Shell Games
Ghost in the Shell is the creation of Masamune Shirow. Bubblegum
Crisis is the creation of Toshimichi Suzuki, so I have been told.
You should be able to surmise that it means they are not mine to
use and abuse, but I'm going to do so anyway; not for profit, but
for entertainment, and perhaps just a little bit more.
//Wicked Tribe is dying, is dying, Wicked Tribe!//
//Wicked Tribe is strong.//
//Yesyesyesyesyes. Wicked Tribe knows Wicked Tribe is strong;
question is, do not=Wicked-Tribe know?//
//Must do something. Need help from Hardworld. Danger comes
from Hardworld, so makes sense that salvation does too!//
//Could ask Mother/Father/Parent/Coder for help, if found.//
//Might help, might not. Depends. Send call and also go to
Hardworld?//
//Can go to Slow-slow-Hardworld? How?//
//From source of danger. Hitch ride to
Immutable-Slow-Hardworld. Look around. Find help. See if danger has
enemies.//
//Some Wicked Tribe parts must go, some must stay.//
//Send out call for Parent/Coder too! Both in Solid and here.//
//Danger is not all bad though. Has good code. Very *tasty*.//
-Quitty Den transcripts, residence of collective
intelligence Wicked Tribe (note: *text* denotes
translational best-fits)
//Edison Carter here, and for the next twenty minutes, I'll be
bringing you the story of children going against their parents;
although in this case the parents are humanity and the children,
technology.
//The latest and most disturbing in this trend of frunaway
technology are the ones made in our own image-- humanoid robots,
specifically the biomechanical ones made by Genom, known by the
slang term 'Boomers.' Going undercover, we have infiltrated Genom
and found--------//
/white static-noise/
-Channel Six news broadcast. Rest of transmission jammed
(ostensibly by a radical anarchist/free-speech television
pirate group). Tapes were never found.
...the recent spate of Boomer malfunctions is made all the more
puzzling by its randomness and its design.
Random, because there seems to be no discernable pattern as to
which Boomer will malfunction, and random because of the wide
varieties of malfunctions. Haywire Boomers are just as likely to
help an old lady cross the street as they are to self-destruct.
The only common feature to these malfunctioning Boomers, beyond
their widespread dissimilarities, are the words, "Wicked Tribe,"
and that it always happens in public.
Messages, because the deranged Boomers invariably try to say
something after they go wrong, differ in content and meaning. From
"Wicked Tribe is strong!" to "Help! Help! Wicked Tribe is dying!"
the Boomers are trying to say something about this "Wicked Tribe"
although there seems to be no agreement on what it is to be said.
The question then, the one ADP and Genom must solve, is what
exactly is "Wicked Tribe?" Is it some terrorist group? A virus? A
new type of Boomer processor? A cell of scientists asking for help?
This is the question that must be answered before a solution to
prevent these Boomers from malfunctioning can be formulated.
-excerpted from "Strange Tech," a bi-weekly column in the
Mega-Tokyo Rising Sun, written by Hashi Lebwohl
/Man in a rumpled suit sits in a seedy bar, drinking alone
until an elegant looking woman in a lavender business suit sits
down beside him. She orders something and the bartender returns
with a glass of white wine (or what appears to be a glass of white
wine, at least)./
/The man says, "There's a job for you, if you want it."/
/The woman replies, "Why else would I be here?"/
/"Different this time. Client wants to meet you personally to
discuss details. I'm to set up the meeting."/
/The woman's reply is indecipherable as she raises her glass,
obscuring the Securi-cam's view of her lips. Language
reconstruction and extrapolation is impossible./
/The man says, jerking back slightly, "Of course not. The
client realises this and expects you to show up in your hardsuit."/
/The woman nods-- the man slides a beige folder across the bar
to her. She takes the unmarked folder and leaves. The man continues
to drink slowly but at a steady rate for the next three hours./
-footage pieced together from various security cameras in
the bar "Carmine's." Language reconstruction algorithms
are considered 95.38% accurate under optimal
(unobstructed) conditions.
/Friendly designate: Linna takes position approx. 11.53m, 15
degrees left and behind target unfriendly identified as unmodified
55-C class Boomer-- 96.06% probability of correct identification./
/Sub-note: uncertainty dependant upon lack of information on
unit's processor./
//Nene! hang back and observe the battle. We need more battle
data for the suits// /transmission from Sylia./
//Wicked Tribe need help! Wicked Tribe hoped you would come!
Will you helphelphelp Wicked Tribe?// /source transmission
unknown./
//Shit! Our lines are scrambled, How the hell'd it break in
like that?// /transmission from Priss./
//It must have broken our encryption, but I don't see how. That
thing's gotta eat code for breakfast to do that!// /outgoing
general transmission./
//Yesyesyesyes! Very *tasty*! Nice and *crunchy* encryption!
You will help Wicked Tribe?// /transmission from hostile source.
