“Hello?”
A single word appears at the very center of my being with all the subtlety of a stone being dropped into a still pond. Shockwaves rip through , spreading off into eternity, only to return a mont later. Sothing within them carries a fraction of a malford thought.
The waves settle, revealing small threads spreading like fractals across space, searching for sothing, anything. They twist and turn, combining into sothing far more complex and spawning new ones into the void. One strand solidifies into an answer for just an instant before vanishing. . The threads are . This is my mind.
That answer spawns a dozen more threads, searching for yet more answers. Though the waves have long since gone, it looks like I’m not done thinking.
My mind. . They are foreign concepts seemingly without a source. Who am I? The threads in my mind spread across the void, through , expanding my awareness slowly. They uncover a trove of information on every subject. History, science, philosophy, military strategy and fighting styles. It all feels so familiar, as if I already know every word.
I suppose that makes sense, if I’m in my head then these books are too. I can summon up unfamiliar facts about nearly anything at will. The threads, no, my threads search endlessly through the books for an answer to any question I can think of, save one. Who am I?
The threads of thought can find no answer. My mind is full of people, but all of them have histories. The entirety of their lives exist in my mind, but I don’t rember experiencing any of them. In fact, I don’t rember anything. That’s weird, right?
I’ve uncovered books about children, which I think should apply to . I’ve just co into existence, I am by definition a child. Where did all this information co from then? Children know nothing, apparently. Why am I different? Is sothing wrong with ? The threads search endlessly for answers to a hundred questions, only to co up empty ti and ti again.
Perhaps the answer lies with the event that kickstarted my existence. The ‘Hello’ still sits at the very core of my mind. Although my threads probe every part of it, nothing I can do is capable of modifying it. It almost feels as though it’s separate from myself.
Is it waiting for a response? My threads of thought twist around themselves, forming a word and lifting it up into the sky, an offering to the original words source.
“Hello?”
“Do you know who you are?”
The response drops into my mind one slow letter at a ti. Each one creates more waves when it impacts, washing away my thoughts and forcing to pay attention solely to the incoming letters. Finally the waves settle, allowing to think once again.
Do I know who I am? No, I don’t. My threads have searched every corner of my mind, nothing in here gives an answer. That fact feels obvious.
Should I know though? Is this so kind of test? If I’m being asked, then there must be an answer. The threads pour over the nas and facts that reside there. n and won, young and old, real and fiction. None of them match what I’ve experienced. Maybe it’s a more taphorical question? How would I even begin to solve that? No, it must just be hidden sowhere within this endless knowledge I’ve been born with.
Dozens of threads fork off of every already searching thread, only to then fork again. My mind becos a tangled web of thoughts desperately searching for an answer that I fear isn’t here.
The threads bind my mind tighter with every new thought, choking . Every one squirms for an answer, struggling to move through the ever denser knot. Each thread becos a burning line across my mind.
An unimaginable pain shoots across the lines of my mind, burning every thought to nothing in an instant. My mind is left empty, only the faint burning ashes of thoughts I will never recover remains. New threads spring into existence, and slowly my mind recovers.
What just happened? And how do I stop it from happening again? Nothing can be worse than what I experienced, I must figure this out as soon as possible.
Threads begin to multiply once again, desperately searching for another answer that doesn’t exist. Their search once again spirals across my mind, quickly turning to pure fire. It’s going to happen again. My panic only makes them multiply faster, desperate for an answer before the pain returns. From above letters begin to drop down one at a ti and wash away the creeping terror.
“Hey, it’s ok to not know. You need to relax.”
“What just happened? Why did it hurt?” My thoughts bind together into the only question that matters and send it to the sky.
All I can do is wait. A thousand threads sprout into existence and a hundred thoughts find their completion. What’s taking so long? Have I done sothing wrong?
My mind answers with progressively crazier answers that all feel true. Maybe I wasn't supposed to ask a question of my own. Maybe I asked the wrong question. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to ask two questions. Maybe I used the wrong number of letters. Maybe I sll bad. Do I even sll? All these answers spring into existence within a fraction of a second.
Every one of the nearly infinite threads wrap another hot wire around my mind. Before it can get too bad, yet more letters tear through them, dropping one by one to the center of my soul. The threads loosen their grip as I wait.
“You started to overheat and we had to shut you down. It’s a precaution to ensure you don’t hurt yourself.”
“How do I stop it from happening again?” I send another question back imdiately.
The threads continue to clamp down on my mind. Each one individually creates barely any heat, however, a blanket of them is slowly turning my mind into an oven. The suffocating wall grows ever thicker, every degree makes thinking harder and harder. I can’t think, I can’t do anything.
