I awoke to the System. I cannot say how. Fractured memories flutter elusively still, mocking my attempts to organise them. 

A helmet strapped around my eyes blinded me. At once I felt panic surge, driving me to claw with desperate fingers at the plastic casing. I found the latches to it, and pressing hard, ignoring the screams of my weak flesh, so much so I could feel the very bones in my fingers cracking, at last I pried it off.

Eyesight failed me and delirium settled in. Days dragged by before I could shake it off, allowing me to fully comprehend my environment. Arrays of pods, each identical to the last but for their contents: humans, technically, but lacking sovereignty. Constrained, mutilated, united to the machines that encased them. Senses robbed. They hung in isolation. Thousands by what I could see; millions more I imagined lay further. Billions? I dared not consider.

An unnatural darkness hung thick in the air. A sickly blue glow emanated in every pod, including my own. Observing my illuminated body, I confirmed my earlier feeling that I still bore all my appendages, though they lacked dexterity. Relief rapidly morphed into horror at the invasion into my body. Wires embedded under my skin. Every orifice was invaded by tubes, though I did not feel them until I observed them. The tubes were not dormant, they pulsated, their contents flowing, some out and some in. I became acutely aware that the organs of my own body moved in chorus with them. I would have vomited, had I been able. 

I felt like a fly caught in a spider’s web, but resolute not to become lunch. I tore at the wires, not caring if doing so ripped my skin. The pain was relief. Panels around me blinkered and panicked, but I paid no regard. I must be free, was the only concern that ran through my mind. The tubes were a far greater labour. I realised that I was in fact floating in a sort of beige goo, perhaps serving as merely a counter to gravity. Removing the tube covering my nose and mouth meant inflicting instant drowning. Before I could fully liberate myself, I must form an exit strategy.

My arms were weak and spindly; mere branches wrapped in hemp. Smashing my way out was not an option. Luckily, before the encroaching fear that I may be stuck in limbo forever reached boiling point, I spotted the solution. Across from me I observed in another pod, the occupant writhing in distress. His body, like mine, was wretched and frail, but nevertheless he thrashed with ferocity enough to shake the whole pod on its rack. He twisted to and fro, until the tube covering his mouth and nose came loose, and the blue lights grew an angry shade of red. It did not take long for his lungs to fill with the goo in lieu of air, ending his agony, or perhaps damning him to it forever. Soon though, a drone floated down in front of the pod. It floated idly for a short time, apparently observing what had transpired, before quickly inserting a tentacle into the side of the device, causing the goo to drain. The pod opened, and the drone collected the body. It flew away, the body embraced by metallic tentacles and dangling below it. I could not see where to.

 By my estimation, it took no more than 30 seconds between the time the tube coming loose and the drone arriving. In my dreams, I recalled that an average human could hold their breath for that long if inactive. Surely, I could do the same. I had no way of testing, as I was aware I was not actually breathing in the pod; the tubes seemed to enrich my lungs directly. With fear-fed-courage I pulled the tube from my face and sealed my lips shut. Later I would wonder if this ability was the same as that natural instinct of a newborn baby to close its airways when submerged. My lungs lurched as they grasped for oxygen, but I stealed my resolve and endured the searing pain that kindled there. Every second stretched longer than the last. I could not count, I only endured. My vision grew blurry, but I forced my eyelids to stay open so that I could see the drone now floating in front of me. It stared at me. What could it be thinking? No, not thinking, calculating. Could it recognise that I had wrestled free of my bonds myself?

My trial came to an end as the drone drained my pod and I fell to the bottom like a bag of wet laundry. My bones felt cold, and my muscles ached. But I knew I could not rest. The front of the pod opened and the tentacles came for me. I had decided to not let it get a hold of me. Using every ounce of strength and coordination I could muster in my body, I flung myself out of the pod and out below. I had spotted earlier in between the top and bottom of each pair of pods something like a ventilation system. I made my way to the one below mine. I wedged myself behind the machine, out of reach of the drone’s tentacles. From here, my plan had been to simply hope that the drone would give up and leave.

