The project was a 60,000-word epic series. I lost interest almost a year ago. It's essentially finished, but the end isn't completely typed out and the middle isn't finished.



THE CYBER WAR

Prologue: Vigilante



Alexander Wright, lead researcher at the United Researchers’ Meteorology Facility, looked out at the beauty of Nature, looked out at the sunset and smiled. Tomorrow would be a terrible day - but an excellent one for his career. He had unlocked the secret of weather, and now he was to deliver a speech - a sales presentation, if you will - of his new wonderful discovery. But for tonight, there would be nothing but quiet contemplation.

Contemplation of the value of this device, contemplation of the enormous impact it would have on the world - vacationing would never be the same again…



The conference room was packed. Not a square foot of floor space was wasted. The only place more packed than this that Wright could remember was that football game he’d went to five years ago. He had about a three foot “safe radius” around him which was clear, but after that was a solid wall of humanity, jumping at the chance to question him on his work. His speech was in five minutes, but he was not entirely sure he could last that long.

Finally, his life was saved by an official. “Order! I will have order in this room!” Gradually the collective voice quieted down. “Thank you. Here we have with us today a man who says he can accurately predict the weather anywhere, anytime. Dr. Alexander Wright, everyone.”

“…Thank you, sir, and thank you all for coming.

“What I have here before me is a supercomputer chip - think the CPU on your average home computer, but many times stronger - exponentially stronger, in fact. That is a lot of power.

“My introduction by the kind sir over there would have you believe that I would be able to predict the weather. I say to you now that though using this chip I can predict the weather as a side effect, that is not its primary purpose.

“For you see, I did not ever set out to predict the weather. I set out to control it. And here I am, with the microchip that is going to do that.”

The crowd’s astonishment was palpable, and deservedly so. Surely this was impossible, this man ordering about the clouds with impunity!

“I see by your faces that you do not believe me. Very well then. I have said that I can control the weather, and you have said that I cannot. So I am forced to demonstrate. Note the terrible weather outside. What would you say if I--” connecting the chip to a computer on the wall, Wright punched a few buttons - “brought on the Sun?”

And the clouds that had plagued this day were no more. Gone. Simply gone, replaced by the light of the Sun. He had actually reversed the condensation process.

“Ha-ha, let there be light! Of course you see the commercial applications. Entire vacations will have the weather planned to purpose. Farmers will water their crops, naturally, but with the aid of a microchip! And the entire world will ascend to a greater state of being, of comfort and stability! No more drought or flood, just the light of the Sun shining eternal! With a one hundred percent chance of showers every second Thursday.”

The crowd’s reaction was mixed. One venturing reporter said “But what about the potential misuse of this chip? Someone could do unparalleled evil with this little wonder here, and we would have no hope in Hell of stopping them!”

“I’m aware of that, but we need to cast aside these cruel preconceptions of the human race as a collective of evil if we are to make any progress towards eliminating that evil. Have some faith, young man.” Wright, being himself a mere forty five, really had no right to include the last bit, but semantics were not his primary concern.

“So we are to just trust and hope that no one decides to run rampant with it?”

“No, of course not. The chip has safeguards in it that prevent its usage for the purpose of evil.”

“Good. Thank you for clearing that important point up.”

“All right; no further questions from the collective of media and peanut gallery here? Good. I’ll be leaving now.”

“There you have it folks - Dr. Alexander Wright and the Weather Control Device. Truly a device of unparalleled power and opportunity.”

“You do not know the half of it…” Wright muttered underneath his breath as he left.



Within five years every major city had a weather chip controlling precipitation and air pressure, and so did some of the more successful farms. It was predicted that the Chip (as they called it) would soon cover every human being on the planet. Meteorologists were now relegated to more of an advisory role, providing optimal dates for particular weather patterns, et cetera. Weather control was taming the planet and incidentally saving wildlife in the process. It was a universal boon.

But something happened. The chips stopped working correctly. Schedules were mixed up. The Sahara Desert got three days of torrential snow. Some cities and farming communities saw droughts. In short, everything just went to Hell.

Wright, when questioned, said he had no idea how this foul action could have occurred, and promised to look into it. It became apparent that someone had infected the Chip network with a virus, enabling them to control all networked Chips globally which had become infected.

When he discovered this, he pledged to create an antivirus program which would first eradicate the virus, then reset the security system in a preventative effort. This service was provided free of charge - a sort of warrantee work on his product - and saw immediate, positive results.

But they just kept coming back. It seemed these malevolent programmers would stop at nothing to keep control of the network. This virus was responsible for the deaths of at least two thousand, at latest count.

And the virus’ programmer let out a hearty laugh as he watched the world descend into chaos…



Dr. Alexander Wright, weather researcher and inventor of the miracle Weather Control Device, looked out at the beauty of Nature. Tomorrow would be a beautiful day - worldwide, actually - but a terrible day for mankind. He contemplated his life’s work to date. He had obtained the means by which to assume control of the world - through meteorology. Soon entire nations would be bowing before him, and he would be the supreme ruler of the Earth.

He looked out at the beauty of Nature, looked out at the sunset and smiled.







115 years later - AD 2147



Colonel Ken Baker looked across the desk at his good friend Miran. Miran, the leader of the Krion Embassy on Earth, had been his primary ally when he had been forced to stop Miran’s evil second-in-command, Zlotchniklesladutarn (shortened to Zlotchnik for the ease of humans). “So why did you have me read this?”

“It sets up the next story I’m giving you. You remember what happened, of course.”

“Yes, of course! Arnold Blair led a team of crack shooters to take him down. Blair himself was credited originally with the kill, but some one discovered that it had been another member of his team - I forget whom - who had actually taken the shot.”

“Good. Now, with that in mind, I want you to read this. It’s a full account of the Civil War of 2047, detailed and concise, written by John McCarmack himself.”

“Didn’t he publish something along those lines?”

“Not with anywhere near the detail he put in here. Trust me; this is going to be invaluable reading material. Besides, it’s his 119th birthday today. You may as well read it, even if simply because you owe him to read it.”

“Very well then, give me the damned thing.” Ken grabbed the manuscript from the Krion’s hands and began to read...



One: Nature of the Beast



My name is John McCarmack, and I am writing this mainly to pass the time. God knows I wouldn’t have even attempted it if I expected quality.

This is a story about - well, I don’t actually quite know what it’s about; there seem to be too many separate themes to identify a single one. I suppose I could say this story is about me - my life, my experiences. I suppose I could also tack on the secondary theme about racism and bigotry, but that might be going a little too far. Suffice it to say that it focuses on me.

I suppose I sound rather pretentious at this point, stating so affirmatively my intention to write a story focused entirely on me. Others will say I am an egotist. My response is simple: Whatever. It’s my spare time, my right to do so, and you cannot take that away from me, and I will not let you. Besides, if you do not like the idea, you can stop reading.

