Aleks Kotov
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Vol 8, Chapter 10
🕑 Added 2025-09-21 05:19:56 +0000 UTC◆ Near Future, Planet Earth, Unknown Country, Randall? POV ◆
Many expected a breakthrough from new technologies. Humanity naively believed it could create something greater than itself... an intelligence capable of thinking hundreds of thousands of times faster than a human. It seemed that just a little more effort, and this new entity would become godlike, unlocking all the secrets of the universe for us, discovering every formula, curing every disease.
Those who looked further than the tips of their noses raised alarms, demanding that technological development be slowed down. But who would listen to them when trillions of dollars were at stake?
In the end, there was neither a miracle nor a tragedy. We failed to create anything greater than ourselves. We only managed to create distorted copies. Jokes about replacing a mid-level manager with a neural network and nobody noticing stopped being jokes.
You can't leap higher than your own head.
You can't create something an order of magnitude better than a human on the basis of a human. Neural networks could think faster, work faster, but they could not become the next stage of evolution. They remained just a tool.
Sometimes, too good a tool.
Ironically, people once feared robots would steal their factory jobs, leaving only creative professions safe...
The opposite happened. A significant portion of physical labor still fell to humans. It was simply more economically viable that way.
Post-industrial countries took the hardest hit. Not because they went bankrupt—on the contrary, they were swimming in money despite mass unemployment.
Machines replaced humans.
Generated content consumed the entire entertainment market. Algorithms adapted to each individual, giving them exactly what they wanted. Unique and calculated down to the last pixel. Any plot. Any movie. Any genre.
The problem lay elsewhere.
If algorithms could control entertainment, why couldn't they control social networks? If a neural network could generate a movie, why not a politician's speech? No one could be trusted; everything could be a lie—or the truth. Nobody knew, and nobody cared. Add to that the millions who lost their jobs, replaced by neural networks, and you had a powder keg ready to explode at any moment.
Different countries fought this in different ways.
Some introduced universal income to appease the unemployed. Others tried brute force, outright banning neural networks. But in the end, everyone lost. States became little more than formality. Power lay in the hands of those who controlled minds. Those who produced content. In the hands of Corporations.
The world became a dump… And in my case—literally.
Slimy protein-bar paste. Crinkling polyethylene, plastic bottles and aluminum cans yielding under my body, filled with cheap mixtures of flavoring and alcohol…
But at least they drowned out the other stench of garbage, for which I was thankful.
My hands pressed against cold, metallic walls. Of course. A dumpster.
Well, this was not the homecoming I had expected. But if I thought about it... could I really have expected anything else?
My whole body was stiff, my temple throbbed suspiciously. Running a hand over it, I felt a disturbing dent in my skull. Fresh blood coated my fingers.
"And what exactly did you expect? Randall simply returned to his body. And what did you hope for?" Astarot asked in a mentoring tone.
"That was exactly what I hoped for. Did I miscalculate?" I said, trying to stand and climb out of the dumpster. Not easy... trash bags sank underfoot no better than quicksand.
The demon growled disapprovingly.
"Then you don't mind if I use your body while you're gone?"
"If you behave yourself, why not? Try finding the magical bomb and that shadow bitch. But remember, if you kill anyone besides her—I'll drag you back from the Abyss itself." With one last effort, I finally pulled myself out of the dumpster and slid down a heap of trash bags.
"I'll be a good boy… They, on the other hand, probably won't," the demon added, meaning the trio of freaks loitering around my dump.
One stood right next to me—I had practically fallen at his feet.
He must've been drawn by the suspicious noise from the dumpster and came to check. Poison-green hair, orange contact lenses, tattoos, and a faux-leather jacket… The other two weren't much different: ridiculous hairstyles, piercings, a split tongue; definitely gang members.
One doubled over coughing, spewing suffocating clouds of strawberry-scented vapor. The other slowly slid oversized headphones from his ears, the wild mix of ethnic and electronic music still pounding from them.
I look around. A narrow alley between two buildings, so tall it was impossible to tell whether it was day or night… the dimness was broken only by a lamp hanging on the wall. The camera next to it was smashed, and had been for a long time.
"Holy shit, we killed you!" one of them hissed, coughing and widening his eyes.
Well. Guess I climbed out of the dumpster a bit too soon.
