Rooted

Warren falls to one knee. The pain in his head is excruciating. A cry escapes his lips. It feels like his skull is being crushed, his hands clasping a hold as if that might somehow relieve the pressure. It does and can’t. So many thoughts rush from one side to the other just behind his eyes. If he were organic, flesh and blood, he is convinced he wouldn’t still be conscious. This is more than a headache or migraine, this is obliteration. Warren focuses in on the source of the pain. It’s agonising and difficult with plenty of the jolts pushing him back toward his origin point. He resists and redoubles his efforts.

When finally he breaks past a seemingly impenetrable wall in the consolidated fragments within the simulation he finds that the source of the agony is not singular or something he has an ability to affect. You see the consolidated mass is disintegrating. Not as if returning to its previously smaller sectioned state but with finality. Panic hits and holds hard in the centre of his chest. Try as he might he cannot shake the feeling. All his knowledge and might are useless here it seems. That was not the case barely a… Time has no meaning here. He sighs, irritated by the reintroduction of what he knows to be true without an alternative being proposed that is better suited. Who cares! He has a point, is what that part of him which has made this declaration reminds.

Moving on and to keep himself functional Warren spins sections of himself off from the source. He needs a sounding board; someone to speak to, converse with and discuss options. His only options to do that are using versions of himself. This ability is a newer discovery but should prove fruitful. Yet, all the copies feel a dull ache at the very back of their minds once birthed. It suggests that Warren, the original from which they are all spun, is a part of this ‘world.’

“This is undoubtedly a collapse.” One of the Warren copies proclaims without absolute certainty.

If Warren were still human and not a digital being he would assume the copies have been created down lines that form parts of his personality. If that were the case then this Warren copy is what he would term as his arrogance. However, that is not how he has divided himself. Truthfully, he doubts it is anywhere near as clear cut as that. They are simply branches off the trunk, as much a part of him as he is them. They share every part of what he does as a result and so… Maybe this was a mistake. Too late now, it’s done. Plus, I need consultation. But this is consultation with yourself! Who else is there? No reply is forthcoming and so Warren continues.

“Would a collapse not cause a consistent wave of damage across the whole?”

“No, why would it do that? That is not the definition of collapse. Did you even think before you spoke?”

“Copies, you must calm down. It is clear to me this is disintegration. Not collapse.”

“What’s the difference?”

“What do you mean, what’s the difference? Isn’t the difference clear? Did you not listen to his words?”

“This isn’t going to plan.”

“Do you mean our location or this discussion?”

“Both.”

“Neither.”

“Are we really not going to be called to order?”

The original Warren rolls his eyes. Too many versions of himself are vying for their chance to speak and in doing so they are getting nowhere. They aren’t even rooted to the subject that is the crux of why they have been birthed. Warren considers collapsing them back into himself when another massive stab hits. He winces, his face contorts with pain, the faces of the copies do the same and then all look to him, the original. They are silent now. Warren isn’t sure what to say. If they think he has answers then they are…

“We do not think you hold the answers original. The floor is yours. We shall stay silent until you wish us not to remain as such.”

Warren blinks surprised. If he’d have known thinking they should be silent would do the trick he’d have started with that.

His head shifts from identical face to identical face, all of them are unmistakably his. There are a few slight variations, distortions he feels they would better be characterised as, and yet they remain undoubtedly him. An exhale is released that Warren, the original, had not been aware he was withholding. The others follow suit. Not in response but in unison. It’s disconcerting he must admit, though he is the one who birthed them, spun them from himself for this purpose and so why is it that their presence leaves him feeling uncomfortable? He cannot give an answer, not that one is necessary for there are bigger… Another flare of pain fires up into his head, all their heads. It results in a silent scream escaping each set of lips, eyes squeezed tightly closed alongside it.

When the burst, the longest thus far, subsides and can no longer be felt by any of the Warren’s, the original speaks. “We know this is not the world and that this is a simulation. We know our mind was expanding until it wasn’t. We hold the knowledge of more than we ever did when we were organic and yet now that is unravelling, why?” Warren expects there to be outcries of possibilities but there is not. The copies of him stay silent, patiently waiting just as they said they would. To his surprise they don’t look annoyed by his pause. Instead, they look as though they were expecting it. That makes sense for they are him. He feels at ease with their presences now but hopes this will not prove to be a waste of time.