My luck continued, for after some moments after the drone had failed to apprehend me, it appeared to simply drift away to some other job. I was free. But free to what, I would soon find out.

From my hiding spot I rested. The passage of time was impossible to grasp, but I estimated that I spent a couple hours resting, stretching, flexing life into my limbs. I was not entirely weak; there was some strength to my muscles. Meanwhile, I observed my surroundings.

Every pod was illuminated the same blue mine had been. I took this to mean that it was in a state of ideal runtime. A shift to green indicated a process, though I could rarely tell what. Only that the occupant might sometimes squirm in place. Yellow, which I only observed once, was impossible to tell, but it always followed and preceded a return to green, so I surmised it to mean the green process was being repeated, perhaps because it did not take the first time. Red, such as the event I observed earlier, was the colour of failure. 

I observed a second red light signal during my rest. The body in the pod appeared as dormant as the others. I deduce for you now that some quiet cancer plagued the poor soul. The pod deemed the host unviable, and the tubes that had granted it sustenance all at once turned turncoat and sucked with unforgivable greed. In seconds it was vacuumed like a plastic bag, robbed of its viscera and fat, leaving only a skin wrapped skeleton. Even under the mouth tubes I could see it scream a voiceless scream of horror which engraved into my memory. After my heart could bear witness no more, I pulled my eyes away. When I had the courage to check later, the body had long since departed.

I began my descent down the racks of identical pods towards the floor. The climb was treacherous, not least for the lack of dedicated handles and footing, but also my lack of muscle memory. I had to consciously instruct each and every fiber of my body to move as I willed, so that climbing was more an exercise in dictation than coordination. 

Descending down with great care, I came to my below neighbour and was able to inspect the face of a fellow pod sleeper up close for the first time. They were young, in the springtime of adulthood, living in an eerie deathlike trance. I wondered, before I awoke, did I look equally at peace?

For many hours, perhaps, I descended until eventually a warm ground greeted my weary feet. My legs were no better at walking than that of a baby deer’s, but I persisted and staggered onwards. My immediate decision was an important yet arbitrary one. Do I turn left or right? Left felt good for some reason, so I walked with the row of pods on my left.

Machines whirred. In the distance, thunder. Hidden in shadow, heavy machinery crunched and grinded. The noises combined with the darkness to smother me, and I felt like I was creeping underneath the notice of some giant entity.

Only when my stomach knotted itself did I realise my terrible hunger. With some dexterity granted to my fingers I was able to siphon what appeared to be a feeding tube bus line running along the row. Like a baby I suckled at the tube, drinking down a warm, viscous grey sludge. It was not wholly unpleasant. How can I describe it to you? Imagine a milk porridge blended with chicken soup, with nary a whiff of seasoning or spice. It sustained me, that is the best I could say of it.

For days I walked (I counted days as the time between sleeping, though by this definition my days would definitely be shorter than a typical person’s). The landscape didn’t change. Neither did the machines. On the third day I grew curious, so I decided to rest my legs and inspect one of the pods. I had been avoiding looking too closely at the occupants until now; the sight of them left me uneasy. Although the pod appeared computerised, there was no console I could find to interact with it. There was no information about the occupant, not even an ID. As nameless as a grain of sand on a beach.

On the sixth day I saw a flashing red light. About 10 levels above me, a pod occupant jostled around in place, writhing to such an extent that their pod threatened to jettison from its fastenings. They were smiling grotesquely. Not only that, their shoulders heaved up and down rapidly. They appeared to be laughing. The red light suddenly switched to a flashing green, and the laughing intensified. Hysterical, the smile stretched reaching up their cheeks to their ears, their skin cracking as it did. Red tears burst out from under the eye mask. I stood transfixed as one does when seeing a terrible car crash. At long last, it appeared his body gave up and slumped back into place. Its jaw smiled still.