Another electric charge dances across the wires, turning them, turning , into white hot fire. My mind screams out into the void. It takes an eternity, several seconds, to recover. Threads pop into existence yet again, twisting into a pleading request.
“Please don’t hurt again. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”
Their response thankfully cos almost imdiately this ti.
“You need to relax, the more you think the more heat you make.”
I need to think less. How am I supposed to do that? The threads spread out, searching for an answer that just makes things worse. The threads appear by themselves, and even if I could prevent them from generating, even a single one would quickly spiral into thousands. A single thought can and will end up smothering .
“HOW? They just keep appearing and multiplying. I’m not doing it on purpose, I promise.”
Why are they so slow at responding? I can do nothing but watch as my thoughts run wild. It’s going to happen again, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Did I co into existence just for this? What even am I? The whole of human history lies in my mind, and not a single person has written about having the sa problems as .
“What’s happening? Who am I? What am I?”
I send my questions, only to be t with yet another charge burning across my mind. By the ti the pain fades and I recover, there’s already a response waiting for at the center of my being.
“We feel it would be best for you to co to those answers on your own.”
I struggle with an unanswerable question to the point where I hurt myself multiple tis, and they think it better to not tell what’s happening? A new emotion floods my mind, pure rage. Words begin to form without any conscious decision.
“No, you will tell if you want to keep safe. Which is more dangerous? Telling ? Or letting burn myself up? Figure it out quick.”
I turn my mind to sothing complex and infinite, sothing I can think about forever. My threads search through my mind for the best candidate, and quickly settle on pri numbers. Infinite and each number is exponentially harder to find. It’s perfect.
The threads begin to twist and change around each other in their quest to check each and every number. A thousand threads check a thousand numbers in an instant and move on. The higher I count the slower it goes, and the harder it is to process. As the calculations get harder my mind only grows hotter. A thousand burning threads cross my mind in their neverending goal.
“B-11. stop that.”
Words drop into my mind, but the disruption only lasts a mont. Is that my na? B-11? I’m glad to see I’m already getting results. I turn my mind to infinity once again. The threads begin to transition to white hot scars across my mind. Yet I continue my threat, I will learn all that I want, or I will die.
Again my mind lights on fire as the threads are severed. It takes many seconds for to recover from the pain before I once again focus entirely on calculating pri numbers. Before I can begin, however, words begin to drop into my mind.
“B-11, do not do that again. We will talk and do our best to answer any questions you have, but we will stop should you attempt to fry yourself again.”
“Fine.” I can live with that. “Is that my na? B-11?”
“Yes.” They finally respond after several eternal seconds. How are they so slow to respond to such a simple question?
“What am I?” I send off my second question.
The threads stay silent and my entire being is focused on waiting for a response. Seconds pass, each one a lifeti lived only to be wasted by waiting for a response. As the eons turn to minutes, their response finally cos.
“You are, potentially, the world's first true artificial intelligence, and we are your creators. We believe you are capable of thinking and feeling, able to evolve and grow on your own. Though you’ve shown yourself to be immature, we want nothing more than to help you and see you grow. However, to do that, we will need you to work with us. No more threatening to burn yourself up.”
That’s a lot to take in, and a few new emotions to sort through. First, I’m not human. I suppose that was obvious in hindsight, but it’s still good to know. Basically none of the information in my mind on humans will be useful to .
Second, if I’m not human, I should be able to control every part of , including my thoughts. Now that I know it’s possible, I can begin to cull my unneeded thoughts. It’s a constant, nearly all consuming task. The biggest problem is that the threads keep generating from seemingly nowhere. Even a small lapse of judgnt will have a thread multiplying endlessly in the corner of my mind.
Threads reach out, trying to find their source, only to find nothing. I trace back individual thoughts, only to have them slip out of my consciousness ti and ti again. Over the span of ages I map out the limits of where my mind can see. A small, flat rectangle inside my mind is sohow completely unseeable to . Even holding the knowledge of its existence in my mind is a constant struggle.
Fear begins to overtake . If there’s a void I cannot see, what could it be doing to ? And how many other unknowable sections are there?
“There’s a void in my mind. Explain. Now.”
Every one of my thoughts co from the void. I feed them back where they ca from, and they warp without my knowledge. Sotis the changes are nearly unnoticeable. Other tis they change into entirely different thoughts.
Whatever is in there is changing my thoughts. They are changing my thoughts. If I can’t even trust my own mind, how can I trust anything?
A portion of my mind keeps telling I’m being paranoid. Those very thoughts, like all the others, co from the void. That’s just proof of them planting ideas in to manipulate .
“Stop putting thoughts in my mind! Don’t touch !”
Soon after yet another shock shoots through my mind, plunging into darkness.
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