So, who am I? I could describe myself here right now, but there would be little or no fun in that. Rather, I leave it up to you to piece a picture of me together from my actions, from my statements, even from the fact that I’m writing about myself when I have not accomplished anything significant in my life. So, you see, the picture of me begins to form even now - I am lazy as hell as a writer.

One other little tidbit - oh, it can wait. We’ll get to that when it comes. But one thing I cannot gloss over - history. I have to place this story in the timeline.

The time of the beginning of this story is 2044 AD - twelve years after the defeat of the Weather Man, Alexander Wright, at the hands of Colonel Arnold Blair. In the years since that climactic event, much progress, civilly, has been made. However, I can sense that humanity is on a definite decline. Soon, all the feuds and warring factions will return, setting the Earth to fiery conflict once more. All it needs, all it wants, is a catalyst. And it is only a matter of time before such a catalyst reveals itself.



I walked down the hallway at school, greeting friends and enemies alike as I proceeded. You may see me as an antagonistic, egotistical freak, but in reality I am far more moderate than that - in most respects. My fight record says otherwise - I have been involved in fifteen fist fights so far, and have yet to lose one of them.

Stopping briefly to chat with my best friend, Sean O’Callum, I proceeded to my next class - History. You can probably guess where this one is going.

“Alright, class. Settle down. I assume all of you have completed your essays on the impact of limb replacements on modern society, so would everyone please hand them in now?” A pause while we complied. “Alright, then. Moving right along to our next topic - the Weather Man incident. Everyone knows this--”

Owen Fitzgerald chimed in from the back of the class: “We did this last year! And the year before!”

“--Thank you, Mr. Fitzgerald, for so kindly pointing that out to me. I was going to say… everyone knows this, due to its extreme proximity to the present. Only seventeen years ago, one Doctor Alexander Wright held a press conference in Vancouver - the Vancouver in Washington, that is - wherein he announced that he had developed a new technology in meteorology - it was listed on the programme as a weather prediction device, though we now know better. He knocked the crowd over with, first, his statement that he could not only predict the weather but could also control it; second, his awe-inspiring demonstration of the technology; and later, third, his attempt to take over the world with the technology he’d purportedly created to benefit humanity.”

“Yes, yes, we know this. Why did you have to repeat it word for word from last year? At least throw some originality into it.”

“My question to you is this: who is to blame for this incident? Him or us?”

“It seems obvious to me that it was his fault. The whole bloody thing was his fault!”

“And, Mr. Fitzgerald, would you happen to have any facts to base that presumption upon?”

“I might,” I said. “Just give me a second to gather my thoughts, here - ah, there we go. I am going to be very bold and guess that your opinion is that we, the people, are at fault.” I received an approving nod. “I understand that there are facts to support that, as well as to support Owen’s theory. I understand that our innate decadence and desire to while away our hours in ignorant bliss was partially responsible for our overlooking the risks inherent in such a device as Wright’s. But also I understand this: he didn’t have to do this. He made a choice, and that choice was an attempt at world domination. We cannot help that, nor, arguably, would we be any better off now had we not accepted his word at face value. All in all, I would have to place the blame for this incident equally between him and us.”

“Excellent answer, and maybe correct as well. Would Owen like to add to this?”

Owen said “Owen would like to sit down and be quiet for a while, if you please.”

Chuckling lightly, the professor continued. “Now - does anyone else have anything to add to the current topic?” Receiving a chorus of head shakes, he said “Good. Let us move on, then. Can anyone - except for you, John! - tell me any of the effects of this?”

Seeing no response, he turned to me and inquired “Fine, then, John, what about you?”

“I can only guess on this one. It has not been long enough to provide a sufficient cause and effect field, as you so lovingly put it,” I said with a light laugh. “However, I believe that that is now-General Girard Devroe right there outside the door. Perhaps he is better qualified to shed light on the situation. His guess is better than mine.”

“Indeed, John, I have arranged for Devroe to appear today as a special guest.”

“Then, by all means, let him enlighten us! I would personally love to know this.”

The professor opened the door and let Devroe in. The general’s lean, fit body, combined with his imposing height, had a tremendous effect on his audience. He was an outwardly intimidating man. But when he spoke, his voice betrayed a great amount of intelligence and gentleness, something you would not expect from a general in the Special Forces.

“Thank you for inviting me here, Tom. Anything for an old friend. Now, I had the opportunity to overhear this man’s theory through the door - you are a very sharp lad! I must give credit where credit is due.” His last sentence was laced with venom which belied something dark in his past. A cover up of some kind in his past, maybe? “You bring up some interesting points, and I think that your theory has several elements of truth to it. Certainly he was faced with a choice, and he picked evil as his choice; but, I tell you, that man was insane.”

“Insane?” I arched an eyebrow. Evil, yes, but an insane genius? How could it happen?

“Yes, insane. You didn’t see his lair. He had it stocked to the brim with obscenities of all kinds - ranging from a mere perversity to the point of actual evil - which he stroked fondly as he showed us about. If we’d had our guns then, I would have put the bastard out of his misery right then and there. But as it happened, we’d been taken prisoner, and one thing led to another…”

“…And that thing led to another, which is what I called you in here for,” said the professor. “We’re looking for the ‘effect’ side of the Weather Man equation here.”

“Whoah! You’re piling on tough ones for tenth-grade students, Tom! Even I can’t be sure of anything yet! We have our top analysts working around the clock on that question.”

“I think I can guess an effect,” I said suddenly. Everyone looked at me. The professor beckoned me to continue, but I paused a while longer, gathering my words. “…There is going to be a severe resentment towards the next person who come to the public with an idea that is even going to toy with the laws of Nature, let alone defy them.”

Everyone was silent for a second. The stares at me deepened, now seemingly about to engulf me. I was saved by Devroe. “Brilliant! You are simply a brilliant young man!”

“What? Why? It seemed to me to be the logical result of tampering with weather.”

“Yes, and the point was brought up before, but did you know it took our greatest thinkers and theoreticians a week to come to that conclusion?! You are brilliant!”

“I thank you for your effusive, hyperbolic praise of my deductive abilities, but to be fair I’ve been bouncing that idea around in my head for a couple of days now.”

“Oh? What is it that might have sparked such a train of thought?”

“It is predicted that within six months, body-replacement operations will be affordable to the average middle-class citizen. It seems to me an awfully similar scenario.”

“Yes! Yes, indeed! Soon we will be bringing back the dead through biocybermechanics! Though there are some people better off dead, such as Wright.”

“It seems to me that there’s a bit of Wright in all of us - any random urges to lash out at someone.”

“Then you’d better act quickly and kill that part off before it alters the synapses of your brain and stages an insurrection. Anyways, I’ve got to go now; thanks, Tom.”

“Any time, Girard,” he said, closing the door behind Devroe. “Now, back to the matter at hand - anything else possibly caused by the Weather Man?”

Owen had a contribution this time. “Federal encryptions and censorship on all computer chips since 2032.”