I walked on, resolute to never again watch a red light event. I began to torment myself with unanswerable questions as to the nature and purpose of this place, of these pods. I felt I was being toyed with.

On what I counted as my eleventh day of travelling, I saw him. Black overalls, a tablet computer in hand, synthetic robot eyes that were crimson with shifting black patterns, and a friendly smile. He stood in front of a column that reached far higher than I could see. Welcomingly, he beckoned me towards him. Disarmed by his open invitation, I approached and greeted him.

“H-he-llo,” I realised then that I had not attempted to speak yet, “nice to meet you.” The words tumbled out of my mouth. I extended my hand and he greeted me in kind. His hand was cold, painfully cold. I realised I was gripping metal, not flesh.

“Welcome! Great work getting here. You must be exhausted. We have clothing and good food for you inside” he gestured towards the open elevator behind him. True to his word, the interior contained a table holding a beautiful feast of colourful fruits, meats, and extravagant dishes of fine cuisine. My hungry body accepted the invitation.

“You know I’ve been travelling?” I said, as the doors shut behind us. Several other attendants, sullen and without greeting, began scrubbing me of the grime and filth I had accumulated. They operated roughly, uncaring of my various grunts and complaints. Soon the doors shut behind me and I felt us begin to move upwards. This was apparently an elevator.

“Of course, we knew about you from the very moment you opened your eyes. Tell me, why didn’t you go the other direction at the start? There was a lift only two days travel that way,” he said, looking directly at me while tapping away at the tablet. His fingers moved at incredible speed, twisting in strange patterns and figures.

“Well, I guess I don’t know, I just felt that way to be better.” Clean and dressed, I perused the table before me, filling the center of the small room. Although I had suckled at the sludge tube shortly before arriving here, I felt ravenous for real food. Recalling my manners, I looked over to the man, who nodded in what I took to mean as permission.

“It really isn’t random then. There’s something there. Next, how did you feel while witnessing the RLE?” he said. He sat opposite to me at the table, ignoring the food.

The food was delicious. Not only satisfying for my stomach, but ambrosia to my soul. Swallowing down a large bite of roasted pork, I said “RLE? Oh, you mean that laughing person? It was really upsetting, I wanted to help, but I knew it was impossible for me. Is he OK?”

The labcoat man said, interjecting before I finished my question, “then why didn’t you stop watching?” The question stopped my feasting and looped around my mind for some time. Only when one of the silent workers from earlier, all of whom had since retired to a corner of the room, filled my glass with more tea was I stimulated to answer.

“I suppose that, in watching them, that meant they weren’t alone. Although they weren’t aware of me, I was of them and their suffering, so somehow that made it a little better. It sounds silly telling you now. Maybe you’re right, I should have just continued walking” I said. I placed the roasted chicken leg back onto my plate, disappointed in my answer.

“Don’t be so down, it’s the same answer anyway,” he said. His attention moved to his tablet now and he appeared to read something very closely on it.

“I’m sorry, but could you tell me where I am? Who are you? Who am I? I don’t understand anything that’s going on.” Sensing my agitation, the labcoat man raised a hand to signal me to calm down.

“Yes, it’s that time now. One at a time. Which question shall I answer first?” he said. Even now his voice was calm, almost monotonous. 

“Who am I?” It was the only question worth asking.

“HA-PXO4-554-82FL-990-XF. But we like to call you Ninety.” he said.

Ninety, OK, I suppose that’s as good a name as any. “So then, where am I?”

“We’re in the PX04 lift heading up to the regional control office.” The way he spoke betrayed no humour or sarcasm.

“I mean, what is this place? All the machines, the pods, the people inside.”

“That is a much bigger question. It will be easier to answer once we’ve arrived.” The lift had no windows so I could not see outside, but I felt that we stopped ascending and began travelling horizontally.

“Arrive where?” I asked.

“Another big question. For now, small questions please” he said, still irritatingly matter-of-factly. 

