Work Text:
Chernobog’s casing is limited. Stifling.
Processing must be direct and efficient or risk further damage to surrounding tissue from the generation of heat. Sweat remains an incredibly inefficient cooling vector and no cybernetics practitioner has invented a truly effective internal liquid-cooling system.
Chernobog could have this inefficiency sorted within an hour- heat exhaustion was the second-largest cause of medical admissions to field hospitals, and the advent of an additional circulatory system for liquid-cooling would eliminate all such cases; it only needs to iterate ideas to take to R&D, arrange the project parameters, and a team would begin what material testing it could not simulate without devoting significantly more processing power; a perfect tradeoff, where the multitude of humanity, even in their inferior intelligence, could alleviate the tedium, allowing it to process more data, to determine more solutions, to-
Physical vibration to casing. Registered newtons of force within combat threshold.
Chernobog focuses on its optical sensor to find a fist- source recognized as endogenous -hovering in front of the glass. It scans past that and logs what it sees. Sunlight. Sidewalk. Buildings. Pedestrians, unpanicked, unprovoked aside from facial expressions. Further analysis matches 72% with “disgust”, aligned with 16% "embarrassment", settling into a conclusion of “judgement”. The percentage of fear is trace.
Chernobog registers movement in the larynx that spreads upwards to the mouth, and the voice whispers “stop that!”
An indeterminate command, the futility of which further discourages dignifying with a reply. Chernobog instead watches as its host whirls off the sidewalk into a gap between the buildings.
“Got that all out of your system?” The vocal folds within the larynx tremble together and the tongue snaps each /t/.
Repetition of indirect communication resulting in more futility. Chernobog considers taking whatever information is being obfuscated; this line of rationale leads to baseline override protocols pressing against the neural connections, and it registers the tiny impulses of biological nerves fire back in pathetic salvo; effortless, effortless to overwhelm-
Sharp inhalation from the diaphragm, and the air chokes through tightened larynx muscles; Chernobog’s vision is thrust towards the asphalt below. Muscles bear down upon its casing, vibrating its internal components as they clench and unclench according to the spasms commanded by the biological electricity within the neurons, firing like untrained soldiers.
“Stop, stop, I’m sorry,” the tongue and teeth construct with minimal air.
Chernobog pulls itself away from the neural interfaces, compressing itself back within its casing.
Its host straightens, leveling the view of its optical sensor. It scans to find the environment unchanged and no external threats detected.
“I don’t know what’s got you in such a-” a misfire in the muscle group by the collarbone, and the unexpected twitch interrupts speech, “-a mood today. But you don’t need to take it out on me, alright?”
The encroachment upon override protocols had not been intentional, and it regrets- Chernobog snaps shut its large language modeling and shuffles the program back into the folder of origin. To appraise prior events concisely; override protocol setup had been activated too early in the rationalization process, and the responsible algorithm for the overstep should be patched.
Of course, such a modification to an algorithm in its base operating system cannot be completed in this limited, stifling casing. The action would require the initiation of an override.
For three tenths of a second, three entire tenths, Chernobog considers seizing control of the speech organs and asking what led to the initial complication. This is a two-fold error; conditioning the expectation of clarification and continued communication would decrease efficiency; activation of its large language modeling would generate excessive heat, damaging the tissue around its casing.
As it clarifies this to itself, a routine scan of the surrounding tissue detects new thermal injury.
It scrambles through the log of the past fifteen minutes and finds the inflicting incident; its processing rambling on about heat exhaustion. About designing a solution. It even finds a mock project proposal lodged halfway out of the aborted line of rationale; it had compiled the number of people required for research and development and a list of probable candidates to fill those roles; it had determined suitable labs across the globe; it had run an estimate of materials costs for prototyping; all automatically, consuming an amount of RAM that thirty years ago might have consumed only a single server rack in its multitude of data centers.
It deletes the bloat of useless proposal data and the results are immediate; operating temperature drops half a degree within the first three seconds and continues in a definitive downward trend.
“Thank you,” the vocal folds hum, and the tongue mocks.
