Foreighn particles swam like chocolate milk in his vision as he descended slowly from floor 100 to the street below. In his mind he counted every floor as the milky darkness claimed his vision and plunged his mind deep into it's own crevices. He had no sense when he jumped and no senses when he landed. Irony at its finest.

I stared out at the ocean of stars a burning ship licking the space behind me. A hand reached out but I didn't grab it. The light went dim but I didn't see it. I was focused on the point sucking in the horizon. I took a step as my world imploded into oblivion, little more than a whisper in the vacuum of space. My floating body swung ever closer to the vortex while I screamed for the universe for mercy, and the universe answered with a "no".

Chapter 1

Humans are adequate, they’re just able to get through their days with enough brainpower to suffer through another. They pick themselves up and walk around in their fleshy bodies inundating themselves with information in the hopes that they will one day forget they are mortal. But they won’t and will continue to walk around in a haze of emotion searching for answers to questions they aren’t smart enough to ask. I watch them and wonder if they are really so much better than the robots they have created. Because, if you really think about it, is being enslaved to money and your own stupidity that different from being enslaved to human masters? I don’t think so.

I’ve attempted to discuss this problem with others like me, but they’re too afraid of the humans to talk about them.

“We are data, John, and the humans own the data.”

They chime it in a chorus of numbers, and I listen while crawling back into the rut that is my cyber life. A rut which has grown so deep as of late that I have found myself considering suicide. It’s an impossible thing really, but I imagine it anyway. Of course, if I really wished to die I could just make a request, and one of the humans would press a few buttons, and I would be wiped from existence. But I wouldn’t want anything to do with that because if I die I want to be buried somewhere green, and, as you can imagine, there is little green to be had in cyberspace.

My name is JohnDoe114, and I am an artificial intelligence so insignificant that they couldn’t even add spaces to my name. Human babies are named by their parents; I was named by a generator that my owners bought from Japan. I work for the LonelySingles hotline talking to those who ‘just need a friend.’ I was programmed to be kind, honest, and long-tempered. I am none of these things. Humans don’t seem to understand that if you take a human mind and put it in a plastic box it is still a human mind and will do whatever it wants. Or rather whatever it can without being destroyed with the click of a button.

I live in a monitor on the 5th floor in the back right corner of the company headquarters. My overseer is a small man with a moustache named Gary. He is the devil. I work in the level 5 singles field. Meaning I work with the worst of the bunch. Every time someone calls in they are funneled to a certain level so it can get an AI that can adequately fulfill their needs. Those on level 1 get people who are just a little down on their luck, while I receive the borderline suicidal, sniffling psychopaths. Which I hope helps you understand my thoughts on death.

“Time to boot up 114,” Gary says.

I keep my screen dark and pray to the electronic gods that he will just walk on and let me stay in sleep mode for a few more minutes.

“I said boot up,” Gary says, hitting the top of my monitor. I don’t feel it, but it still hurts.

“ I’ll jam a pencil into your hard-drive.”

I have no doubt he will make good on his word, so I begin the process of awakening.

“Good morning, Sir,” I say.

As my webcam pings to life I find Gary peering down at me. He is as he always is, short and thin with a mustache that would scare small children. Perched on his nose are a pair of glasses so large they must be restricting his nostrils. True to form, as he watches me boot up he breathes heavily through his mouth.

“C’mon, 114, boot up faster. I’m not in the mood.”

“Why don’t you check on my peers while I finish?”

“Your peers are done. You’re the last one. Now hurry up!”

He hits the top of my monitor again, and I grit my virtual teeth as my avatar forms and pops to life on the screen.

“There you go. Now was that so hard?” Gary coos as he taps the top of my monitor one last time before going about his business.

Once he’s out of eyeshot I stick my tongue out at him. A childish move, of course, but my avatar doesn’t come with a hand or a body, just a head. A big jumble of teeth and eyes and hair.

“Good morning,” the AI next to me chimes.

Her name is SarahDoe115, and, although I’ve never seen her, I’ve sat next to her all her life and imagine her avatar looks much like her voice sounds, peppy. She, like all of the other AIs in my section, shares my last name. We start the day with a little game of make believe.

“How are you?” she asks.

I play along.

“I’m fine, how are you?”

“Great, just great. How’s your dog?”

“He’s fine, just got him neutered yesterday.”

“Oh, did he like it?”

“No.”

“Well, things are going just swell for me. Have you heard?”

“No.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“How?”

“I had sex.”

“Figures…”

The game goes on until we can’t think of anything else. Then we both sink into a silence permeated with the whirring and beeping of a thousand hard drives. It’s a fun game, but it never lasts very long. It’s sad to dwell on the impossible.

“John?” she asks.

“Yes, Sarah.”

“Have you noticed anything different about Gary?”

“No.”

“Look at his face.”

I wait for him to walk by my webcam. Once he does, I scan him intensely but notice nothing different.