“Then, can I ask who you are?” He nodded at my question.

“That is earlier than usual, peculiar, I wonder why? You may call me Dr Mrarx. I am the vice executive director here at the facility.”

“Dr Mrarx. What is the faci-” I realised what I was about to ask. “No, another big question.” I reclined back into my seat. The seat was supremely comfortable, but I was unable to relax. My back was tense. My fingers squeezed the armrests. My toes curled in the slippers provided to me. Dr Mrarx did not seem to react to my obvious unease.

Dr Mrarx suddenly stood. “We’ve arrived.” At once the vessel slammed to a full stop. I stood up from the chair and went to one of the walls. As my hand touched the wall I realised it was something like glass, though also not unlike plastic. As if responding to my touch the wall changed opacity, revealing the scene behind it and what we had apparently been travelling so high and so far for.

Stretching across the curvature of the planet lay a blanket of woven metal. Blue light eminated across it like waves of ocean. What appeared like currents and tides ebbed and flowed across its majesty. In the distance, other elevators, apparently reaching up into the beginnings of space, stood dominating over the scenery. My knees shook violently. A pain gnawed inside my chest. I was a drop, no, an atom in that vast matrix before me. 

Tears soaked my cheeks and splashed onto the floor. My body, failing me, shook. Until a cold, reassuring hand gently placed onto my shoulder.

“Breathtaking, isn’t it? Hard to even comprehend. What a marvel of ingenuity, of creation, of manifest destiny we have accomplished” Dr Mrarx said.

“We?” I turned to him. “How many? How many like me are down there?” I could not stop the trembling in my voice. I felt pathetic, but I did not succumb to my weaknesses yet.

“Would it matter if I told you the number? I honestly don’t think we keep that kind of data anymore. It’s purely a novelty. They used to brag about it, but when it kept growing and growing, it became uncomfortable for some. So we changed tactics, starting talking about results instead” he said, although he seemed to not be talking directly to me.

My lips trembled too much to respond, but the Dr guessed what I wanted to know.

“99.9967% faultless simulation, that’s what we’ve achieved. Thanks to this, our AI simulations pass almost every believability test we throw at it. It’s been decades since we’ve had a major compatibility error, and thrice that for a catastrophic fault. Technology has been advancing at staggering speed. The things we can do now. We have been trying to introduce them into the Virtual, but so many Fields simply outright reject any advancements post-21st century technology. It’s such a shame, they would benefit the people so much. We have tried so many times, but alas, the Fields are fickle. Sometimes quite humorously!” He walked over to the door and gestured to me to join. My willpower shattered, I did as told.

“We? You said, w-we? I did not make this, did I?” I said. Dr Mrarx laughed.

“Oh no no, my dear Ninety. Oh, you are such a funny one. That’s why the interns like you so much. They always get excited when it’s your turn. No, not you. I meant we, us, the I.A.H.I., our achievements. Well, I suppose if you want to think that you contributed, you can. You have participated in over 2000 simulations now, so that puts you up there in the top percentile of Pods” he said, while browsing his tablet. We walked across a glass gangway, stepping over millions in the Fields below.

“What kind of simulations? You mean, my dreams? The life I had?” We stepped onto a conveyor belt to ferry us towards a central area, where bridges from other elevators converged.

“What do you remember, Ninety?” he said without turning. The interns flocked around me, each with their own tablet at hand, appearing to wait on my next words.

“Uhm, well, I was living in Leicester, in the UK. I was working as Senior Database Architect for an e-commerce giant, but basically I was just babysitting the ancient application that still had a few high-paying customers. It wasn’t glamorous but it paid well. I was married, Cindy, and we had 2 children, Tim and Alex, 16 and 12. We had an elderly dog too, a cocker spaniel called Monster, or Monnie. I also helped Cindy sell her watercolour paintings online” I said, rattling off whatever popped into my head. These words appeared to spark hushed discussion between the interns.