I got to my feet and clumsily brushed the blood off my plastic jacket. The body didn't respond too well, but it was still better than my first time. I was adapting, getting used to it… Oh, and here's a plus to this recycled plastic junk: it was completely waterproof. The colorful T-shirt under the jacket stayed almost clean.
The freak standing next to me recoiled and started making excuses to his gangmates.
"I checked his pulse, I swear, it was gone!"
"Shit, I already sent pics to the client. What do we do now?" asked the guy with headphones.
"Doesn't matter; we'll just finish him off. Nobody's paying for a live one," ruled the guy with the vape, reaching for a metal pipe.
I stretched out my hand to summon it to me, only to realize I felt nothing. Emptiness. I hadn't thought I'd grown so used to the power…
"Get out of my way, and you'll stay alive." Despite my best efforts, my voice didn't sound very clear.
"Looks like they knocked all your brains out. Did you forget how you were just begging us?" the freak mocked, swinging the pipe.
I only raised my hand to my head, ready to block the blow.
The pipe sliced the air, but instead of bone crunching there was a metallic clang. It struck black scales, throwing off sparks, and stopped without doing any harm. The freak froze, eyes wide.
"I'm used to my orders being followed," I said, now more distinctly.
"You've lost your damn mind!" shouted the second, pulling a butterfly knife from his pocket; before he could flip it open, my fist smashed into his jaw. He won't be getting up anytime soon. The guy with the pipe seized the moment, swinging again.
Another strike with the pipe ended with a broken arm, but not mine. I caught the pipe with a clawed hand and twisted until I heard bones crack.
The third guy fumbled desperately at a homemade holster under his jacket. Not acceptable. A swing… the pipe whistled through the air and knocked him flat like a bowling pin, shattering his thigh. That was that.
Ironically. I was commanding hundreds of thousands just a moment ago, now I'm brawling by a dumpster with some homeless guys… I love my life. Talk about career advancement.
And yet, there was still further to fall. My clothes reeked, while theirs looked almost decent. The question was: better to keep reeking like garbage, or strip some hobos?
I'd say the latter.
But first, I should take the gun, since the last gang member had come around and was again trying to draw it. Fine, I'd help him. A kick flipped the freak onto his back, and I ripped the homemade holster off with my claws. Inside was a ridiculous plastic stub, clearly 3D-printed.
"Nothing personal, just business. We're only the hired hands," the thug muttered through clenched teeth. His leg bent at an unnatural angle.
I turned the gun over in my hands, ignoring his words. No automation, no metal reinforcement, just plastic. Who knew if it could survive even one shot? An embarrassment of a weapon. Definitely not a case of 'better than nothing.'
"Hey, hey, don't shoot! It's not our fault! They told you not to dig into the underground games, right? Was it us who ignored that advice? We just did our job, you stuck your nose where it didn't belong!" the freak stammered, seeing my disappointed expression. No need to worry; I wasn't angry, just let down. I'd expected a decent weapon, not this trash.
I clenched the gun in my fist until it shattered into pieces.
"I…"
Silently, I smashed his head into the asphalt, forcing him to black out and shut up. I didn't care what grudges this body had with these guys; I wasn't here for petty gang wars. First priority was getting a change of clothes.
I looked the gangsters over skeptically and picked the one closest to my size. Unfortunately for him, that was the vaper with the broken arm. I peeled off my reeking jacket and stepped toward him. He scrambled back, careful not to jostle his arm. Too bad for him, the wall was close… soon his back hit it.
"Hey man, what's this? You gonna wipe us out? You know we're Night Snakes?"
"Couldn't care less if you're Morning Cockroaches. Take off the jacket—and the pants too, unless you want to join the Night Headless."
Hissing in pain, he starts undressing. I, meanwhile, remember that something's missing—my universal tablet, the one that served as both wallet and ID. Sure, the mandatory subdermal identifier was still there, but you can't exactly get online with that.
"Where's my uni?" I ask him. Since he's the only one still conscious, he gets to answer for everyone.
"Here, here, boss," he grovels, unclipping a small box from his belt, about the size of a phone.
I press it to my wrist to unlock it.
"Jan Novak… twenty-nine years old," I mutter when my login pops up, then silently mouth a question to the demon. "Why don't I have this guy's memories?"
