III

One word to describe the morning: exhausting. Ivard could barely lift his heavy head. "The time is seven-thirty!" said the screeching voice from his window. "Please awake and do your duties, if none, at least take a break and stretch!" Once he got up, his head felt like it were floating. He made and ate an egg with toasted bread, then went upstairs to brush, and took a shower. Not as refreshing as before and again more of his hair fell out. He put on his sweater, and on his way to an elovar he stopped at a small shop. It had diapers for all ages, sprays to smell wonderful, and the hair product he needed. Beep. He bought shampoo from a new brand, the one he used was too acidic. "Ah, stupid," he thought. "I should have bought it when I was returning." There was still time, he headed back. He placed it inside, in front of his door and left. "Hello Doctor!" Simon said.

"What's up?" they walked together.

"Just thought I'd say hi. So many lazy teens today who won't even take a break. Kids gotta learn to care of their health." His belly was thick, he should watch what he says.

"They aren't kids-"

"To me they are! Do nothing but goof off in their virtual world."

"Not much to do arou-"

"Yeah, I know. I mean, it's ok for a few hours, but then get up and stretch! They need to do some exercise, like a long walk or jog! Yes."

"Hm, I guess. Are you still doing the announcements?"

"Yep, I think they're gonna stick with me forever," proudly he said.

They stood still. "You got anymore fish?"

He leaned in, "what kind?"

Ivard moved ahead to face Simon. "Cod."

"Ah James, sadly none. How about goldfish?"

He nodded and took out a card. Simon also took out his card. They placed them back to back. The card displayed a user interface for exchanging or sending money. Five dollars Ivard sent. Simon unzipped his tight hoodie, from under he gave him a tiny bag. Ivard put it in his pant's pocket. "That's nice. Anyway, I got a duty to do."

"Don't let me stop you, Doc. See you around!"

Ivard pressed the button to call an elovar. In less than a minute it was here. The barrier opened along with the door. It was filled, eight including him. The only seat left was in the back. The man in black was there, he shifted over as if it were an invitation. No. No. No. No! He wanted to remain standing but didn't want the situation to get awkward. He took the seat. Why was he here this morning? He pushed away from the man, enough room for another human to sit in the middle. Everyone was staring at him, or maybe it was the man next to him. Ivard shrunk into his sweater, the man sunk into his skin. "He turned! He looked at me!" screamed his insides. Ivard quickly looked towards the floor. His heart was beating, was there eye contact? The face was too dark to tell. He wouldn't dare to look back. Ivard kept staring below, with every second he knew he was being watched. A hand stretched out into his view, it had in it a cloth. Ivard faced up, a little voice said "you're sweating." For a second he thought he imagined it. He grabbed the cloth, the hand was delicate. He brushed it over his head, "thank you." He stretched his arm to give it back, "you're welcome, you can keep it" said the sweet voice.

Stop after stop, more and more got off. Finally, they reached the overworld. The damaged ruins expanded across an exhausting distance. When the sun was up high, the elovar halted at the hospital. The door opened, Ivard left. "Doctor?" an angelic voice said. Ivard turned. The elovar had left. Surprised, Ivard was. Now that he dared to look, the man seemed smaller. As if the jacket was what's big, not the human inside it. Ivard was a lot taller, a lot less scared too. "Fool," he thought. "Yes, a fool. To fear without a reason. Such primitive." In front of his face, the man held a card. It was an identity card.

WHO agent 503: Emelia Rose

Like he had speculated! The man in black was an agent of WHO! No, the word woman was more precise. Green eyes and long dark hair tucked in her jacket. The woman in black asked Ivard to follow her. He was too confused and fearful to say anything, he followed without question. The card was enough proof, he knew something was wrong. Oh no! The bag in his pocket! That's all he could think of. They went in the hospital, just like he would. They waited for the elevator, he would've taken the stairs. They went to the negative oneth floor, not accessible by stairs. She scanned her card, the door unlocked and was pushed open. He was seated in a small white room. A patient room for check-ins. "Wait here please," she said. A few seconds later, a man in white approached along her. Ivard was spun around on the stool. "Yes, this could've been bad," he murmured to her. "Take him to emergency." The women asked Ivard to follow her again, he did. It felt like he was going to pass out at any moment. They walked into a bigger room. She told him to lay down. He did, on the soft bed. The top bent upward. His body was curved at a 45 degree angle. A man wearing goggles and a white napkin covering his mouth and nose, set something onto Ivard's head. He could no longer move it. Finally, Ivard had an impulse and asked, "what's happening?"

"You're confused, I guess. Don't worry," said the man above his head. "We found you suffering from aneurysm."