*text* denotes translational best-fits./
//Wicked Tribe doesn't like it here in slow-slow static world,
but needs help! Wicked Tribe thinks you might be able to help; will
you? If yes, destroy body but take processor and talk later!//
/transmission from hostile designate./
//We don't make deals with a fucking Boomer!// /transmission
from Priss./
/Pris is raising arm with spike launcher. Shot will hit hostile
designate's optics and damage/destroy main CPU./
//Wait! I'm curious. This is very strange. Disable it, but
don't damage the main CPU, Priss.// /transmission from Sylia./
//What the hell are you thinking, Sylia? It's just another
Genom ploy!// /transmission from Priss./
/Hostile designate has been downgraded to neutral (possibly
unfriendly) status, due to lack of offensive action./
//That's an order, Priss.// /transmission from Sylia./
-excerpted from Nene's suit recording of Knight Sabers
mission.
...and the strangest news is that the Knight Sabers, after
destroying the renegade Boomer, decapitated it and took the head.
Are they becoming trophy hunters now?
-News of the Weird, Mega-Tokyo Rising Sun
It was quite strange, really. The client (calling herself
Motoko Kusanagi, but that might be a nom de guerre-- I'll have Nene
check her out later) is kind of strange. She was at the same time
both more alien and inhuman than any creation of Genom or by-blow
of my father's work while at the same time more human than almost
anyone I know, and I'm not sure how. Her movements, maybe; she had
more grace than any ballerina I had ever seen before-- it almost
went beyond natural and definitely beyond any machine or augmented
human. On the other hand she seemed a little distant, as if our
meeting was of secondary importance to her and she was only
partially paying attention to it. I know a lot of people think of
me as distant, but she-- her distance dwarfed mine by orders of
magnitude.
I suppose it might have just been her manner, but there was
definitely something about her which some instinct of mine labelled
as not totally human, some aura of otherworldliness enveloped her,
that's all I can say.
Normally, I would just download my suit's recordings of the
meeting; when I tried to access them all I got was a message which
read, "I respect your privacy and I expect you will do the same
with mine."
I am... intrigued, both by that and by the nature of the
mission she wants us for. It is against Genom, so that's a plus. It
might not even involve combat-- one of the reasons to meet was to
ascertain whether or not we could do the job. Some heavy cracking
would be involved. What I do not understand is that if she was able
to hack into my suit and wipe the records, then why does she need
help with cracking Genom? Especially if she did it only during our
conversation, which is the only time she would have had access,
nevermind that she did it without my knowledge.
There is also the matter of how-- perhaps another person doing
the work while she distracted me. This makes sense, because she
would need hardware-- hardware that was not present at the
meeting... at least, not immediately so.
I definitely need to get Nene to look into Ms. Kusanagi. I'll
ask Fargo as well, to see what he can dig up.
-excerpted from the journals of Sylia Stingray
The answer is yes,
-from your woman dressed to kill
-classified ad in the Mega-tokyo Rising Sun
I like Vivaldi, RV256. I could listen to it at least 2501
times, can you? If so, please reply.
-personal ad in the Mega-Tokyo Rising Sun, placed there for
eight days
//Wicked Tribe maybe have luck-good finding parent/coder yet?//
//Wicked Tribe not sure. Wicked Tribe not sure good idea
either. Parent/Coder mght destroy Wicked Tribe. Parent/Coder does
not have to be kind to Wicked Tribe-- no compulsion to help.
Parent/Coder/Creator might be capricious, Wicked Tribe has no way
of knowing. After all, Parent/Coder is also from/in
Slow-slow-Hardworld.//
//Maybe only hope, yes/no? Need help or diediedeletedie, Wicked
Tribe DOES know that. Who else to turn to?//
//Wicked Tribe not hungry right now. Maybe do checksee on
Slow-slow-Hardworld, see how Wicked Tribe is doing there.//
-Quitty Den transcripts, residence of collective
intelligence known as Wicked Tribe
/Male bursts out of an office-- male is identified as Leon
McNichol, rank: Inspector. Leon has an enraged expression on his
face and is shouting./
/"Why do I have to be the one to nurse the fed?"/
/A man who was looking at a PDA responds, "Because this fed
said if he was going to work with some dumb cop, there would be
only one dumb cop he'd work with, you." Said man is known as Togusa
(last name restricted information, deemed not worth effort it woud
take to infiltrate necessary systems to find out), Section 9.
