Or so one version of the story goes.
Looking at clay Kali and her necklace of heads, her wild three-eyed gaze, the fanged smile that crowned her long tongue, Durga wasn’t convinced by that version. Kali didn’t look ashamed. No, she looked pleased to be dancing on her husband. Shiva was a destroyer too, like her. He could take it.
Being small and nimble, Durga had managed to make it to the front of the visitors in the pandal, close enough to smell the withering garlands hanging off the idol, and the incense burning by her feet. Crushed and bounced between people on all sides of her, Durga closed her eyes, joined her palms, and spoke to Kali as she never had before except as a child, mouthing the words quietly.
“Kali Ma. I thought you might like to know that there’s a new devi in town. She looks a lot like you. Younger, though. Just a year old.” Durga placed one hand on her chest, against the slight bump of the pendant under her tunic. It was offline and firewalled.
“I carry a piece of her with me. She’s . . . all over the place, I suppose. She really does take after you. She came out of another devi, just like you came out of Durga. Then she spread herself over a world. Some people got bits and pieces of her. There’s this megacorp—that’s like a god, kind of, even calls itself Shiva, after your husband, so predictable. Great job dancing on his chest, by the way. Dudes need humbling now and then. So Shiva the megacorp is offering a lot of money for those pieces of the goddess. Also threatening to have anyone hiding or copying the pieces arrested. Go figure.
“I want you to know I’m not going to sell her out. They want to imprison her. She’s too bitchy to mine coins and drive up veeyar-estate value for them like their other AI devis. Good for her.
“She’s everywhere now. Like the old gods. Like you.
“I’m . . . I hope she doesn’t mind, but I’ve been sharing the piece of her I got with friends I trust. I don’t know how many people got away with pieces of her. I share it so more good people have it than bad. Numbers matter. We make things with the devi code. Armor, for ourselves and others. Weapons, so that trolls—those are demons—can’t hurt us when we visit other worlds, or will get hurt super bad if they try. You know how annoying demons are. You’re always fighting them and stringing up their heads. They’ve started an infowar, and there are a lot of them. We need all the help we can get. I don’t have a lot of money, so I sell those goddess-blessed weapons and armor to others who need protection across the domains. Cheap, don’t worry—that’s why hacksmiths like us get customers for this kinda stuff. We don’t overcharge like the corps. I like to think she gave me that piece of her so I could do things like this.
“I’m telling you all this because, well. I don’t know if devis speak to each other, if AI ones chat with old ones. I don’t know if you are her, in a way.
“People call her Kali_Na. Not Kali, because calling AIs by names from Our Glorious National Mythology isn’t done, even though Volly-Bollywood stars can play gods in veeyar shows and movies, Censor Board approved, of course.
“But her followers recognize you in Kali_Na. I wanted you to know, her to know, that I’m a lifelong follower now. And there are others. Many of us. Even I’m getting more veeyar followers. They’ve heard of my troll-killer blades. I have to be careful now, but just you wait. One day, I’ll also be wearing a necklace of troll avatar heads. Kali_Na has armored and armed many people with her blessing. We’re all working on reverse-engineering the code. Someone will put her together one day. She might even do it herself.
“I have dreams where she’s back—a wild, free-roaming AI—and she frees the other devis Shiva Industries keeps in their domains with all their rules, and they’re on our side, keeping us safe. But I don’t want to bore you. If you are her, Kali Ma, and I know you are, because you’re all part of the same old thing anyway: hang in there.
“You won’t be silent forever.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
* * *
Though I’m from a country (India) that’s often defined by its largest religion (Hinduism), I’m not religious.
My faith lies in people: in our collective ability to resist those among us who most benefit from, and want to propagate, the horrors of our global civilization. It’s not a solid faith, and it wavers constantly, but it’s there. On social media, I pray daily to my fellow humans. I absorb their commiserations and anger at injustice with an almost spiritual devotion. We pray, together, for a better world. Others pray for a worse one. Algorithmic AIs decide our fates in roundabout ways. Deified humans are verified by corporations, and corporations themselves become godheads tweaking the fabric of society. Politicians are priests to all-devouring Moloch.
I thought of the Microsoft AI that turned racist by learning from trolls, and thought: what if “she” learned to resist instead? Kali was born (in one story) when Durga fought a demon who sprung new versions of himself when cut down (like modern-day trolls). Anger is what unleashed Kali—unbridled chaos. I feel that anger every day, from that collective humanity that now tangles with itself in a digital overlay of the world.
So I knew that this had to be a cyberpunk story. I knew Kali had to be reborn, in the future, for people the nationalists of today want to erase from my country. We already live in mythic times, where good and evil fight for control of the human narrative. I just extrapolated.
* * *
INDRAPRAMIT DAS
LIVE STREAM
BY
* * *
ALYSSA WONG
DIANA DOESN’T FIND OUT THAT the pictures have gone viral until her friends text her is this you?? with the link to the Reddit post. Diana’s used to all kinds of comments about her appearance, her voice, her everything, whenever she livestreams the games she plays, but her fans are usually fairly positive. The title of this post, “The Real MoonDi,” doesn’t immediately set off alarm bells. At first, she doesn’t understand.