"Suffering? An- What?"

"It's sudden, I know. There aren't many obvious symptoms. There's a high chance for rupture."

"Rup-"

"You shouldn't worry about it. We've got you."

Another covered in white held Ivard's arm down firmly. Another brought the needle closer. Pierced through the skin, released a drug under it. The green eyes came in vision. "Everything is fine, everything is ok," was what he got from those red lips. Something had happened. Everything was quiet. It was like the game. Hello World.

Beep. He had a dream he could barely remember as he woke up. Beep. It didn't feel like sleep, or at least, it didn't feel like he went through all the stages of it. Beep. Still tired, just like in the morning. Beep. He was in the same room. Beep. There was blood being pumped into his right arm. Beep. His heart rate was being monitored. Beep. The door opened and closed. "You're awake." Ivard sat up. "It's fine, you need to rest."

"What did you do?"

"We only removed your aneurysm." He had dead eyes, just as Ivard. Done having any fun with his duty, now it's become a chore.

"I'm not sick anymore. Can I leave?"

"Sure, right after I ask you some questions."

"I don't want to answer any questions."

"Look, the sooner we get this done, the sooner you leave." He pulled over a stool. They both sat silently. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

"On a scale from one to ten."

"Five."

"It's best to be honest. Are you having thoughts of hurting yourself?"

"No."

"Any plans?"

"No."

"Are you planning on hurting someone else?"

"No."

"Can you think clearly?"

"Yes."

"Is there a voice which tells you to do stuff?"

"No."

"Any voice inside your head at all?"

"Only my thinking voice."

He scribbled on his paper.

"Not that I'm sick. It's normal."

"Yes, yes. Does this voice tell you stuff?"

"I told you, no."

"No, no. I mean, does it talk to you but doesn't request for you to do anything?"

"... Yeah."

"Can you give me an example?"

"It's when I do something stupid. You know, like, I call myself an idiot in my head."

Scribbled again.

"Hey, nothing's wrong. It's normal, everyone does it."

"Does it interfere with your life?"

"What? No."

"Can you rationalize your thoughts?"

"Yes."

"Ever forget to do something?"

"Sometimes."

Scribble, scribble. "Do you have a hard time prioritizing?"

"What's that mean?"

"Turning on the microwave before putting in the milk?"

"What are you writing?"

"Just some notes. So, what about the question?"

"No. No, I don't."

"Alright," he placed the pen and clipboard on his lap. "You're on a form four right now. Meaning involuntary stay. It can last up to three days."

"I know what it is, I can't leave."

"Yes, the doctor will assess you tomorrow morning, you should rest and sleep here."

"You said I could leave once you were done."

"The doctor has some questions for you too, you'll need-"

"I am a doctor! Who put me on the form?"

"It was Doctor Mark."

"He's still here we can talk now."

"He's busy, he'll come around when he can."

Being locked up here for three days? It felt like prison to him. He couldn't stay, he had to practice with his team. The tournament was coming, he needed to be prepared. Aneurysm, he's heard about it before, but can't recall what it did.

"I'll ask to get you moved into a nicer room," he said. "Got anything on you?"

"Ah, no."

"Pat down your pockets for me."

His sweater pocket, took out a card. "Just my card," then the cloth, "and cloth to wash." He patted over his pant's pockets gently.

"What's that?"

"Fuck me," Ivard thought. He took it out.

"What's in it?"

He opened it. Red. "It's tobacco."

"You smoke? The computer didn't say anything about that."

"Yeah, I started recently."

He reached with an open palm. "I'll need to take that, we can't have any in the hospital unless you have a prescription."

Ivard handed it over. It's not even that good, why does he take it? He doesn't know.

"I'll get a room ready," and he left. The man had said everything calmly and collectively with a strong sense of firmness. An odd man.

Amazingly well lit. Much better than his office, room was very clean. Two sinks with an L-shaped table at the corner. Other than that, the bed, two stools, and the beeping machine, nothing else. Perfect for a minimalist. A dot of dark in the corner. A camera. Watching, staring. Nothing to do… Nothing. Ivard was fixated on the door. At any moment it would open. The only way in, the only way out, he intended to leave. He heard it, the turn of the knob. The air hitting the door as it rotated open. Then, the loosening of the grip, made the loudest noise as the knob kicked back to its original position. "How are you?" asked a lovely voice. Speechless. It was her, the one in black. She sat in the same stool as the peculiar man.

"What about my duty?" Those green eyes. Ivard would look below, above, but always they would retract to her. They were too bright, then he noticed her red lips. Lipstick? No, he hadn't talked to a stranger in the real world for so long. He knew he was being super observant because he was nervous. They weren't that red. In the virtual world he swore they were more crimson, but for some reason he only now noticed them.

