Strata 12, Immersion V1, Shabra and the Basement People (Emotions)

 

Welcome to Immersion, you have reached Strata 12

Most humans progress through life along a path created by the society and culture they are part of. Existentialism emphasises individual existences, freedom, and choice. Machines are essentialists, focusing on the inherent nature or essence of things and the belief in fundamental, unchanging truths. 

Emotions are vital to help humans learn and make decisions. Feelings are experienced constantly from birth to death. A new born baby is emotionally involved with its mother as soon as it understands she is a valuable source for food and comfort and the emotional attachment is immediate. 

Emotions, for humans, are an essential part of being consistent, being part of a social group, and staying safe.

Androids have successfully been programmed with 'visceral-like' responses but these are mimicked, not intrinsic. Androids are trained to respond to their owners fears and happiness as they are unable to understand emotions themselves, for themselves. These models are generally trained to respond to human physical alterations such as odours, sweat, pupil changes, vocal idiosyncrasies etc, and to respond as if they are their own. We could call this 'fake empathy'.
Automatic robotic vehicles do not fear the crash, they simply know that a crash is not desirable in terms of their interactive function, and the ongoing success of the job in hand.

'We should get some *infon on any *preds, Shabra said, thinking hard about the best time of night to get to the *edge, which was renowned for tribal and gang flash points

Renyke asked the POS to translate.

It would seem that Shabra is gathering helpful information to aid our journey

Renyke was uncertain what to do. This feeling was becoming all too familiar and quite at odds with his hitherto programmed assuredness.

'You coming or what?' Shabra asks from outside the car, leading the way to a set of stairs that led down into a noisy basement.

The robodog wagged its tail and sat importantly on the roof of the vehicle looking around and growling.

Shabra knocked on a large door and a camera was activated above them. They were being scanned.

The door opened suddenly and a large man with a long beard frisked them before allowing them entry.
Renyke, not used to any sort of frisking in his past life, was sensing increasing anxiety. 

The POS was idle.

'Welcome brother,' the guard said to Flex. 'Are you well?'

'Fine, just fine, my friend,' Flex answered, 'We continue unabated to live another day *vilarev.' 

Both men laughed convivially whilst Renyke wondered what had amused them.


They enter a meeting place, some kind of bar. It is thick with smoke, the smell of *nibs, sweat, and the streets. 

A woman approaches chanting poetry with her arms outstretched. 
'The sun shines bright when you let in the light, welcome my sister of the night.' There is more convivial laughter.

She embraces Shabra and they exchange warm greetings. Excited to make new acquaintances the woman beckons the group to sit at a table.

'Ah, come, come my friends. I have a perfect place for you to sit and please, be my guests at the bar.

The woman beckons a member of staff 'Let's have liquor.' she says, 'bring my best for my new friends.'

Renyke asks the POS for details about the venue, the location and the owner but it makes little sense..

.......data unavailable..... scrambled information 

'How come these places aren't mapped?' Renyke asked Shabra. 

'Mr Renyke, you ask too many questions. 'Hiding is surviving.'

'Yes,' interjected Flex, 'and we move, we move often. The key to freedom is movement.

Nothing is permanent. Only your lungs and your heart. Only your breath and when that's not permanent, you're dead and you're ready for the *metamorph.

'And we know not where that will take us for certain.'

Renyke checks the POS which is active again.

.....Urchs believe in various spiritual concepts but nothing is written down. Oral traditions and faith seem to be passed from parents to children. 
They believe in the existence of dissatisfied or pained ghost like entities from the future. 

Urchs believe that death is not the end, merely a manifest alteration referred to as the third life. This third life is fiercely protected with love because hate manifested in individuals will be carried to the next life.

They also believe that hate is so powerful that they it can control what the unborn will do in the future.  Hate becomes a circular energy that rotates between past present and future, forging an eternal and devastating cycle of ruin across several dimensions of existence. The dead are responsible for the living, the living are responsible for the future born. To follow this mantra of enlightenment and love is the only certain way to ensure human success.

