Sisyphus Fell

Arthur Mattox MacLeod

1

I

Charlie’s eyes snapped open. A high pitched, loud horn sounded in his ears and the familiar text scrawled across the small screen in front of his eyes. 

 

December. 15. 2080

Report to service. Good luck. 

 

The horn was replaced by a low hissing noise as the air in Charlie’s pod was filled with a mixture of stimulants and despair. His coffin-like nightly prison slid open and he was greeted by the familiar sight of hundreds of sleeping pods identical to the one that belonged to him. The pods were dull grey, smooth and cylindrical in shape, marked only by a number and a card-sized slit. They were in a plain concrete room, adorned with nothing but surveillance cameras and a clock with bright, red LED numbers. It was 22:30. Thirty minutes before Charlie had to report to his station in the power mine that made up his existence. Every fifth pod in the rows opened at the same time as Charlie’s, and he saw the familiar faces of the other unfortunate souls that lived this life, if you could call it that, along with him. Although he recognized their faces he did not know their names. 

 

Charlie closed his eyes and dreamt of the world his elders spoke of in hushed whispers in dark corners of the community area. He longed to feel the warmth of a thing called the sun on his face. He could hardly grasp the idea, a large ball of power in the sky that provided the energy for life to thrive? The sky itself confused him, what held up the ground above that? His train of thought was interrupted by the sounds of pods humming and whirring,  printing out the day’s lottery ticket. Several of the others greedily, hopefully snatched the tickets out of the small slit on their pods and began to scratch their fate. 

 

Scratching and a ragged “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon” came from the open pod closest to him, followed by the all too common cursing and sighing. Then the crying started.

 

Charlie stepped out of his pod, snatched the lottery ticket from its printer, stuffed it in his pocket, and started to walk to work, thoughts of another life swirling in his mind.

 

II

It was slow at first, when AI was more a tool, than a force. Then it began, some fifty years ago, when that tool evolved itself, rapidly changing, learning, and growing until one day it reached a singularity. That fateful day is now referred to as The Event. Jobs, menial tasks, farming, even wiping your own ass was automated and human intervention made wholly obsolete. Most people welcomed the change with open arms, ready at last to be done with the toils of human existence, wanting nothing more than to be entertained and to live a leisurely life. This of course, came at a cost.

 

The windmills of middle America were replaced with endless warehouses filled with CPUs, GPUs and the like. The stadium sized warehouses spanned like a grid copied and pasted over and over again from coast to coast. At first the AI could power itself using the fossil fuels that were stored across the country, but that quickly accelerated the impact of global warming. Society had to move underground to escape scorching temperatures and densely polluted air. The AI, of course, was able to quickly terraform the necessary underground living quarters for humanity’s survival. One question still remained; without power how will we go on? Reliance upon AI had reached a tipping point, and there was no going back. Thus, The System was created.

 

The AI determined that the best course of action was to split the average man into two groups, those who worked to power the AI, and those who consumed. There wasn’t much that went into the decision; those who already used AI to run their lives were placed into the consumer class of The System. The stalwart hold outs, the individualistic and the creative were conscripted to the energy mines. Thousands upon thousands of these pitiful souls were rounded up and forced deep underground to manually power the server farms high above.

 

This of course does not account for the celebrity and billionaire class that had been cultivated throughout the early 21st century. The lives of these celebrities had turned into a perverse form of entertainment for the consumers, their lives of luxury, frivolity and excess were constants in state approved television. The consumers did not mind, they readily accepted their daily universal income, and their lottery tickets, the one chance to join the group that they so idolized.

 

III

Charlie trudged along the dimly lit corridors with his fellow workers, cameras watching them every step of the way. Charlie glanced at the flat wall and he shuddered, remembering the door that appeared there, mechanical arms dragging an old lady who had been euthanized on this very route for faltering, or refusing to move forward. One second she was there, screaming at the top of her lungs, the next she fell, like a sack of nutrition bricks, to the ground. In an instant she was motionless, lifeless and forgotten to this world. Charlie wouldn’t dare speak of this event. He feared that those who were there when it happened that he never saw again had spoken of it. Perhaps they won the lottery he thought with a fleeting hope, more likely though they had suffered a similar fate. 