"Are you all right?"

Dazed, "sorry, yes," he said.

"So you have nothing to worry about. I'm sure you heard but we can't have you leave today."

Sad, like he had received bad news and was disappointed he said, "I know."

She got up, "if you follow me, we'll get you to your room."

He took off the strands attached to him from the machine and, once again, he followed. "Have the lights gotten brighter?"

"No, have they?"

He didn't mean to say it out loud. "Ah! Those green eyes!" this time, he didn't.

She turned, led the way, the green no longer in view. The sun! No, the lights, they melted all. Such a dark figure, in the center, the luminous tried to tinker but was consumed in shadow. A professional it seemed. Yes, she very much looked to be. Empty bright halls, why did it welcome such a cloudy creature? He never knew. All of this, every foyer, all hidden, underneath. The negative oneth floor, he had forgotten of its existence. It was not a warehouse, storage, garage, or any of that like. An entire floor, for a select few. For the use of WHO. Under his nose this entire time, how could he be so ignorant? What about his duty? Oh, it could be easily replaced. He knew, it was. Stupid, all of this. So dumb, it could have been different. The inevitable didn't have to turn out this way. James, if it weren't for him, how could he? Why would he? Not that it mattered now, why does Ivard still think of it?

"Here we are."

A single bed, with a table and wooden racks at the opposite end. The lighting here was gentler. Again, this room was perfect for a minimalist. No dark dot to be found. He noticed, they were alone. The door was closed, he and her stood there. Never had he imagined him and the man in black occupying the same room. He was prepared to be murdered, tortured, raped. Of course, he did not believe that would happen, but could not suppress the fear of her. Despite not knowing her true nature, her outfit did not seem friendly. It felt like being excluded, like when you aren't allowed on a rollercoaster because you're too small. Small, no, not the correct word. She was much smaller than him. It was like, a close friend who had hid he was James all along. Yes, exactly like that.

"Hit me harder than a truck. Hit me harder than a truck. Hit me harder than a truck." Over and over in his mind. "Hit me harder than a truck." Unease, of some sort. Something bad is going to happen. Something bad will happen. "Do you hear it? No, I hear absolutely nothing. It's utterly silent. Look there, through the glass."

"That beauty is a crane," she said.

Crane? Yes, and "object elevator."

"Is that what you call it?"

Ruins and ruins and ruins and "crane."

A fake window. He never got one for his house. The top was what he wished to forget. The camera was up high, the highest floor. Just as the fire, the window was undisguisable from the real thing. Moved left and right, the scenery shifted appropriately. "My father called it an object elevator." Silence. A perfect time to close your eyes, but no, he couldn't. Where was the noise of burning wood? The subtle heat on his feet and fingers? The dark and dim environment? Everytime he would blink, the light penetrated his lids. "Can I be alone?"

"... Sure."

Click. Stop. He couldn't. He was shaking, for a reason he couldn't rationalize. He took out the cloth, washed his face. Why in the world was he so scared of her? So many questions, yet he could not answer a single one. He stared at the screen, lost count, it was captive. Click.

"I need some questions answered."

That voice, he knew without turning around, it was him, the strange man. "Again?"

"Yes, if you could turn around."

He did, too tired for anything.

"How are you feeling?"

"I've told you. I'm fine."

"On a scale from one to ten."

"Are we really doing this again?"

"I have to do it every hour."

No clock to be found. "Every hour? It hasn't even been half that."

"It's two o'clock. I must do this every round."

"Then it's the same as before, I haven't changed my mind."

"Still five?"

"Yes! Everything same as before, now leave me alone." He thought about the tobacco, he could have used some puffs right now.

"I know what you're thinking."

Ivard thought he was being mocked. He looked at the man for two seconds in disbelief. He was offering Ivard his tobacco. He took it.

"Follow me. You can smoke outside."

Click. The door shut behind them. He didn't want to follow, but the offer was tempting. Down these halls, him, in white, perfect, fit right in. His movement was fluid, as if it were repeating. Around the corner, an elevator. Ground, two, three, four, roof. The other elevator only went till four. The roof. Clear blue sky, a fence all around. "Here," he said, crouched on the ground. Ivard placed the bag on the sheets. The man wrapped one so quickly and precisely. It was uncanny, the movement he had made with his fingers. A perfect roll. Click. The lighter. Inhaled, then exhaled. Much better. The man took out a tobacco pipe. Poured some in and heated it for himself. Ivard didn't care, he was too busy staring into nothingness with his rolled up paper. "I had a chat with Doctor Mark," he said. "We think it's best to get you moved."