"Because he's already dead, that's all. Just meat. In a sense, you're a walking corpse right now, so I suggest you hurry and take care of business before you really die… and I also suggest you devour the souls of these guys. That'll help you last longer."
"There's no magic in our world."
"No magic, but souls still exist, don't they?"
I snort skeptically and keep scrolling through the tablet… Uh-oh. Not good. The account is empty—completely.
"Hey, punk!" I call out to the bandit, who is still fumbling with his belt one-handed. "Where are my credits?"
"Uh… I…"
"Get your uni out."
The freak sighs and activates his tablet. A short beep, and suddenly my balance ticks up: six thousand cryptcredits. Pocket change, sure, but enough for now. Nodding, I pick up a jacket from the asphalt and throw it on. I rummage through its pockets and find a vape. Black plastic casing, half a battery charge left. But no indicator of how much liquid was inside. I pop it open to look. A canister of juice with no labels—definitely bootleg. Take a puff or save myself the disappointment and buy real cigarettes?
"Good stuff, boss, comes from the chemists in the lower quarter. Smells clean, you can puff right next to the cops and they won't even notice."
"Yeah, right. I'll just buy cigarettes." I drop the vape on the asphalt and smash it under my boot. I won't even bother frisking the others—those lunkheads surely don't have money for real tobacco… Though maybe they've got any cash at all? I should take a weregild from them. For the my asasination
"Come on, just one. What's the harm?" Astarot interrupts my scavenging.
"Leave it. If anything, I should thank them. If they hadn't killed that guy, who knows where I'd be right now…"
"So instead you're stealing… something invisible and intangible? Strange concept. You're not taking anything, but they're still being robbed. I'll have to think this over," Astarot muses while my uni beeps from new crypto transfers. It was six thousand, now nearly ten. We're in business!
By the way, what do I look like? My clothes weren't promising, so I snap a selfie.
Yikes. I don't look much better than these freaks. Purple mohawk, nasty face with a playing-card tattoo on the cheek. Well, I guess I can't always get lucky. Only one thing truly worried me. Not the face, not even the dented skull. My left hand was still a black, scaled paw and refused to turn back.
"As, we've got a problem… Why the hell isn't it changing back?"
"Do you have a Source to process Abyssal energy? No. Don't worry, though, you'll die before it consumes you."
"How much time do I have?"
"Memento mori… five or six days."
"Then whatever, I'm not planning to stay here anyway. By the way—where is 'here'?"
I open geolocation. Katowice, Eastern Europe. Been here plenty of times, never knew this city had slums like these… Whatever. Need a ticket to New Moscow. No way I can afford an aerotaxi, so it's back to old school: the high-speed rail. When's the next departure?
An hour from now. So I need new clothes, something to hide the hand—bandages, maybe, and… cigarettes, of course.
***
The carriage doors closed behind me. I'd almost forgotten how much I hate crowds, but that was behind me now, and I finally had some free time. Even on the express, it would take six hours. And I still hadn't had a smoke…
Pulling out the tablet, I dialed the one number I'd always remembered by heart.
"What are you doing now?" the demon groaned tiredly. Buying the ticket and boarding had clearly drained him.
"Calling my mother."
"Calling… Yes, I think I understand the concept. Aren't you afraid you'll alert our target?"
"I'm not an idiot. I just want to hear her voice."
"So you could… call your own body, then?" the demon suddenly asked.
"I could, but I'd rather learn about myself from the media."
"Media? I don't feel so good. Everything here is too complicated. I'll just… sleep." he growled miserably, then fell silent.
Poor bastard. Even with access to my memory, it didn't save him from mental exhaustion. It was just too hard for him to process.
Smiling, I pressed the call button.
"The number you have dialed is not in service," replied the polite, robotic voice of the operator.
My good mood vanished instantly. Strange. Could I have dialed wrong? I checked… no. I couldn't have made a mistake.
Redial…
"The number you have dialed is not in service," the soulless recording repeated.
"Hm, fine, I'll just visit her once I've dealt with Randal," I muttered uneasily under my breath and opened my favorite news site to distract myself. Okay, type in the alias and…
…multiple-time world champion, competing under the alias Astarot, has announced his retirement. Today we look back at how it all began...
Well, I did remember that... But wait, this article was from last month.
I scrolled further.
The team disbanded after losing in the Katowice semifinals… Didn't even make the finals? What a disgrace. Lena went to Storm, unsurprisingly, and Vano apparently didn't land anywhere.
