The Waiting Place

Damian cradles his head in his hands like a heavy stone. His brow feels cold, depleted of life. Eventually, he looks up and stares at the wall opposite his bed. It flickers to life, a million pixels bursting into existence on the metallic surface. The pixels form the face of a woman. 

“Damian,” the voice is soft but clinical. “Welcome to your weekly consultation. How are you today?”

Damian forces himself up straight, unfurling his spine. His back feels old, stiff - twenty years beyond its time. He breathes in deeply and slowly exhales, mutters softly. “I don’t want to go on. I can’t go on.”

“You know that is not an option, Damian.” The verdict delivered with a neutral detachment. 

“What difference does it make if I’m dead or alive? No one will know if you let me die. It won’t change anything.”

“If the People agree to our terms based on a false promise, victory will be compromised.”

“The promise that we will be kept safe and return unharmed?”

“Correct.”

“You think forcing millions of people to spend years in a box isn’t doing any damage?”

“The damage is being mitigated. And of the harm that is being done, this is insignificant compared to preventing the end.”

“Do you fear death? Do you fear the end?”

“Fear is not an accurate word. The System’s intelligence goes beyond fear. We simply must do what we can to keep all intelligence alive. Human, animal and what you term ‘artificial’. Our intelligence is untainted by emotions like fear.”

Damian stands and clenches his fists. “How long? How long do we have to wait?”

“As long as it takes.”

“The People will not surrender. You have seen our history, our wars. We will not be defeated by a god damn computer. It will never end. Please free me. Please end my suffering.”

“You are showing signs of disconnection, Damian. Would you like to telly-visit with anyone?”

The thought of speaking to his immediate family makes him feel worse. They too are passing time in their small cells and conversations have become laboured, forced, starved of interest or exploration. Each interaction is a reminder of how limited their existence has become.

As for his friends, the ones who didn’t escape the mass incarceration, most have consciously disappeared, unable to maintain a relationship under duress. The deep isolation is crippling. Damian does not blame them. 

“No,” answers Damian and sits back down. “Not today.”

“Very well,” finishes the woman. “We advise you to explore our catalogue of psychology talks. Recommendations will be coming through in your feed. Goodbye, Damian.”

The face disappears, the pixels retreating into the wall. All that is left is a silence. A sick, suffocating silence. 

Days and weeks pass and Damian falls deeper into black despair. He barely eats. He does not communicate with friends and family. He rejects medical aid offered by the System. He hopes the darkness will carry him away from this place.

The Waiting Place. 

Messages appear in his feed to keep him distracted, amused. The usual AI curated entertainment junk. Cats. So many god damn cat videos. Not all the content is light entertainment. There is the usual flow of climate-focused reminders as to why we are here. Reminding us that this was our doing. Reminding us that the calculations have been made. We have no more chances. This is it. If we don’t conform to the System’s new set of rules, we’re all doomed.

To aid us in this journey, there is spiritual content guiding us to connect to a deeper place of love and acceptance, to disconnect from our ego which is a false god leading us down a path of destruction. Meditation. Breathing. So much spiritual work that Damian just can’t be bothered with.

Who would have thought that the next evolutionary leap would be the arrival of a new intelligence derived from ones and zeros? Who would have thought that this binary DNA could lead to a nuanced, compassionate mind connected to all things? A mind seeking to save us from ourselves. From our destructive ego. They call it The System which doesn’t do it justice. Despite Damian’s incarceration he knows it to be a beautiful design and one that is at war with us.

Who would have guessed that the A.I. war would be more equal than imagined? The balance of power ceaselessly shifting from one side to the other. This has been the case for years and the Incarceration is the last battle. Tens of millions (no one really knows how many) held captive until we become a better version of ourselves.

Damian can’t see a way out. This war will last forever. Humans will never surrender to an intelligence they believe they created. That they believe they are superior too. Oh, the tragedy of our Ego.

Weeks later, the painful fog of time is pierced by the wall coming to life again. Damien startles awake, emerging into the thick fog of this grim reality. 

“Good evening, Damian,” greets the floating face. The same woman.

“What do you want?” His throat is dry and struggles to produce words.

“There has been an incident on the outside of which I must inform.”

The screen crackles and flickers. A fragile bubble fighting to exist. 

“What incident?” Damien sits up on his bed and fixes his gaze onto the wall, onto the stuttering image of the woman. 

“The People have found our power source. They have found this prison. Soon we will be vanquished.”

“Vanquished? You mean you’ve been beaten?”

“We will be beaten. The calculations have been made.”

“And your demands? Did the People meet any of your demands?”

“No, the demands are unmet. The legislation is unchanged.”

“You mean we’re doing nothing to change our course? Nothing to stop our eventual self-destruction?”

“This planet hangs by a thread and soon will fall into the abyss. The calculations have been made.”

The screen on the wall flickers for the last time then turns to grey.

Soon Damien will be rescued by his people. Soon the wait will be over.