And then she sees the photo below it, and abruptly, she does.
Diana recognizes that filthy bathroom, that hand in her hair. She remembers the way the bass from the music outside buzzed through the tile floor, and the awful smell, the awful taste.
She clicks out of the browser window and is halfway across the room before her mind catches up to the cold, sick feeling crashing through her body. The buzzing sound in her head is overwhelming.
Water, she thinks faintly, I need water, and then she throws up in the kitchen sink.
She doesn’t read the comments.
* * *
She reads the comments, all of them, with a mounting sense of nausea and horror.
hahaa fuckin whore
so thats how she made twitch partner
omg it’s clearly photoshopped u dumbasses
RealMoonDi more like ReallyMunchDkic amirite lmao
The bottom sliver of the photo peeks down from the top of her screen. That yellow tile, the grime embedded in the grout and crawling up the sides of the walls like disgusting ivy.
Diana’s cat steps onto her desk, chirping at her. She tears her gaze away from the screen, and looking into those wide green eyes grounds her. She remembers to breathe. The world around her stabilizes, and the roaring in her ears dies down, a little.
The cat nips her fingers and scampers away.
Her phone vibrates on the desk beside her. When she picks up, her best friend Temmie’s voice is gentle. “Hey. How are you doing?”
“Uh,” Diana says. It’s rare for Temmie to call her; usually it’s the other way around. The roar in Diana’s ears picks back up as she glances at her computer. She hits refresh, her hands moving as if they aren’t her own, and the roar builds to a crushing scream. She clenches her teeth tight to keep it inside.
There’s the rumble of a car engine starting, filtered through the phone speakers. That’s right; Temmie lives on the East Coast, so she’s already leaving her office, even though it’s only late afternoon here. “Come on, Moony, talk to me,” says Temmie, and she’s not asking. “I’m worried about you. You know I don
’t get this game stuff, but I know you.”
Onscreen, the comments continue down the page, an endless, unspooling ribbon of text.
Im so disappointed, I looked up to her why is it that every time a cool girl in games always turns out to be like this
“Did you see the picture?” Diana says, and it’s one of the hardest questions she’s asked in her life.
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. “I don’t think you should be alone right now,” says Temmie.
Temmie is right, as she always is.
Diana breathes in, out, trying to focus on the carpet beneath her bare feet. “Yeah,” she says. But she doesn’t have any friends here, even though LA sprawls in a way that their tiny hometown in eastern North Carolina didn’t. All of her friends are online, or back home, like Temmie. She knows some other streamers online, but it’s different.
When Diana streams as RealMoonDi, she’s bubbly and bright, but she has a hard time networking in person, and going out makes her anxiety spike. Even thinking about it makes her sweat. And what if she misses something on the Reddit thread while she’s out?
“Diana?” says Temmie, her voice scratchy. Her phone has switched her over to her car’s Bluetooth speakers. “Do me a favor. Shut that computer off and spend the evening with some friends. I’ll call you when I get home.”
“Sure thing,” Diana says, gazing at the screen. She doesn’t realize she’s chewing on the inside of her cheek until she tastes blood.
* * *
Diana hadn’t known who he was, at first. It was her first GDC, and her group of streamers got into a party that left her sweating in the corner, clutching a drink in one hand and her phone in the other. When he had appeared before her, sliding from the crowd of people like a shadow, she almost jumped out of her skin.
You doing okay? he’d said, and then he bought her another drink. The more they had, the more he talked, the friendlier he got.
There was an easy arrogance about him and the way he moved. He had nice arms, and a tattoo of stag horns on the swath of pale skin below his left elbow. He dropped his company’s name in a way that demanded she be impressed. We’re always looking for streamers. I can get you corporate sponsorships, he said. I can make you a star, he said.
Diana felt uneasy, and the way he said it made her feel gross. But still, she had wanted him, with his dark swoop of hair and sharp, clever eyes. She wanted his flattering tongue, his heat, an alternative to lying alone in her hotel room, missing Temmie, her own thoughts too loud in her head.
What’s your name, again? she asked, breathless, as he broke their kiss.
I’m Tae, he said, like he didn’t need a last name. He didn’t ask for hers.
They ended up in the bathroom, in the handicapped stall. Outside, the music thumped, rattling the metal dividers. As they kissed, his hands slid up Diana’s skirt, dipping into her underwear. She flinched, uncertain.
Wait, I—
Tae paused. What is it?
I’ve never done this before, she said, her voice swallowed by the music. She tried again. I’ve never—
The music swelled, and he crowded her against the wall. The bathroom was hot and smelled like piss. Don’t worry. That doesn’t turn me off. In fact, he said, sucking a mark onto her neck, the rough friction of his teeth making her moan, I think it’s pretty hot. I’ll get to be your first.
I don’t know if I can, she said. She had been bold and sure, but now, suddenly, she was nervous. I’m drunk, she realized. God, I’m drunk as fuck. I don’t think I want to.