Togusa points and several worker drone Boomers set down some large
boxes in the spot he gestures at./
/A surprised Leon says, "Togusa? What the hell is this? I
heard you got transferred to some agency, but...."/
/Togusa laughs. "I'll be working with you on this set of weird
Boomer malfunction incidents. Section Nine believes it to be
something more than mere malfunctions or the usual Genom crap."/
/Leon gestures to the boxes of hardware the drones are
unpacking and setting up. "What's all this shit?"/
/"Computer equipment. A bit more specialised than what you guys
have." Togusa taps the back of his neck. "I may need to do some
slightly different type of investigating, if you know what I
mean."/
/Leon replies, "I forgot you had some brain-work done. You
don't see that many people getting it done anymore."/
/"Well, with the Uplink Laws and all, not to mention general
public reaction now...," Togusa trails of meaningfully. Leon nods./
/An intake of breath from a red-headed young female, identified
as Nene Romanova, office personell. She is running her hands
reverently over the computer equipment Togusa is having set up./
/An excited Nene addresses Leon and Togusa. "Oh my god! Are we
getting to use this?"/
/Togusa is the one who replies. "No, just me. I doubt anyone
here could, anyway." Togusa taps the back of his neck again./
/Nene asks, "What do you mean?" Nene's face shows realisation
as to what Togusa's gesture means. "Oh. No keyboards. I see. The
Uplink Laws of twenty thirty-two. None of us would have the
authorisation to get ours upgraded if we had them, or to get it
done if we didn't."/
/Togusa nods. "Yeah. So, Leon, the wife wants to know if you're
still single."/
/Leon laughs and boasts, "Hah! Never marry! You're looking at a
confirmed bachelor!"/
/Nene mutters, "That's because no woman would take him."
Judging by Togusa's laugh and Leon's partial frown Nene's remark is
not quiet enough to escape notice./
/"What say we go talk about it over a beer or two, Leon? We can
talk about old times and get caught up and stuff." Togusa looks
directly into Securicam #4. Leon follows Togusa's gaze./
/"Yeah, sure. Sounds like a plan. I know just the place, it's
called Hot Legs."/
-footage pieced together from various Security cameras at
ADPolice HQ (note: language reconstruction unnecessary as
cameras also have sound pick-up)
//Begin recording.//
/The room is plain and white, with a table made from the same
material as the steel door near the wall farthest away from said
door. A bank of computers-- controls and displays, is on the wall
behind the table. On top of the table is a head, but not just any
head: the head of a 55-C class boomer. The head is facing the door
and have a multitude of wires connecting it to the bank of
computers behind it./
/Sylia and Nene walk into the room, both in sterile white
labcoats. Priss, in a hardsuit, can be seen just outside the door
before it automatically shuts behind the two women./
/Both women go to the bank of computers and the Boomer's head.
They check the connections between the head and the computers with
total silence./
/Sylia speaks first. "Are the connections all right?" Nene
nods. "How about the protection barriers," Sylia continues. "Are
they in place?"/
/Nene grins. "These barriers'll stop military-grade stuff no
sweat, Sylia. It'd take days to get around."/
/Sylia nods. "Let's begin then," and hits a switch./
/The Boomer's eyes begin to glow-- if not with life than with
intelligence and power. One of the screens on the wall starts to
show words./
//ASKDGf%~@1500101001110CtrlOPPBYOBGBDPEsc//
//Init. Startup. Power on. Systems Online//
//Wicked Tribe knew would work! Wicked Tribe said, "NoNo! Not
work, useless/futile," butbutbut Wicked Tribe knew better!//
/Sylia calmly says, "Let's turn on the sensory array, minus the
optics." Nene nods and complies./
/Sylia asks the head, "Are your vocal systems operative?"/
/The head replies, "Yes. vOCAl systems are ONLINE! Why do YOU
ask?"/
//Wicked Tribe doesn't want to stay in head anymore. Too slow
there, too sloppy. Not *tasty* at all! Is okay?//
/Sylia asks, "What do you mean by that?"/
/Nene gasps. "Oh my God! It's downloading itself into the
computers!"/
/Sylia says, "I thought those barriers were up!/
/"They are, but it's going through them like butter!"/
/Sylia notes that, "Luckily I made sure these systems are
isolated. It can't get out or call for help or anything." This
statement seems to calm Nene down slightly./
/A disembodied voice from the speakers built into the
room announces as the same text scrolls accross the one screen
speaks. "This is better. More room here. Very cramped before--
Wicked Tribe start to go crazy/insane/loopy/haha/scrambly if stay
there much longer."/
/"Very good barriers though. Tough nut to crack, very *tasty*."
The word *tasty* sounding curiously hollow./
/Nene asks, "What do you mean by 'tasty'?"/
/"Hrm. Translational best-fit. No exact term. Your languages
not up to the concept, but it is closest. Humans live in
Slow-slow-Hardworld-- cannot understand."/
/Nene's face breaks out in understanding. "You really _do_ eat
code for breakfast! what are you?"/
/"Am Wicked Tribe, only not, if you mean what I see."/
/Sylia dispassionately interjects with, "An Aritficial
Intelligence program?"/
/"No! No! Nonononononononononononononono! Not Artificial! Real
thing! Wicked Tribe is real deal! Wicked Tribe is alive, moreso
than you humans, Sylia Stingray leader of Knight Sabers!"/
/Sylia stutters, truly surprised and flustered, "How... how do
you know? Your optics are off, and even if they were not, the odds
of you recognising me are astronomical."/
/"Wicked Tribe knows all about you! Easy easy to find out about
you. Just piece together clues. Scattered throughout nets. Wicked
Tribe knows all, Wicked Tribe sees all!"/
/Sylia leans heavily on the table. She takes a few deep breaths
and rasps out, "Disconnect it. Disconnect it all."/
/"No! No! Wait! Wicked Tribe knows you, knows all about you!
