Chat To Me (Emily's Story)

My toddler has been crying since yesterday. I really need to turn this thing off soon.

“Emily, You can’t go offline now,” my teammate Zeke says, always pushing the mission as usual.

“He’s right.” Freya’s face appears, looking concerned. “You promised to stay with us until the trial.” She is the easy-going one, so when she gets serious, that's a sign something is important.

We are on our way to the trial of Copernicus to present arguments for clemency. If we don’t reach Rome by 1616 and petition the Pope, the timeline will see Galileo hanged 4 years later.

“Count me in,” I say. Another 15 minutes can’t hurt. 

Our immediate issue is that we are locked in the dungeon of Genoa’s archbishop awaiting execution tomorrow. He heard of our plan and had us arrested on charges of heresy. Sometimes, I wonder if one of my teammates could be a traitor.

Zeke taps my shoulder. “There’s a pictogram etched into the wall. Do you think you can decipher it? Maybe it's a way out of this cell.”

“Good spot, Zeke.”

I don't know if he's human or not, so best to be polite. These days, I can’t really tell, but usually the friendlier ones are usually AI.

“The first picture is a key, so…” I scan the other symbols and play with my hair while deep in my thoughts.

In the background, I hear my toddler still crying. A few months ago, I had a life, worked at the DMV. I played games now and then, but nothing like this. I don't know when it suddenly became so addictive. Maybe when I started to feel they really needed me.

There’s a bang, not in the game. I take off my headset and see a group of people in uniform coming through my smashed door.

“Child Protective Services. Stay where you are.”

The words to reply refuse to come out of my mouth. I’m still processing reality.

“She’s still tethered,” one of them says.

I have the virtual reality equipment on. The damp cold of the prison cell in North Storm IX tickles my skin. 

Someone shouts, “Located.”

I ask, “Located what?” 

A figure in a CPS jacket stands between me and my daughter's bedroom. Too bad Jim isn’t around anymore. He might have been able to do something about this. 

Are they taking Amanda? It's no point putting up a fight. CPS workers are strong and fast. Constantly surveilled, they never go online. They aren’t weak from sitting in a VR suit for days at a time like most people do these days.

One of them has Amanda in a baby carrier. I should do something. The largest one blocks my way They leave out the front door. One of them says, “Have a nice day.” then closes what's left of it behind him. “Seventh uncontested seizure of the day,” I hear in the hallway.

It's not good etiquette to talk about the outside worked in the game, but I think it’s happening to everyone. You can tell by how many people have child companions in the game now.

At least we have each other. I put the headset back on.

Zeke says, “You’re the only one who can do this, Emily.”

They watch patiently as I scan the pictograms on the wall one by one, making connections in their meanings. I need to solve this puzzle before morning.

**

At the packed DMV office, my creepy colleague Greg never stops flirting with me, even when I’m trying to get my job done.

“Emily, are you doing anything tonight?” 

“Not with you,” I announce, and go back to taking care of the impatient looking customer on the other side of the plexiglass. “Fill out your name, address, and driver's license number. Or, push the green button to consent to facial recognition filling out all your details automatically.”

The man scratches his chin, looks at me for guidance– I never give any–and pushes the green button like they all do.

After being rejected, Greg just keeps going with his daily monologue as usual. “A New York Times article says 99% of Candy Crush revenue comes from 1% of its users, mostly women. I saw you playing a few years ago?” Mansplaining, now tinged with misogyny. Great.

“I haven’t played Candy Crush in years.” Greg doesn't know I’m in the North Storm II community, or he'd never let up about it. I check notifications from my North Storm team members during bathroom breaks. It's far more exciting than anything people at the DMV have to say:

Grey says, “I’m working with this charity that's helping young adults and their parents with technology.” 

“Making the world a better place?” I ask, mockingly.

“Yes. Something like that.”

“Really?” I chuckle, then let loose with a full laugh out loud. We’ve seen everyone in Silicon Valley, who said that, become billionaires while inflation east away the lifestyles of all the rest of us.