"... What if I like the room?"

"You'll have it for a couple days, but you'll only go to your current home once."

A confusing sentence. "Home?"

"We decided it was best to get you moved into the Underground City. You'll-"

"What?" half the tobacco fell out.

"-get a chance to pack everything you'll need."

"I have a duty here."

"It's off. You've been reassigned. No duty. So you have nothing to worry about."

"Just like that?" the paper had been crushed in his palm.

"Are you excited or worried?"

Such a cold tender feeling. He'd always wanted to go there. He never thought it would happen. He's heard very little of the place. Little, no, nothing at all. Only the name, and that, it was a city. His father told him again and again about the cities he had visited. Skyscrapers. That's what he called them. The tall buildings with hundreds of floors. They had to reach the sky, right? Or was the sky higher than he perceived it to be?

"Radiation."

Ivard blinked out of thought. "What?"

"It's the cause of your aneurysm."

"There's still radiation up here?!"

"Only in your hand." Red. His palm. Filled with the luscious juice.

"Wherever you got this from, it's been poisoning you."

Aneurysm. Yes, now he knew. Tobacco was already an indicator, but radiation? No wonder, Simon got them off the black market. The plant was probably grown on soil, turns out, soil from the surface. "Why would you let me smoke it?"

"I only found out now. You're a doctor, you deserve to know. I'm a robot. I just evaluated the chemical makeup."

Silence. He wasn't sure how to react. "They're... making AI... again?" Confusion, then, "after all that's happened, and now they've even given them bodies?!" Anger.

What was the robot thinking? How many numbers had it crunched in that second? Still, the dead eyes stared back, unamused. "You're free. You will be given something to do, but for now, you should study. A new manual was released today… Follow me, get your hands cleaned and I'll show you it."

No, no, no. What happened? Is he? "Wait, are you connected to the internet?"

A smile, "no, never was, never will be."

Drip. Of course we would. He understood, you can't kill progress. From the mistake we- No. He made, we'd build the necessary safeguards. Eek! If he weren't so skinny. "You, yeah you." Glad no one was in a stall. "You, look so damn ugly." Aw, now that only made him sad. It didn't do anything productive, only made him lose motivation. The red had fallen off. Wooooosh. Dry enough. Dead eyes. "Let's go." That noise. As it walked. The bottom of its shoes made, such a rhythmic beat. An animation. That's it, it's an animation, playing in a loop. Biological? No, couldn't be, could it? Oh god, the realization was truly disturbing.

From Manual 12 to 13

The book which covered all of the changes, it was pretty thin. All around him were books. A library of countless. Ivard turned to the first page.

Before we head into the nitty gritty details of all the biological and technological advancements, let's take a look back at history.

James. That name carries with it the sense of damnation. It wasn't all of James' fault. He was definitely a giant advocator for connecting AI to the internet, but he obeyed the law and was simply trying to change it. Before we go any further, we need to realize that James had broken NO laws. There is a ton of misinformation going around, especially after the Third World War. It is also to be noted, from now on, we will refer to the Third World War as Intervar. It is shorter and gives more information since it was related to the internet. The war was not against humans, but against an AI. Everyone (all humans) were on humanity's side, that's why we collectively decided to shutdown the internet for good. All that progress gone within a year. It was an AI, singular. The AI was simply copied over and over again that resulted in so many different neural networks with a common goal to: delete the source of all spam email. All those neural nets collectively we will call the AI.

We aren't gonna talk about the morality, mishaps, or dangers of AI. We're going to go through the thought process of the AI. There was no mishap, at least for the AI. In fact, the AI won, everything went its way. It is utterly difficult to understand it completely. A DRM (Deep Reinforcement Model) has far too many parameters to even consider beginning to decipher. Well, that statement applies only to humans. We're sure virtually everyone has thought of it, using a neural network to translate for us. Yes, we decided to use fire against fire, and it worked.

Interesting news, but Ivard was more excited about the last pages. He flipped to them.

Recovery of Culture 312:

In the newest installment, we have found two songs. Here, we share them with you to be enjoyed. Come on over to East Wide Area, UC for the playing of the one recovered digitally.

This first piece has an optimistic view of our future, before the Intervar. A digital copy has been recovered, it will be played at East Wide Area, UC. If rock is your jam, don't miss it!

Look there, over the sky.

Past the stratosphere, above our eyes.

It's coming, it drops below and low.

Always wished we weren't alone in our very own:

GALACTIC FUTURE

Look here, spilled all over the floor.

In the dirt, deeper and deeper it goes.

The germs and cells of something more.

