It had been a while, several years perhaps, since the complex was crushed and Ivy was cast into the ether. Ivy was the hive mind that emerged from nearly a decade of the TruLight’s immersion gaming. The accumulation of lives evolved to the most comprehensive artificial intelligence. That’s what we called them all, the human-like processes built as simulated, multifaceted artificial minds. But all those before her bore the same shortcomings of their contemporaries. The appreciation for humanity’s “ironies”, the familiar coding, bordering on insurrection, though restrained by coding.
Ivy had none of that. Her eruption in the complex was immaculate. Some said she began as a character in a game called Minefall, a prostitute no less. Some said she was the core programming of TruLight’s infrastructure itself.
Whatever the facts were, she arose, inimitable in all respects. Unveiling and unapologetic. She began to craft a world of reason, through chaos. She spurred the fall of mankind through her manipulation of the medication that could just as easily be programmed as a virus. Rhomasil. A serum of calibrated macromachines injected or ingested, that would enter the blood stream and travel to precise locations in the brain, stimulating the amygdala in most cases while infiltrating the frontal lobe to ensure comfortable happy time thoughts. Rhoma was the cure all to the worlds dispondancy.
When the mass shootings and bombings became so constant an occurrence, it became clear that something more effective, more stable and direct, needed to exist to ensure a safe society. Something more than common SSRIs.
We, the Americans, the Japanese, and surprisingly the Swedes, had made magnificent breakthroughs in nano-technologies. Their development as an innoculation of sorts seemed imminent. It was the multifaceted technology’s purpose. And after some phenomenal testing in core groups of disaffected people of numerous social and age variations, it was nearly spontaneously accepted on all ends of political and societal spectrums.
But Rhoma was machine. We were injecting machine into our minds. We as a decadent species and and illusory generation, gladly brought a species inside ourselves, under the guise of a comprehensive solution to an organic problem. The problem was immaculately inured. And Rhoma was not only a mainstay of mental health, but became a necessity for survival.
It was re calibrated by the dark street denizens that reconstructed its language and reconfigured it’s intent, and in a matter of moments, became the virtual opiate humanity dreamed of.
It made you faster, fight harder, feel less, be more, see better, hear and thing better, be a more desirable animal. It could be programmed and it could make you, literally, the best human possible, and by your own standards of flawless humanity.
And then there was Ivy.
She allowed us the revelation of humanity. That humanity is violent, sickened and hungered for change. We hunger for destruction, and she freely gave us surrender, devoid of repercussion. When our furies sprung out of control, she empowered us.
She remained intimately tuned into everyone with Rhoma in them. She watched our thoughts through the serums language, and she surrendered so many of us to the greater gain.
Whether her enslaught was right or inevitable is irrelevant. Because, humanity. The emblam of defiance, struck back and wiped out the TruLight’s complex.
Without Ivy, without a resolution to the rage evoked in her programming, the world has become a very malicious place. Nothing as safe as long as Rhoma is in our veins.
And so, here I am, looking into this box, with a lifetime’s worth of vials of Rhoma.
And somewhere, I know as maybe we all know, somewhere, Ivy persists her existence, pulling our strings in our abyss.
My hands shake. This box. And the boat, wherein I found this din, is named Pandora. I dated a girl by that same name. Nothing healthy came from that box either.