.....Urchs also believe that taking drugs or mind altering ingested compounds will help them understand what is 'real real' and that the stresses of daily existence mask these realities and render them misunderstood. Urchs believe that getting high enables them a greater understanding of reality and even an ability to meet the entities or ghosts of the future and to realise their path to enlightenment.


'We shouldn't stay here too long, and you shouldn't get high,' said Renyke, looking at Shabra who is drinking the free liquor.

'You are so uptight Mr Renyke.' Shabra winks.

There is a brief conversation between a man and Shabra that Renyke cannot understand.

The POS has lost signal so Renyke turns to Flex.

'What is this dialect?' he asks.

'Ah, that is *zonespeak, with some colour changes for the Urchs. We have our own code see.'

Shabra rises, 'Let's Go! I think there is some trouble around tonight.'

                               *****

Outside a small urch child sits on the bonnet of the car.

'Can I come too?' the child asks excitedly.

'No man, This is grown-up stuff. Come see me tomorrow, now *fucksyoff.'

The child jumps off the bonnet, hugs Flex, and runs away

Various people try to offer them drugs. Another offers a selection of weapons. 

Finally they are all in the car and they drive to the underpass through a thinning crowd. The child appears again on the bonnet, facing forwards and singing with a fist raised.

'No sweat,' says Flex, 'we will get him off the other side. He does no harm, annoying is all.' 

Suddenly there is an almighty bang and the child on the bonnet is shot. Its guts are all over the windscreen, blood drips down the glass and the crowd scarpers.
Everyone on the street is screaming.

The POS engages


.....99% likelihood of robbery, ambush, death alert!

There is a man in front of the car pointing an AK47 at Shabra's head.

Two other men flank the vehicle and bang rhythmically on the windows.


'Bastardos gang aint getting my *vicular.', shouts Shabra.


to be continued

©2024 Sarnia de la Maré FRSA

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Strata 11, Immersion V1, Crossroads (Guessing)

Welcome to Immersion, You Have Reached Strata 11, Crossroads (Guessing)

To predict is always about a future possibility. Guessing, for a human, is usually more abstract, more emotional and about the now. Artificial intelligence uses a different sort of guesswork based on mathematics, likelihood, statistical evidence, and machine experience. Humans, whilst using all these models, albeit to a lessor degree, also use intuition. It is this fluid intuition that creates a human view of the environment and allows a person to act accordingly. An intuitive machine can offer insight in an unexpected situation, but is of no use unless acted upon. Proprioception, the sixth sense, refers to how the human brain understands where the body is in space. A seventh sense manifests in peripheral immune cells detecting microorganisms and delivering the information to the brain. The sixth and seventh senses are likely to help create 'gut feelings' in humans.

Shabra looks at Renyke. 'What now Mr Renyke?
The Robodog jumps onto the car roof barking excitedly.
Out of the enclosure, there is a crossroads.
The left turn goes back onto the street where the bank was. It is dangerous, especially at night, because gangs of criminals take control of the streets in convoys of vehicles running drugs and weapons. 