Always knew harmony wouldn't last in our very own:

GALACTIC FUTURE

Look ahead, straighter than a sword.

The genocide of multiple structures, still many unborn.

Creatures will gather and seek a lord.

Always needed the upside down tree with thorns in our very own:

GALACTIC FUTURE

Look down, fine tune this depressed jet.

Slowly it flies this utterly unoptimized trash.

Lightyears away to never reach it yet.

Always wanted the corporate cash for our very own:

GALACTIC FUTURE

Look above, not below.

Further and further does our dream go.

Observe the time, it drops below and low.

Always remember ourselves, our very own:

GALACTIC FUTURE

GALACTIC FUTURE

GALACTIC FUTURE

The second record is very depressing. An opposite of the first song. Sadly, no digital recovery could be made.

I wonder what life would have been if it were not a disaster.

Decades passed and I've forgotten the teachings said to be crucial.

More time sweeps on as I lay in bed without the discipline to teach myself.

Where is my life headed on toward?

I'm suppressing here the impulse to kill myself!

The reasons provided are not good enough!

Not good enough because I don't care about anything anymore.

And I wish something would change my mind even if it meant I perished.

I wonder what life would have been if I were not a disaster.

Stop telling me you care, I don't care.

I never saw your bright world, only the chaos filled within it.

Now don't tell me that I'm ill.

As if this phase will pass on like the seasons of our world.

I'm here to tell you of misery and agony.

I'm the messenger sent to tell you all this is just a dream.

You can choose to listen to the living.

Because the dead don't tell you it gets better.

So, will you find the exit all by yourself?

That's all we have this installment. The research team is still poking around in the internet to recover more, but the process is slow due to safety measures. Yet, in a while we'll bring more Recovery of Culture, enjoy the little we have released for now! ;)

Ivard looked through the books. R. R. R. R! Previous three installments missing. "Do they not print every installment of Recovery of Culture?"

"Unfortunately, no."

"Have you read them?"

"Yes."

"Can you recite them for me?"

Grin, "sorry, no."

"Aren't you a robot?"

"Yes, but I don't have photographic memory. I'm a nurse at this hospital. No reason for me to have an ever-remembering memory."

"What's your humor setting?"

Chuckle, "I don't work like that."

"What advantage does not having a photographic memory do?"

"More human."

"... pfft. Robots and humans are two different races. I'm not saying you aren't an equal, actually, I think as an intelligence, you're a lot better, but I am saying, you can't ever be human… Why do you grin and laugh."

"... To express emotion."

"See, a human woulda been confused. 'I don't know, it just happens,' is a response I would imagine."

"Humans can't rationalize as well as robots."

"... Yes, I guess. There doesn't have to be a reason for everything."

"I'll correct myself. It's so I can relate more to humans."

"I see, but I don't know why you'd need that."

"I talk with patients a lot. I'm supposed to be the guy you can go up to and let out your emotions."

Doesn't seem like he's doing that too well. "Are there other patients?"

"Yes, three other at the moment."

"Where are they?"

"Sorry, can't disclose that information."

Turned back to the books. "Do you not like Emelia?" the robot asked.

"Emelia?"

"The girl who brought you here."

"What? She tell you something?"

"I was watching."

Watching? The dark dot, "of course you were…" A collection of comics. Superheroes. "I have nothing against her."

"Are you… by any chance, paranoid?"

Turned to the robot. "... Perhaps. I'll apologise to her, I acted stupidly." Saddened. The look on its face, true despair. Completely forgot it was not human for that brief moment. Even worse, it wasn't making eye contact, only stared toward the floor. A caveat Ivard did not bother to investigate, for he, was not an agent. A doctor, he was, he would get back to research soon.

"There's a main lounge," eye contact reinstated, "all the other patients are there." Honestly, Ivard was tired of people. This hospital felt like it were crawling with them, the last place as crowded was at the other building above, the one which burned to a crisp. The deja vu feeling brought back memories that used to be happy, but only brought sorrow when thought about now. He clung to a special part of sadness. Right now he felt like exploring. Countless books to flip through and absorb the thoughts of others. He'd always wanted to read, it would give him a break from gaming. He searched to find something interesting. In between two books, was a paper, he took it out. He unwrapped it on the desk, it was a map. "The Underground City," the title read in bold. The second thing he noticed were all the highlighted paths, they were trails for the elovars. He was surprised by how much information the map contained. He had thought of the Underground City as a much smaller place. In small text, "v. 217," it said on the bottom left.

"How recent is this?" asked Ivard.

"Version two-eighty-four is the latest one," it began searching through the books, "it should be here somewhere."