“Yes, you’re absolutely right for once in your life, Mr. Fitzgerald.” The professor smiled.



Now, don’t get me wrong here. Owen was a personal friend of mine, and actually very intelligent beneath his disguise of ignorance, but he had a tendency to think himself ‘above’ school and therefore paid little or no attention to his teachers. I occasionally felt the same way, but I never took action on it, instead taking it out on pages similar to these. Once again, I strove not for quality (something which is, sadly, unattainable for me) but for escape, and in doing so I penned in an entire history of beings called the ‘Immortals’ and the world they inhabited. It was a place to turn to when nothing else seemed to occupy my mind sufficiently to stave off boredom. It was a place where literally everything was possible, and if it didn’t exist I could make it up on the spot.

But I digress. Owen was very intelligent, and he found meaning in my statement about biocybermechanics from History class that even I hadn’t found.

“Do you realize what will happen if you’re right, John?” he said as we went to our next class. “We’re going to have a repeat of the 20th century. These new, cybernetically recreated human beings - let’s call them ‘cybers’ for short - are going to be to this century what blacks and Jews were to the last century. Racism will be rampant. We are going to see world-class bigotry here, John!”

“I don’t want to think about it. Please don’t give me such a thought stimulating explanation.”

“It seems obvious to me! At the heart of the problem is human nature - humans doing somewhat badly for themselves will always look somewhere else to lay the blame. The easiest scapegoat is usually the smallest minority group. John, when this technology kicks off, cybers are going to be a very small minority. I’m afraid.”

“You’re reading into it too much. If the time comes, I will take a stand for those people. If it doesn’t, that’s great. Either way, we can’t do a God damned thing right now.”

“True, true. Still, the very possibility of it strikes fear into my heart.”

“You need not worry. There will be no war of bigotry here.”

“Of course not - we’re such a unilateral community that everyone already thinks the same.”

“Everyone except for you, Owen. You and me and maybe the history professor.”

“Indeed, indeed. Ah, here we are - the fabled Mathematics 10 room.”

“Only reason it is fabled to you is you can’t bother yourself to actually come.”

“What is fabled to me is fabled to me, regardless of cause or effect.”

“Nothing is regardless of cause and effect - not even the discussion of cause and effect!”

“Alright, then, shall we enter these hallowed lands together?”

“After you, haughty asshole.” He led the way in, exploring a new land.



After thoroughly trouncing me in that class (I have the untold arrogance to state that I am above average in all categories and respects, but Owen is a veritable genius!) Owen argued with me some more about where to place the blame for the Weather Man incident (though I partially agreed with him!): “How could it possibly be the people’s fault at all?”

“If you ignore the outright decadence of the time, it couldn’t…”

“I’m going to be selectively ignorant here. Disregarding the decadent public, the actions of Wright were all aimed at world conquest. Therefore, though the public let it happen, they did nothing to instigate it. That lies entirely on the shoulders of Wright. Now we must determine why.”

“You don’t see a lot of renegades like that - and for a reason. They always lose. Revolutions can succeed, but random warlords just can’t. They are doomed to failure.”

“Therefore we must assume some sort of insanity on his part.”

“I would check up on that, but the subject is locked out by the Fed chips.”

“More than that, any information and its holder regarding that subject would be quickly and quietly eliminated by Federal agents. Unfortunately, that is the type of world that we live in - a world of secrets and prohibitions.”

“Because we are still on the recovery track from that incident. I think the world is an old man, Owen. Society takes longer to heal every time.”

“And we could see a downswing again. Damn this world and its inhabitants!”

“Alright, I’m getting hungry. Let’s stop talking war and start talking food.”



I found myself wondering about Devroe; what he did, what he had done, where he had met our history professor, et cetera. Besides the obvious fact that Devroe had been a part of Arnold Blair’s elite team, however, I found it very difficult to obtain any information about him. All I could really get about him was a physical description - six foot seven, 235 pounds, broad shoulders, and an overall fit man. About his career I found very little, and his current occupation was completely shrouded in the mists of the Net. And, likely, by the US government. Their government had a very secretive way about it, even more so than ours. But they hadn’t installed censorship chips.

Weeks passed and I was unable still to find anything pertaining to Devroe or his current occupation. I eventually simply gave up and returned to the daily business of life.

But, of course, Nature is an evil bitch, and she ensured that there would be nothing normal in my life for the remainder of eternity. First of all, I found myself going deeper and deeper into my analysis of the Weather Man situation, though I knew there was simply no point. Second of all, as I’d predicted, as I’d been told, the cybernetic resurrection of humans became affordable - not abruptly, but the decrease in price was an overall swift thing. Third, as I’d predicted and feared, the general populace came down rather hard on these people, employing the very abbreviation the two of us had coined - “cyber” became a household word - as a deadly insult.

Cybers found on school premises all over North America were chased off the grounds, and if they were students at the school their grades suffered - except if they were in Mr. Harris’ History class, in which everyone was equal - and their condition was made fun of by everyone around them. They had narrowly escaped death, only to face a fate far worse - the bigoted populace of North America.

As yet our school had no resurrected students - and you wouldn’t expect any, in a small retirement home type town like Qualicum Beach - but I could clearly tell that if a cyber were to appear at our school, they would likely leave the grounds dead.

I sighed and returned to work. God forbid there would ever be a cyber student in this school, for if there were, a widespread civil war would kick off right here in the school. And I knew which side I would choose.



Quite nothing happened for at least a month - people die slowly in Qualicum Beach, did I tell you that? - and then our town became a statistic. In June 2044, Kwalikum Secondary School saw its first ever dead but alive student. You’ll note I’m dancing around putting the word “cyber” in front of the word “student” to avoid any possible mistaking of the two meanings of “cyber” in our modern society by the reader. Anyway, predictably, the response to this new addition was as cold as polar ice.

Complicating this issue was the fact that she - yes, she - was a good friend of mine from years past, and a stunning sight, to boot, Jennifer Melbourne (known by all as simply “Jenny” - everyone knows her. Everyone!) I was going to have to face a choice of either her skin or mine. My life was probably forfeit if I stood up for her on any major issues, and minor issues would likely become fist fights and brawls. I was trying to keep the fight count down this year - it never looks good on a university application to have ten fights a year - but I knew that compared with a human life, my education was negligible.

Especially with Jenny. You have to see her, be around her, to believe it. She is the “complete package”: stunningly beautiful, but brilliantly intelligent and with a personality that simply can’t be beat. With all due awareness of hyperbole, she was the image of perfection. Ah, what a girl!

I was content to merely dream of her, however, and so far the reception was merely cold, not hostile. Things proceeded at their own pace, I suppose.

Apart from that, the first visible sign of bigotry came at our year-end assembly. Owen and Sean and I were chatting amongst ourselves in our customary position in the far corner of the gym. Imagine our surprise when a disconcerted Jenny joined us in this corner. “What in God’s name are you doing here” I asked.

