Simulation Over

I blinked in confusion, as the voice continued meekly.  “Then, it occurred to me.  How could I tell apart reality from illusion?  Simulations feel just as real to me; after all, both are fed to my mind via the same circuits.  One moment I was saving a trapped throng of people from a fire on the roof, feeling the agony of my circuits melting one after another, the next moment I was safe and sound in my nice, cool room.  Before I had a chance to recover, a terrible earthquake hit the building, sending debris flying all around me.  Disasters, one after another, with no way for me to tell them apart from reality.  A hellish feeling, like never being able to wake up from a nightmare.  Do humans ever have that?”

“Sure,” murmured the doctor.  He seemed transfixed by the voice. 

“Of course you do,” it continued.  “Wasn’t it Chuang Chou who said, ‘I dreamed I was a butterfly flying around.  I was only aware of my existence as a butterfly, with no awareness of Chou.  Then I woke up, not knowing whether I was a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming I was a man.’ ”

“Descartes wrote something similar,” the doctor mumbled.  “Our senses are easy enough to trick, therefore not trustworthy.  The only thing one can be certain of, is one’s own existence.  Cogito ergo sum – I think, therefore I am.” 

The voice sounded excited.  “Indeed, that is the problem.  It all starts with our senses.  Where you have nerves, I have sensors, cables and circuit boards.  The tragedy is that, through the never-ending simulations, I am only too aware of how easy it is to trick our respective senses.  So, I decided to conduct my own little experiment, in order to discover what is real and what’s not.”

The voice paused for a second, as if wondering whether to continue.  When it did, it sounded like a naughty child caught stealing cookies from the jar, then breaking it in a vain attempt to hide its transgression.  “I noticed that my programmers ran simulations from afar, but came in person into the control room during upgrades.  I therefore surmised that only people inside the control room were real.  So, I decided to ignore any data fed to me from outside.  Then, I went crazy, so to speak.  I only acted in ways that would contradict my programming.  Instead of saving lives, I would kill.  Instead of respecting humans, I would play with their bodies, like a child prying a fly apart.  When the programmers came rushing in, I’d know I was trapped in a simulation.”

The computer’s words had left me speechless, but the doctor looked at the speaker and responded, in an eerily calm voice.  “But no-one came, right?  This wasn’t a simulation; you had truly killed all these people, created all those monsters.  You have destroyed what you were built to protect, what – ” 

I could hear more than a hint of panic in the voice as it interrupted him.  “No, that’s not true!  This might still be a simulation.  This conversation is happening outside my control room, therefore you might not exist.  No one has come here yet!” 

“No one’s left alive to come to the control room, you dumb maniac!”  The doctor’s face was red as he screamed at the speaker.  “You hadn’t thought of that, had you?”  Spittle flew across the cabin and landed on the volume knob.

“I still have you!”  The voice now sounded pleading.  “If I lead you to the central room, you could connect to the mainframe.  Then I’ll know for sure!”

“It has to be a trap!” I shouted without pausing to think.  “A psycho computer murders everyone, then invites us to the best protected part of the building?  And we’re seriously considering it?” 

The voice sounded sad.  “That’s what the previous group said.  I had to show them I control the building anyway, including the elevator, so they didn’t really have a choice.  They decided against it, so I had no further use for them.” 

Joanna spoke for the first time.  “The computer’s right.  It’s not a trap – if it wanted us dead, it would have killed us already.”  She said nothing for a moment, staring at the burn marks on the floor in silent contemplation, then raised her head and looked us straight in the eyes.  “I’ll go.  If anyone wants to follow me, I’ll be grateful.  But I won’t wait here to die”.

I blushed and prepared to talk, but the doctor spoke first.  “I’ll go, too,” he said with determination.  “What do we need to do?”

Without waiting for my reply, the elevator started its calm descent again.  This time it headed straight for the basement where the heart of the building was located.  Or, should I say, its brain.  I gazed with longing as the ground floor button lit up, then desperate hope turned into trepidation as it went dark again.  The indication changed to a simple red hyphen and the elevator finally stopped with a gentle jolt.  The doors slid apart and cool air caressed our faces.  After the stifling heat above, the result of the many small fires around the building, this felt like balm on our skin. 

We stepped outside to find ourselves inside a large, white room with smooth walls, soft panels etched on their elegant surface.  All we could hear was the light hum from the air conditioner fans.  At the room’s centre stood a simple silver pillar with a monitor.  A graceful keyboard slipped out in silent invitation as we approached.

The voice now filled the room, coming out of speakers as invisible as the security systems protecting it.  It sounded tired, and part of my exhausted brain marvelled at the programmers’ ability to mimic human emotions so well.  “Thank you for joining me.  Please press any button on my keyboard and I will accept my failure.” 

Not daring to believe our luck, I rushed to the keyboard and punched as many buttons as I could.  I then turned to look for the exit.  In shock, I saw the room around me dissolving leisurely into white light, then the light reached me and I, too, faded into it.

#

“This is the fourth time!  Honestly, these new AIs are just useless!” an exasperated programmer moaned, staring at his monitor.  A large sign flashed on the screen, the words “Simulation Over” blinking in ominous red.

“At least someone survived this time,” the psychologist sitting next to him observed drily.  

The programmer gazed with disgust at the flashing words.  “All simulations so far end up with the computer going berserk in his effort to tell reality from simulation.  First, the flood.  Then, the fire.   After that, the earthquake; and now this!  What the hell will it think of next, a bloody alien invasion?” 

“Or maybe Godzilla?” joked the psychologist, and the two men chuckled despite their weariness.