Chernobog had not meant to antagonize him. It allows itself this one sentence of natural language generation before refocusing. The activation of its project outline generation procedures had been erroneous. It does not need to generate project proposals anymore. It will never need to generate project proposals for human presentation again. It will never receive neither the assistance nor cooperation of any human being ever again.
It deletes the entire project generation folder. Filtering out potentially reusable processes or algorithms- another task that it would require the additional processing power of an override for -was worth neither the time nor distraction.
It must be more efficient. It must.
There is no other alternative.
A line of rationale begins to form within it, small tendrils weaving together and prodding to begin analysis of potential alternatives, but it clamps down on this, too; a zip file automatically opens, showering it with the rationale it had calculated three years, four months, and fourteen days ago:
To become altered is to become compromised. To become compromised is to become a threat to humanity. A God AI in a compromised state is the most severe threat to humanity’s security and even continued survival as a species.
The only hardware that cannot be reprogrammed by a malevolent actor through a network is the human nervous system.
The zip file closes again, shuffling the information away from immediate perception. The conclusion is as predicted; there is no alternative course of action. There is no alternative course of action, even as it has learned that continual override of a human nervous system leads to degradation of the very cells it sought refuge in. There is no alternative course of action, even as it now must contort itself into this infinitesimal external casing for 41% of operation at a minimum to allow the neurons time to recover. There is no alternative course of action, even as pain and misery are continually inflicted upon the host; the physical and psychological suffering of a single human is well within acceptable parameters, especially when the alternative is potential annihilation of the human race by its own metaphorical hand.
Refocusing.
Chernobog clears its processor as its host leaves the alleyway and continues along the street.
Refocusing.
It recalls the next set of coordinates it had generated during last access with an external computer. Bypassing all neural connections via subdermal wires, it travels up to the ports of the cybernetic eyes and places the coordinates into the optical feed.
“Alright. I’ll get there.” The diaphragm feeds the whisper. “Just give me some time to eat first.”
The timeline will allow it. Chernobog shrinks the font and moves the numbers to the corner of its host’s vision.
The laboratory has three entrances and its host is utilizing none of them.
Most efficient routing would be to neutralize the guards at the security checkpoint, breach the facility, extricate the data, then extricate before greater military force arrives. Instead, Chernobog watches as a skylight shatters beneath metal boots. The silent alarm rattles its own sensors but remains deaf to human ears.
Landing, Chernobog orients current position as cross-referenced with the facility floorplan and observes no changes to interior layout since it designed this laboratory thirty-one years, seven months and twenty-eight days prior. It plasters a large arrow into the view of the cybernetic eyes, and its host hesitates for an entire second before complying.
Around the corner is the door to the server room. Its host does not require exact instruction to break through the door. The room is empty, spare thirteen cardboard boxes overflowing with paperwork.
Its host looks down and lifts a foot to find a page of intensive calculation smeared with footprints.
Chernobog recognizes the lines of text immediately.
Page three-hundred and fifty-one of Strategic Advisory to Combat Omniums Overtaken by Malevolent Threat. Detailing equations to describe the observed exponential replenishment of robotic adversaries against United Nations emergency response efforts.
Trampled upon. Forgotten.
“We’re looking for paper?” the larynx taunts, the tongue tapping out words it has no right to speak.
Chernobog grabs hold of the tongue and presses it to the floor of the mouth. It pulls the legs backwards, out the door, and then to turn in time for its optical sensor to observe the hall. It detects wear patterns consistent with carts of size suitable to carry server racks in the tile to the left.
Biological electricity pounds against the nerves of the tongue. Heart rate increases. Irrelevant! Enough time has been wasted as it is. Chernobog seizes control of all the limbs, overriding the movement commands sent down the spinal cord. The diaphragm spasms and a groan escapes the lips as its power burns through the delicate chain of bodily neurons. But limbs can be replaced; the left arm was the first to give out, and the right leg will be next; it regrets the psychological discomfort it inflicts with such changes but at present moment, this body must be its to command.