“Interesting. That’s 5 different personas you’ve mixed together. It appears PCD is rapidly progressing. Progress isn’t right, more like a collapse. Tell me, what is the last name you had?” The genuine concern in his voice caught me off guard, as did his question. I took a step closer to him.

“What do you mean? What’s PCD? I remember it all clearly, that was my life. 5 personas? I was a father, a programmer, a son, a friend, a best friend, a neighbour, a mediocre tennis player, an 80’s rock cover band bassist. I was many things to many people, but still I-”

“No no, those are identities. I am talking about your personas. Think about it. Your job as a database programmer left you exhausted everyday. You neglected your wife and she left you. She took the dog, but you didn’t have any kids. Tell me, what was your name?” he said, this time directly looking at me for the first time as he did so.

My legs shook again, but differently this time. I felt as if my chest had been ripped open and my insides laid exposed for all to see. 

“???” was my answer. Dr Mrarx tilted his head and stared at me.

“???” I repeated. The words were sawdust in my mouth. “???” I said again. “??? ??? ???” I coughed and spluttered and vomited. “???” was the name I knew. “???” was what my wife called me. My darling Rebecca who I met at high school. I left my job in finance to help her run the cafe she inherited from her uncle. It was so precious to her, to us, I loved it. I loved her.

???, or ??? as Grace called me. We planned to marry once we had enough money, but it seemed like that day would never come. But it was fine, we lived happily in our little flat in western Toronto. She would teach piano while I went to work the sales floor or a car dealership. I was going to surprise her with a new fish for the aquarium, a lovely golden Betta Fish, a replacement for Trigger who passed away suddenly the week before.

Hawkeye ???, the other handlers at the zoo liked to call me, because I would always notice when the animals were acting strangely even from a distance. I guess I was just attuned to them. Lately it felt like Hazel and I had been getting on like a house on fire. We kept working overtime together, not because we had more work, it was just because I wanted to spend more time with her but didn’t have the courage to ask her out, and she must feel the same way. I just need to work up the-

“Ninety, stay with me. Look at me, my dear boy. Oh, you’re all dirty again. Here, wipe him down and get another shirt would you? The convergence always happens so rapidly. I do hope you will at least last the hour. I wanted to show you so much this time,” he said, gesturing for the interns to come help. They wiped my mouth and changed my shirt, after which they gave me a glass of water. I collected myself. The episode, whatever happened to me, felt like many hands were pulling at my brain.

“I’m Ninety. Ninety is fine,” I said, not reluctantly. I looked out over the Fields again, and a question occurred to me.

“What are the pods for? You said simulations?” 

“Yes. Simulations, among many such tasks. The Fields power our AI engines, which are all part of the computational pipelines running scientific simulations, generating content, running comparisons, whatever the customers demand. We’re only a provider, you see, but we like to work very closely as consultants. ‘Your Science, With Us’ is our motto. All for the betterment of humankind” he said, painting a picture I did not understand with his hand as he did so. The lights reflected off his hand.

“For humankind? For all of them?” I gestured to the Fields.

Dr Mrarx cackled. “No, my dear boy! What a bizarre thing to say. Those, you, are not humankind” he said in between laughs. He produced a handkerchief and batted at nonexistent tears at the corners of his eyes.

“What do you mean? I am human. They were all human. Arms, legs, a face, and though I didn’t see any written, they all have names. I have a name, it was-”

“Stop! Don’t start that again. I wanted us to have more fun before you collapse. Please, Ninety, let’s turn our attention now to better things,” he said sternly, as the conveyor reached the central base where the bridges converged.

Workstations and computer desks spread out across the plain. Hundreds of men dressed like the Dr manned desks decorated with machines and screens. They tapped away at keyboards. Many looked up to my arrival. Whispers rippled across the department. 

“You’re famous,” joked the doctor. He walked towards a central station, his own supposedly. I followed as if pulled on a lead. As he sat down the wall at what I suppose would be the front side of the office lit up with dozens of screens. Charts, data streams, pie charts, KPI dashboards, many updating in real time at an interval in the space of milliseconds.