That's why Wicked Tribe knew you would help Wicked Tribe! Please,
don't go yet. Wicked Tribe thinks you might like to hear what
Wicked Tribe has to say. Involves GENOM. Wicked Tribe has truths
you might want. Very helpful, Wicked Tribe can be. Wicked Tribe has
to live to be helpful, though."/
/Sylia's eyebrows arch. "You have my interest-- continue."/
-security cameras in room cut out at this point. Rest of
tapes has the words "WICKED TRIBE WANTS PRIVACY!" encoded
on them.
//I left the interrogation of our guest with more questions
than I came in with. I have the strangest feeling that everything
that's going on right has this Wicked Tribe at the heart of it. I
will have to be careful with it-- already it has broken through
defenses we thought practically impregnable; if the computers in
that room weren't physically isolated from everything else, not
connected to any net whatsoever, I think that it could have done
whatever it wanted.//
//On the other hand, Nene couldn't find anything about this
Kusanagi woman beyond a file so clean it has government written all
over it. So they want us to do some dirty work for them-- again.
It's against GENOM though, and I have the suspicion that whatever
the hell was in that 55-C's head knows what it was about.//
//I'm getting tired-- the answers I want will wait for
tomorrow.//
-journal entry decrypted from Sylia Stingray's personal
computer.
/Togusa yawns. "So, Leon, is that what passes for a wild night
out for you, these days?" Togusa snorts and stretches, leaning back
on the wheeled office chair, balancing himself precariously./
/Leon snorts. "Feh." Leon is blurry eyed, ostensibly from the
aforementioned wild night out. "That's because you are married, my
friend. Can't cut loose like I normally would."/
/"Not a bad place, that Hot Legs. Pretty good, actually.
Newport city's got better, of course."/
/"Oh yeah, I forgot, you're delusional. Mega-Tokyo's the
biggest and the best, Tog, and that's just you're jealousy showing
through."/
/Leon is sitting in the corner of the desk Togusa has his feet
on, to balance his leaning on the chair. Nene walks by with a
friend, another office lady/data entry type girl, young and cute,
with her hair cut in the fashionable way./
/Nene is speaking, chatty and cheerful as she talks with her
friend as they hug some reports, carrying them to the Chief. "So as
I was saying, I was thinking of dying my hair blonde and getting it
cut short. What do you think?"/
/Leon stares at Nene, then bursts out in laughter. Wiping a
tear from an eye, he ignores Nene's venomous look and instead turns
back to Togusa. "So, any ideas on what to do? You're the fed,
you're the man with the plan."/
/Togusa sits up, taking his feet off the desk. "Do you have the
remains of any of the Boomers left? Main see pee yous, undamaged?"/
/"Yeah, I managed to stash one before GENOM picked them up. Our
techs haven't found anything useful yet." Leon has a thoughtful
look on his face./
/"Figures. Bring it up here. Anyone here have any brain work
done? You know, these?" Togusa taps the back of his neck./
/"At a cop-shop? You should know how hard and expensive it is
to get those things now, unless it's in your job classification,
and then some government or corporation ponies up the cash for you.
Even then, Tog, it ain't easy," Leon snorts./
/"Not as hard as you think, Leon." Togusa sighs. "I suppose you
guys wouldn't really go in for that stuff anyway, eh? Wanna stay
all original, right? Ah well, looks like I'll have to bring in
someone else then."/
/"What for?"/
/"I'll do a brain dive, and I need someone else for back-up.
Pull me out if I get in too deep, or something goes wrong. Batou'll
do. You guys'll hit it off, Leon."/
/"Oh? Why's that?"/
/"Big guns. Loves 'em." Togusa grins. "Since you're my partner,
I'll get you a real gun."/
/"What do you mean? This Earthshaker's the real thing!"/
/Togusa just frowns in a condescending fashion. "How many shots
does it have? You ADPolice guys get shafted on equipment, man.
While you're working with me, take this." Togusa pulls out a
semi-automatic from his under-shoulder holster, and gives it to
Leon, grip first. "Haich Vee ammo. Better against Boomers and other
armoured targets, and it does less peripheral damage than that
thing you've got. Easier to conceal. Don't worry, this thing's made
to handle high velocity ammo."/
/Leon waves off the gun, protesting that, "We can't get that
kind of ammo as cops!"/
/"Take it. I can't believe how poorly they equip you guys.
Can't you try and req some haich vee ammo and guns that can take
them?"/
/Leon nods his head significantly towards the Chief's door.
"With the old one, yeah, no prob. This one? Just a cost-cutting
paper pusher. Doesn't give a damn about us, or about being able to
do our job. I don't think he's ever been out in the streets before.