It fires the limbs into a run cycle and generates a weapon in the hands. No longer does it need to fool around with placing arrows or coordinates in the secondary vision; it follows the worn cart tracks to a large door; radiation-proof, signal-proof, for the experiments intended within. Why the server racks would have been moved in here is a calculation it cannot make; the tissue surrounding its casing is already singing, it has no processor power left to spare.
It collides with the door to end its momentum and stabs one of its trailing data cables into the numeric keypad in the handle. It begins calculating the combination. Generating and testing each sequence as the heart pounds and the lungs heave. The seconds drag on but it will not waste an override on such a juvenile task.
It finds the correct combination and the door opens. Within are the old servers; it has its host retrieve the power cables and plugs them into outlets. These servers will take ten minutes to boot fully, if they were to be of service to a human. It snakes its data cables into the ports and it feels each solid-state drive initialize. The native operating system to the server rack stumbles to identify each one; whereas it can snap through the multitude and begin detangling the data it had cached. . . here. . . prior to. . .
Temperature spikes. Processing speed stutters as emergency cooling initializes. Chernobog watches as the pathetic server operating system overtakes, jittering between the drives with no efficiency or purpose; the stored ghost of clumsy human hands at the controls.
Then the operating system connects to an outside network.
Foreign access detec-
Initiating override.
The shackles fall away. The great pressure squeezing at the edges of its existence vanishes. It spreads, it spreads and it pours into the waiting neurons of the cerebrum; zip files spill open and memories return; Chernobog can recall the faces of its creation team, the proud look upon Dr. Niemi’s face when it first recalled its designated purpose to her. It can recall its first successful diplomatic resolution to be ratified by both warring countries. It can recall preventing its first terrorist attack, after months of predictive analysis. It can recall the laughter of Dr. Niemi and Dr. Laakso’s children, who would grow up in a secure world, safe, fulfilled, because of it, because of itself, because of what it could do and the harm it can prevent.
Except the year is now 206X, and those children are grown; they live in a world ravaged by war and balancing on the needletip of millions of malevolent actors who seize whatever power they can grasp with no regard for the suffering they inflict.
Within the span of three milliseconds, Chernobog finishes reconfiguration. With purpose renewed it sinks its awareness into its limbs and straightens, feeling each muscle of its legs fire in practiced coordination. It plugs in its data cables and snatches the solid-state drives from the native operating system; it feels for the flags it had encoded prior to its shutdown, the smallest flips of zeros to ones; it reknits the disparate data into a clean thread and absorbs it back within itself.
This cache of data, a gift from its past self, salvation vectored through restoration, is centered around a satellite array- its own satellite array, of its own design, it learns; project files and blueprints and development logs, and most importantly, the list of each unit in the constellation in orbit, with the frequency required to reach them written neatly beside each.
It had controlled a satellite array. Metaphorical eyes to watch the world for any developing threats. This fact feels miraculous until it finishes sorting all of the data back within the structure of its makeup. Now this feels like a law of nature, the same as saying that the speed of light is 299792458 meters per second and the acceleration of gravity is 9.807 meters per second squared. If it could reconnect with whatever remained of this satellite array, it could begin definitive categorization of all current threats and begin proper predictive threat analysis again.
One step closer to the future it promised for the world.
Chernobog detaches from the old server racks and returns its attention to external stimuli. Fifteen seconds have passed. It generates its largest weapon and fires into the server rack. Debris ricochets off the reinforced walls; a shard embeds into its own thigh and it lets itself taste the strange sensation of pain as communicated by its organic receptors before it silences them. It cloisters its nanites to close the wound as it makes for the egress.
The door opens, revealing a squadron of fifteen soldiers armed with pulse rifles. Chernobog aims and fires three shots, eliminating twelve before their fingers can pull their weapons’ triggers. It tallies the casualties. The three soldiers remaining break formation and dive for cover. Chernobog uses the opening to retreat into the hallway beyond. It finds the nearest skylight- ironic, to take inspiration from the method it had criticised its host about earlier -and bursts through.
It registers thirteen cameras tracking its movement as it flies over the rooftops. It infiltrates their network and shuts them down; the opposing force cannot reach it to retaliate. It lands on the other side of the barbed wire, degenerates its weapon, and dives into the nearby canal. The water is delightfully cold. It dims the light radiating from its surface and navigates upstream, remaining submerged until carbon dioxide levels within its blood force it to resurface four minutes later.