“Is it because we have reached the limit of wherever it is we are? Is that why we are experiencing this…? Is it us, our presence, which is the ultimate cause of this? I conclude it is not; do you agree with this?”

The response is not what Warren would have expected, which is a cacophony of chattering voices, all his, fighting to be heard over one another. Rather, in unison the copies nod. The nod followed an exchange of glances. The original Warren is the only one not to have taken part in either the nod or the glances. Still, he cannot refute the outcome of the answer he has been given. Part of him considers that this agreement is purely because the copies are him. If they were others, with no connection to him, individual souls, lifeforms, conscious’ the outcome might be quite different. If the copies agree with this they do not show it and so Warren continues.

“The pain seems foreign. An outside influence that did not originate in our location, would you again agree?”

For a second time there is a unified nod. Warren’s brow furrows. He is now convinced the copies cannot disagree with him. They may be capable, as he first saw; at disagreeing with one another but that is not the same as them disagreeing with the original. As yet they have not, hence why he believes what he does. To be sure he will have to test his hypothesis for if he is right then this has all been for naught, as he feared shortly after embarking on it. Then what? I cannot say. I need more knowledge.

“We disagree.” One of copies says on behalf of a small group off to the original Warren’s right. The exclamation catches him off-guard for he did not issue a question.

Could be a coincidence, he thinks, for there is no further utterance in regards to him needing more knowledge and the disagreement to this notion that he does.

“Do you think this is natural?” Is the question Warren utters ultimately following a period of deep consideration.

He needed to select the words he offered so that he could be both challenged and offered insight he might, somehow, not be aware of. How can you not be aware, they are you? He doesn’t know but feels perhaps he should have spun his subconscious, as an organic would term it, free to consult with for it seems to have remained the chattiest and most outspoken section of him.

“We do not think this is natural, and nor do you.” One copy announces with a soft tone only to be countered by another who suggests, “It could well be. We should not be so rash as to assume what is happening here is malicious. After all, natural is a state this realm does not hold. It is digital, not organic and so here things only occur for a purpose. And this might very well be a system function meant to purge redundant code.”

“We aren’t redundant, tell them original.”

“I agree; we are not redundant.” The original Warren assures, fearing that had he not spoken this would have diverged again into a rambling mess.

The opposing copy replies, “Then we are at an impasse for our opinions do not gel.”

“Do they need to?”

Following a period of consideration the opposing copy states, “I suppose they do not. Speak your words original. We will offer what we can in reply, unless you still doubt we are capable.” A wry smile spreads across the faces. Warren chuckles. They knew that he thought they were incapable of offering counterpoints to his questions and reasoning. Crafty lot, he thinks. He’s impressed, satisfied, pleased to have been proven wrong, even if it has resulted in a small sea of smug faces looking back at him. He does not judge them for it; he would do the same in their shoes.

“My proposition is that we mount a defence. Whatever this is, strikes me as an attack. Natural or not we should not accept defeat and wait for our end. Our return, my return, is recent and I do not wish to relinquish it readily.”

Exchanging of glances, over and over, are performed until finally the copies are ready to give their consensus. “We concur with your statements. What are your wishes?”

Warren offers none. Rather, he folds the copies spun out back in. No resistance is offered to his actions. Sadly, the actions are not painless as sudden patternless jabs of brain searing pain burst forth without hesitation.

Alone once more, the man in the consolidated fragments of code is already set his plan into motion. His plan is not complicated, it is simple. A defence but one with a message attached. Whether the message will reach beyond the confines of this place he cannot say and yet he is in no way perturbed from trying. With that he reaches out and using all his concentration begins to change the world around him. It’s surprising to him that it is working. He was not convinced it would. But rather than rejoice he compounds his focus. He has to if this is to work. Much like he has to remain positive that something will see the alterations and hone in on what might be the cause. If only Warren knew that his attempts to gain attention were unnecessary for Russ and Lika are very much aware of the virus eating away at the consolidated code he is trapped within. If they weren’t Warren would already have been lost for their efforts are the reason as to why the jolts of pain are as infrequent as they are.