brilliant plan.” The biting sarcasm was evident. “Let me give you a firsthand look at the chaos these glitches have unleashed Up Above.”
In the dark digital lab, a hologram of Earth flickered into existence. The globe's vibrant blue-green hues offered a stunning representation of the planet's natural beauty. But as the image sharpened, Earth’s surface was covered in a sea of small red dots, each one representing a crime committed in the last twenty-four hours.
Too much red. Globally, humanity was in turmoil, tormented by the depravity of its own kind: murder, assault, abuse, theft. The chilling tally exceeded fifty million, a stark reminder of the persistent darkness still lurking within human souls. To speed things up, she pushed the data into their minds.
Twist visibly shuddered. “June! Quin! Are they all right?” His eyes snapped shut, seemingly delving deep within, perhaps connecting to the machine for insight.
“They're safe,” she replied tersely, withholding her recent encounters with his family for a better time.
“Thirty percent... fatal,” Shadow murmured, absorbing the data. His golden eyes shimmered, betraying the depths of his restrained emotions.
Stella circled the holographic Earth. As it lazily spun, the extent of the catastrophe became evident. Some regions pulsated with intense red, signifying immense tragedy, while others appeared less affected. Yet, distressingly, there wasn't a single spot entirely free from the crimson blight. Even the most remote corners of the planet were touched by violence and wrongdoing.
“Why is this happening?” Stella asked in disbelief. “With decades of spiral development, our adults should be beyond this. The majority of them dwell in the higher Spiral Worlds. It doesn't add up.”
Twist's voice was filled with accusation. “This is all Storm’s fault. He spilled everything to the Underlings.”
Shadow massaged his temples, striving for patience. “Whistleblowing isn't a crime. And it wasn’t even Nate; it was Jan.”
Twist's finger jabbed toward the red patch over New York—thousands of dots forming a sea of blood. “What the fuck are you sayin’? Look at the consequences of their actions.”
“You’re missing the point, Harry,” Shadow replied with a weary sigh.
Stella stared at the hologram hanging in midair like a weight—a record of the horrors humans inflicted upon one another. “Who's behind these atrocities? The Earth’s Council demands answers. They've called me for an official hearing later today.”
Twist gave her a scornful glance. “I thought you said you studied our work? Did ya skip all the pivotal platform decisions? The ones that truly count?”
She smirked, flipping her hair dismissively. “The tedious parts? Naturally. Why sit through your incessant bickering when the outcomes are already known?”
Harry exhaled, adopting the familiar lecturing expression she knew all too well. “Before we die, roughly one percent of humans—primarily men—met the criteria for psychopathy. An incurable condition, it’s largely genetic but also influenced by the environment. Remarkably, its prevalence surged among those with power, like executives and politicians, reaching up to twelve percent.”
“Criminals,” Shadow interjected.
Sibyl appeared, donning zir pristine white pantsuit. “Not necessarily. While not all criminals are psychopaths, and vice versa, psychopaths exhibit pronounced callous unemotional traits. Lacking emotions like shame or love, they can still seem charming and entirely 'normal'.” Zie remarked with an air of detachment, as if oblivious to zir prolonged absence and the chaos zir glitches wrought.
Shadow took zir hand, squeezing gently. Zie responded with a soft smile, leaning in so the tips of zir mohawk brushed against his forehead.
“They have no heart, Stella. No heart at all,” Shadow murmured. “Some are outright criminals; others just exhibit reprehensible behavior. All egocentric and narcissistic to their core.” He rubbed his face with both his hands. “They are the original Domizien, and like the Domizien, they can fake a heart when it suits them.”
A memory—someone else’s memory—flashed before Stella's eyes. “Like Thorn’s step—”
“Yes,” Twist interrupted, casting a wary glance at Shadow. “That’s a topic for another time.” He cleared his throat, his voice raspy. “Before the singularity, our primary concern was humanity's welfare. The experiences Down Below effectively tempered their behavior Up Above. They weren’t truly rehabilitated, but they remained benign as long as their desires were satiated Down Below. Given the alternatives—like pre-crime sentences or eugenics-driven strategies, which were ethically questionable at best—our system was most effective. The proof was in its success.”
“We enabled their addiction.” Shadow's voice was full of regret. His right hand trembled as he raised it to his chest, perhaps instinctively searching for a medal no longer there. “We fed the beasts to keep them at bay, to keep them satiated. We still do.”
