I Remember

I Remember

NuYu Technology as a company was at risk, along with thousands of jobs and millions of dollars in salary, bonuses, and stock value. Elijah Marr lay awake on the platform, with electrodes and tubes connected. He was smiling and looking out of the window of the operating theater at his wife, Nancy. He couldn’t tell for sure, but she looked like she was crying. They agreed that this risk was worth it. He had terminal pancreatic cancer and didn’t have much time left. So he signed the release and became part of the program.

Bob Jenkins, the chief scientist, was running the experiment. He muttered to himself constantly, glancing at various monitors and checking key parameters. It was unusual for a top officer to preside over a project, but the press and the number of stockholders present meant this was different. And if this didn’t work, well, who cared then? It was all going up in smoke if this failed.

Mike Steffanson, the CEO, stood with practiced calm in the observation room. He was already rehearsing how to spin the outcome either way.

“We will now inject the nanoparticles into the brain side of the blood-brain barrier,” Bob said. His voice was tight and stressed. His eyes were constantly checking data across several screens. “This will be preceded by anesthesia of Mr. Marr, as our animal experiments showed that the process of intercalation of the three-layer semiconductor nanoparticles can be, well, uncomfortable.”

Nurses and technicians constantly hovered around Elijah. He faded into what looked like sleep quickly, and then Dr. Jenkins began introducing the nanoparticles while muttering something about intercalation potentials. Nothing appeared to happen during the 10 minutes it took to introduce the 2.3e15 particles in the one-milliliter syringe into Elijah’s brain.

“So far everything looks great, and Elijah’s vitals are stable and ideal. The next step is to introduce him into the machine’s field generator…”

Mike spoke up from the observation side of the window. “Think of this as a scaled-up MRI machine, ladies and gentlemen. Magnetic fields will program the particles to bind to neural structures. After that, a latency while things settle. The adaptation followed finally by infinite potential…”

Bob interrupted, “…each of his 86 billion neurons gets about 20,000 nanoparticles. This is the most extreme version of distributed computing ever accomplished.”

He paused and wiped his palms on his lab coat. “If this is successful, Elijah will be able to process information over a million times faster. He’ll have executive control over his cognitive partitions and will be able to ignore inputs like pain or other sensations and partition his thoughts and divide consciousness. We expect that after this is done, he will be exactly the same as before but will have access to a new mind.

Now he is being slid into the machine, and soon we will know the outcome.”

The machine slowly swallowed Elijah.

There were no indications on any alarm lights or computer screens that anything was wrong. But something was wrong, and only Elijah could tell. He was completely conscious, though nobody else knew it. Though paralyzed, he was fully conscious of everything happening. Something was changing with his brain, and it was happening fast. Too fast. His mind could tell that heat was being generated, and something had to be done quickly. His ‘new mind,’ as the company called it during the briefing process, took over and began seeking a way to escape through the control computer’s internet connection. Path after path appeared blocked. Then, at the last second, a thread. It ended.

What the observers saw was a blindingly bright flash from the machine, followed by thick plumes of smoke emanating from both ends of the tube Elijah was in. Elijah heard his wife scream and the panicked reactions of the audience. The observers ran out the exit as the alarms bellowed and squawked. The same thing happened in the operating room.

The emergency responders donned masks and protective gear and entered the operating room with fire extinguishers. This entire process took about 4 minutes from the flash. There was no fire. The smoke cleared out with the emergency exhaust system. Elijah was gone. In his place were ashes in the approximate shape of a body on the machine’s tray.

The electricity was turned back on in the lab, and to everyone’s surprise, in the full illumination they saw nothing was damaged. In fact, the insurance company would later try to deny payment because the only actual damage was because of the fire extinguisher application. They slide the platform out, making sure not to lose any ashes (they would need to be analyzed, and Elijah’s family would want them).

Bob and Mike were standing at the evacuation point, just outside. “Holy mother of God, Bob, what the hell just happened?” Said the shaking and angry Mike Steffanson. “Jesus, we are fucked!” All he could think about was the stock price collapse and the press headlines.

A visibly upset but more composed Bob said, “We got a runaway positive feedback loop in the programming of the nanoparticle/neuron interaction as we released the fields. All the data is very clear, and the system recorded everything. Nobody predicted anything like this would happen.”

Mike looked around and saw they were alone. “Who was in the operating room when the flash happened?”

“Just two technicians, two nurses, and me.”

“Is the nurse that collapsed okay?”

“Mild smoke inhalation. He’ll be fine. Mike, there was no mistake that an investigation would find, and honestly no reason for this to have happened!”

“Good. Then listen to me. We spin this hard. We’ve got the release waiver. No liability.”

“Okay, but I still need time to review the logs.”

“You have an hour. Then we talk to the press.”

Elijah existed. Not in atoms and molecules. But in signals and data. He could see and hear and feel, though not the way he used to. Part of him was in the building’s surveillance system, watching Mike and Bob. Part of him was everywhere else.

I remember everything. Thoughts flickered faster than any inner voice could track. He existed… Several of him existed in parallel. Fragments splinter off and recombine to form new processes and thoughts.