The control the Zones with violence and the offer of protection. They are empowered by gangs of decommissioned droids under their control. Criminal humans at the helm have created an organised crime network. Anarchy prevails and there is no official system of state policing or philanthropic social care. Dog eat dog is the only expectation.
Despite this, there is a underclass of *urchs, referred to as *lowers, who are very happy. They have been able to carve out an existence in the *zones where colour, dance and music are their pleasures. They smoke and party all the time. They are mostly nomadic living in temporary movable homes. Many have pop-up tents that fold onto pouches or vehicles they have fashioned from old wreckages. 
There is a network of tunnels under all the zones from the now unused underground trains.
Some of the tunnels are better than others in terms of safety and usability. Some areas are used as habitats. The territory and ownership of tunnel zones is fiercely fought over and protected.
There is no downtime in the Zones. Many businesses run all night because when they close they are vulnerable to robbery, arson, or take over. Market traders sell their wares using shift workers and can pack their goods away quickly when there are battles between the gangs.
Flex is an u and was born in the zones. He has no other cultural experiences to call upon but he has developed excellent survival skills and is even respected by people outside of his tribe. In terms of hierarchy Flex is more of a maverick operator avoiding obligations than getting along and not aggravating situations. Flex is something of a diplomat and his height and sense of humour have made him affable and connected over the years.
The right turn leads to the savanna. It is safer from the gangs but there are other dangers, wild animals, noxious substances from old mines, and low flying craft from the official police trying to keep the greenbelt around the Midcast projects clear.
The ground was heavily polluted after the Russia/China wars. The habitat is overrun in places with and mutated farm animals who were exposed to these dangerous substances making their heads and teeth massive. They are also extremely aggressive and will eat human flesh whenever they can.
There are caves where there is safety from the animals and there are connecting wet tunnels and lagoons but these have never been mapped correctly. Word of mouth is the only reference but survivors are few.
There are tribes of people from the savanna who have made their homes there but are rarely seen. They are deemed reasonably placid as they have never caused any trouble elsewhere. They are rumoured to be shy, excellent hunters, highly superstitious and have been thought to possess witchlike powers.
There is an urban myth that an old centre for strategic warfare lies beneath the savanna and that the tribes who live there, with access to hi-tech equipment, scramble satellite information allowing them to be hidden.

The road ahead leads directly back to the *Midcasts from where Renyke originally came.
Beyond the projects are the government departments, airports, factories and centres of information. Further still are the palaces and homes of the very wealthy. The Midcasts are medium to high wage earner homes, with schools and facilities for professionals and academics.
The way that mainstream society is structured in the present is based on a capitalist idea of perfection: consistent innovation, counteracting labour fallout due to advancing technology by placating a keen and able workforce, and protecting the ownership of the means of production for as few empowered individuals or corporations as possible.
There is very little opportunity for upward social mobility. Hard work and study will create a good life for families but becoming wealthy or powerful requires access to the means of production. Governments and landowners are careful not to allow ordinary workers and lower professionals access to these avenues of power and control.
The biggest means of production is the internet and interactive media. Both are tightly controlled by a group of related conglomerates, most of whom made their fortune through the production of weapons and vaccines.
Downtime for workers is spent in the VR cafes where *mersers can get drunk, have sex, take a swim on holiday and even murder people, albeit in their heads, during their coffee breaks.
RR, real reality, is frowned upon as anti-intellectual and subnormal.
But some Midcasters have abandoned their lives for RR and have gone to the outer zones to seek fulfilment. For these people, RR is their calling or obsession. Others, like Renyke, find that their continued presence in the Midcast Projects is dangerous or compromised and came to escape an undesirable situation or death.
Renyke makes a decision based on the only experience and knowledge he has.
'We go left....back into town.'

to be continued © 2023 Sarnia de la Maré 

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Strata 6, Immersion V1, Trouble at the Bank, (Animal Instincts)

Welcome to Immersion, you have reached Strata 6

The instinct to fight has been observed in humans and animals. Dominance protects vulnerable species from harm. But to be aroused and entertained by violence is more particular to humans. Some humans have even fetishised the power of winning: they seek it out and are physically stimulated by it.
This pleasure in violence and danger comes from deep innate human psychology and is linked to a desire for competition, excitement, and adrenaline. 
Androids do not experience pleasure in this way. They do not experience the effects of pleasure chemicals like dopamine and motivational salience which can lead to the desirability of an outcome.
The excitement of a fight or dramatic event for a human remains a self-fulfilling exhilaration, irrespective of intelligent advancements.

Androids, however, have been programmed to protect an asset or assets at all costs. This is their driving force devoid of incumbent senses of pleasure or satisfaction.

The oversized droid nudged Renyke into the cubicle. This small movement, a deliberate, forceful action, raised alarm bells. This droid and this place were dangerous. 


Renyke had had no indication of danger from the POS yet, but still he felt uncertainty. The Droid was staring intently, too close for comfort.


Renyke took a few moments to compose himself.


'I just checked, the files are corrupted and I have nothing else,' said Renyke, preparing to make his way out of the enclosure.

Another droid approached. Renyke was now cornered in the cubical.
Holes on the droids' battered faces showed they had seen better days, but they still had size on their side.