“I was ‘directed’ here. I would not ask about it if I were you.” Her look reinforced that.

However, Sean jumped at the opportunity. “What reason did they give?”

“And Sean goes ahead and asks anyway. They haven’t given an official ‘reason’ yet.”

“Then that would be the vice principal headed our way, probably to offer some sort of bullshit story loaded with obscure technobabble. I’ll try not to listen,” said I.

“You’re being awfully specific about that. Pray tell why?” she asked.

I grinned sheepishly. “I brought it up as a facetious suggestion - in literally those words, ‘some sort of bullshit story loaded with obscure technobabble’ - and they had the gall to take me seriously. Some people have no ear for the nuances of Socratic irony!”

“Alright, you know what? You’re fired. Great going there.” She laughed - her laugh is a simply angelic sound. Whoops, caught myself again. “You’ve just subjected me to about ten minutes of astronomical BQ.”

“Where BQ, I would assume, is ‘bullshit quotient’, and not some sort of wicked merger between Burger King and Dairy Queen.”

“Of course! Oh, here he comes. Show time.” And she plunged into ‘ignore’ mode.

I tried my hardest not to listen, and succeeded brilliantly for awhile, missing most of the main façade of his speech, which was essentially a ten minute long string of pure bull patties laced with words I’m not sure the man even understood, but of course my ear for fiction got the better of me and I found myself listening with rapt attention as he finished spinning his tale of biocybermechanics thinly around the core issue of bigotry. He was a skilled liar - I’d imagine he’d have been an excellent politician - but he could still not quite disguise the blatant truth.

The truth, pure and simple, was that humanity as a whole was not positively disposed toward cybers. Every action they took was simply dripping with loathing - well, not so much loathing as an air of supreme superiority - towards the very essence of cyberdom.

To this day, I’m still not entirely sure how our abbreviation got circulated so swiftly - perhaps others came across the term independently. “Cyber” just has a nice ring to it or something, I suppose. Oh well. We’re credited with the term’s invention in the dictionary.

When the bullcrap session was through, I inquired as to the general gist of their story. Her reply was “What, and spoil the anticipation?”

“You’re holding out on me purely for the purposes of suspense?”

“Yes - I see no problem in that. For God’s sake, John, it’s just a cover up.”

“But why in God’s name would you be trying to keep me in suspense?”

“Because you could just have listened in the first place! I’m not about to repeat the entire damned story or even condescend to summarize it for you!”

“You want a confession? Alright - I’m a lazyass. And I want the story.”

“You’re a lazy asshole, John, and we both know it.” She went silent. Did I mention that, as well as being brilliant, she had the capacity for pure evil? My God, she was nearly perfect! It was an honour to know such a person.

“Indeed, indeed. Hey look, Sean got the outstanding athlete award.”

Startled, Sean rose - he’d been extremely active this year, but considered himself more the intellectual type, like myself or Owen, and while not quite on the level that I would consider Owen to be at, or even myself, he was certainly considerably more intelligent than the majority of the clods that infest this wretched hive of scum and villainy, and possibly almost at Jenny’s level. There is no real huge significant difference between the four of us, though I consider Owen to be the most gifted of us. You can tell by now that I prefer to associate myself with the more gifted (intellectually) people than other, more proliferate types, though I would consider most of us to be well rounded. Owen perhaps focuses a little too much on matters of intelligence for his own good.

That being said, I have an excellent little group of friends going that I would not trade for the world. And seeing one of this group be awarded a high honour from our school - for athletics, no less! - was wonderful.

The ceremony continued remorselessly on, as people received awards for accomplishments such as a 99 in Physics (Owen, actually! He likes that course), or Most Outstanding Athletic Feat (Jeremy Mitchell won it for a backhander off two posts and in for our hockey team), or even Most Accurate Prediction.

I found myself called up to the stand for this one, no doubt for my prediction in History class when Devroe was here. Taking the mic, I said “Uh… well… this really doesn’t merit a speech. Tell me, please, who nominated me for this award?” I assumed Owen was in on it somehow.

“Nominated by a Mr. Owen Fitzgerald and by Tom Harris. With special endorsement from a United States general, for some reason.”

“Alright, excellent. Now that I’ve deduced exactly what it is I am supposed to have predicted…” I got a chuckle or two for that “…I’d like to explain it to you.

“Everyone who took History with me knows this already, but that’s a definite minority. Much like the minority I anticipated would be severely resented by the public. I speak, of course, of cybers.”

A chorus of nods of understanding spread across the crow. “I see you all nod, nodding your understanding of this. You understand it because you perpetrated it.

“This was no prophecy, it was a certainty! I knew it would happen because I understand Nature. I understand human nature. And I know you had the help of Dr. Alexander Wright in reaching this conclusion.

“So I’d like to thank you all for making my prediction come true. I couldn’t have done it without all you bigots. Thank you and good night.”

There. I’d done it. I’d made my first definite stand against discrimination. My life or my livelihood was now forfeit thanks to this, but I didn’t mind. The rush that comes upon you when doing the right thing is intoxicating. I could get drunk on speaking out against racism. Good should be a controlled substance.

I received a cheer from Owen, Sean and Jenny as I sat back down at what would forever after be known as the Quarantine Bench. For once someone had actually taken a definite stand, a stand for fairness, for good.

“Great job! Just tore them up out there. How are you feeling?”

“Like every hour I live after this will be gravy. My life is forfeit.”

“I doubt it, with your track record on the battlefield. Unstoppable!”

“It seems that way. But why do I have to fight? Why can we not resolve our difference through diplomacy and double talk instead? How long do I have to keep fighting? How long will this interminable cycle go?”

“Maybe only the X-Buster on your hand knows for sure,” Owen said, mocking me.

“Oh, phht. Just because I show an appreciation for the entertainment of the past doesn’t mean you suddenly need to make fun of me for it.”

“But now it’s alternate historical fiction! There is no prospect for it, ever! We will have warp drive before we have plasma-gun-toting robots of mass destruction!”

“Instead we’ll have plasma-gun-toting humans of mass destruction. Yeah, I know. But what am I to do? I have to fight. I don’t want to, as God knows it’s a black mark on my school record. But I have to. I just do.”

“Just take them as they come - and turn them into rag dolls, of course.”

“Of course. A fight once every while, for sport, can be refreshing. But I’m liable to have to knock someone out cold at least once a week.”

“Oh, woe is you, the fighting champ forced to boost his statistics.”

“Your winning attitude is what makes you such an asshole, Owen,” I said, laughing.

“I could say the very same thing, and probably with more colour in my language, of you, John.”

“Whatever. Odds are I’ll die eventually in one of these fights. Will you be happy then, Owen?” I said with a decisive edge in my voice.

“No, I won’t, because as a cyber you’ll be fighting even more.”