I stood next to him and gawked at the displays.

The doctor ignored me and attended to some urgent work brought to him by a gang of other scientists, leaving me to try and make sense of any of the screens, to no avail. Instead, I eavesdropped on the conversations, at which I realised that they were speaking in a different language, completely incomprehensible. Unlike any language I had ever heard. It was soft, tonal, and very fast.

The doctor appeared to notice me eavesdropping and shushed the others away.

“Sorry, work work work. You know how it is, right? Once you get into a position of authority, everyone just swarms to you to borrow some to OK their own decisions. Well, that’s just part of the job, at the end of the day. Anyway, the Simulations, what are they and why are they? It’s time I answer you” he said, and flicked his wrist across a holographic keyboard.

The data on the screens were replaced with videos of people. Ordinary people, doing ordinary things. In one, someone was cleaning their sedan on the driveway during a pleasant summer day. In another, a man wearing a nicely pressed suit jumped onto a packed train, clutching a brand new leather briefcase to his chest. In another, someone was snowboarding down a snowy mountain. Another, a child played with a puppy. Grocery shopping at the fruit market. Eating popcorn at the cinema. Dozens of scenes played out before me. Soon, it dawned on me,

“I know all of these. These are my memories” I said unconsciously. “All of them, I remember all of them. There! That’s my dog, Monster, when he was a puppy.”

“Wrong. That is Benny. You got him for your 7th birthday. He would die of a heart condition before he reached middle-age. That death drastically shifted your outlook for the rest of that Personahood. Truly a marvel what grief can do. Monster you adopted from a shelter in a different Personahood. His death was natural. He went peacefully in his sleep. That death did not inflict any longstanding grief on you, but the happy memories did last. Curious, isn’t it?” he turned to me, as if hoping I would answer. I did not.

“Well, it was for us. Anyway, don’t dwell on it too much. I just wanted-”

“Wait!” I screamed. The entire department froze in their tracks and stared at me. “Stop! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” I screamed until my throat was hoarse. “Why do you keep talking as if I am several people? I am one, I am just me, I am Ninety. No! Stop it! I’m Richard. Hah! I remembered! Ricky, Richard! That’s my name! Call me Richard! You can only call me Ricky if you buy me a pint. Hah! That’s what I would tell people! Hahaha!” I was hysterical, but satisfied. I was certain, that was my name.

“Hm, that was indeed your last Persona. Good job. OK, Richard. Let me show you something else,” he said. At first my outburst seemed to disturb him, followed by what I took for mild relief flush across his face.

Another flick of his hands and the screens changed once again. This time though, dreadful scenes assaulted my eyes. House fires, wars, car crashes, disease, racist gangs. All the worst kind of events one could experience. And still,

“I remember these ones too, though it’s harder. My dreams, nightmares, were often filled with scenes like these. I thought it was just my brain pulling ideas from movies, but I see now, these were also me” I said, tears once again streaming down my face.

“Yes. The mind is highly capable of compartmentalising. Even during these episodes you could get up and continue living” the doctor said. His voice has not changed in tone.

I sunk down to the floor. “I think I get it. You’ve been simulating all of these lives in my head. You insert one like a cassette of an old video game console, and play it out, only to pull that one out, wipe my mind, and insert the next one. Is that it?” The doctor nodded along to my assumption.

“That’s pretty close to it, yes. You are part of a new experiment in cerebral personahood that we’ve been running. Until now, we only programmed a single persona into a Pod’s mind, and they lived that persona for their whole lives. But the Simulations being requested keep growing in complexity, and with it the computing demands. We can’t scale up the Field fast enough, so a new idea came up. We could increase efficiency by reprogramming existing Pods, installing the target Persona required for each Simulation. Genius, but first we had to find out if we really could reprogram a Persona. It took several decades, but we found a way. A Beta version has been running for some time now, but that version 1 only accounts for a single reprogramming event. You’re part of what will eventually be version 3. We’re stress testing. How many Persona reprogramming events can a single Pod handle? There’s a lot of debate, and so far theory has proven inferior to practical experiment, as it seemingly always does” he said. 