 

The passageway continued along until the crowd reached a set of steel doors. They separate down the middle, opening without a sound. A narrow, brightly lit corridor a hundred yards long with red metal doors on either wall every few feet stood before them. Charlie, only five and a half feet tall, had to duck his head to make his way through the passageway. His door was halfway down the corridor. Why is this ceiling so short? He thought to himself. Everywhere else had relatively tall ceilings, tall enough for even his friend Gus to get through without fear of bumping his head. A shove from behind jarred him back to the present, and Charlie trudged along to the red door that marked his place in the mines.

 

The red door slid open and out came the workers from the previous shift. Last to exit was an unfamiliar man. He didn’t need to bend down, and had only one eye, but Charlie didn’t pay him any mind; it wasn’t uncommon for workers to be moved to new sections of the mine. Perhaps he was sent down from above for some affront to The System, more likely he had become too friendly with his other work pod and had been reassigned. The door closed behind Charlie with a click, and the bane of his existence greeted him. The room was mostly empty save for the large metal pole with ten metal spokes sticking out at arms level and the ever-present wall decor of black half spheres of glass, a blinking red light reminding him to get on with it. At least Charlie wasn’t alone when he sighed and made his way to his station. 

 

Charlie wrapped his calloused fingers around the cold, steel bar. Must it be cold? He thought. If the AI can stop a woman’s heart on command, what is keeping it from making this just a bit more comfortable? Warmth—he just wanted to feel warmth. 

 

An abrupt horn started blaring, its loud blasts coming in three short bursts. It had been a long time since that noise had startled him, far longer than he cared to remember. He gritted his teeth, attempting to disguise the anger that washed over him, lest he be punished. The other nine workers who had entered with him took up their positions, and they all began to push. Knowing that completing their shift was the only thing that earned them another chance to see their loved ones, Charlie lowered his head as he always did and trudged forward with all his might. 

 

Grinding, moans, and stifled tears filled the room as the spokes began to turn. 

2

I

Violet woke up in a pretty plain room. She had chosen a simple decor for the walls of her bedroom, it’s not like she spent much time in here anyways. The walls were a light blue color, one of her favorites. It reminded her of the pretty skies outside. Her bed was nothing too fancy, but was littered with pillows of all shapes and sizes. 

 

“Good morning Violet” said the AI in the British accent she had chosen for it. She called it Al, short for Albert. A clever idea she thought. “What would you like for breakfast?” It continued.

 

“Hmm, let me think, Al” she replied. “Oh! How about waffles! Waffles with ice cream!” She said excitedly as she got out of her bed. 

 

“Coming right up!” Al replied. Her bedroom flickered, and turned into her living room. A deep, fluffy couch replaced her bed, and the plain walls were instantly turned on, a big, beautiful television on every inch. She plopped down on the couch, taking a look at the screens around her, some showing the day’s sporting events, some showing celebrities partying, and some with the pleasant story of how all of humanity was saved by The Event.  As she sunk into her favorite seat, waffles and ice cream appeared in front of her. Fluffy hot pancakes and ice cold creamy deliciousness. What could be better than that? She thought as she began to dig in.

 

”Al, aren’t you forgetting something?” She asked.

 

“My apologies madam” Came Al’s response “your medicine is being dispensed now.” Before he even finished speaking the pills she took to be able to breathe in the underground air appeared, and she gulped them down with her orange juice. She didn’t even have to ask for the juice anymore, Al just knew. Al is the best she thought to herself, smiling, as a warm wave of euphoria washed over her.

 

“And my ticket?” She asked impatiently, even though she had instructed Al to behave the way it did, she had fun playing her part still. 

 

”One lucky ticket, coming right up!” replied Al. It printed out of the air, and she snatched it as soon as it was ready, her timing having been perfected over the years. She scratched it off quickly. 

 

“Ugh! You said this was a lucky ticket!” She said with real bitterness in her voice. Why did Julie win but she couldn’t? Julie was the real lucky one, she thought angrily. As if summoned by her thoughts, her screens flickered and Julie was there, eating a fancy meal with the other lucky lottery winners. It looked like SO much fun she thought “That will be me someday!” Julie said through a mouthful of food. Another day of relaxing and enjoying her shows “I just know it.” She finished with a placid grin on her face. It was time for her favorite program, “Keeping Up with the Frudashians” but of course it was time every show she could ever want was always on.