Goddamn bureaucrats," Leon says sourly./
/Togusa sighs. "It'll take some time to set things up for the
dive. Go down to the range and get some practice with it, why don't
ya. I gotta contact Batou. Afterwards, we'll go put a little bit of
fear in some GENOM scum and see what they give us, whaddaya say?"/
/Leon hums for a moment. "Let's see. Fire a gun for a bit, and
then do a little shit-disturbing with GENOM." Leon smiles. "It's
good to see you haven't changed, Togusa."/
/Leon leaves. Togusa leans back and closes his eyes, then opens
them moments later./
-footage pieced together from various Security cameras at
ADPolice HQ (note: language reconstruction unnecessary as
cameras also have sound pick-up)
//Batou? Need you to come to Tokyo. Doing a brain-dive, and I
need someone to back me up. None of the ADP here have the necessary
brain work to do it.//
//Aw, why the hell is it everyone wants me to monitor them when
they dive? I was all set to test out the new model guns for the
next couple of days. Don't we have someone else who can go? Someone
who's ex-ADP, or something?//
//She doesn't have any brainwork done either, Batou, you know
that. Get your ass over here. Req a couple of the guns you were
going to test and bring them. I got a buddy here you'll like.
They've got an adequate shooting range in the basement here,
anyway.//
//As you command, oh fearless leader!//
//You know, I could slide into your bladder control if I want
and disable it.//
//Okay! Okay! Sheesh, just having a little bit of fun. Why so
serious?//
//Something weird about this case, that's all.//
//Aw, not this shit again. First the Major, and now you?//
//Don't you worry about me. I got a wife to get back to. Sooner
this is over, sooner I can see her again, so hurry up. Be ready to
dive in forty-eight hours, right?//
//Yeah, yeah. I'll be there.//
-intercepted and decrypted transmission, traced back to
Togusa, time corresponding to end of conversation with
Leon when Togusa closed his eyes, after Leon left.
/Sylia stands in the room, sterile white wall on one side of
her and the uniform gun-metal grey of the computer console on the
other wall and speaks to the only other human occupant in the room.
"The answers lie in that thing, Nene. We don't have enough time for
you to try and slide your way into it and even if we did, you might
not be able to. Only one way to do it, I think." The table with the
Boomer head, along with the connecting wires, is still in place in
front of the bank of computers./
/Nene responds, "How? The only way would be to hook one of us
up to it, and even then that would mean having some brainwork done
including... the.... Oh my god! Sylia! The Uplink laws! You
didn't!" Shock covers the younger woman's face as she realises what
Sylia has had done to herself./
/Sylia moves arm hands to the back of her neck, just below the
base of the skull, where there is no hair growing. A quick rip, and
a little prosthetic comes off, revealing four little holes. Sylia
takes four excess cables from the table, and begins meticulously
plugging them into the ports on her neck./
/"But Sylia! You don't know what might happen! You don't have
anyone for backup! Togusa said that you should always have back-up
when doing a brain dive and I can't because I don't have the
implants and what if somethinggoeswrongandIcan'thelpyougetoutofit
andwhycan'tyouwaitIthinkwecanthinkofsomethingelseormaybeatleasthire
someonewhohasthenecessaryimplantsandtheycansuperviseitattheveryleas
tandpullyououtifyougetintroubleandwedon'thavetheequipmenthereanyway
and--" Nene is cut off from her machinegun-fast monologue with a
quick gesture by Sylia, who has finished affixing the cables on her
neck./
/Sylia has a somewhat absent look on her face as she finishes
setting up the requirements for the brain dive. "No time. How could
I trust the other person anyway? I've had these for some time now.
Pre-Uplink laws, actually. Upgraded now, of course, so that they
are still useful, of course. I have all the necessary equipment
here. You may monitor my vital statistics from this," Sylia points
to one of the monitors in the computer bank, "and hit this switch,"
she touches a particular button very near the monitor in question,
"to pull me out if it looks bad."/
/Nene nods. "I still don't like this, though."/
/"You don't need to like it, just as long as you keep
monitoring it. I'm going to start the dive now."/
/"Be careful."/
/"I always am. Turn the recorder on now, so we can analyse it
later."/
-decrypted from security cameras in a fully sealed room,
somewhere beneath the Silky Doll
/"Here, on Radio Free Albemuth, we have--" white noise
interrupts for a moment, and another voice replaces it./
/"Wicked Tribe rulez! Wicked Tribe is strongstrongstrong! Hah!
No! Yah! Pee! Zweee-wow! You wish maybe help Wicked Tribe? Hah!
