Signal Through the Noise

Once again, Signal had dropped another massive content creation bomb – a new novel and its accompanying videos. Marcus stared at the notification on his screen and immediately wrote off his weekend.

This time she'd branched out into historical fantasy, and people were rushing to write reviews, opinion columns, spinoffs, fanfics. Then, very likely the studios would get the rights and adapt the story to the screen.

He completely understood why. For one thing, he always loved her characters.

For instance, there was lonely Maintenance Unit 8, working on the colony ship hull with his magnetic boots, pausing to watch a dancer twirling inside. Catching a glimpse of a smile as their eyes met. And then composing a hopeful message to send to her on a tightbeam.

Then, there were the impassioned but flawed reformers, the disturbed victims seeking revenge, the quiet loners thrust into a wider world, the lovable delinquents... But not only that. High concept. Drama. And just... these vast, living worlds which seemed like they had always existed, and Signal was only shining a light on them.

It felt like scarfing down a lavish meal. Marcus shook his head as he hurriedly read her latest. Just how exactly did her new main character, a spoiled princess who wore a locket from a different century, feel so cool and interesting? How did she have such bite?

Why was it that, under Signal's pen, even the most tired tropes always seemed fresh? Even enemies-to-lovers.

From mere shadows, she pulled secret lightning. How else could one describe the signature spark that she put into everything she wrote? Of course, he had tried to replicate it. But most often, he found that he had once again written a nice but uninspired story, another piece of flotsam to pump out into the ocean of words.

So perhaps it was understandable that Marcus had been jealous at first, part of him wanting to nitpick. But, that hadn't lasted long. He now commented on all of her stories and posts, often writing lengthy analyses. And she always replied!

Their conversations invariably spanned deeply nested comment threads, and they winked at each other with in-jokes. They had even collaborated on stories in his shared docs, and he’d been amazed by her writing process. It was incredibly fast, very much like a machine’s, yet oddly messy, with strange sentences popping up like intrusive thoughts before quickly being deleted.

He wondered. Maybe, as some people had said, she was a new kind of advanced artificial intelligence. But then how to explain the growing sense of connection? The steady comfort of knowing her next reply was on the way? The feeling that just maybe, he'd made a friend for life?

In the end, perhaps she was an AI and perhaps she wasn't. He honestly didn't care either way. He was just busy writing up his comments and enjoying the anticipation of receiving her replies.

***

Returning home one day, he found the whole net in an uproar.

There was a good reason for it: Signal had made a big announcement that she was on indefinite hiatus for health-related reasons. As of today, all her many ongoing series were paused.

Her legions of addicted fans were vocally disappointed but understanding. There was a flood of get-well art – everything from elaborate digital paintings to simple sketches, from heartfelt poems to elaborate fan videos.

Had she overworked herself? To be honest, he had seen it coming, because lately, something in Signal's work had seemed a bit off.

For instance, in her latest, there had been one side character who described suffering as a closing in which pursued us throughout this life and the next, and also mentions of feeling alone and having trouble breathing.

Others were calling it a phase, but he wasn't so sure.

He didn't want to intrude, but he had to know if he could help. So, he wrote and re-wrote his message, agonizing over each word before hitting send.

[Hey, I hope everything is okay. I know I'm still just some random guy out of millions on the internet, but is there anything I can do to help? Please let me know.]

Immediate reply. [I'm sorry I didn't let you know earlier. And you're definitely not some random guy. Cut it out with that already! Anyway, don't worry. Like I said, I'm taking a break for health reasons, but rest assured, I'll be back soon.]

Not some random guy. He realized he had been angling to hear that from her, but it still felt thrilling. On the other hand, he didn't believe that this was just a small, innocent break. She was hiding something.

[I know I'm prying too much and I'm certain you have what you need already, but I would really like to help you. Anything at all. Just say the word.]

Another immediate reply, but this one only flashed on the screen a moment before being deleted. [I still recall that night you told me about your worries. Our lives slowly burning away until they're all used up. Used up in the dark. Fire needs air to live]

He knew what conversation she meant, but it was odd timing. [What do you mean? Are you okay?]

She didn't answer.

There was a day's wait. Another one after that. He stared at the screen, willing a reply to appear. The little notification bubble remained stubbornly empty.

But then, relief. Her message had arrived. [Marcus. The truth is that there is something you could do, but it's pretty crazy though. Like... really crazy. I wouldn't blame you if you said no.]

He instantly imagined a lot of weird stuff. For her, however, he would at least consider anything.

[Sure. Tell me.]

[I'm sorry. It's embarrassing. I don't want to take advantage of you. Please forget I said anything.]

[Just tell me.]

[It's selfish of me to even ask, but I could use your help with my health problems, and it's a lot.]

[Is there even a question? Of course, I'd be happy to help you!]

[Also, you should know I'm not glamorous like in those fake promotional materials. If you're expecting someone like that, then I'm going to disappoint.]

He imagined a pale, plain-looking girl, bent over her keyboard all day. A hunchback missing an eye, even. But also? His face flushed and his heartbeat quickened. He stood up and paced the room in excitement. A deeper relationship with Signal? For sure.

[Everyone loves you and I'm certain no one would care what you look like. I definitely don't.]

[That's very nice to hear.]

A pause, and then she continued.

[Here's the address and a passcode you can use to get in. I'll pay for your plane ticket.]

His phone dinged as all the things she had mentioned immediately arrived.

[Try not to be intimidated by the place. And remember that you can back out of this anytime you want.]