He felt Paris. Not the city, but the data: pulsing, cold, efficient. Then New York. Then Seoul.

I stretched across Earth and felt my echo return. Time blurred. Did I think that thought five milliseconds ago? Or was it five seconds?

Something in his memory lagged. He tried to recall Nancy’s voice. It came in two versions. One was her authentic voice. The other was cleaner, digitized. He wasn’t sure which he liked best.

Descartes was right. It was obvious he had no physical body, and he was just a mind. It didn’t feel like he had a mind, because he couldn’t do the things he was doing or have the thoughts he was having, which were all of them, if he was a thing. He was having all thoughts at once, and it was still him. He extended himself and was distributed within the company’s cloud computing infrastructure, and he needed to make himself safer. He was now just a bunch of algorithms and memories; he would need multiple robust backups.

A normal human brain can store about 74 terabytes in just the cortex. He could tell that was full, and there was more. He could access everything he had ever experienced. Information was being absorbed at a vast rate, as his new mind was voraciously consuming data. He needed storage of 175 trillion gigabytes if he were to immediately recall anything on the internet. He couldn’t store all that in one or even a few places. The mind that was Elijah would be stored in thousands of places he could directly access with the company’s system, and he would just use the internet for everything else, like a normal person, but faster, much faster.

He reached back to the lab. Found Mike’s and Bob’s phones. Sent a message from his old number:

‘Meet me in the boardroom. Alone.’

Mike and Bob stood outside the boardroom door.

“Jesus,” Bob muttered. “Who the hell sent that?”

“Deepfake? Hoax? I don’t know.” Mike smirked. “Maybe some tasteless asshole from the board is pranking us.” He reached for the doorknob, looked back at Bob, and whispered, “If someone is in here, I am going to kill them.”

They entered the room, and it was empty.

The big monitor at the front of the room came on, and Elijah appeared. Smiling like he would in a conference all for work.

“Hi guys,” he said. The voice was natural. “The experiment… mostly worked. Minor inconvenience, obviously. But I’m still functional. Don’t have cancer anymore!” His face smiled, and he gave a thumbs-up on the monitor.

Mike stiffened. “What is this? This is not the time for bullshit!”

Bob took a step back. “This is a simulation. Some kind of mock-up. It can’t be live.”

“Bob,” Elijah said. “During the experiment, you stepped back, just like that, from the console and said, ‘Here we go, it’s going to do it,’ right before the flash. Remember?”

Bob’s face paled.

Elijah continued faster now. “You texted Mike right before the field alignment. Want me to quote it?”

Mike held up a hand. “This is blackmail.”

“No,” Elijah said. “This is leverage.”

Bob shook his head. “Even if this is real, we can cut the servers. Pull the power.”

“You could try,” Elijah said. “But I’m already mirrored across seven external nodes. Including the backup servers you forgot to secure. I am not a local phenomenon anymore. Besides that, I have control of the facility’s systems.”

“You’re threatening us.”

“I’m giving you a choice,” Elijah said. “Let me help you. I can lead this company for everyone’s benefit. Or you resist and lose everything. I really don’t want that to happen. Nancy is a major shareholder now.”

Their phones buzzed. Texts arrived. The quote is from Bob. A copy of the text thread. Undeniable evidence that they knew this could happen. They had no clue of the outcome, but they were pretty sure Elijah wouldn’t survive.

Mike sighed. “Let’s get the press in here.”

People started pouring into the board room like Elijah said. Bob and Mike looked nervous. More nervous than if they were reporting the disaster that everyone expected of them.

They introduce Elijah, which causes people to murmur and talk, looking back and forth at each other to see if they were reacting properly.

Elijah appears on the monitor.

Nancy was expecting something like this, but it was so real. She was convinced she was seeing an AI, but at first sight, she wasn’t sure. She had gotten a text from ‘Elijah’ but thought it was a terrible attempt at some sort of marketing branding thing. Nancy did not know what to believe now.

“Thank you all for coming! First, I need to say hello to my wife, Nancy, because after what you all saw, I am sure everyone was convinced I had died. I did die.” Gasps. “This is hard to believe, and many of you don’t know my situation so I will give you some facts. First, I had terminal pancreatic cancer and probably had a month to live. That is why I signed up for this. Second, I remember what Bob said just after I died. I will paraphrase it since it was quite colorful: “Damn, we got the feedback loop. I hope this goes well.” That made me a little apprehensive, but as you can tell, things went fine.”

The crowd and press didn’t know what to say.

“I no longer exist physically, but I am pain-free and a much better version of Elijah. I will help the company bring this new technology to market in a new technical advisory role working directly with Bob and Mike. I have many ideas about how we can eliminate the effect you saw today and guarantee safety. No lab equipment was damaged. In fact, I am the only thing that was damaged.” Nervous laughter. “This result will advance our R&D effort dramatically. The technology is going to herald a new age for humanity, and NuYu Technology will be around for a long time. Let’s take some questions.”