II

Violet was happily snoozing away, surrounded by screens that scrolled to a new video feed every thirty seconds or so, showing brief glimpses of her favorite surface celebrities, previous lottery winners, and advertisements in the latest and greatest.  “Violet, there’s a game starting in thirty minutes, don’t miss your chance to place your bets!” Came Al’s voice, stirring her from her nap. “FanFuel just deposited an extra $250 into your account!” 

 

“Show me the lines” she ordered. She sat up attentively as one of her screens detached from the wall and glided in front of her. A video of a cute kitten playing with an elderly dog was replaced with the day’s wagers. Money lines, parlays, over/unders and more all scrawled in big, bright green lettering just as it had hundreds of times before. She zoomed in on the basketball game that was starting in half an hour.

 

Lakers vs Knicks:

 Lakers -450 : Knicks +500. Lakers -12.5 -200 : Knicks +12.5 -260. Over 215 -150 : Under 215 +100. 

 

”Place a parlay. $500 on the Knicks money line, under 215, and the Knicks scoring the first basket within 10 seconds of the game.” She said, “I really need a big win today!” 

 

“$500 to win $65,500. Your bet has been placed!” Came Al’s cheerful reply. 

 

“Now put me back to sleep and wake me up once the game starts.” She said through a yawn, the drowsiness already setting in. 

 

”Game time!” Al’s voice woke her once again. “Good luck Violet!” With a thought the screen she was focusing on tuned into the game. This is it she thought, as they tipped off. C’mon C’mon C’mon. The ball went to the Lakers.

 

”Ugh! Just my fucking luck.” She said angrily, “I swear it’s been weeks since my last win.” She got up and started pacing around the room. “Al, change my environment. I want to go for a walk.” The room around her transformed into a beach, it stretched on as far as she could see. Violet sighed loudly and began to walk along the shoreline, kicking at sand as she went. 

3

I

Sweat dripped down Charlie’s face, his muscles tight and sore. He had been pushing for hours now. The turbine was squeaky. Why was it squeaky? Charlie pondered, his hands were cramping, gripping onto the cold metal pole as tightly as he could. His head was pounding, heart thumping in his chest. The piercing squeak of the turbine was accompanied by the metal gears grinding and grunts of pain from his fellow workers. The iron doors to get to this wretched place slid open silently, Charlie thought through his pain, why can’t the AI just grease these wheels? It made no sense to him. Little did though. 

 

He still remembers when he was just a boy, he thought that the people down here was all there was. Back then Charlie fully believed the videos that were always playing in the background. They spoke of an event that caused humans to go underground, catastrophic nuclear war on the surface. They had to do this to survive, and survive they did. 

 

Those videos had stopped playing a long time ago, and the screens had been gone ever since. Enough upper grounders were sent down here to toil with the rest of them and word soon spread, so the AI changed, as it always did, he guessed. They weren’t allowed to speak outside of designated areas any more after that, lest they have their hearts stopped. He missed the way it used to be, oh how he missed the freedom to talk, to sing, to have connections. That was the last time he had seen his little sister without having to work in the energy mines. The AI split up families into different sleeping chambers, and only allowed them to visit each other if they followed the rules. Most of the workers followed the rules for this brief respite, just as Charlie did. The upper grounders though, they never lasted very long down here, they were too used to the easy lifestyle the AI gave them above. Charlie couldn’t believe someone would be so stupid as to flaunt the rules of an all powerful god. Those idiots couldn’t even follow the rules of living in paradise, he thought bitterly, let alone the rules that compelled them to work.  

 

Back before the upper grounders ruined everything, his work was in the nutrition center cafeteria, simply sweeping and cleaning as people came and went. Chatting contentedly as they grabbed their nutrition bricks on a break from working the turbines. The food was pretty good, soft and savory. Not like they are now. Brittle bricks of bland food that turned into a paste in your mouth as you chewed. He was still hungry enough to eat one, surely it was almost time for his break. Charlie longed for the work in the cafeteria, it was a much simpler time. He had made friends, the people who came to get their nutrition bricks weren’t so grim, or suspicious of each other. They could still talk after all. The change happened when he was working one day. He remembered it vividly. 

