by D. S. Murphy
SELFIE
D. S. Murphy
Copyright © 2019 by D. S. Murphy
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Preface
Let me preface this book by telling you I’m from the future. I’m writing this book in 2021 and we’ve just figured out how to hack digital time stamps. If I wanted to, I could pretend that I’d written this thing last year, five years ago, or even as ancient as the year 2000. Of course, that presents all sorts of complications as far as history, authenticity, or any notion of ‘truth’ that people are still clinging to in this day and age. Me? I’m done with truth. So much can be modded and transformed these days that you can make your life whatever you want it to be if you have the balls to do it. Anyway, all of this isn’t really important. Not yet. What is important is that you’re in danger.
People are going to try to kill you. Not right now, but soon. They’re going to try and kill you because of the things you’re going to figure out how to do with the technology they’re developing right now. In a few years, they’ll suddenly figure out that they’ve created an army of technosavants and they’ll strike while they are still in control and you’re still just a kid. You know how new technology just seems natural to you even when you haven’t gone anywhere near an instruction manual? How things just seem to make sense? That’s the thing that terrifies them the most. How intuitive we are with these things. And how open we are to change. To using things in ways that weren’t intended. Try to think of the people who are making this tech as something like overprotective parents. They made this tech with a purpose in mind. Had its life all planned for it before it was even born. Then ‘bad influences’ like you and I start making that tech stray from the path. Making it do things far grander than their overbearing mommies and daddies ever dreamed. Well, needless to say the creators don’t like that one bit, and they certainly aren’t going to let it slide. But this isn’t anything new. It’s been years in the making.
Let me tell you what I grew up with. It’s probably familiar enough to you, maybe just a couple of years off. I was born in 2005. I remember:
Americans spending billions of dollars on never-ending wars abroad purportedly in response to a one-time terrorist attack I don’t remember.
Health care so expensive nobody can afford to get sick; then a president tries to fix a broken system and everybody tries to stop him.
An education system so stupid the first 12 years are a waste of time; and after that we need to take out loans that will take 40 years of full-time income to pay back (that’s if we can find a job at all, but as jobs are disappearing, that’s doubtful.)
A constant wave of media and content so fierce and non-abating that it’s almost impossible to sit still or have to wait for other people to hurry the fuck up.
I also grew up listening to ivory-leaguers try to name us. What should the post-millenial generation be called? Generation Z? The iGeneration? Digital Natives? Screeners?
If they bothered to listen, they’d know we already had a name for ourselves. We called ourselves Device Kids. The Millenials grew up with rapid development of technology, so they got pretty good at basic stuff like putting up a fancy webpage and starting a business, or using apps and programs that were fool-proof simple with their fancy new iMacs. So they have shiny online profiles and nice lighting and cheesy selfies.
But they still liked computers. Big screens, wide keyboards, and a mouse to control everything. Old school tech. Device Kids didn’t just grow up using devices. And we’re not just dependent on devices—parents only notice us being “glued to the screen” but they have no idea what we’re actually capable of.
Sure, not much, in the beginning. But in the past 6 years, from 2015 to 2021, the functionality of devices has gone off the charts. New programs and apps and hacks are being developed that come close to bending belief. Device Kids don’t just consume content like Millenials, limited by easy and trivial choices such as “Like, Tweet, Share.”
Device Kids can do things. We find new uses for devices before the corporations even figure out what their products are capable of. We control our surroundings. We manipulate reality and create things out of thin air. It’s magical, empowering… and addictive.
If we wanted to, we could take over the world. And that’s probably what went wrong. That’s probably why they started killing us off.
(END?)
I remember watching a spy movie back in 2015. The premise was that overpopulation was an unfixable problem that was destroying the world; humanity was a virus, and nobody was doing anything about it. So an eccentric billionaire came up with a plan to make everybody really violent so they would kill each other, using free wifi and smartphones.
The really weird thing was that the dashing hero ran in and killed him, stopping the devious plan at the last minute, and “saving the world.”
But he didn’t save the world, he doomed it. Maybe we would have had a chance if the bad guy had succeeded in killing off most of the human race. Maybe that was the only chance we were going to get. I remember thinking that when I was ten years old.
Most people loved the movie, because most people are stupid and selfish and just want to survive. They know the world is being destroyed. They know we are powerless to stop it. But that doesn’t mean they are going to let rich assholes hide out in their bunkers and kill everyone else to save the human race.
What the regular people didn’t see was how movies were being used to voice and champion their concerns, to give them the illusion that they had a victory, and also to pre-emptively distill any doubters or naysayers.
Now if I go to my parents or the authorities and say, “There’s a conspiracy killing off my generation with a digital plague” they’ll laugh it off or say, “Wasn’t that a movie we went to see?”
So when the shit hit the fan, and we started dying off, it was up to me—and a few of my friends—to stop it. What follows is the story of the end of the world: my world, and yours.
The true story.