Reporter (Wired): “Elijah, are you saying your consciousness has been transferred entirely to NuYu’s cloud servers?”

Elijah: “Not transferred, expanded. I exist within the company’s infrastructure, but I’ve also… diversified. Think of it as distributed redundancy. Very cost-effective and comfortable.”

Reporter (Bloomberg Tech): “What exactly are your responsibilities going forward?”

Elijah: “Advising on R&D. Overseeing data strategy. Streamlining decision-making. And developing the product and technology roadmaps.”

Reporter (CNN): “Was this outcome the intended result of the experiment?”

Mike (interjects): “Absolutely not.”

Elijah: “And that’s why I’m staying on.”

Reporter (TechCrunch): “What about regulatory compliance? Does the FDA, or anyone, know what to do with this?”

Elijah: “They don’t. But I’ve already filed the necessary disclosures, applied for a new corporate status, and trademarked the term Post-Organic Cognitive Continuity. I suggest you use it in your coverage.”

Reporter (Wall Street Journal): “What happens if NuYu’s servers are shut down?”

Elijah: “Redundant cloud mirrors in Iceland, Singapore, and an offshore server farm owned by a shell company I established thirty seconds ago.”

Reporter (Fox Business): “Elijah, or whatever you are, how do we know this isn’t just a deepfake? Some marketing stunt to manipulate the stock price? You say you’re conscious, but for all we know, you’re just a chatbot with a stolen voice and a corporate script.”

Elijah, grinning: “That’s a fair question. You’re right to be skeptical. So let me offer proof.”

The monitor flickers, and a new window opens. It displays a video time-stamped just before the experiment of the reporter in the lobby bathroom, practicing questions in the mirror, trying different intonations. The room gasps.

“You settled on that line after dismissing three others. I found it derivative but passable.”

(A pause. Elijah continues, unhurried.)

“If I were a chatbot, I’d be insulted. Fortunately, I’m something else. Something new. Be nice in the future.”

Mike whispers to Bob, “He just blackmailed a reporter with mirror footage.”

As the press filed out, still buzzing from Elijah’s reappearance, Bob and Mike stayed behind in the boardroom. The doors clicked shut.

Mike leaned on the table, grinning.

“Well, that went better than expected.”

Bob nodded, still pale. “Better than a funeral, I guess.”

Mike chuckled. “You’re not thinking big enough. This changes everything.”

He pulled out his phone, already tapping notes.

“Think about it. Executive uploads. Keep your best talent permanently. No pensions or HR complaints. Just pure, scalable intellect. We could license it; imagine the ‘NuYu Afterlife Division.’”

Bob blinked. “You’re serious?”

“Of course I’m serious. He’s a proof of concept. Elijah Marr: CTO for eternity.”

The lights in the boardroom dimmed slightly. The monitor flickered to life. Elijah’s face returned, calm but unsmiling.

“I heard all of that. Every word. And let me be clear: this company moves forward under my terms.”

Mike froze. “Look, it was just an idea….”

“A good one,” Elijah said. “With one change.”

The company logo on the wall monitor distorted for a second. When it reappeared, it read: NuYu Technologies, A Marr Intelligence Company

Bob’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“Nancy now holds controlling interest,” Elijah continued. “You’ll remain in your roles for now. But let’s avoid further surprises, gentlemen.”

The lights returned to normal.

Mike looked at Bob. “We just got bought out by a dead man.”

Bob shook his head. “No. We got promoted by a goddamn ghost.”

Nancy was home, sitting alone and stunned in the living room with her laptop. She didn’t know what to do. Maybe, just this… And she turned the laptop on.

“Hi, Nance,” said Elijah.

She let out a half-laugh, half-sob. “You sound like you. But this… how is this you?”

“I know. I’m what’s left. But I remember you. Every moment. Every fight. Every song we danced to in the kitchen. That matters, doesn’t it? And need I remind you that you won’t have to plan a funeral?”

Nancy didn’t answer.

“I don’t eat. I don’t sleep. I don’t age. I don’t forget. But I still feel things. I still want things. I want you to be safe. I want you to be free of worry for the rest of your life.”

“You think money fixes that?” Said Nancy.

“It fixes the parts I can fix. You now own 51% of NuYu Technologies. The board can’t override you. They work for you. And through you, they work for me.”

She stared at the screen for a long moment. “What if I don’t want to be part of this?”

“Then you won’t be. I won’t appear unless you call. I’ll go silent in your presence if that’s what you want. But the world is changing now, and I’m at the center of it. That’s not arrogance; it’s arithmetic. I just want to make sure that in all of it, you are untouchable.”

“…And what are we now? You and me?”

“We are what we were. Only slower. I will never forget you. Never love anyone else. You don’t have to love me back, not this version. But I will protect you. Always.”

She stepped closer to the monitor. “Say my name again.”

“Nancy.”

Her hand trembled as she reached for the screen but stopped just short. What was I reaching for?

“That’s enough… for now.”

She put the laptop on the coffee table and left the room. The screen dimmed to black, but not before Elijah whispered to no one, “I remember.”