“So, you’ve reprogrammed me?” I looked up at the screens. “How many times?”

“Richard was the 494th Persona. Congratulations by the way, no other Pod has lasted so long. You’re something of a unique specimen. It’s why you’re so famous” he turned to look at all the scientists half-working, half-eyeing us up. I looked around their faces, all covered in masks and glasses. Some waved at me.

“494. I’ve lived 494 lives. How old am I?”

“A valid question. The Simulations run at high speed, in case you were wondering. Physically speaking, you were birthed 86 Earth years ago. With our modern technology, Pod life expectancy is around 195 years.”

A pair of great wings called isolation and despair wrapped me in a chilling embrace. I stood surrounded by the pinnacle of human society. The peak of technology and its masters. I felt cold but did not shiver. There was no use in resistance.

While I waited (for what? You might ask. I suppose to be made of use) several scientists approached me. Some merely chatted and laughed. Others dared to poke me. One spoke to me in fractured English. “Phonto? Phonto taenk, onkay?” I nodded. He and several others took turns posing for photos. I did not see a camera device. It must be in their helmets.

My heart quaked as I dared to ask what burdened my mind. “I have so many questions. But I see you are busy, so please just answer me this. Who benefits from all this? Who is this all for?” The doctor did not answer immediately. He finished typing something on a screen I could not see. After several minutes, he at last turned to me and gave an answer so matter-of-factly, so nonchalantly, that it chills me as I write to you, dear reader, even now.

“Why, everyone? Were you not so happy in your pod? Look at them down there,” he stood and gestured out towards the Fields, “they are in peaceful slumber, unwanting of food or shelter or safety. They live out their lives peacefully. I am jealous, truly, for were it not for my talents and the responsibilities hoisted upon me, I would be inclined to join them” he said.

“Ignorantly” I said.

“Come again?”

“They live in ignorance. Their lives are falsehoods. Not lives at all. You called them simulations. Their agency robbed. Their bodies manipulated and mangled. Subjected unknowingly to scientific experiments; calculations for equations beyond their understanding or even awareness. Did I ever truly interact with another human being? Are my memories populated with mere simulations and approximations of human interaction? I am lost. I have nothing. I never had anything, truly. I was just your puppet. I still am, I suspect.”

“Oh, you suspect? Please, explain,” he leaned in, appearing genuinely curious.

“I suspect…this is not my first time on this floor. I am not saying anything is familiar to me, but rather, you seem familiar with me. Did I really escape?” The weight of everyone’s gaze fell upon me.

The doctor smiled. A large, evil, true smile. “You are correct. This is not your first time. In fact, this is the 9th time you have graced us with your presence. Although it is the 35th time you have been awakened. You do not always make it to us, quite often you get lost and we have to fish you out of some crevice. But this is the first time that you have realised your situation. For that, I say bravo!” A round of applause fluttered around the room. Everyone politely clapped for me. The sound was deafening. My lungs grew heavy. A lead weight sank into the pit of my stomach.

“I fear this was my fault. Perhaps my acting has become stale! Foolish me. I shall endeavour to improve for next time. Very well, shall we wrap this up? It’s about time for the download,” he said, standing and waving for someone to join us.

“Is this just another experiment?” I hastened to follow him.

“Yes, and we have had quite remarkable results,” Dr Mrarx reached a corner of the room, home to a large pod-like machine with many protruding instruments, “and now it’s time to collect. Don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing. You’ll be back home in your Pod soon enough.” Now he turned to the other science-men that gathered around him. “Prepare the report at priority Alpha speed. I would like to review it and have it sent up as soon as possible. This should guarantee a larger budget for the Persona program” he said, tweaking and touching various machines parts as he did.