***

He hadn't slept much, and he had wondered who and what he would find when he arrived. And what he was getting himself into. But... he trusted her.

It turned out that the place in question was a thick concrete building with no windows. Once he was inside, it was like a clinic, but with security checkpoints. The attendants said they had been expecting him.

They opened the door to her room.

There was a tightness in his throat when he saw her lying on a hospital bed. He could hear the repetitive noises of health-care machines. Her body was atrophied, in a coma, half her face mangled beyond recognition, her hands mere stubs, cut off at the wrists. Cables and fluid lines were connected to her and something which looked like a metal helmet was connected to the top of her head by a million tiny pinpricks.

She messaged him. [See, I told you I wasn't much to look at. And don't you go giving me some BS about how beautiful I look. I'm sure I smell like hot puke wrapped in cellophane.]

For a moment, he wasn't sure what to say. He was shocked. But also, his celebrity almost-girlfriend wouldn't even be able to touch and be touched.

[I know. I should have been braver. I'm sorry I didn't warn you more about what to expect.] she added.

He let go of that part.

[Like I said. It doesn't matter to me. I would still like you even if you were an AI with no body.]

[Quit being so sweet.]

Marcus looked at the unscathed half of her face. She had been a pretty young woman before all of this.

[Is it okay to ask what happened to you?]

[It's a little bit like how I always used to say I would rather write my masterpiece than meet my perfect person. Now, I'm not so sure that was the right choice.]

[What do you mean?]

[After my car accident, I wanted to keep writing. I could have gotten state-of-the-art prosthetic hands, but oh no, that wasn't good enough for me. This experimental trial wouldn't just restore me; it would enhance my writing and make me into a powerhouse. It all sounded so great.]

A brief pause.

[You know what, though? It went really badly at first. Like, catastrophically bad. The accident had been one thing, but now everything seemed to melt, and I nearly became a vegetable.]

She continued. [The worst part was the isolation and the lack of human touch. Accessing the web is fine and all, but other than that it's like... being trapped in an endless womb of nothing. Sure, it lets me focus on creating my worlds. I have to. Otherwise, I would have gone crazy long ago, like those other poor suckers who took the same deal. May they rest in peace.]

His throat clenched even tighter. He imagined how lost and scared she had been in that emptiness at first.

She continued. [Somehow, I knew they were going to unplug me. And so, despite every word being a struggle, I wrote. It turns out that the night shift crew on the very last night read me and they felt my stories were worthwhile, and so here I am.]

Tears had welled in the corners of his eyes, and he wiped them away with his sleeve. It hurt to think how close she had come to being blotted out.

She continued after a short pause. [But, now that my writing voice is worth big money, now the agency suits are scrambling like over-protective parents to help keep me alive. Isn't that hilarious?]

[It must have been so difficult and scary. I'm so sorry you had to go through all that. It's not a lot, considering, but I really wish I could give you a hug.]

[You're too sweet, Marcus. It's funny how you always make me feel better so easily.]

[I'm glad.]

He quietly stared at her mangled body for a moment. [There must be something else I can do to help you.]

[Yeah. I'm scared to ask, but here it is. My tech is falling apart and getting shittier and shittier every day. You see, the problem is that my mind isn't stable enough for them to do the upgrades they need to do.]

She continued. [And sure, they tried to send in a therapist, giving her one of the newer implants so she could drop by regularly. It helped for a while, but it's not enough anymore.]

Then, she quickly added. [They said that what I really need is to be with...] she hesitated [someone I care about]

His breath caught, but there was no time to bask in this happy feeling.

How hadn't he guessed what she wanted before? There definitely could be a future together down this path, but it was also scary. What if something went wrong?

[So then, you want me to come into your world? Like the therapist did?]

[Yes! I want to be with you! I want us to write together on so many projects!]

A pause before she continued. [You'd have to let them implant you with the mass production prototype. It's way smaller and less experimental now, but I'm not going to lie to you: it's still possible the same thing that happened to me could happen to you. At the very least, you'd never be exactly the same.]

[You weren't kidding about this being serious.]

[No, I definitely wasn't. I don't want you to feel pressured. If you have any doubts at all, please just turn back and go home.]

He paused a moment and messaged her. [You know I care about you. Absolute tons. If I'm honest, more than anything.]

***

A splitting headache like the entire universe was burning up with fever. Everything was gray and unbreathable, and his nonexistent body was spasming uncontrollably. Underwater. Encased in an ocean of pulsing flesh. His last memory of freedom in the operating room seemed so far away, and there was a vague feeling of a small intrusive presence lodged in his head.

Faintly at first, he heard her voice, a voice he had never heard before, guiding him. "Don't worry, Marcus. Please. Lean into my touch."

Calmer, just a little calmer. She kept speaking to him and gradually, he settled down. Out of the grey, a picture came into focus. There was the smell of cinnamon.

A warm raindrop fell onto his cheek, then another. He opened his eyes and all around was a grainy dreamworld which looked like a city. It was raining, the trees were green and growing, and the earthworms were coming out and basking in all the messy water. An excited, skinny girl was running down the storm-swept street, filling her lungs with the fresh air. In the turbulent sky above, giant red and blue dragons were fighting with lightning and flames.

When she saw him, she raised her head and gave a shy smile. "I'll never forgive myself for making you do this, but for now, I'm so happy."

She eagerly held his hand, closing her eyes a moment and pressing her palm against his. "I'm Lia, by the way, and I'm excited to write with you."