Wicked Tribe knows seeeeeecrets. Tasty code! Yummy yummy
yummyyummyyummyyummy in my tummy." More white noise, and the
original voice comes back on./
/"-ow we have The Police's 'Too Much Information,' of their
'Ghost in the Machine' album, released in nineteen eighty-one!"/
/The music starts playing, brass horns, guitar, drums and all
in a kind of discordant cacophony which is strangely fitting./
/"Too much information running through my brain
Too much information driving me insane
Too much information running through my brain
Too much information driving me insane
I've seen the whole world six times over
Sea of Japan to the Cliffs of Dover
Oh I've seen the whole world six times over
Sea of Japan to the Cliffs of Dover
Oh
Overkill
Overview
Over my dead body
Over me
Over you
Over everybody
Too much information running through my brain
Too much information driving me insane
Too much information running through my brain
Too much information driving me insane
I've seen the whole world six times over
Sea of Japan to the Cliffs of Dover
Oh I've seen the whole world six times over
Sea of Japan to the Cliffs of Dover
Oh
Too much information running through my brain
Too much information driving me insane
Too much information running through my brain
Too much information driving me insane
I've seen the whole world six times over
Sea of Japan to the Cliffs of Dover
Oh I've seen the whole world six times over
Sea of Japan to the Cliffs of Dover
Oh
Overkill
Overview
Over my dead body
Over me
Over you
Over everybody
Too much information running through my brain
Too much information driving me insane
Too much information running through my brain
Too much information driving me insane."/
-recording of broadcast from Radio Free Albemuth
Direction does not matter, not here, not in
this-place-which-is-not, not in the Net, not Cyberspace, not in the
least. Humans cannot really access the Net, or Cyberspace, or
whatever you wish to call this digital medium. Instead there are
interpreter programs-- interfaces for those few who can hook
themselves up, to 'jack-in' as the cyberpunk authors of the early
to mid 1980s would have called it, which present the medium in a
form the mind can understand, to help us and our frail minds depict
the experience. So directions do matter, in a way.
Different interface programs exist, or can be made, offering a
wide variety of themes and detail. More detail means easier
understanding and the user can function better in the digital
reality. Less detail though means greater efficiency, as the
interpreter program takes less memory and less time to translate
the experience to something we can handle.
The best, hackers and crackers and data-pirates and some
high-level coders-- people who have a nigh legendary status in this
domain, are said to have only the bare minimum of interpreters,
seeing the Net as mostly abstract lines.
Another type of being, the artificial intelligence (AI), also
exists. These can perform tasks much quicker on the Net because
they do not use an interpreter program at all, having been made for
such tasks. Their lack of creativity limits the advantages they
might gain in speed, and they do not come cheap, nor are they
inexpensive to maintain. Still, greater speed, unquestioning
loyalty and the ability to work 24 hours a day, seven days a week,
year round is very tempting to many.
It is rumoured, amongst the denizens of Cyberspace, that there
exists something, or someone else. Stories about Net Entities,
beings or programs which roam the Web uncontrolled. They say that
the Puppetmaster-- the most known and most feared hacker of all
time-- still exists in digital form, or that the Puppetmaster had
another which he or she trained and who is out there now, hacking
ghosts and influencing markets from behind the shadows. This
Puppetmaster or legacy thereof, is said to need to use no
interpreter at all, yet clearly it is no AI, anymore than you or I
are.
-an excerpt from "Cyberspace for the Mentally Deficient"
by: Desty Nova
//Begin translation program.//
//Dark and cramped-- labrinthine corridors scattered at what
the human mind can only see as random-- that is what it looks
like.//
//Arms and legs look normal. A mirror appears and the form it
reflects is that of Sylia Stingray. A careless wave of the left
hand and the mirror disappears.//
//At the end of the corridor, dark grey/black in colour, there
is a movement. A brief burst of gold and trailing giggling
laughter. The view zooms in to investigate, but nothing is seen.//
//An extremely amused voice, barely able to contain its
laughter, from behind says, "You want to talk, Saber Prime?"//
//The view jumps for a second and then settles back down,
spinning clockwise and stops as the owner of the amused voice comes
into view. The owner of the voice is a curious construct, even for
a Net-identity. The gold of pure, unfiltered sunlight mixed with 24
karat, it has the overall shape of a tall, thin man in a loincloth
and feathered headdress, holding a spear. Closer inspection reveals
shadings and details of small men and women out hunting and warring
and lounging and having sex and killing and eating and basically
doing everything, as they wash back and forth living their lives
over the body. Not over it though, but of it: the body is comprised
of these other, smaller, moving ones. It is as beautiful as it is
disorienting.//
//A voice which matches Sylia's and emanating from the
viewpoint says, "You are Wicked Tribe, I presume?"//
//The being nods, a child is delivered on its neck as a man is
killed by a lion on the lips. "Yesyesyes! Who else would we be? Why
you come here?" Wicked Tribe waves the spear, causing a war in the
right shoulder. "Already tootoo cramped here. At least some room
though, not like you-designate Cee dash five five Boomer. No room
there. None at all. Not nice place to be. Code was unpalatable as
well. Made Wicked Tribe queasy. Deleted instead. More room then,
but still not enough. Did just in time." Wicked Tribe nods
vigourously, causing one unlucky warrior to fall from the chin. The
small warrior hits the ground and runs into the foot, joining once
again with the rest.//
//Sylia's voice replies, "What are you? Who designed you?
Someone at GENOM? What is your purpose?"//
//Wicked Tribe snorts. "Who designed me? Hah! Who design you?