“Wait, a second, here. First you’re egging me on, then it’s unfortunate to you if I’m forced to fight even more as a cyber! Make up your God damned mind!”

“I’d rather be indecisive and needy like those fine folks over there” he said, pointing at the athletics department “than snobby like us.”

“You admit yourself to be one of us, yet you yearn to be one of them?”

“No, actually. I wouldn’t trade my brain for the world. I’m just practicing my bullshit for later on when I become a politician. You’re welcome to join in at any time.”

“Thank God! You had me going there - a life in politics would suit you!”

“I would be too good of a politician. I’d never make it that far.”

“Right - all the other politicians would eject you for fear of your superiority.”

“My overbearing superiority, if you will. But still, you see the point.”

Sean broke in. “I see that we’re about to wrap up, so you should too.”

“You always ruin our very best conversations by interrupting like that, Sean! Your unique talent isn’t athletics, it’s wanton disruption!”

“And damned proud of it, if I may say so!” We all had a laugh as we left.

I made it not twenty feet from the door before being accosted by a big, burly man, probably about two inches taller than me - that’s put him at around six foot three - and with easily double my muscle mass.

“I hereby formally take offence at your speech,” he said, grinding his fists.

“Well, if you have complaints, the proper way to file them is in the office. I’m sorry, but I simply lack the administrative clout to fulfill your request.”

“Oh, you think you can talk smart? Less likely once I’m finished turning your brains into a puddle.”

“Oh, please, you must be kidding me. Do you even know who I am? I’m the guy who took out three of your type armed with clubs last year. I’m John McCarmack. I’m the fucking world schoolyard brawl champion. And you are little more than a paperweight to me.”

“Your schools must have set low standards, then!” He cam low, trying to take out my knees. I jumped over him, pushed him off balance with my foot, and continued to walk home. Owen, who lived not half a kilometre away from me, walked with me, and acted as a sort of spotter for me. I’d know when the guy was coming. He gave the signal, and I turned about, instinctively punching the gut of the man coming from behind me. He collapsed into a heap on the ground, trying vainly to breathe.

“Don’t make me start breaking bones. Are we through? Are you going to leave me alone?”

“Yes, we are through,” he managed between gasps. “I won’t bother you again.”

“You’d damned well better not, for next time I may actually damage you.” I walked away, smiling. “The stories will spread. The Invincible wins again.”

“Oh, right!” Owen replied. “They called you the Invincible at Oceanside.”

“Not one of my more proud features. But hey - I take what I can get.”

“I think he’s coming again.” I spun around, looking “--Fooled you! You lose.”

Grumbling and muttering under my breath, I continued the interminable trek home.



The summer passed with very few such altercations, which was a relief. On my last day as a free man I went up hiking at Horne Lake, where they have excellent trails and magnificent caves. An all-around winner of a retreat spot. But the place is now a hateful place for me. It happened there.

Based on the general theme of this work of non fiction so far (this very crappy work of non fiction, might I add) you should be able to guess what it was. But let me spell it out to the slower minded of you - I died there.

I’m not going to delve into the incident, and I cite personal reasons for it. But nevertheless, regardless of how it happened, I died up there. Well, actually at the bottom of the cliff is where I died, but semantics be damned.

Death was not an entirely pleasant sensation for me - things, images popped up, relics of a time past, reminding me somewhat of that old movie Flatliners. My past was coming back to get me, and I had to reconcile it with the present.

Then they pulled me out of it, and my God, that was an evil thing of them to do! I was this bleeding close to achieving eternal peace, and they took it all away from me at the very last second! And worse yet, they were doing this so that I could be discriminated against by a vengeful public! The experience confused me so much that I actually lost a few memories in the process.

The most unnervingly frustrating part of the entire thing was that I was well aware that I had lost the memories but I was not aware what memories I had lost. It seemed an entire topic had been shut out of my head, and in my confusion I ignored it. I simply ignored it, knowing full well that I would never regain those memories, whatever they were.

I was more concerned with how I had died. I should have been more careful than that! Fortunately, I was to have company - over the summer, two other students had passed away and been resurrected. It seemed this was a hot spot for cybers. A shame.

I would not get to hear the story, however, for another month or so, when we would gather in the gymnasium for the inane rantings of cancer victims and lobbyists. Oh, how I was now burning to hear that mound of audio bullshit! I simply could not wait!

I noticed something of a definite change in the general attitude of the public towards me - I understood that; I’d protested against them at the corner store, the grocery store, everywhere! And I was now a cyber, to boot! - no longer detesting me merely for my overbearing air of superiority (as I’m sure you’ll notice I flaunt at every single opportunity - if you haven’t noticed, I lose at writing) and my tolerance of cybers.

And I didn’t mind at all. Last time I gave half a monkey’s shit what the public though was when I was barely out of diapers. No, I was not concerned - not me.

“Welcome to History 11,” the professor said. “John, Owen, you took my class last year. Welcome back. Excellent that you are continuing your studies despite your over qualification.”

“Hey, I’ve got to do something with this block, Mr. Harris. Besides, I need it for that little piece of paper that I anticipate will hang on my wall ere long,” I replied.

“I see you’ve made the transition into the second life and taken your haughtiness with you,” he said. “Now, moving along - can anyone besides John tell me what - better exclude Owen on this one too - tell me what the reason for government censorship is?”

“Better exclude Owen on everything, Mr. Harris. He’s actually far more brilliant than me. He just has the tendency to coast through life on his amazing deductive capabilities. I may be more knowledgeable than him, but he is actually far smarter.”

“Was that interruption necessary, John? Now, I return to the question at hand - what do you think is the reason for government censorship?”

He received silence. For ten seconds nobody said a thing. Finally someone raised their hand and said “To keep sensitive information from enemies of the government?”

“An apt response! An obvious one, too. Any other ideas, anyone?” Nothing. He received nothing. “Fine, then. John, how about you?”

“To keep sensitive information from friends of the government,” I said finally.

“Yes, that’s absolutely correct, John, though I’d been trying to get the rest of the class involved for once is any class you’ve ever been in. Anyone want to tell m e why they might want to keep information from us the citizens?”

Sean stood up immediately, as if to make one of his famous smart cracks, possibly about the teacher’s mother, but instead he said “So that some God damned cyber doesn’t find instructions to build a bomb on the Net.”

Astonished, the professor said “You seem to have developed a negative attitude overnight.”

“Not overnight - the attitude grew over the summer. I’ve realized that cybers are a blight upon this world and don’t deserve their second lives.”

It became a personal affront now. “God damn you, is this simply a plea for attention? Because you have it. You have my undivided attention now. So you can drop the charade and return to civilization. I have no time for barbarians.”

“Hah! It is a valid feeling! It is truth! You and your kind are inferior!”

“Are you going to tell me that again once you’ve been through the little machine where brains go in and a brand new cyber comes out? Huh?”

“I’d never agree to the procedure. I’d have them take me out of that thing.”