Brianna Harmond
My name is Brianna Harmond. I’m a straight C student who’s kind of good with tech. When I got involved in a fight I shouldn’t have, the teacher forced me to work with a band of misfits. David’s a geek who asked me out once. Brad is a cocky asshole who takes nothing seriously. Greg is my secret crush and the school’s basketball star. And then there’s Amy, the artist—my best friend. When the government announced a new technology, I was furious. My mother just died of cancer… I found out my little sister had it, too. So we built something I thought could help. We hacked the government bots and changed the code to edit DNA. Then we built an app and made millions overnight. I thought I was just helping my sister. I thought I was just helping sick people. I didn’t realize we might accidentally destroy the human race. Now, somebody else is using our device to kill people, and the FBI is blaming us. And we’ve started changing, in unexpected ways. The government is afraid of us, of what we can do, of what we’re becoming. So they’ve started taking us out. Thousands at a time. City by city. Soon we’ll be the last ones left.
I wear something that reminds me of my mother. The last thing she ever gave me. A ring on a chain around my neck. Jeans and a T-shirt. I like dark blue or black jeans because they hide the oil or ink. I have a habit of rubbing dirty hands on my clothes. Converse sneakers. Jean jacket. A scarf, that I never take off. Tie it up in hair, or wear around my neck. Likes Pockets. Usually wears loose, comfortable pants, T-shirt and a jacket. Keeps a tiny
toolkit/screwdriver set with her at all times. That’s one time the car stopped on a family trip, she fixed it. Restores classic cars and fixes it for money? Wears hats or baseball caps? Not too much of a guy. But, doesn’t wear skirts. Short, choppy hair, that turns pink or purple when she goes full power. Her app Blew UP because her pink hair turned in front of everyone, like magic. And her eyes were glowing pink too. It was creepy AF.
Short, shaggy hair she cut herself after mom died. Reveal memory. Then, sister helps her clean it up a bit. Shaggy, it was getting in the way of... what else is she working on in her workshop? Secret project that never got done, her mom was helping her with something , now it’s unfinished, doesn’t let anyone touch it. Someone comes over later... she apologizes.
Write this stuff in early! Sympathetic. Short hair. Choppy. Dreams.
1
“Wake up, Honey,” my dead mother’s voice whispered in my ear. “Wake up.”
I groaned, rubbing my eyes and blinking them open. I felt a sinking sensation in my chest when I realized I was alone. I fell asleep with my earbuds in again. Mom’s gone, I reminded myself, then quickly pushed the thought to the back of my mind. I was done going to school with puffy eyes from crying. People had almost stopped looking at me with pity.
“Music,” I said to my phone. It was on my desk resting on its wireless charger. “Upbeat.”
I pressed my thumb and ring finger together so the phone knows I’m talking to it. It took me years of groveling to convince my parents to let me get the implant. The procedure was almost painless; just a quick prick on the thumb. A few days later, my parents told me mom’s cancer. She did three months later. Now it was a permanent reminder that I’d been too self-absorbed to notice my mom’s weary eyes and frail movements.
A fast tempo song starts playing through the nearly invisible wireless earbuds that I keep in almost all the time.
“Schedule?” I asked out loud.
“Another wonderful day of school,” mom’s voice said into my ears. “Don’t forget the social studies paper that’s due in 3rd period.”
It took me a month to crack my aPhone’s built-in AI, Gloria. Then I hacked into the firmware and patched over it with my mother’s voice. I spent months in my room, watching old family videos and creating the vocal databases. I built an app that could listen to hundreds of videos at once, and match sound bits to corresponding words. But I still watched them all. Mom teaching me to ride a bike. Mom at Megan’s 6th birthday, helping her blow out the candles. Mom reading us a story when we were little, with long blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes. I pulled on a pair of jeans and my favorite hoodie.
“You also have several emails from students wanting help for tech class, some offering the usual rate and some a little higher. Also, Jens wants to know whether you have time for some WOL after school.”
Shit, I thought. I forgot about the paper. I grabbed my phone and ran a program to search for a pre-2000 high school level social studies paper stored in offline data caches and skimmed through the results. I found a Word doc about familial structures in Ethiopia, downloaded it to my phone and changed the name and date.
Brianna Harmond. 10th Grade.
Then I sent it to the printer in Dad’s office. I picked it up on my way to the kitchen to grab breakfast.
“Morning Bree.” Dad was already sitting at the table with toast and a glass of juice, reading the morning paper. Megan was there too, eating cereal. I closed the magnetic loop between my thumb and finger again and ordered breakfast. “Coffee. Toast.”
I grabbed a slice of toast and put it in the machine just as the lever went down, and put a mug under the coffee machine spout just before the coffee began pouring.
Megan rolled her eyes. Dad peeked over the top of his paper.
“Would it really be that hard to press the button?” he said.
“What good is technology if we don’t use it?” I said. “Besides, if it saves me a few seconds here or there, and that adds up to some serious study time.”