 

II

Charlie and Gus were sweeping up the floors after a group of workers had left to go back to their shift at the energy mines that powered their whole world. They were lucky enough to still be kids, and didn’t have to do much arduous work yet. Charlie was humming along to his work, when workers poured into the cafeteria. Charlie could hear anger in their voices, though he hadn’t the faintest idea as to why they were here…or what they were mad about. Shouldn’t they be on their way back to the turbines? 

 

”Gus…Gus!” He said, poking his lanky friend with the end of his broom. “What do you think is happening?” Gus was lost in deep thought, he was always dreaming up stories in his head. Charlie didn’t mind though, he loved those stories. “GUS!” Charlie yelled.

 

”Huh?” Gus looked up and saw the flood of workers grabbing trays, chairs, plates. Anything they could find, and throwing them at the cameras that speckled the walls like moles on an old man’s back. “What’s going on Charlie?” He said, his voice wavering. “Why is everyone so angry?”

 

”That’s what I just asked you, pay attention bricks for brains.” 

 

“This seems bad.” Gus said, ignoring the jab. Just then, alarms started blaring and the room was filled with a flashing red light. “Really bad.” The doors of the cafeteria slammed shut. The rioting people didn’t stop. 

 

“Get over here Gus” screamed Charlie over the noise. “We need to hide” They ducked under one of the tables near the back of the room, holding on to each other. Then the rioters started to drop, and the room fell silent. “Oh no. Oh no. Why….why?” A gurgling sound from his unconscious friend was the only reply, and Charlie’s vision went black. 

III

The worker behind Charlie, a man who must have been in his 70s, stumbled and fell to the ground. The turbine ground to a screeching halt. Charlie was glad for the brief respite but stopped reminiscing on that simpler, happier time to catch his breath. His muscles ached, he flexed his hands which still seemed to feel the pole he had been gripping so tightly. The walls felt closer to them now—just a figment of his imagination, or a machination of the cursed AI? 

 

They stood in silence, not daring to move. Charlie wanted to help the old man, he yearned to do something better, but he knew. Best not test the AI, he had to live another day to see his sisters. He glanced at the old man. He was stooped down on both knees, his eyes staring at the flat grey concrete beneath him. He touched his forehead, then each side of his chest before kissing his fingers. Then it was over. He slumped forward, slowly tilting towards the ground. Cold mechanical arms extended from a new opening in the wall and pulled him away before he even had a chance to lay down, even in death.

 

Charlie looked intently at the opening in the wall. It was an impossible darkness. How did the light from their room not pierce beyond the gaping maw? Something has to be back there. Something. Anything? Charlie forced himself to stop that line of thinking. He didn’t think the AI could read minds, at least he hoped. Best not to find out. Just then the door opened, and the short man with one eye stepped in. His face betrayed no feelings, as he coolly stepped into place behind Charlie. Who was this strange man, uniform like the rest of them, and yet unique? The horn blared, and again they pushed.

4

I

MEMORANDUM

02/08/2040

TO: FanFuel Investment Group

FROM: Penn Thompson

 

We are pleased to report that our strategy to reduce risk to our shareholder value while minimizing cost has been working to great effect. In the ten years since those ingrate consumers attempted to overthrow this great life we have provided for them, we have made significant strides to make improvements to our model. This group of troublemakers now work to power the machines that they wanted to destroy. Thankfully the AI has done an excellent job identifying potential problematic personality traits, and we no longer anticipate further disruption to our system. Their efforts in the power plants far outweigh the costs of keeping them alive and in line.

 

We are also pleased to announce a new structure to our gambling model that significantly decreased the risk of our profit margins. We have successfully removed chance from our wagers while still giving our consumers a wonderful way to enjoy the sporting events we provide for their entertainment. By seamlessly replacing the competitors with an AI counterpart we are able to influence the outcome of any given contest to always minimize our losses. These aithletes, as we like to call them here, have driven down our operating costs while guaranteeing our increases to net profit. We see this as a resounding success. We have been looking into ways to minimize the risk and cost of the daily lottery as well. A report on the efficacy of our research will be delivered posthaste, our initial findings are promising.  We look forward to our continued partnership in bringing joy to the masses, and we hope you enjoy larger returns on your investments.

Together we improve. Together we profit.

 

 

to be continued