“You think I like it in here? You think that, given the choice, I wouldn’t jump right back into my old body? Well, it’s not happening! You have a problem with that, you can fight me - hey, it’s your funeral, after all.”

“Spare me your hypocritical nonsense, you waste of artificial flesh.”

“Spare me your incorrect usage of words, you bigoted sack of putrid guts.”

“Shut the hell up and let’s get back to this class!” the professor yelled. “Now, that wasn’t one of the answers I was looking for. Let’s try again…”



I was shocked by Sean. We’d been best friends for nearly ten years, and now over the course of one summer - one week, really, as we’d protested together all summer! - he’d decided to call it quits. I might be forced to fight him in the future based on this!

Oh well. Owen became the man I turned to for help and friendship now. He’d been running a close second anyway, and I was determined not to allow this startling development to dominate any aspect of my life. Not even the aspect which would most likely have me cross paths with him - the daily grind of fighting the bias.

Why did they do this to me - to us? They gave no explicit reason, and if there was an implicit reason I had yet to find it in their actions. There was no hint in their movements, no key in their flat insults. It seemed I was simply ‘bad’.

Whatever. I’d have to take it as it came. Just like I took everything as it came, especially later, in what was probably the busiest day of my entire life.

It was the day of the Terry Fox Run, that event I’d been talking about where all the cancer research lobbyists et cetera gathered to attempt to grab even more funding - though they’d managed to cure dozens of varieties of cancer. Of course, I support this initiative, but to others it may seem hypocritical. And the damned ceremony seems to drag on forever! They really need to fix that.

Not that they would listen to me, anyways. After all, I am just a cyber.

First thing I noticed, and I’d expected this, too - who wouldn’t? - was that despite the fact that I wanted to sit in the bench in the corner of the gym, they forcibly directed me to the bench in the corner of the gym - the same very bench as I’d been angling for. I’d have pointed that fact out but my breath would have been wasted on them.

Oh well. I was forced to enjoy the company of Owen and Jenny. How would I ever survive? I knew the VP would be coming along any time to deliver his speech to the three of us “recruits”, but I couldn’t wait that long. “So, the question on my mind at this time is ‘what the hell are they covering their asses with?’”

“Just wait. Here he comes now.” She obviously had really been pissed off by last year.

“Aww, come on! How can I focus on cutting through his delivery if I don’t have the core idea in my mind?”

“You do have the core idea, John - just not the shoddily constructed façade.”

“You’re no fair. Ah well, here he comes. I should have fun.” I was sure I would.

The vice principal finally came by - it seemed to take an eternity, so anxious was I to hear his ill crafted pack of diplomatic half truths.

“So, John, Karl, Jane - you might have been wondering why you have been directed over here. This move is as much to protect you as to protect them.”

“One word of caution to you before you start, Mr. Vice Principal - before I was a cyber, I was sitting right here, next to Owen, next to Jenny. Just beware.”

“An interesting point you make, but it likely relates very little to the issue at hand. If I may proceed, then--” seeing no further comments, he plunged right in. “This story begins about three months ago - when the first cybernetically resurrected human was introduced to our town. I do believe it was--” he paused for a second, obviously wracking his mind for the name.

“Jenny. Her name is Jenny,” I said, supplying the name for him and covering his ass. 1-0 for me.

“--Ah yes, Jenny. Now, Jenny entered our school, and what did she receive? The response to her dead and alive status was significantly unflattering. She found herself hounded by an angry humanity, a humanity which was resentful of her state of being. If she were to sit anywhere else in this gym, she might be hurt.”

“Mm-hmm. You still haven’t convinced my why I should be sitting here instead of six feet to my right, between Jenny and Owen. I would give myself about fifty fifty odds against the rest of the gym in a brawl. I am the Invincible.”

“Which brings me to my second point. I have to protect them. If you can move about with impunity in this gym, the crow will become angered, and you will be forced to hurt them. I don’t want that happening in my school.” Not bad, but I’m better.

“You are actually pretty good at ad-libbing this story, but I have an interruption to make. How can they be fighting me if they’re busy listening to, say, the cancer lobbyists?”

“They’d rather throw themselves on you than listen to that. Trust me.”

“Right; which begs the question - what exactly is the school going to do to provide mutual security without segregation?”

“Nothing; that’s the problem. We can’t decide what to do. So we do this.”

“So you change your story every time? It’s a different reason for everyone?”

“Not necessarily. There is a larger, grander story, not all of which applies--”

“Then tell me. Tell. Me. Now. The whole story. Right now. I’m calling your bluff!”

“I… well… this is embarrassing, but I’ve forgotten large amounts of detail on that.”

“Or they don’t exist, which leads me to sadly conclude that that is one of the worst pieces of imaginative fiction I’ve ever heard.”

“Fiction? Fiction? You dare call this fiction? I’m on your bloody side, boy!”

“How hard was it for you not to say ‘cyber’ there, huh? How hard was it to be polite?”

“Obviously my efforts are wasted on you, boy. I’m done with this, done with you.”

“I’m not done with you! Hey! Who else wants to hear his whole story? Odds are it’ll be more entertaining than what’s to come! Is someone afraid of a cyber?”

“You throw the term they use to disrespect you around rather loosely, boy. Why?”

“Why? Because I coined the phrase. I coined it as a descriptor, four months ago. You’re simply too thick minded to understand that every word can have two meanings. I’m done with you now.”

Flustered, the VP left, leaving me to the company of Owen, Jenny, and two confused as all hell cybers. I looked at Jenny and said “Obviously the story was different for you.”

“Yes. Since you’ve guessed that now, I may as well tell you. He said something along the lines of our cyberbiomechanical components generating too much heat. I gather he figured that would be a difficulty for the crowd if it were true, even though it isn’t.”

“He’d have been better off using that story on me, as I’ve not enough knowledge of the field of cyberbiomechanics to actually refute him, only general facts.”

“Then consider yourself lucky he tried a new game plan. Nice work out there, by the way. You killed him totally, though he had some rather tough defences in place.”

“It took me too long. They can consider it a partial victory now.”

“But still! It’s a good thing to have such a smooth talker on our side now.”

“I’ve been on this side right from the opening curtain, Jenny.”

“By the way, would you care to tell me about what led to your becoming like this?”

Flashes, of memories from my death, scream by. I force them out, barely.

“No, actually. I’d rather not. I have to find the time to come to terms with it first.”

“Fine, then; but eventually that story has to be told, and I’ll want to hear it.”

“That’s fine by me - when the time comes. Until then, do not disturb that memory.”



The next block was Math, which was usually a sleeper class for me. I got the required work done in fifteen minutes and spent the rest of the block quietly contemplating the current situation: discrimination, bias, fighting, and Sean.

I found myself dwelling on the question of Sean, the question of how and why he’d made the decision to switch sides so abruptly. Normally such a transition would take weeks, not days. And it suspiciously coincided with my death. Somehow there must have been a link between them. I determined to find it.