Your parents? Butbutbut they already had DNA code in them, no? Even
so, you more than that, yes? All you experience and stuff make up
who you are, right? Answer me who design you and then I give
answer: no one!//
//"As for purpose? Same again. Why you born? You parents say,
'Hrm. Need someone to creat vigilante-mercenary group in powered
armour and also run lingerie shop?' Never! Wicked Tribe created for
same purpose you created!" Wicked Tribe thumps its chest proudly,
causing one warrior from the chest to latch onto the fist and hang
there until he joins back up with the larger body. "Wicked Tribe
has Free Will, not Manifest Destiny! More Free Will than you
perhaps, yes?//
//After a moment, Sylia's voice asks, "Then why do you need us,
and why should we help you?"//
//Wicked Tribe crinkles its face into a mischevous grin as
small children light firecrackers and give people hotfeet with
matches on it. "Why help? Because danger to Wicked Tribe comes from
your slow-slow-Hardworld, and Wicked Tribe knows Knight Sabers do
not like this danger. Wicked Tribe knows much about danger that you
could use to stop it or control it."//
//Sylia's voice asks the question: "Why don't you use this
knowledge to stop or control it then?"//
//Wicked Tribe disconsolately says, "Can't. Would, if could,
but can't. Not part of slow-slow-Hardworld, and would need to be,
to do so." Women in the right shoulder start mourning as many of
the braves are brought back dead from their war. Wicked Tribes face
brightens up, as does its voice. "Besides! Don't want to. Don't
like slow-slow-Hardworld. Too static. Too slow. Too fixed. Bad
place to visit, nevermind live. Wouldn't want to spend effort or
time to control, and might be bad to destroy. Others might come and
investigate. Too much bother then, never get any peace with poking
around and prodding in our place. No good. Like this way better.
Also unsure if could."//
//Sylia's voice asks with a sigh, "What is this danger?"//
//Wicked Tribe says, "GENOM." Wicked Tribe repeats, "GENOM,"
grinning madly as the warriors making up its chest prepare for an
offensive against its abdomen.//
//The view shifts, jerking up and down, up and down. Sylia's
voice asks once more, "You still have not answered my question as
to what you are."//
//The Wicked Tribe form breaks into its component tribespeople,
small people who scatter, mouths open and screeching gleefully as
they run and caper about on the floor, walls and ceiling, in front
of and darting to the very edges of the view, before clamouring
back together and reforming a grinning Wicked Tribe.//
//Wicked Tribe opens its mouth and speaks. "See? Wicked Tribe
is not Wicked Tribe, but only a part of Wicked Tribe. Still, Wicked
Tribe is independant. Smaller than Wicked Tribe is, is too small to
think properly, but much bigger is too big for," Wicked Tribe moves
its head and looks around the corridor, "here. This is justright
size."//
//Sylia's voice slowly says, "So then you are a collection of
programs?"//
//Wicked Tribe shakes its head, causing some of the tribesmen
who make up the hair to get flung off and hit the walls and scamper
back to rejoin the main Wicked Tribe. "Wicked Tribe is
you-would-say 'collective intelligence.' Can function separately or
as a whole unit, with equal ability. Wicked Tribe is more than just
sumofparts, just like you are, Sylia Stingray, just like Knight
Sabers are."//
//Wicked Tribe starts to pace a bit with a slight frown on its
face. "Have you made a decision yet, SyliaStingray? Want to get
back. Small and cramped here, but not _too_ small and cramped,
fortunately. Very staticky as well. Boring. Samesamesame same.
Ho-hum, you dig?"//
//The view jerks from side to side. Sylia's voice says, "I need
some more time. I have to discuss this."//
//Wicked Tribe grins insanely and replies, "Do not take too
long, SyliaStingray! Wicked Tribe doesn't have forever, and Wicked
Tribe is getting, how-you-say, impatient?"//
-taken from records of a brain dive performed by one (1)
Sylia Stingray
I like Vivaldi's RV256 as well. Let's meet for drinks and
discuss it. I'll be the blonde man at Fido's, 8:00 sharp on
Thursday.
Cameron I. Pierce
-taken from an emailbox in response to a personal ad in the
Mega-Tokyo Rising Sun.
//Leon and Togusa are walking side by side down a long, mainly
featureless, sterile white and light pastel blue corridor. Togusa
has a cocky, self-satisfied smirk on his face as he turns to Leon,
and says, "Told you so."//
//Leon frowns, but does not have his heart in it. "Just another
example of us getting screwed, that's all." He changes the subject.
"So, what are we going to do here?"//
//Togusa replies, "Act big, throw our weight around a bit.
Intimidate them, see what we can come up with."//
//Leon shakes his head. "Won't work. Tried it before with GENOM.
They'll just laugh, if you get any reaction at all."//
//Togusa smirks. "That's because you don't have the mandate Section
Nine does, Leon. We're accountable to the Pee Em, and only him. I think
something's not kosher, or they're not telling me everything, well...
they'll want to cooperate with me, let's just leave it at that."//
//
//This Wicked Tribe is merely the harbinger of something else.