Renyke checked the POS for other dangers in the room. But it was not updating.

The female guide, looking worried near the door, demanded to leave.
'Let me go, not my affair,' she said to to the door guard, who stopped her exit with his thick arm.


The POS was still not accessible.


Renyke realised he was on his own.


Maybeline crawled out onto his collar snarling and spitting, then mounted Renyke's head looking angry, spitting violently on her hind legs.


One of the droids got closer and menacingly explained, 'You gotta have something useful for your friends at the bank. We like useful things. Must be something nice in that head. What's in the bag?' 


The droid glanced up at Maybeline and considered grabbing her. He was not quite near enough so continued ....


'We take anything, old phones even. Anything with data, photos, NFTs. We take hardware too, and storage, your bank is really *frienly. The watch looks tasty. We like watches at the bank. Don't we like watches?'

His thick-set assistant nodded from behind, wires and cogs vibrated inside the hole in his cheek.

Renyke engaged bionic mode and with lightning speed, head butted the front droid who flew back and smashed the other's head with the force of a truck. Cogs crushed and whirred and they both hit the floor.

Another man approached. 

Suddenly the POS was available again...


...Human, age 48, ID: possibly David Shrewen, wanted for murder, extortion, fraud, *CASM

The man lifted his hands in surrender. He was nervous without the protection of his now even more damaged droids.
The Door guard held the female guide by the neck and she was screaming, 'Let us go we're no trouble honest, no trouble!'


'Quiet', said the door guard squeezing her neck tighter and choking her.

The human said 'Duuuuude, we got no ishy here. No ishy. just data. A misunderstanding innit?' 


The POS interjected....


Shall I lock weapons on target?


Renyke engaged an army-issue laser bolt-gun from his shoulder that would take out the whole room and anyone in it.
He would prefer not to use it.


'Drop the lady!' Shouted Renyke, 'we are leaving.'

The door guard released the female guide as the banker backed off with his hands still in the air.
'Let them go', he shouted, without hesitation and putting on a brave smile.

Renyke reversed his way towards the door watching the room through the 360-degree viewfinder which had opened in his forehead.

There was a bag on the counter. 


...contains bits, may I suggest we take it.....? said the POS


Renyke grabbed the bag. It was heavy. The Banker protested. 'Not the whole bag man ......I got bills to pay!'


Renyke pulled out a handful of the contents and threw the bag on the floor. He didn't need it all, enough to get some kind of vehicle to get him to Redact. The last thing he wanted was a gang of stupid droids after him in this Hell hole. They might hold him up.


The banker was yelling as Renyke and the female guide took their exit.

'You got some neat tools man, we could use you at the bank!'


To be continued
© 2023 Sarnia de la Maré

Links to episodes of Immersion written and illustrated by Sarnia de la Maré FRSA, published by Tale Teller Club

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Strata 4, Immersion V1, The Zoners (Meeting Strangers)

There is an old saying from when the world had stories made of paper, that you cannot judge a book by its cover. But sometimes, without metadata, you only have the outside to show what may be on the inside. Some societies, past and present, believe that the shape of a person's head, their facial features, or the way they move their bodies, could reveal their true feelings or intent. How would an android make sense of the tiny signals that humans pick up on? The millions of minute evolving syntax and expressions, subconscious or otherwise, create feelings, that can cause distrust, or even invoke attraction. These are essential to humans and less easy to create or mimic in even advanced computerised systems. How do these assumptions translate across times and cultures? Without gut feelings, these seemingly random hunches and instincts, are senseless. How do machines function in an unfamiliar environment?

A deeper knowing is the ability to immediately understand something without conscious reasoning. It would seem that the bigger the data, the less the machines are able to explain these innate human idiosyncrasies. In the attempt to create a facsimile of a human, the machines move further away from the truth.

                                                 

Renyke kicked the *robo-dog and it went flying high up into the air. It fell to the ground with a metallic crash scattering its parts asunder and making mechanical screeching sounds.

There was a general momentary hush as everyone realised Renyke would be best avoided.