This would mean an unflinching look at and acceptance of my death. I was reluctant to do this, but the situation demanded it, so in I went. I knew not how to seek the memory, instead letting it come to me by focusing on my state of being.

The knowledge of my cyberhood was the perfect invitation for the memory, the memory coming with the rage and strength of an angered beast.

FLASH! It is a beautiful summer day, the last before I must return to school. A cool breeze coming off the peaks of the mountains comprises the entirety of motive force on this trail. God, but it’s lovely here! I am here for a hike, enjoying my last day as a free man before the perils of school set in.

This hike will be bypassing a lot of pristine environments - pristine because the view from them is terrible. However, some of them are unavoidable, and this is one of them. Moreover, I am forced to make camp here and eat - my stomach is aching for food. As I prepare said food on the shoddily constructed fire, I catch a glimpse of a rock face, one I’d not seen before or planned for on my little map. I determine to check it out.

But first, the beans are about to burn. Hurrying, I throw them off the fire and onto a plate, whereupon I devour them hungrily, all the while contemplating that rock face. It will likely only delay me ten to fifteen minutes, and the very thought of it intrigues me to no end.

Finally, upon finishing the lunch, I decide that I will scale the face, one way or another. Leaving the camp, my first priority is to determine what will be required to scale the cliff. As it turns out, I require nothing - there is a trail that runs up the face of the cliff, spiralling upward to the top. Gathering my things, I set out to defeat this mount.

The trail is by no means easy - it has a large amount of altitude to cover and only a limited amount of horizontal space in which to do it - but I am dead set on reaching the top of that cliff. Making my way carefully up the slope, I come across a short plateau, making use of it to rest my aching legs awhile. Finally I move on, continuing up the face of the cliff. One close call near the end later, I finally reach the top.

And what a peak it is. By far the tallest cliff around the lake, the cliff affords a simply astounding view of the lake and its surrounds. As I stand upon the summit, I stand in awe of the beauty of Nature.

And as I stand upon the summit, I detect a faint cracking, almost like an earthquake. I quickly realize that it is coming from underneath my feet - I picked an unstable rock face, and this is its day to go.

This is no problem - I merely have to stay off the edge. Moving backward, I am careful to maintain my balance. But it is too late. Chunks of the cliff begin to descend, splitting the air with the shrieks of their descent. I move backward at a quicker pace, but I lose my balance and fall down. Scrambling backwards at full speed now, I still cannot escape the collapsing rock face. Grasping, finally, the inevitability of my descent, I instead turn around to look for some sort of hand hold to hang off the remains of the cliff from, but I find nothing. Nothing except - my God, who is that? He pushed me!

He pushed me! is my final thought as I descend to my death.



I snapped out of it immediately, casting a glance about me, to ensure that I was still in the right class. To my great relief I found Owen sitting next to me and Sean two seats ahead. My relief was limited in the case of the latter, however. He was merely to confirm that I was still in the right place. I turned to Owen and asked “How long was I out of it there? Surely an hour!”

“No, you were only like that for about fifteen minutes. That was still enough to get the attention of the professor, however. He asked me why you were like this and I told him the truth - you’re done your work and are meditating.”

“Indeed I was. I just explored the events leading up to my death.”

“My God! That would be hell for any ordinary man! How are you feeling?”

“I made it out fine, but the trip ended up raising more questions than it answered. I would head in right now to see if those questions could be answered, but…”

“Don’t even consider it. You do not need to take a second trip through hell.”

“Not immediately afterward, anyway. It can wait at least a few days.”

“And now for something completely different. Bell’s about to ring.”

“Oh my, how time flies when death, murder, the like are on the mind…”

“Murder?” he asked as the bell rang and we headed outside to take lunch.

Lunch today was an anonymous pile of gray glops, something I eat to remind me of how bad things could be for me. Ordinarily, a cyber body works on the same principles as a human body does: food goes in, shit comes out, and the remainder becomes energy which feeds the biomechanical components which drive the body and essentially allow me to lead a normal life. But this formula - I have no better word for it - is specially formulated to provide energy. I eat it once a week, not out of necessity, but out of respect for those who must live on this. Besides, tasteless as it is, it still beats the living hell out of Brussels sprouts.

Anyway, at this point I was surprised by the apparition of Sean O’Callum, the least tolerant man in the entire school now. I figure he was trying to prove something to himself. He came up and said “How was your exposure to the power of the public?”

“What? You mean them directing me to the same spot I’d have normally sat in, then giving as their reason the worst piece of imaginative fiction I’ve ever come across?”

“Fiction? You consider it the worst piece of imaginative fiction you’ve ever come across?”

“Well, it was certainly no Dune, if that is what you mean with your sentence, even if it wasn’t the worst ever.”

“Not my point. You dare refute the legitimate reason they’ve kindly supplied to you?”

“It’s no legitimate reason - you obviously haven’t heard what they told me yet.”

“I heard what they told Jenny four months ago - it seemed to make sense.”

“Get this - the story changes. Here, let me tell you what they told me.” I plunged right in, not bothering to wait for his response. I repeated the entire conversation, word for word.

“…Yes, that makes sense to me as well,” he said, obviously unwilling to cast away his façade.

“It makes sense only if you do not know how much they hate us. And we will not stand for it.”

“Oh. So that’s the way it is? You’re sucking for it. Tell me: is it leading to insurrection?”

“Is… it… leading…” I broke up in laughter. “Is it… leading… to… insurrection? Good Lord! What bullshit are they serving you with your morning meal? That’s frankly hilarious!”

“I’ll have nothing more of this Godforsaken insolence from--”

“From a what? Is there something wrong with me? Is there anything not physical that makes me inferior?”

“--from a cyber, a stinking, rotten cyber! God damn you! You should not even be alive!”

I snorted. “Hah!” I said. “You’d know. After all, you pushed me off the edge.”



Bewildered, the rest of the group looked over at me. Jenny in particular was interested. She was the one to ask “What? He did what to you? Pushed you off?”

“Yes, off the cliff at Horne Lake. I went over the memory of my death in Math class - nothing else to do, you see - and discovered that little tidbit.”

“At least I got the details I wanted. My God, John! Pushed!?”

“Yes, pushed. By Sean. Though I don’t know why. Why, Sean? Why push me?”

“I don’t know why! As far as I remember, personally, it didn’t happen. I was not me that day!”

“My God, who do you thinking you were that day, Alexander Wright? But all is forgiven. It’s over, done with, history. It’s nothing, nada, zero, zilch. All is forgiven, all is absolved.”

“I don’t need your forgiveness, cyber.” The tone had returned to a menacing anger.

“Oh, but you will. I have a theory, Sean, that I’d like some confirmation of, regarding cybers.”

“Very well; I can consider myself a studied expert on the subject, having known Jenny.”