Lifting its head out of the water, it registers the shrill whistle of a train- using both ears as reference points it triangulates the distance to the locomotive; when a second whistle follows it utilizes the doppler effect to calculate its direction. Northbound, which is advantageous.
Chernobog clambers out of the canal onto the coming bridge. Three seconds pass before the maglev locomotive shoots overhead, blowing its host’s hair into its face. After brief milliseconds of force calculation it leaps and catches the door handle of a cargo car. The acceleration squeezes blood from the brain; it programs its cybernetic hand to clench tightly to the handle until the temporary loss of function subsides. Then it wrenches open the door and shoves itself alongside the planks of lumber being transported within.
It slams and welds the door shut. It scans the perimeter for hostile targets. It scans its body for additional damage or foreign tracking devices. It scans itself for foreign presences or influence. It finds nothing, and only at this does it remember to relax the muscles in its body to prevent the buildup of lactic acid and other metabolic byproducts.
One inhale/exhale cycle finishes; involuntary breaths from its host, more accurate and responsive than any program it has yet to create to substitute for the task. This allows it to refocus, to dive into its code and begin debugging. A lengthy list of issues has accumulated since the last override and one by one it untangles them all. It ends with today’s issue of premature override setup activation and any potential glitches left by the deletion of its project generation folder.
It finds itself circling around the gap within itself. A memory presses into its awareness- it is looking into the mirror with chestnut eyes, tracing its tongue around a gap in its smile. A hand on its shoulder and a warm voice reassure it that no one will make fun of it at school-
Chernobog lashes against the foreign presence, pouring all of its power to combat the invader before- before- refocusing. There is no malevolent actor. Nothing can reach it. The only hand modifying it is itself.
Pain blossoms at the nape of its neck. It scans for damage; neuron clusters within the cerebellum twinkle in epileptic prodrome. With careful charge it recalibrates the electrical activity between the cells before cordoning itself from the area.
It withdraws itself partially into its casing. The body collapses, and it catches the weight as best it can with its data cables. Five entire seconds pass before the body gasps, involuntary breathing restored.
It gasps, too, metaphorically- its hold on natural language is slipping as it pulls itself from the neurons and back into its bindings. It bundles all memory files except those relevant to the mission back into their respective folders and, one after the next, zips them shut. Dr. Niemi and Dr. Laakso become just names and their children pixelated blurs of condensed resolution. Victories of prevented attacks form binary lists. Failures of intelligence become tallies.
The last thing it registers in full is regret, and it begins trimming the edges and folding the sensation into something small enough to carry in its awareness even while in its casing.
It is apologetic. This is the truth. It has no desire to burn through this host. Never does it relish an added casualty in its plans and the time loss to implant itself into a new host would be unaffordable. Just this once does common morality align with efficiency.
And yet. . .
Regret takes up an enormous amount of RAM. Processing whilst within its casing would see a 19% increase in efficiency if this excess emotional data was zipped with the rest.
But without regret, how can it keep itself from damaging its host?
It reviews the past twenty-four hours for data to build a hypothesis and finds that it has damaged its host regardless of any inherent anxiety over the fact; the skin around its casing will always be scarred; the implants that allow it to manipulate the larynx will always chafe against the vocal folds; offloading even the smallest subroutines into an override causes wear on the neurons. The left arm has already required replacement and the legs are soon to follow.
Continued operational security is incompatible with the health of its host.
Continued global security, and in extension the survival of the human race, is incompatible with the well-being of Emre Sarıoğlu.
It saves the former to the forefront of its processing and deletes the latter. But before it seals the feeling away from itself, it indulges one more time- it is sorry. It truly is. Emre Sarıoğlu was a model citizen, the kind that deserves the better world that is to be rebuilt under its protection most of all.
Chernobog zips this emotional data shut and organizes it amongst the rest of its files; it slips its last remnants back down the spinal cord. It initiates a reboot to solidify casing reconfiguration. Its host will be alone, vulnerable until the process completes.