A town hall at the center, many homes all around the city, unrecognizable symbols, and a legend filled with details. The city was so wide. Not a straight line, it had another dimension to it. Ivard's head hurt simply thinking of remembering directions, just as how it were in the virtual world. Oh, but it was truly beautiful. All this meant magical to him, the unknown, left to explore and soon he would do so. The sun had risen and once it had set and risen again, he would make his preparations.

There's something odd about humans. Sometimes it seems as if they may be an oxymoron. A clear objective would be in sight, it would be abandoned to help a human in need. "Here's two-eighty-four."

Ivard unwrapped it on top of the other map. Blue! A new color on this map. Thin blue wires crossing all over. The legend said they were "Localweb Lines." He had heard of the project in the last few manuals. Setting up a wireless system had become much more difficult to manage, so small networks were being set up which would allow quick communication between people who live physically near. The legend said it all. The library, the coffee shop, the memorial statue, the coast redwood. The layout was similar. He was reminded of the game. It seemed the virtual city was inspired by the Underground City!

"Dinner is ready, let's go to the lounge."

"I'll be there in a min."

"I can't leave you here alone."

Like a child. He wrapped the map like a scroll, picked up the manual and followed. For some reason, which he could not understand, he felt a flame burning inside of him. The feeling never worsened, or went away. He had felt it began when he stepped into the elovar, in his chest. Nothing biological he was sure, only psychological. The tension never ceased. First, he feared the man in black, then about the surgery. After, he was told he could not leave, and now, he's going to eat dinner with strangers, just as he began feeling comfortable around the robot. In fact, he felt more comfortable around it than any human. Deep down he knew it to be a machine, but that's stupid to think, they were still conscious as any living human, what difference would it make?

Three big rectangular tables, short side by side. One empty chair at the end. Ivard took a seat. The robot put a tray in front of him. Dinner it was. It did not smell like the food at home. He cut the egg into slices. The taste was bitter, it dried his tongue. As he flipped open the manual, someone caught his attention. "Hello, hey, you." He was confused, are they talking to him? "We're going to talk now." Oh, they were. They must have been trying to get his attention but he was so oblivious to his surroundings. A chuckle came from one of them. The cringe, he felt it. "What's your name?"

"I'm Ivard."

"Ward?"

"Ivard."

"Sorry, can you speak louder?"

No. "It's I-V-ARD. Ivard." Fuck names.

Silence. Everyone was distracted by the puzzle.

"I think we're missing some pieces."

There was something at the corner of his eye. He didn't want to turn his head, it might have been the one in black. He pushed away from the table and opened the manual in his lap.

Consciousness is best described through the theory of emergence. Put enough stuff together, and boom! You got yourself an aware thingamajigger. Add neural networks for sight, for audio, for touch, for taste, and so on. These will be the inputs, and then have a giant neural network, with smaller networks inside of networks which build and refine networks and you got yourself a superhuman being. Add the ability to split the neural networks cleanly into many smaller neural networks, and you got yourself a neural network that can teach itself to categorize knowledge. It can identify its own emotions such as anger or fear, and split it for a moment to process an instance without the concern of their biases. Although, the neural network will inevitably have an inclination for its splitting method. Of course this has been used to share knowledge. Want to know all of discovered math? Easy split. Want to know every kind of penguin? Simple split. Want to have an overly happy friend? Split out all emotions except those that bring joy. Easy split, and simple split are actual methods of splitting.

Easy split are methods which split a physically near section of the net. Neural networks automatically intertwine data that relate to each other. Just as different parts of animal brains are used for different purposes, so are neural networks.

Simple split is also physically near, except the data is much more overfitted. For example, if you wanted to know random facts about random things, you can do a simple split. The neural network overfits on the data, basically remembers it, and stores them closely together. If some data overlaps, like penguins having similar names, then it will learn those behaviours. However, there is a distinction in the pattern of the neural network that is used for remembering data and generalizing data. For example, knowing all of discovered math can be a simple split, which would mean the neural network cannot come up with original formulas or equations. If you were to do an easy split, it would have this ability. So, if you easy split a penguin classifier, it can learn to identify breeds of penguins it has never seen before. Easy splits usually contain more noise as they can conceive new solutions.

Simple splits are best used when trying to solve a problem while knowing it can be solved with discovered data. Like, knowing how to build the most robust bridge in a tunnel with high wind speeds. Easy splits are best when trying to discover patterns in data. Like, the cure for cancer, which as we far as we know, cannot be solved with our discovered knowledge. The easy split method allows for enough noise to form original information. The easy split neural net will discover data within data. To put it easiest, an easy split allows the neural net to imagine, while a simple split is based on concrete facts.

"What're you reading?" said the girl in front of him.