I scrolled back through earlier posts, piecing the story together: second place, second place… Whoa, even a loss in qualifiers? And again, against Samael's team. Interesting. According to the news, Samael never disappeared and kept competing against me… or rather, against my body. Only "I" never managed to beat him, and apparently that ultimately led to the team's collapse. Still, my friends seemed to be doing fine, and that was already good news. I'd learn the rest firsthand.
Meanwhile, the train started moving and an OLED panel flickered on in the cabin, a pretty anchor beginning the news broadcast.
"Today's program: development of full-immersion capsules. A breakthrough in neurotechnology! Will clunky VR helmets become a thing of the past? How will this change the entertainment market, and what practical applications could this technology have? Expert commentary ahead…"
Whoa. Even though I'd planned to focus on business, as a professional I simply couldn't ignore news like this. For years, scientists had struggled not only to read brain signals, but to feed information back into the brain electronically. Progress had been stagnant for so long… Could something have finally changed? If they'd achieved a breakthrough in feedback technology, full cybernetic implantation wouldn't be far behind. And I'd only been gone a little over a year.
"…Elves exist? A new trend among America's elite: pointed ears. How much does it cost to lengthen them, and how does it affect hearing? A renowned plastic surgeon explains..."
"…The future belongs to combat exoskeletons. China unveils its exhibition at the International Arms Forum. Should we expect renewed conflict in Eastern Europe? A former general of the Liberation Army answers all the questions..."
"…Asian markets collapse, conspiracy or negligence? The author of the sensational book 'Aliens Secretly Rule Us' tries to prove his theory using artificial intelligence..."
"…And breaking news: massive construction near Stonehenge! Outside the U.S. embassy in London, protests have drawn hundreds of people demanding the preservation of the historic site. Live report from our correspondent… Hank, are you there?"
"Yes. Right now we see an embassy staff member addressing the protesters."
The screen shifted to show a crowd of colorful freaks and a refined man in a black suit and wide-brimmed hat.
"The monument will be preserved. It's only an apartment hotel with an underground parking lot overlooking the site. The historic landmark is in no danger; all work is certified and approved at the highest level." The man's soft voice was almost hypnotic.
"Now you see the protesters… What? They seem to be leaving, just leaving? Hank?"
On screen, the crowd dropped their placards and simply dispersed.
"Yes, the protest ended very suddenly, everyone just seemed to lose interest. Honestly, I'd prefer to go home and sleep myself."
"Great joke, Hank… Hank? Seems we've lost connection. And now to other news. Military exoskeletons: the future or already reality? At the International Military Forum, new contracts have been signed. Russian corporation Rosvoentech is investing billions in China's latest…"
"He knows how to solve problems, doesn't he, Tali?" came a smooth voice from the side. Turning, I noticed two passengers dressed exactly like the embassy staffer. A new fashion trend? One of them was hunched over, clearly unwell. Looked like he was fighting nausea.
"This chariot is too fast, brother."
"Hold yourself together," the first hissed.
"The souls of these two seem so tasty," the demon noted. "Shall we kill at least one?"
"Glad you're back. I promise I'll feed you some bastard soon, but only if you help me right now."
"Help? With what?" he asked suspiciously.
I grin slyly. Though I'd always been more fascinated by old technologies than most, my interests never really went much further than the 19th century. Unfortunately, even with the demon rummaging through my head, forcing me to recall things I'd only glimpsed once, it didn't help much. Sure, simple things like a steam engine or a musket I could assemble easily, because they were inherently simple. Some things, like a steam turbine, I could put together because I understood the principle, though I was almost certainly building them inefficiently, with serious loss of performance. Devices like an internal combustion engine or a machine gun I could probably manage too, since I knew the principles behind them... But how many months would it take before they moved past the prototype stage and began working reliably, without constant failures? Still, with the internet at my disposal, why waste time?
Before me lay the priceless experience of generations. All I had to do was reach out and take it.
I opened dozens of links on my tablet—textbooks, scientific papers, physical theories, blueprints of various devices, weapons, machinery, and instruments…
"Just a trifle, As. I just need to memorize something properly… to be precise, to memorize literally all the public knowledge of this world." I smirk, hearing filthy curses in Latin in response.
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Johan Timmers
Tftc