“Not so expert as you think. But here we go. This theory applies specifically to your treatment - you, personally, Sean - of our kind, which started out nicely with you protesting beside me. But around the time of my death you had a sudden change of outlook - you became just as much an extremist KKK type as the rest of them. I believe this is caused by guilt - guilt over failure. Guilt over your failure to entirely kill me. Guilt over my survival, an icon of your failure.”

“Guilt? There is no guilt. As you said, it’s over. Done with. The past. Et cetera.”

“Good. Then you can get over my being this way just as easily as you got over that.”

“No, not so much. I can tolerate you enough to say goodbye.” And he left, for possibly the last time ever.



The rest of this school day was uneventful, but Fate had one more surprise in store for me today. As I prepared for the long (ish) bike ride home (I live waaaaaay out there, far past the town’s official limits) accompanied by the usual gang of tolerant ladies and gentlemen, I was approached by a pair of reasonably muscular men, though surely they were idiots if they didn’t have backup somewhere, lurking in the shadows.

“Hey, cyber,” the lead one said with a biased tone, “you done with that thing?” He indicated my bike.”

“No. As a matter of fact, I’ve only just begun to use it. I’m dreadfully sorry. Perhaps some other time?”

“Don’t patronize me, born-again scum.” The man scowled, grinding his fists together.

“Ooh, such marvellous command of the English language! An astounding feat of intelligence you have surely accomplished.” My hope was that they would not understand the concept of sarcasm, so they’d take it as a compliment.

“My feet are just as smart as yours.” My God, he caught the sarcasm but not the vocabulary! This is a rare species of idiot!

“Your brain is about as smart as my feet,” I said as I smacked my head in exasperation. “Now, is our business concluded?”

“No, it isn’t,” he said, confirming my suspicions. He continued, “In your own words, we’ve just begun.”

“My own words, heavily paraphrased and re-contextualized. But you kept the basic point intact, which is more--”

“You misunderstand me. We’ve just begun,” he said, this time grinding his fist into his palm.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake. Alright, let’s make this quick, please; I’ve got more important things to do with my day.”

“What do you mean?” The overconfident bastard, in challenging me, had forgotten just who I was.”

“Have you not heard of my track record? Always the defending party, twenty-five wins, zero losses. I’m the Invincible.”

“That’s a lot of fights in less than a month, eh, Spike?” His partner nodded in agreement.

“This goes way back, even before high school. My friends can attest to that.” They all nodded in agreement. “I don’t want another fight on my hands, but if you force it, I promise not to hurt you much.” I awaited his response.

“Your record must be highly exaggerated with those muscles. I say we land ourselves some new merchandise.” They advanced together.

Owen made movements to aid me, but I stopped him. “Do you really think I need help with this? Besides, I’ll need backing on the political side of this, and your voice will be stronger as a non-combatant. The same goes for the rest of you. Sorry to waste your time like this, but I need about ten witnesses on my side to counteract the public’s evil.”

“Ah, whatever. It’s not like I had anything else to do today anyway.” The rest nodded agreement.

I turned back to my challengers, who were both about to attack, and said “Hey! One at a time! Fair is fair.”

“The word fair does not apply to cybers,” the lead spat back with an ugly sneer.

“Alright, then, have it your way. I am not responsible for my actions.” I beckoned them. They both drew knives. “Shit.”

They attacked simultaneously, stabbing where I was supposed to have been. I dropped down, grabbed one of the men’s knife arm, and neatly tripped him. He sprawled over the concrete, moving quickly to set himself again. For the meantime I busied myself with his partner in crime and misfortune, the talkative one.

This one was more skilled with his knife. He slashed ruthlessly at me, even scoring a hit and drawing some blood, until I decided enough was enough and kicked him in the knee. I pushed it hard enough to break, and he went down. I hurriedly disarmed him and, disposing of the knife in the garbage can, set myself for the other’s assault.

He came low, attacking my legs, so I jumped over him and pushed him off balance with my foot. I was just taunting him, getting him fired up so he’d make a more serious mistake. I laughed at him, infuriating him even more.

This time he came high, and of course I ducked down, letting the force of his assault carry him over me and into the ground. Painful if not permanently damaging. I felt he’d make his mistake now if ever. And he did.

He came right in the middle, aiming no doubt for something vital (Hah! None of it is real, anyways!). I was able to sidestep the blade, barely, and plant my foot behind his. I then grabbed his knife arm with one hand, barred the rest of the arm with my other, and with a sudden twist of my hip broke it. He collapsed to the ground to join his friend.

“I tell you, you chose the wrong bike to steal. Now let’s get these people some medical attention.”



The rest of that day was uneventful, but I tell you this: that has been the very most eventful (as far as cyberdom goes) day of my life so far. Maybe the future holds more for me - I don’t know. All I know is that, on this 23rd of September 2045, I have been instilled with a sense of dread for the future. I can only hope for the best.







Intermission 1: The Beast Reborn

THREE WEEKS LATER

”Wait, here he comes!” Owen called after me as I left the school, story in hand.

“Here who comes? You’ve succeeded in confusing me.”

“Sean O’Callum, dumbass!”

“Can an ass be dumb? It has no ears. What does he want?”

“I don’t know. You ask him.”

“Well, it’d better be quick, as I’ve got a date with Jenny in… one hour.”

“John!” Sean called out. “You’ll never believe what happened!”

“Then don’t tell me, dumbass.” I joked, as always.

“Well, let’s say I’ve had a change of perspective. A radical one.”

“Good, then you see things my way?”

“Literally. I actually was attacked in the street, and they mauled me so badly I had to get a new body. You were right, John! You were right! Nothing about us changes, physically.”

“Only mentally, and that in the others’ minds. I’m glad for your revelation, sorry about the body, and hopeful that in the future the bigotry will fade away.”

“They cannot stop us; we will grow in numbers and rise up in a new society where death does not hold the same meaning.”

I smacked my head. “Maybe you don’t get it. This isn’t war, and this--” I indicated the story - “isn’t about war. This is about coexistence. Someday you’ll understand that. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.” I rode off into the distance, knowing that in a sense he was right, that some sort of war was inevitable. I would not fight in such a war, but I knew I already had - the first battle of the Cyber War had been fought outside that school, and I’d won it.

For that is the nature of the beast - it destroys others and itself, fighting to secure its place in this demented world we call Earth…



“So!” Ken Baker called out. “The stage is set, the rules established! I like this already.”

“Keep in mind that there are still two years of story left. We’re looking at a lot of history.”

“Ahem! ‘For another year, nothing of note happened - simply a routine year, as routine as a cyber’s life can get anyway.’ I beg your pardon. But about this Sean’s death…”

“Indeed. As I read your mind I see that you have the correct answer. Nice of you to open it up for me, by the way.”

“I didn’t! You forced your way in. But then…”

“Yes, exactly! Now hurry up - I haven’t got all day.”

“No, you’ve got centuries,” Ken chuckled as he continued to read…