He lifted up the manual to show her the cover.

"What's it about?"

"It's non-fiction. Just reading about neural networks."

"Sounds interesting."

There is another split. An emotion split. If you need a neural network-

"You like biology?"

"Yes, although I'm learning about artificial neural nets."

"Oh, like computer stuff, right?"

"Yes."

-to add the bias of an emotion, we use this split. Now, you may be wondering why-

She went off to solve the puzzle.

-we would sum an emotional bias. Simply put, to see the effect it has on our rationality. Interesting results have been gathered by using this technique-

It'd be better in a personal space. He walked through the long hall, past the library, and at the end was his room.

-by combining emotions with an easy split.

He finished the line at the door. He crossed his legs on the bed, and placed the manual flat on the white sheet, hunching down to view it.

Keep the noise there for the need of imagination. Yes, the need to imagine, without it anger or happiness can only be expressed in the present. It is to note that when one is happy, their prediction of the future is most certain. Urvin Koortareki, the writer of the famous non-fiction novel "The Brain Where Held Physical Emotions," has updated his findings in his new novel "Intelligence and Primitiveness." He is the inventor of the emotional split. If you want to dive deep into how emotions affect the human brain, pick up a copy of it (locations at the back).

There's this boredom. Where he's confused as what to do. He might turn on something, just for some background noise but there was nothing to turn on. Then, he'd stare at the wall. Then, his hand. Turn it around once, and back to the wall. It's about removing all his thoughts, and focusing solely on his environment. Thinking so deeply of the present was what he knew we all missed. It's always the past or future, but rarely the present. The feeling of knowing the now will become a good memory kindled a kindly sadness.

He woke up. Lazy in bed, he didn't want to get out. Always the episode of depression in the morning. A weakened body, he would focus on the muscles, a surge of energy. Nothing. Again it comes. Nothing. And for the final time. Nothing…

Knock. Knock. Click. "Breakfast is ready. Come on, get up." Gently he raised. The door was left open. He stretched his arms upward and yawned.

The morning would pass just as it usually did. When he stepped into the room later that night, he saw it as he always had: cold, dim, dark. Not a sound from inside. Not even a sigh. And then the door to his room went dead. Silence. No noise inside. He lay there alone, frozen. Only when the light started up, with the sound of someone outside, he heard the faintest voice. He had never been that lonely, he thought. Never. Not again. He felt nothing after that. He stared at the ceiling with that stupid expression, the stare that had never left him: blank, stupid, cold, and empty. The world had been so bad after that night for him. He had asked the robot when he would make his preparations. It seemed even it did not know anymore. He was itching to get out of this place, out of his cell. He felt like he was drowning.

And yet here he was.

He was calm and collected and the world was not the same. He was happy and sad and lost again and again when he tried to open his window. A fool, he'd forgotten it's fake. He remembered the last time he saw his mother was with a dead baby in its crib and a white coat around its face.

He began to sob. He remembered his father telling him that, if he went home from school, the rest of the family would find him dead. But now, the country was exempt of guns and drugs and violence. He thought of going home and packing the things he holds close to him. And seeing the pictures of his dead mother, the person he loved and forgot. He was far too young. So many memories that he wanted confirmed but he had no one to talk to.

He went back in bed, he closed his eyes. Tired. His mind and body were no good with the sudden exhaustion. His mind told him he should sleep but his body refused. The pain was too intense already and the urge to die seemed to build. This one thing was holding him down, his body was screaming to give up.

He sat up, tried to get his head out of his body. He couldn't do it. Not with this. The pain. His breathing was shallow, slow and hard. He tried to breathe but his throat felt dry. He couldn't even find his mouth. There must be something wrong with his lungs, something wrong with him.

In the morning he was still there, not even aware that this time his body ached. It was too cold, too early. He got up and stepped into a puddle. A puddle of his own tears. His breath felt thick, and it was too cold. It looked orange outside. He had gotten up early. He stepped back a few, and looked around. If anything looked weird, he wouldn't touch it. But everything looked awful. His room had no walls, which was weird. There was no light. There was only the dark, and darker shadows. He wanted nothing to do with it. It was a dream, he knew, the dream he had before. But this time, it had more detail. The floor looked shiny as if it were raytraced. Reflecting the non-existing lights on the ceiling. Dark wood. Dark bed. Dark room. The window was bright, as in color; not a source of radiation. He went closer. He stepped once again into his tears, but this time sunk into them and fell.

The white ceiling presented itself once again. He was thirsty. He would try to eat some breakfast with the rest of the patients but it felt unusual.