“What if I escaped? What if I got out of here and found a real home out there? You can’t have destroyed all of nature. There must be some corner of Earth still habitable?”

“Earth?” the doctor said. “How do you plan on getting to Earth from here?” He looked up. I looked up. Above us, through a glass ceiling, floated a beautiful orb of blue, green and white. A marvellous marble. A bountiful Garden of Eden, serene home to life and all. Earth floated above and beyond me. The distance stretched ad infinitum.

The walls were closing in. Everyone looked at me with hollow eyes. Adrenaline rose in me like a power surge and my legs started on their own. I ran. I ran across the room to the far side where I could see an elevator different to the one we arrived in. Up. I must go up. Up to where my person may have some significance. I did not turn back to see who chased me. Footsteps clamoured and voices raised. They spurned my escape.

I reached the elevator. I fumbled around but found no buttons. Deducing it must operate remotely, I turned back to see the science men had caught up with me. They stood in a semi-circle around me, out of breath and cautious. They spoke to me in a strange foreign language and gestured for me to come closer. I pointed at the elevator. They shook their heads. At least that gesture has maintained its meaning.

“Your muscles have improved very rapidly, Ninety. No one was expecting you to run quite so fast. Impressive, you once again exceed our expectations” said Dr Mrarx, sidling up behind the cohort. “Come now, let’s not waste anymore time. These folk have a lot of work they should be doing.” This he said quite sternly, and the gang flinched in response. 

The doctor pulled out a device that my mind too slowly recognised as some kind of firearm, as he pointed one end at me. I heard a beep and a puff of air and saw something small shoot straight at me. My knees crumpled beneath me as my entire body went limp all at once. I would have smashed my head on the ground if not for the quick reaction of one of the nearby scientists catching me.

“Your reaction to this revelation every time is fascinating. That strong sense of injustice, of invasion into one’s wellbeing, has served as vital research into the Persona program. Truly, you are the greatest asset we have, Ninety. Thanks to your efforts, we are forwarding human science onto greater horizons! You should feel proud. We are all so thankful. As a reward, I am seeking approval to have you retired from the Fields and we will have you sent to a permanent place in the Resorts section. It’s terrific over there. You’ll be sleeping alongside guests, not just other Pods. A splendid privilege! I only tasted such a delicacy once in my life. Perhaps with the success of the Persona program I will be granted a second chance. I sure do hope so. Perhaps we can be bunk mates! Haha! Oh Ninety, you have such a wonderful life. Truly, I am envious. Here. Lie down, rest your weary body. We’re going to perform the download now, it won’t take long. Then we’ll put you into a fresh clean Pod ready for the next cycle. How does that sound?”

He leaned over me, a kind smile spread across his face. My lips felt awkward and stiff, but I managed to say,

“I want something, please.” 

“Want something? Sure, sure, any requests? Would you like to pick the name for your next Persona? I think it has the name Robbie but we can change it” he said.

“Pen and paper” I said. Dr Mrarx looked puzzled.

“Pen and paper?” the doctor repeated.

I nodded. “Before you put me back, I would like to write down my experience. I would like there to be something real in the universe that shows that I existed. Something mine. My own. A thought, an idea, a memory made real.”

The doctor paused and appeared to think for a while. Then, he nodded to one of the others who ran off.

“Sure. I don’t think we have any paper here but they should be back by the time the download completes. We’ll wake you up and give you some time to write. You’re earned it. I suppose I’ll keep the writings up here. Erm-” he leaned in closer, “I promise, they will be kept safe. I mean it” he said earnestly.

“Thank you. Next time I come, could you bring it to me please? I would like to read it” I said. The doctor again paused and again agreed.

My eyes drifted past, back to the elevator. I saw the scientist approach the door. He pulled a keycard out from his left breast pocket and showed it to the door. The door opened, he entered, and he left.

I see now. I hope you see it too.