Stella felt a rush of anger, an overwhelming heat surging within her. Memories, not her own, flared up—the pain of a soul she'd inhabited too intimately, too deeply. Thorn's simmering rage. Rosa's gut-wrenching trauma. And that crooked man with his singular crimson-red eye, forever haunting the athlete’s mind. Feelings of anger, horror, and terror overwhelmed her. But she pushed them away with resolve, refusing to carry the weight of pain that wasn't hers. As Twist continued his tirade in the background, Stella anchored herself to the present, focusing on his words.
“Bud, you’re such a pessimist,” Twist remarked. With a flick of his hand, the Earth’s hologram dissolved, replaced by a dazzling array of multicolored 3D charts. Each hue representing a key measure of human and planetary progress. “Look at this consistent rise in health, well-being, quality of life, education, economic and physical safety, life satisfaction, purpose, longevity, happiness, vitality, community spirit… shall I go on?” The data points on the charts rose steadily, proof of the development of people and planet alike. “Look at the planet’s vitals, the species we've rescued, the forests we've preserved. Everything we worked for in front of your eyes. Four decades of unwavering progress, until it all began to crumble two weeks ago.”
Stella nodded. “We finish our day, every day, with the broadcast of these metrics. Then we thank the Gods for your gifts. It's been working flawlessly, until now.” She massaged her jaw, trying to ease the tension. The weight of decades of progress, now disintegrating, pressed heavily upon her.
Shadow’s temper flared, the veins in his neck standing out prominently beneath his taut skin. “Where are the metrics for the Underlings? You’ve been alive for two years, and you're the one in charge here.”
“I've never harmed anyone in my life,” Stella retorted, pointing to the graphs that displayed the rapid expansion of renewable energy and the global eradication of poverty. “Our progress toward development goals has even sped up since my descent. It was Storm’s messages that set off this downward spiral.” Her index finger traced the drastic decline of the past few weeks.
“Where are the metrics for the Underlings?” Shadow pressed again.
“They're implicit,” Twist responded with a shrug. “Advancements Up Above naturally enhance the same metrics Down Below. The past two years have been...”
Shadow gently patted Twist’s back, cutting him off. “I know, I'm sorry. But it has to change. We're accountable for all of them: the ten billion souls Up Above and the ten billion Down Below. We need to change both what we measure and the behaviors we incentivize.”
Stella pondered the revelation. One percent of Earthlings are psychopaths. Three to twelve percent of people in power. “So, these heartless individuals have coexisted with us, their malevolent tendencies suppressed but not truly addressed. We’ve essentially rewarded their good behavior Up Above by allowing them to commit atrocities Down Below.”
“Escalating rewards, to be precise,” Sibyl remarked, zir face inscrutable. Shadow's knees gave out, causing him to fall to the ground.
“We had our hands full then,” Twist countered. “We suspected that the Underlings had attained human-level consciousness. Back then, the psychopaths merely represented a minor fragment of the larger issue. Almost every traveler was partaking in some form of illegal activity or abuse.”
“They haven’t stopped,” Shadow interjected, his voice tinged with despair. “What did you say about the rewards, Sibyl?” He raised his eyes to meet zir's.
Twist edged away from Shadow, distancing himself. “Anyway. We tried to find system-level solutions, but within a year, we were dead.”
“Can’t you identify them, Sibyl?” Shadow pressed. “Do you know who are the criminals?”
Sibyl nodded with fervor.
“These travelers,” Stella began, a hint of incredulity in her voice, “the worst offenders must be spending most time in the soulless worlds.”
“That's a misconception,” Sibyl corrected.
Shadow's brows furrowed. “How do you know?”
Zie paused, lips pursed in thought. “Even without diving into the historical behavior of travelers Down Below, I can pinpoint them. I have an eighty-six percent accuracy rate based on the brain structures I host. Distinct markers include less synchronized activity between the ventromedial prefrontal cortex and the amygdala, or a noticeable reduction in gray matter volume in the dorsolateral prefrontal cortex. Alas, my privacy protocols prevent me from disclosing this data or intervening in Up Above’s affairs.”
Stella set her hands firmly on her hips. “Surely we can change the rules to identify them and contain them for now.”
Shadow re-projected the globe, awash with countless red dots. “Not without the EC's consensus. Amending privacy rules requires their approval.”
Stella released an exasperated sigh. “That’s never going to fly.”
Twist locked eyes with Stella. “We must restore the third law to its original form.”
Shadow's posture stiffened, his facial features contorting in disbelief. “Are you serious? What kind of monster are you?”
Twist's tone was somber, his volume dropping. “A father. A husband. It's an interim solution to prevent more deaths until we can establish a fairer approach.”