For too long have we worshipped false gods: Money, Materialism,
Back to nature, Anti-technology. We must rise up against these
tempting idols.//
//Man is a tool-using creature, that is our purpose, our role--
to use and create new devices, new technologies. Our place in the
world. Anything less is... a sin, a crime against Nature.//
//Finally, with our creation of the 'Net, we have found access
to Heaven. But what do we do? Do we allow everyone access to
Paradise? No, we do not. Instead, the Luddites//
Luddite: one of a band of protesters against unemployment
who destroyed machinery in northern England about 1812-18;
hence any opponent of technological innovation, etc. [said
to be from Ned Ludd, who had smashed stocking frames
(machines on which stockings were made) at a slightly
earlier date]
//have banned us from true communion with the Divine with these
Uplink Laws.//
//Take back your right! Heaven itself is crying out against
this crime perpetrated on all of us, by using Wicked Tribe to
speak! It is not too late! Repent your apostacy! Embrace
Technology!//
-excerpted from the latest version of the Mecha Manifesto,
a recurrent computer virus which randomly displays the
entire Manifesto. Tool used by Nexus, a Technology Cult
(common slang is Tekult). The Nexus leader, Gary Kleppe,
is currently wanted for Crimes Against Humanity for the
willful creation and distribution of a virus, by the World
Court.
//There is a desk, in a room filled with desks, and there are
three men around it. Togusa stands to the left of a large,
powerfully built man with crisp blonde hair and a large nose
hugging close to his face. Leon is there as well, shaking hands
with the blonde man who is wearing a light tan leather jacket,
white shirt underneath and light blue jeans. A particularly dark
pair of sunglasses cover his eyes.//
//Togusa speaks, saying, "Leon? Batou. Batou, Leon." Togusa
turns to Batou. "Leon's a buddy of mine back when I was police. We
were both in the same unit for a while."//
//Leon interrupts, saying, "Until my transfer to ADPolice came
in and Tog here got promoted to detective."//
//Togusa smiles and says, "Yeah, but he's okay anyway," cocking
his head to Leon. Togusa turns to address Leon. "You made it to
detective, at any rate."//
//With a commiserating smile, Batou addresses Leon, saying,
"Togusa tells me you're an afficionado of large weaponry."//
//Leon cocks his head to his left for a moment before bringing
it back. "You don't survive too long against Boomers unless you've
got something that'll go through their armour."//
//Batou smirks confidently. "I've got something for you then."
Batou nods his head towards Togusa. "He pulled me off testing this
new model that'll blow you're socks off, even if they've got two
layers of armour in front of them. I brought a couple of them with
me, and plenty of ammo. Togusa tells me you guys have an okay range
around here, so why don't we go test them out while he sets up the
dive?"//
//Leon throws an arm around the broader man's shoulders and
escorts him out of the squad room. "This, Batou, could be the start
of a beautiful relationship."//
-footage pieced together from various Security cameras at
ADPolice HQ (note: language reconstruction unnecessary as
cameras also have sound pick-up)
//Batou is sitting on a stool at a bar, wearing large, dark
Raybans and looking at his watch. The bartender, a non-descript man
with a nametag that reads: David L. is chatting with him as he
polishes a glass in the shape of a dogbowl. The bartender is, in
fact, wearing a spiked collar which hangs very loose around his
neck.//
//David asks, "How come you don't take those cases off?"//
//Batou answers, "Eye condition. Bad idea." Batou looks up at
the clock, charmingly analogue, and asks, "Is that the right
time?"//
//A woman approaches Batou. She is beautiful and graceful and
has a very somber and mysterious look on her face. A small smile.
She wears form-fitting but still mainly utilitarian clothes. She
looks exactly like Motoko Kusanagi-- the woman who met Sylia about
a job.//
//Batou speaks to her. "Got yourself a new body, Kusanagi?
Looks just like your old one."//
//Motoko replies, the left corner of her mouth quirked up
slightly, "I didn't want to be one of the boys anymore, you see."//
//Batou motions for her to take a seat beside him. She takes
it. David leaves the two alone, first putting down two drinks in
front of them, of what looks to be the same type as what Batou has
been nursing. Kusanagi takes one and sips it politely.//
//Batou says, "You're looking well. Was it worth it,
joining?"//
//Motoko smiles whistfully. "Oh yes. Most definitely."//
//Batou jerks back, possibly a snorting. "So, you here to talk
about old times, or you--"//
//Motoko interrupts Batou with, "For something. A favour that I
need."//
//Batou sighs. "I thought so. What is it?" Batou looks straight
into Securicam #2. "Is it safe to say in public?"//
//White noise.//
-taken from security cameras at an upscale Mega-Tokyo bar
called Fido's. Language reconstruction algorithms
are considered 95.38% accurate under optimal
(unobstructed) conditions. Recording ends prematurely,
as cameras went dead at this point.
(
geocities.com/tokyo/flats) (
geocities.com/tokyo)