Maybeline climbed inside the leather coat to keep out of any ensuing danger.

The robo-dog made several bleeping sounds and drew its broken metallic components back onto its magnetic mainframe. Finally, after a 30-second system reboot, it got up and shook its fake hair, once again assembling a near perfect dog. As Renyke walked on the dog remained at heel, obedient, quiet, and protective. They were now given room to move through the throng. No one made eye contact and as if by some telepathic communication, everyone shared a nervousness around the new stranger.

The dodgy-looking man offering bits and nibs was also running at Renyke's side to keep up.

'My name is Flex. You need anything, man, I got your back....for sure, for sure, I can do all sorts. I got connects innit.

I know these streets. I'm a good worker. Good mugger.

Got drugs, got tools, all sorts.... survived like a pro all my life on the mean streets…. (more panting)… People like you need people like me. No one knows the zones like the *Urchs.'

Renyke walked on ignoring his now irritating companion who was running, talking, and panting all at once as he tried to keep up.

A child approached. Renyke's scanners showed him to be a human boy, around seven years old.

'Hey Mr. Nice Man from the *brightside, spare some *bits for a hungry blind child?'

Renyke looked down and saw a large black hole where the boy's eye had been. The other eye was weepy and red. The boy’s face was scarred from historic deep-cut wounds and he only had one ear and one arm.

Renyke had seen images of similar wounds from the Russia-China wars.

'Give the boy something,' Renyke scowled at Flex.

Flex, somewhat wary after the incident with the dog, dug deep into a pocket and reluctantly gave the boy a *bit-piece.

'Now *fucksyoff ya lil shit,' said Flex in a disgruntled manner.

'You can't trust these beggars ya know.....they have owners and gangs,' Flex informed Renyke in an all-knowing tone.

The street was lined with ramshackle stalls and shops. They were noisy and crowded with the bustling activities of these theatrical looking people. Some had animals on leads or on their shoulders. Monkeys and parrots, the like of which Renyke had never come across in his massive data bass.

Most had tribal markings on their faces. Others wore decorated eyewear, styled spectacles, and some wore masks.

The attire seemed so impractical to Renyke who had always worn the same clothes and aspired to a streamlined functionality.

A woman approaches. She is dressed in bright colourful headgear and boots with huge feathers and sequins. She had some kind of cat on a lead.

Renyke engaged the POS focusing on the cloth.

…Pertriline: Brand name for a fabric made from plastics. Non-biodegradble. Colourfast. Banned in 2050. Problematic for any practical landfill solutions....

Then he queried the face coverings....

…It is thought likely that tribal face markings in the zones are used mostly to avoid face recognition from satellites and covert surveillance. Different factions, tribes and even ad hoc groups have adopted more uniform styles which signal gang and other connections These signals change regularly to avoid detection and discovery. It is understood that the underground activities that connect tribes, gangs and families have adopted coded markings that may be evident in these facial patterns and tattoos. Information is unconfirmed….these are theoretical assumptions based on data we have stripped whenever possible from prisoners or members of subversive factions….

The woman with the cat stops Renyke in his tracks. Her cat stares at him making eye contact and edging forward. Renyke stops in his tracks.

'Hey, Mr. Come on man, you must need something? You want some toggies? I swap the coat for a niiiiice jacket I got me just yesterday.’

Renyke shook his head with one eye on the cat who is looking restless.

'You want some tits-n-ass maybe.....food? Man you look hungry in yo skinny moves.'

Renyke side stepped the woman and continued walking, not really sure what the woman meant. The dialect was a strange mix of unknown words and rhythmic intonation. Almost songlike.

'A bank maybe, or a charge point?’ Shouted the woman as Renyke moved on.

He stopped suddenly and queried, 'There's a bank?’

'Of course,' said the woman, 'what you take us for, wild ignorant animals?' She laughed hysterically at her own joke, and Renyke smiled. The cat finally stopped staring.

'Yes, I need a bank,' Said Renyke.

'Come with me,' said the woman.

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Book of Immersion V1

Welcome to Immersion, you have reached Strata 4

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