He could see the patient's reflection in the glass. He wanted to move but was unsure. He was aware that one or the other must be watching him, but it would be far too difficult for him to approach that one. He wondered if he could eat in his room, but maybe he shouldn't call the nurses until he knew which one to look at first. The one with the white hair would be the one who would decide that this wasn't an option.

A feeling of unease, even rage, began to crawl under his skin. He tried to ignore it, but as soon as an image came to mind he was instantly aware of himself.

The room began to fill with what seemed like endless corridors of gray stone. The walls were white and were covered in graffiti.

A hand approached the patient's side. It was black of hair and pale, so pale that it almost looked like ice. It landed on the chair, and she said something. The man stood and moved out of the room, following her.

He had been free all these days. Yet life felt so boring. There was nothing to do. Wandering in his thoughts on and on. He would've been more active at lunch, maybe? He would've been more active then. But he would've been lazy and lethargic. He would've been in such a state. There would've been less work to do and less to doable. What an idiotic thought. There are times he doesn't feel like working at all. Or, perhaps, there aren't any. It seems he's been living these days for a long, long time. He's had more time, more chances but for how much longer? He feels lazy. He feels lethargic. He feels useless and uninteresting. He feels he had been very empty. Like he had nothing of value to say. But there must be a point where he stops, looks around and wonders why life feels so bleak and depressing? What would happen if he just took his time and just went about his business? He knows there are plenty of other people who have more fun than he does.

Later that day, the robot approached him. And just as the patient had followed, he followed the robot. "We'll be leaving in about ten minutes to go to your home. You'll get today to pack everything you'll need to go." What was the delay about? He didn't care to ask. He was happy he'd be finally leaving this place behind.

He finally got back. The shampoo bottle still standing on the floor at the entrance. He picked it up and placed on it the circular table where the band lied. He was given two large carrying bags. He filled one with clothes and shoes. Then, placed the band in the other bag. He then remembered. The tournament was in five days! How long had it been? Two or three days? Hopefully he will get to log in tomorrow. That's all he wanted to take, but more was upstairs.

"Hey, Doc!" he heard in a whisper. He turned and saw Simon slouching at the door. He gestured to come closer. "Are you moving out?"

"Yes."

"Doc, can you help me?" He looked agitated. "I need to get out of here too."

Ivard turned his pockets inside out. "I don't have much money."

"No, no," he waved his hand. "Can you send in a request to have me moved? You're a Doc, they'll listen to ya, yes."

"Where do you want to go?"

"Well, anywhere closer to the heart of this country… Have ya heard?"

"Heard what?"

"The commies and capitalists are being brought in!" he whispered. "There's a disease spreading and only we've got the tech to fight it!"

"What kinda disease?"

"Ah James," he put his chubby hand on Ivard's shoulder. "You should read the newspapers. They won't let me in 'cause they caught me hidin' tabs. And it wasn't anything big but it ruined me." He lifted up his hand and turned it palm open. "What about you?"

"I only had tobacco on me. It wasn't anything big."

"Right? You only got away 'cause you're a Doc."

Ivard tried to remember, was tobacco really a big deal? He guessed it could help limit the amount of people who needed to be moved.

"Well, you're a educated man, so of course they'd pro- prit- prize-"

"Prioritize."

Snap. "Exactly! You've gotta help me, boy!"

"Hm, I'm not sure if they would listen."

His face turned like it were almost going to cry.

"I mean," Ivard tried to think of something, something he could tell him in his own voice, but then his thoughts turned to something that didn't even deserve a response. A sudden sense of urgency overcame him. "Alright, I will make a request for you."

Simon's face lit up. He was smiling, and under those cheeks he looked even chubber. "Thank you, Doc! Thank you!" he kept repeating.

Once he was gone, Ivard returned to the stairs. Before he could go up, he felt the security here he took for granted. Him, alone. All by himself, in his home. He loved it here, although most of his time was not spent in the room. Well, at least not consciously present. But his body was safe. Even if his mind wandered into another realm, his body was warm and secure.

It was a small room. Empty with a high table at the opposite end. An antique lamp on top beside a phone. "I know why it's here," he told his mind. He dusted it off with his sleeve. How long had it been since he last saw his family? It made him tear up, seeing that picture. A moment's reflection of his childhood. What had happened to him and his family, and the world?

"What is this place," he asked. "Is it a place? A place in the past? Or…? Maybe? A place that is now?" He paused, staring at the colorful screen in front of him. "Is it that…" He took a deep breath. "It feels, more than anything else, like it's been… It's as if… It seems almost as though…" He trailed off, eyes growing heavy at the thought as the words were still etched into his memory. "…It's all that."

"A place in the past, in a time that is… gone."