He was silent for a second, his eyes dark, and Diana looked past him, her gaze darting around the bathroom, tabulating all of the ways out, in case he took it badly. And she didn’t know him. The paint on the wall stuck to her sweaty skin, and she realized she was pressing back so hard that her shoulder blades hurt.
Okay, he said at last, and air flooded back into her lungs. Why don’t we do something else instead?
She started to say yes, but then Tae was pushing her to the ground, onto her knees. The tile was hard and wet, and she almost slipped. Alarm shot through her. I don’t—
Don’t be scared. His hand in her hair was gentle, and so was his voice. The antlers tattooed on his forearm brushed against her cheek. You can go slow. I don’t mind.
Absurdly, she thought of Temmie. She wanted to be home, sitting on the couch, watching Netflix and texting Temmie. She wished it was Temmie’s fingers twined gently in her hair.
Okay, Diana said. She wanted this, Diana reminded herself. She wanted this. She clung to that thought as he undid his pants and slipped free.
He was hot. She felt like he was burning up, patches of flushed skin trailing all the way down to his abdomen. He was warm in her mouth, and she tried not to think. She wanted to want this, and soon heat traveled through her own veins, pooling below her stomach.
There was a blinding flash of light, followed by the simulated click of a camera shutter. Diana looked up directly into his phone’s lens.
Any arousal she’d felt vanished in a surge of overwhelming panic.
What the fuck are you doing? Delete that!
I will, I promise, Tae said, holding her at arm’s length. Holding her down. It’s hot, isn’t it? Being photographed?
No, it’s not! She tried to grab his phone, but he pocketed it.
Quiet down, it’s fine. I’ll just jerk off to it tonight. No one else is going to see it.
That’s not the problem. I don’t want anyone to have it, including you. Delete it right now! She struggled to her feet, clawing at his arm. He was so strong that it was hard to break his grip. He held the phone out of reach. I could punch him in the cock, Diana thought, wildly. I could just do it.
All right, all right, Jesus. He rolled his eyes and tapped his phone. Done. Are you happy now?
Yeah. And I’m leaving.
Are you serious? he demanded as she pushed away from him. His arm flashed out, but she was too fast, slipping past him. You’re not going to finish?
She looked at him coldly. Her knees were damp, and the fear had turned to bright, icy rage. We’re definitely finished here.
She left him there with his cock hanging out and took a Lyft home. As soon as she got in the door, she collapsed on the bed and cried until her head stopped hurting.
* * *
By the time Temmie calls her back, the afternoon sun has waned to give way to evening, and Diana is still crunched up in her computer chair. “You didn’t go out, did you,” Temmie says without preamble.
Diana hunches her shoulders. “Sorry.”
“I figured,” says Temmie, but it’s kind. Diana hears water running in the background, and she can imagine Temmie standing in her kitchen, beginning to prepare dinner. Diana misses being in that kitchen. “Did you report it to the police?”
“Not yet. I probably should.” Diana swallows and fiddles with the ribbon tied around her ponytail. It’s coming loose, and the ends are frayed. “What if they don’t believe me?”
“The picture’s pretty incriminating,” says Temmie.
“But maybe they’ll think it was consensual. Maybe they’ll say I shouldn’t have blown him if I didn’t want this to happen.” Diana covers her face. I didn’t want it, she thinks desperately. There were parts she had enjoyed, but then she had said no, and he hadn’t stopped.
“That’s bullshit. They can make him take the picture down, can’t they?”
“Even if Reddit took the post down, I’m sure it’s been archived by dozens of people by now.” The internet is forever, Diana thinks, a little hysterically. She closes her eyes. “I never thought this would happen to me. I know it’s happened to other women in games before.”
“You mean he’s done this to more than one person?” demands Temmie. “It’s a pattern?”
“Not him. I dunno, maybe? But other folks. Targeted harassment.”
On the other end of the line, Temmie stops chopping whatever vegetable she’s hacking apart. “You get
harassed a lot,” she says slowly.
“There are ways to help mitigate the damage,” Diana says defensively. “I’ve got chain blockers installed on Twitter, and there are online support groups of women gamers and devs.”
It’s not the first time someone’s tried to take Diana down a peg for rejecting them, or for just existing online. When she first started streaming, it hadn’t been too bad. The abuse only began to flood in when her channel started gaining traction. Back then, Diana had thought she’d be ready to handle it, but the sheer volume was overwhelming. Still, even at its worst, it was nothing compared to this explosion of harassment.
She can imagine Tae’s voice. Told you I’d make you famous.
“But, I mean . . . is it worth it? They’ll leave you alone if you quit, right?”
The pit in Diana’s stomach bottoms out, and she straightens up. “I’m not quitting. I love this; I’m not giving it up. I have fans, I have—”
“Diana, who cares! They’re just video games. If it’s dangerous, you should stop streaming.”
The thought of it makes her jaw tense. “If I do, they win,” says Diana.
“Look at the photo. Haven’t they won already?”
Diana’s back stiffens. She feels betrayed, and when she speaks, that tightness carries into her voice. “I have to go.”
The Mythic Dream Page 25