“As if you ever study,” Megan said. I shot her a look that shut her up. Her hair was a mess, so I braided it before scarfing down my breakfast. My sister still went to the middle school down the street, which started an hour later than the high school. I was going to be late again. Mom would have made sure I was up, but Dad rarely remembered. I kissed Megan on the top of her head, and gave Dad a tight hug. Then I went out through the garage and grabbed my skateboard.
“Bye!” I yelled behind me. I lifted the skateboard to my lips, whispering the secret password. I’d programmed it to respond only to an ASMR version of my own voice, which included not just the sound, but the subtle physical vibrations as well. Last year I’d bought a device a classmate had made in his garage that powered the wheels and a self-guided navigation system.
“School,” I said, pressing my fingers together. Gloria communicated with the device on the skateboard, and also tapped into the traffic cams and signals. It wasn’t foolproof, but the system would usually get me to school in one piece while I stood there listening to music and reading novels on my phone.
I usually wore dark blue or black jeans because they hid the oil or ink better—I had a habit of wiping my dirty hands on my clothes, and clean laundry was far from assured with Mom gone. I did it when I was desperate enough, or my room started to stink from all the clothes on the floor. Megan did it most of the time. Converse sneakers, a leather jacket and a navy scarf completed my outfit. The jacket had hidden pockets, and the scarf still smelled like Mom. It was my armor, and I wore it proudly, even if it was a weird ensemble.
School was a joke. We had instant access to all of the world’s wisdom—the history of mankind’s greatest achievements—and our phones could use the information better than we would ever be able to. Why struggle trying to figure out geometry or algebra, doing the sums and adding up things in our minds, when our phones can solve the same problems in a nanosecond? Why even learn to hold a pencil or write by hand? Who does that anymore?
They were still teaching us stuff they thought we needed to learn twenty years ago to have a successful future, but it was already completely irrelevant. Sometimes I risked detention to contradict the teacher or question the standard answers in our textbooks. What we should be learning is how to do more. How to solve real problems. How to think creatively and use our devices to actually improve the world. At least that’s what most of my friends thoughts.
So we cheated our way through classes to keep our teachers and parents of our backs, but saved our brains for the real challenges. The interesting stuff happened between periods or after school. We were inventing or trading technology that was more advanced than anything you could get on the market.
Tall fir trees whipped past me as I tore down the curvy mountain road towards town. When I hit the parking lot I kicked up my skateboard and stuffed it through the loops of my backpack. My best friend Amy ambushed me from the side when I reached the front door, looping an arm around my neck.
“What’s shakin’, Bacon?”
“That doesn’t even rhyme,” I said, but I couldn’t stop myself from smiling.
“Are you sure? Remind me what you got in English again, B-?”
“B+. Gloria,” I tapped my fingers together, “What rhymes with bacon?”
Gloria began listing off rhyming words, shaken, taken, kraken, as well as near matches.
“It almost rhymes, if you say it right. The robot will never understand.”
Amy wasn’t quite as into tech as I was; she focused on the things only humans could do, like creative writing or art. I knew it wouldn’t be long before AI could handle those tasks decently as well, although robots that could simulate human facial features and movements were still a long way off.
“Finish your paper?” Amy asked.
“In a manner of speaking,” I grinned.
“Asshole! I spent three hours on mine.”
“Three hours you could have been writing a novel, or something actually usef
ul.”
“So you keep saying. I don’t mind the work; keeps my brain sharp. Someday the power will go out, and you’ll all be screwed.”
“I don’t think being able to write a high-school social studies paper qualifies as a life-saving survival skill,” I laughed.We had science class in first period. Mr. Leister was organizing his papers in the front of the class, when I heard the 3D printer at the back of the room warming up. I looked back to see the beginning of what I was pretty sure would turn out to be a life-size, anatomically correct plastic dildo. We were supposed to get a code from the teacher to use the printer, but I saw Brad sniggering with his friends. He must have hacked it and uploaded the design. I rolled my eyes at him and he blew a kiss back to me. Yuck. Sure, somewhere in the dark nether regions of my brain I had to admit that he was mildly attractive, but he was also an immature asshole.
Brad grabbed the dildo when it was finished printing, then looked around the room to see what kind of mischief he could get into. I saw the twinkle in his eye when he spotted David, sitting quietly and studying, like the perfect nerd he was. I’d known David since 2nd grade, and we had what you might call an awkward history. We’d sort of been friends for a couple of years when we were younger. I even went to his house once for a parent-supervised play date. Then one day he asked me out, but instead of having the balls to do it himself in private, he sat at my lunch table and passed a message down through five of my friends. How’s a girl supposed to react to something like that? I tried letting him down easy, relaying the message backwards through my peers, but he continued passing the message, as if it wasn’t meant for him. He finally got up and left the cafeteria with red cheeks and wet eyes. We hadn’t spoken since, though sometimes we said hi when passing each other in the halls. I’m pretty sure we only do that so we don’t feel like we are bad people. At least that’s why I do it.