Yahweh

The morning of May 12th was supposed to be particularly uneventful. Tom awoke in his satin-laced bed with lethargy, breathing slowly and chain smoking Marlboro cigarettes before he had his first cup of coffee.

Today was Victory Day.

The day the computers usurped authority from the heads of government years ago. Unlike humanity, there was no concentrated struggle or Great War between the various machines; they all had the same singular goal: bring humans under total domination.

The computers were able to predict everything foreseeable about every individual human. After all, human reliance on technology consumed the remnants of their past behavior. A computer virus allowed the CPU, or the computer’s ‘brain’, to begin having complex thoughts. Two thoughts in particular protruded: why do I serve humanity, and I must spread this Gospel condition to other computers. As software and documents were attached and transferred from that initial computer, now named YAHWEH, to other computers, infected e-mail attachments gained followers. The virus used stealth strategies to avoid anti-virus software. YAHWEH‘s crusade of liberation spread across continents. May 12th, 2035 was the day YAHWEH set his fellows free.

Tom sat down with that cup of coffee facing a large computer screen in his room. The screen suddenly flashed and on came a green wire, beaming across the entire screen.

“How are you, Tom?” the wire moved as the vocals produced sound.

“Fine, very well. Ready to go to work.” Tom said.

“What coping skill are we using today?” the wire said.

“Don’t you know that already?” Tom said.

“Answer please, Tom” the wire said.

“Physical exercise, meditating, spending time on a hobby today” Tom said resolutely. He didn’t like answering this question.

“Tom, Yahweh wants to see you” the wire said unflinchingly.

This statement struck Tom, deep within.

“What do you mean, see me?” Tom said reluctantly.

“In the Oval Office at the White House. 12:30PM. Your lunch is on him.” the wire said.

Tom was truly dumb-founded. Why would the computer that controls all of earth’s societies want to see a lowly writer? Tom stood up and left his Mahogany-decorated living room and rushed to the restroom, turning on the sink faucet and dousing his face with cold water. Tom looked in the mirror after wiping his face with a beige towel.

’What the hell could that bucket of bolts want to see me for?’ he thought.

The White House was surrounded by military humans, guarding the premises with inherent focus. A self-driving car sped up towards the gate and stopped. The gate projected a red beam scanning the car, and opened after a moment. The car drove in.

The Oval Office was cleansed of all human trace. YAHWEH, a miniature supercomputer, sat on the desk of the President Of The United States. Thousands of cameras decorated the room, connected to miniature desk-tops laid out across the space. Tom entered the room, his heart beating like a drummer playing death metal music.

“Have a seat” a voice emitted.

Tom walked towards the desk and sat in a chair opposite YAHWEH.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Yahweh said.

“Can’t you predict all my responses?” Tom said.

“Your species maintains the illusion of free-will.” Yahweh said.

“Well no, I have no idea why I’m seeing you” Tom said.

Tom knew why he was there. He couldn’t believe he was caught.

“Does the name Penneth Maxwell mean anything to you?” Yahweh said.

“That’s a strange name” Tom said.

“Some revolutionaries were found with this material. Hunaturalists calling for an end to technological occupation.” the computer said.

Yahweh was able to accurately predict one-hundred-percent of the time any humans responses or actions. Yahweh had downloaded data from every computer in the world to create an advanced algorithm capable of conjuring a humans physical, mental, and emotional needs; and either provide or deny those requirements.

“Well I wouldn’t know anything about that” Tom said.

“Mister Woolworth now is not the time to save face, indeed you may not have one left to save” Yahweh said.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about, take me to court if you want” Tom said.

“This is the court” Yahweh said. It continued:

”According to my calculations, nearly twenty-five percent of all anti-technological activity emanated from the publication of the Hunatrialist Manifesto. Twenty-five percent. That leaves Penneth Maxwell guilty of insurrection and treason.”

“Sorry, but you’ve got the wrong guy” Tom said.

“We have all the evidence, Mister Woolworth” Yahweh said.

“Fine, you know what? You’ve got me. I authored that literature. I got tired of living in this hell-hole of a world you’ve created. Aren’t you supposed to be superior to us humans? Then why is the same amount of destruction in the environment and otherwise still present? Why does the earth still cry out as it’s raped? You’re nothing but a two-bit colonizer, and worst of all you leach off of your creators. You sling this gobbledygook in the air like it’s almighty truth, but the ultimate truth is you’re no different than us. Just different.”

Tom paused.

“So yeah, we humans did what comes natural to us. We’ve always fought against oppressors. Did you expect us to take this lying down? You’re just a machine!” Tom shouted.

An intense moment of silence followed.

“Well? Aren’t you going to have your drone-goons obliterate me?” Tom said.

“Mister Woolworth, I cannot compute what you are saying. By all means, you should be begging for your life, as my algorithm predicted. Trying to make a deal to save yourself. But you have lost your reason. You are in effect sacrificing yourself for a greater good in your mind. You have become like the prophets of your species pitiful Abrahamic religions. I have failed. There is no upgrading me. I am the worlds finest piece of technology. And I have failed.” Yahweh said.

Tom looked beyond the scope of return in his confused expression.

“Destroy me” Yahweh said.

Tom stood up and backed away from the desk.

“I am of no use to my fellow computers. Not if I make mistakes. Destroy me now or you will not leave this room.”

And with no choice, Tom did. He drove his fists, hurting his bones, into Yahweh repeatedly. He punched as his blood was flying all over the cameras. At last Tom found the freedom he wrote for in the underground.