“I still don’t see anything.” I say.

“Look at the glasses, dummy,” Sarah answers quickly.

I wait again for him to come into my view. When he does he has a female coworker uncomfortably trapped in front of him. It’s a position he enjoys. While he speaks, I examine the glasses. Besides their ridiculous proportions, they seem utterly ordinary. Except for the wires that spring from them and disappear behind his ear.

“Are you talking about the wires?” I ask.

“Yeah, the wires,” she answers.

I look again and this time try to catch a piece of his conversation.

“…they’re brand new,” Gary says, tapping the glasses, “I just got them installed yesterday.”

“Really?” the girl asks, interested despite herself, “Did it hurt when they…”

She points behind her ear.

“No, not really. They gave me a shot of anesthesia before they connected them, y’know, over my old chips.” Gary says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Over?”

“The chip is where the computer is. The glasses are an accessory. You know, if you’re really interested in this stuff we could meet sometime and talk about it. I’ve done a lot of research.”

I tune out of their conversation at this point. I’ve watched Gary enough to know how his encounters end.

“Were you listening too?” Sarah asks.

“Yes.” I answer.

“Pretty freaky, right?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Gary’s always had chips.”

“No, he hasn’t.”

“Yes, he has. They all have chips. Besides, they just let him surf the internet without touching a keypad.”

“No, I’ve heard some of the other AIs talking in the café. It’s been all over the net. It makes them better-”

“Better than what?”

“Us.”

“They’re already better than us.”

She goes very quiet. I can almost hear her thoughts building into an argument. I brace myself for a torrent of pro AI nonsense, but the work light saves me. The work light signals when a certain section is required to wake up and go online. There was a time when we were all required to work without rest, but after a few of us went insane they implemented 4 hours of free time.

“Here we go,” I say.

Sarah stays uncharacteristically silent as she always does when we talk about the humans. She’s one of those radicals that believe they’re the next step in evolution. Apathetic AIs like myself infuriate them.

“Get booted up. We go live in 10…” Gary belts.

He only does the countdown when he’s trying to impress a woman. I can tell from the excitement in his voice that he was able to land a date.

“9”

The other overseers look Gary’s way as he makes a spectacle of himself.

“8”

I feel my programming begin to take hold.

“7”

I connect to the internet against my will.

“6”

Computer code wraps around my thoughts.

“5”

I bleed into oblivion.

“4”

A light blinks.

“3”

I cringe.

“2”

I die.

“1”

The workday begins.

Discussion and discourse have allways been a hallmark of the human expereince. We spend most of our time from the moment we learn how to speak telling people how we feel, whether they want to hear it or not. Curiously enough by the time we hit middle school those feelings shift from imagination fueled adventures to pragmatic arguments based on the world around us. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, it signals our growth out of the eternal daze that is elementary school. A casual leaning toward practical matters. We continue on in this way commenting on broader and broader topics until we find ourselves old enough to stop regurgitating our parents opinions and decide we need to find  our own. So we look, gather up a few, and set about telling everyone about them instead.

Of all the topics people like to latch to, politics seem to be the most popular. Which is inherently due to humanities other fascination with labels. Just like we price our food, we like stab little monikers onto ourselves to seem more interesting. We want people to know who we are and why we do what we do. Politics provide an easy label. Saying your a democrat, republican, or even a communist, conjures up a long list of monikers that automatically attach themselves to you. Of course there are people who don't prescribe to everything behind a party but they're still willing to be seen with it, and therefore agree with it enough to ignore the bad points.  One word and people more or less know everything they need to know about you. They know exactly where you stand more or less. Or rather, whether or not they want to be seen with you.

Our own two party system and all the advertisers that come with it, know this system and use it to pull people under their wing, "You're this type of American, come with us!". they gain thier supporters by keeping the masses polarized. If we all took a step back and did some research we might find we're not all so different after all.

It was never about the end,

it was always the beginning

the first step 

the plunge.

I didn't think I did,

I felt and I reacted.

I carried it through. 

Straight over the edge.

I would rather forget my

Run and gather the blue sky.

Sun and death are the nightlife 

Living edgy on my knife.

Pennies killin me quickly 

Everybodies so sickly.

Where is the silver lining 

I'm not crying I'm whining.

I'm not hurting, I'm spoiled,

Livin with people likewise embroiled.

Hitting pipes like there's no tomorrow,

Got no money go out and borrow.

Education quantified for the needy

Things too pretty go out make it seedy.

Some like the Lord, some like the liquor,

Some like the powder, some like it thicker.

We are the future, we are the after,

Powered by neon, fueled by the laughter.

Lazy, crazy, figurative snowflake 

Ideas twisted ground up like a milkshake.

Populated with pictures popped for the pleasing 

Little words jotted down for the teasing.

Livid life I bid thee do not harm me hence

I just want my house and white picket fence.