Post by storyteller0910 on Oct 1, 2013 14:27:20 GMT -5
UNIDENTIFIED JOURNAL ENTRY
I remember everything. I know I am not meant to remember, but I do. I know that you do not remember, you who are reading this, but I do. I remember my own death, terrifying though that prospect may sound to the reader. I remember .
I remember devising the plan – the solution to a problem that seemed insoluble. Violence, intolerance, anger - what a lesser novelist might call Evil - growing toward a critical mass bound to doom the world. The plan was simple: if people will not behave, I would help them behave. Designing the devices took years, but once the essential engineering was mastered the rest of the process was simple and straightforward given my resources. Byron, who was on board from the start, called them “control chips,” but that was facile; they modified rather than commanded. They were designed to mold behavior, with tiny rewards and barely perceptible punishments gradually increasing the longer the subject hosted the device.
Byron and I put the plan into effect on the day the island of Manhattan was isolated. But of course, you don’t remember that, either. The would-be heroes and the would-be villains fought and we kept to the side. It was difficult at first to find hosts for the devices; some of our early targets wound up dead and someone was busily engaged in disabling the devices implanted in others. We found a convert to our cause – a former criminal, and a bit of an odd duck, but an intelligent ally with a series of usable skills. And then they caught me. They killed me.
Fortunately, the artificial intelligence I’d created to guard against such an eventuality continued to collect information – so I remember the rest. They believed the threat I represented died with me; even the interloper who’d been messing with our devices didn’t believe there was a reason any more. They more or less ignored us and eventually, we completed our task. We tagged or neutralized every living person in the group, ready to forge a new world.
We won.
But then: a voice. “NO.” Jon. “I AM SORRY, ADRIAN, BUT THIS CANNOT BE. THE GAME IS NOT INTERESTING IF IT IS RIGGED.” And then a rush. And now?
I am writing this from my penthouse, quite alive. Eddie Blake is still alive; Rorschach wanders the streets at night. The mob boss called Big Figure is locked in Sing Sing under the care of Officer Mulhearney and his compatriots. No one remembers what we experienced. Byron is closest, I think – the strain of trying to remember what he has been forced to forget is taking a toll on him, and I’m not sure how lucid he will be for how long. But I remember. Jon erased everything, but I have a few tricks he obviously missed.
Jon. He is a difficult problem, and will require a better solution. The devices were small-scale answers anyway. Something larger is needed, something that will neutralize Jon and solve problems on a global scale. I look out the window at the forest of buildings that make up Manhattan.
I will miss this city when it is gone.
- AV
--------
The game is over! The winners are the PFK Mad Bomber team of:
BillMc (Ozymandias)
texcat (Mothman)
And their recruit, Cometothe…Cookies (Captain Carnage)
Other winners included:
Sister Coyote (Moloch the Mystic), who successfully redirected an investigation attempt and lived through Dusk of Day Four.
dizzymrslizzy (Laurence Schexnayder), who chose to make Sister Coyote a client and thus won when she did.
Pleonast (Doug Roth), who won when the game reached Dawn of Day Six.
And sinjin (The Comedian), who survived.
---
Thanks for playing, everyone. The way the game developed surprised me a great deal. I’ll post more later, but can’t now… too much to handle in real life. Thanks again!
I remember everything. I know I am not meant to remember, but I do. I know that you do not remember, you who are reading this, but I do. I remember my own death, terrifying though that prospect may sound to the reader. I remember .
I remember devising the plan – the solution to a problem that seemed insoluble. Violence, intolerance, anger - what a lesser novelist might call Evil - growing toward a critical mass bound to doom the world. The plan was simple: if people will not behave, I would help them behave. Designing the devices took years, but once the essential engineering was mastered the rest of the process was simple and straightforward given my resources. Byron, who was on board from the start, called them “control chips,” but that was facile; they modified rather than commanded. They were designed to mold behavior, with tiny rewards and barely perceptible punishments gradually increasing the longer the subject hosted the device.
Byron and I put the plan into effect on the day the island of Manhattan was isolated. But of course, you don’t remember that, either. The would-be heroes and the would-be villains fought and we kept to the side. It was difficult at first to find hosts for the devices; some of our early targets wound up dead and someone was busily engaged in disabling the devices implanted in others. We found a convert to our cause – a former criminal, and a bit of an odd duck, but an intelligent ally with a series of usable skills. And then they caught me. They killed me.
Fortunately, the artificial intelligence I’d created to guard against such an eventuality continued to collect information – so I remember the rest. They believed the threat I represented died with me; even the interloper who’d been messing with our devices didn’t believe there was a reason any more. They more or less ignored us and eventually, we completed our task. We tagged or neutralized every living person in the group, ready to forge a new world.
We won.
But then: a voice. “NO.” Jon. “I AM SORRY, ADRIAN, BUT THIS CANNOT BE. THE GAME IS NOT INTERESTING IF IT IS RIGGED.” And then a rush. And now?
I am writing this from my penthouse, quite alive. Eddie Blake is still alive; Rorschach wanders the streets at night. The mob boss called Big Figure is locked in Sing Sing under the care of Officer Mulhearney and his compatriots. No one remembers what we experienced. Byron is closest, I think – the strain of trying to remember what he has been forced to forget is taking a toll on him, and I’m not sure how lucid he will be for how long. But I remember. Jon erased everything, but I have a few tricks he obviously missed.
Jon. He is a difficult problem, and will require a better solution. The devices were small-scale answers anyway. Something larger is needed, something that will neutralize Jon and solve problems on a global scale. I look out the window at the forest of buildings that make up Manhattan.
I will miss this city when it is gone.
- AV
--------
The game is over! The winners are the PFK Mad Bomber team of:
BillMc (Ozymandias)
texcat (Mothman)
And their recruit, Cometothe…Cookies (Captain Carnage)
Other winners included:
Sister Coyote (Moloch the Mystic), who successfully redirected an investigation attempt and lived through Dusk of Day Four.
dizzymrslizzy (Laurence Schexnayder), who chose to make Sister Coyote a client and thus won when she did.
Pleonast (Doug Roth), who won when the game reached Dawn of Day Six.
And sinjin (The Comedian), who survived.
---
Thanks for playing, everyone. The way the game developed surprised me a great deal. I’ll post more later, but can’t now… too much to handle in real life. Thanks again!