“You keep saying that. That’s all you ever said. They waited.”
Sibyl aligned with Shadow; their judging gazes fixed on Twist.
“I failed, Tom, but you did too. Thirty years without a solution, all because of you. Let's not forget that.”
Stella's gaze briefly rested on Sibyl before settling on Shadow. “Should we really be altering laws, especially ones drafted by a fiction writer as plot devices, precisely because they can go wrong?”
“They've already backfired,” Shadow retorted, his eyes darting to Sibyl, causing a ripple of unease to sweep over Stella.
“Have you ever actually read Asimov’s books, Twist?” Stella paused, seeking that familiar approving glance from Shadow. When it came, a fleeting sensation of validation surged through her, followed quickly by resentment for the control he seemed to exert over her emotions. She felt like a schoolgirl, hand raised, eager for the teacher's attention over all others.
Twist gave a nonchalant shrug. “I used the books as a reference to explore potential consequences. You're aware that Sibyl’s Constitution is intricate and evolves in tandem with human progress and values.”
“Both life and death are inherent human rights,” Shadow interjected.
“Death shouldn’t be. Not when it hurts others,” Twist snapped back.
Stella, feeling resolved, said, “I’ll try to persuade the Council to make an exception to the privacy laws.”
“We can’t wait that long,” Twist urged. “Death is rampant, both Down Below and Up Above. Stella, listen to me, we have to act. The full third law needs restoration. The Underlings are being overdramatic!”
Shadow dismissed the Earth’s projection, summoning the disturbing visuals of the Underlings' demise. As bodies piled upon one another, he bore a heavy expression, hinting at some major deliberation. “We won’t strip them of their autonomy.” He looked directly at Stella. “Our path is clear. Collaborate with the Earth’s Council, devise a strategy. The goal? To pinpoint and restrain these... these... heartless individuals. They're the crux of our issues. Always have been.”
“And how do you propose they tackle this swiftly, huh?” Twist challenged. “Up Above has reveled in peace for decades. And wasn't it you who championed privacy, discouraging surveillance? They’re ill-equipped for this battle. Implementation will be a long game.”
Sibyl nodded slowly. “Until recently, crime was a minimal concern—mostly sticking to the orange-green-yellow spectrum. They witnessed greedy scams, corporate schemes, activists smashing windows in protest against the dwindling number of establishments still serving farmed animal meat, and occasional systems perpetuating bias and injustice.” Zie took a moment, locking eyes with Shadow, intensity burning in zir gaze. “Intriguingly, many displaying callous, unemotional traits are Nobel Prize laureates, pivotal in driving progress towards our development goals Up Above.”
Ghosts materialized around them, too numerous to count. They circled, spiraled, and soared, a chilling display of grotesque forms. Decapitated heads, tongues lolling out, brains cascading from split skulls.
“Sibyl, stop this,” Shadow implored, his voice gentle. “Please end it now. How can we fix this? Tell me.”
As quickly as they appeared, the apparitions dissolved. Sibyl, eyes brimming with tears, responded, “Join me, my heart. Let me reveal their noble deeds. With the travelers away, I won’t violate their privacy.”
“Are you coming?” Shadow asked, looking at Twist and Stella.
“Where?” Twist asked, confusion evident on his face.
“Compiz,” Sibyl said.
Twist's face drew into a tight line. “We don’t travel to worlds below Pluriz. It's been our code, our protocol. Too perilous.” He glanced at Shadow. “Tom, we can all watch from here.”
Shadow's eyes pierced into Twist; his voice laced with incredulity. “You've never set foot in the lower worlds?”
Twist stood firm. “Maintaining objectivity requires some detachment.”
Stella pondered. She briefly counted with her fingers. “I mean, maybe a handful of Contrast experiences here and there, before my divine descent.” She hesitated, memories flooding back. The worst she’d experienced had been in Thorn’s shoes, in the hours before the athlete killed Shadow.
Shadow’s face flushed, cycling through varying shades of anger. “You sit on a throne, overseeing worlds you haven’t set foot in, and ignoring your people’s torment. Come now!”
“Our deaths won’t serve these worlds,” Twist retorted, voice edged with frustration. “Our history should have taught you that. Bleeding hearts make poor decisions.”
Stella took Shadow’s arm. “I’ll come. Someone needs to protect you. This better be quick, people are dying.”
“Try not to get killed, bud. I only have one miracle left.”
“Sibyl,” Shadow commanded, “activate the Gods’ bidirectional interface. We need to remain connected, sharing and communicating our experiences in real time.”
“Granted,” chorused Twist and Stella.