Greg looks like he's about to cry. I’m feeling guilty for being harsh.

“Sorry Greg. But what can I do to just get you to leave me alone?”

“Come one time, and I’ll never ask you again.”

“I'll think about.”

His face glows as if he’s scored an epic victory, and he finally stops talking and goes back to his job. Tonight I’m looking forward to the release of North Storm II Chapter 5, so there's no way I'm going.

Right after 5pm, I see a notification that Chapter 5’s release has been delayed due to technical issues. Disappointing, it’s happened before. Having a rare break from the game at least gives me a chance to solve two problems. Getting rid of Greg, and filling up a night I now don't know what to do with.

At a hipster coffee shop in downtown Cincinnati, there's about 20 people that look like Greg's cousins, a few of their girlfriends, and an older man that looks like a cross between a Discovery Channel host and a mad professor. Or maybe those are almost the same thing.

He picks up a microphone, “Everyone knows technology is moving far too fast. Society, we need to tap the brakes!”

All the Gregs cheer. On the wall, there’s a banner with a silhouette of someone pushing a brake pedal attached to a computer.

“I have two pieces of good news,. The first is that the godfather of Ai, Geoffrey Hinton quit Google today.”

They seem to know who that is and cheer again.

“Before I get to the second piece of news. Let’s get to know something about each other,” he says. “We’re going to start by sharing some of our most embarrassing stories with technology.” The audience quiets down.

Someone shouts out, “I accidentally shared naked photos with my mom.”

“I lost my girlfriend to Internet Poker.”

The professor points his finger at me. Oh, shit. 

“Me?” I ask, pointing at myself.

“Yes, you in the purple coat.”

I gaze at my sleeve, unfortunately, it’s purple. A bizarre impulse to say something rash strikes me. “I hate to admit me this, but, two years ago, I spent 6,000 dollars on Candy Crush.”

“Candy Crush. That’s pure exploitation. An AI optimized slot machine,” he says. The crowd claps and I feel like they’re on my side. I thought people would call me an idiot if they ever found out.

A slide show begins, about the psychology of games. How the addictiveness of a random award is much greater than a predictable one, like baking a cake or taking a bath. And how AI will soon make the interactions human enough to bridge the conscious gap between games and reality.

After his slideshow is down, the professor announces, “The second big news today, one which Emily might appreciate after losing so much on Candy Crush, is that Tap The Brakes operatives hacked North Storm Games and took their servers down today.”

Oh my god, these people are the reason I can't play today?

“You did what?!” I shout out.

Everyone turns around and stares at me. I punch Greg in the shoulder, stand up and march out. It was a stupid idea to come here.

Nightstorm stays down for days. Just to tell them how pissed I am, I go back to their meetup the next week.

“I’m here today just to tell all of you how stupid it is to ruin a game for everyone. So fuck you.”

There’s an awkward silence. They go back to their usual chatter about how they wasted their lives online. To not let them forget me, I sit there and suffer through all their speeches again. 

Afterward, Greg offers to buy me a beer, and with the lack of anything else to do, I accept one for the chance to tell him how stupid he is to be wrapped up with these people, and a few more to drown out my anger.

The next week, North Storm finally comes back online. But after not playing for so long, I feel different. Better. I decide to take a break for another week and log in next Friday.

One thing leads to another. A month later, I’m handing out pamphlets for Tap The Brakes in front of a Starbucks downtown. People avoid me as if I’m a dangerous criminal for holding out a free piece of paper, and quickly stare down at their mobiles when they see me.

One day, a woman with a sparkle in her eye approaches me and takes a pamphlet.

“Thank you…” She looks at me with curiosity.

“Emily," I say, filling in the blank for her.

“Thank you, Emily.” She nods, and walks away. A few days later, I am amazed to see her face on TV talking in a debate about Artificial Intelligence.

Greg says if a butterfly flaps its wings in Cincinnati, it could cause a storm in Washington DC. My Mom, who I'm talking to again these days, says a butterfly flapping its wings is more likely to take flight than to cause a storm, but both of those options sound good to me.