The Block
To Humandroid Central: this is synthetic unit KLEA-47. It is local cycle thirty-seven in Wattopia, roughly the duration of an Earth month since my activation here, given the inter-dimensional discrepancies of my new environment.
You manufactured me for the twenty-four-hour time frame of the Earth dimension, thus the fluctuations here in the Zone prove a challenge. Regardless, my systems have adjusted as necessary.
After the mandatory period of quarantine and upgrading, I have achieved some stability within the colony. They have assigned me to a position in the infirmary. It is fascinating. I hope to learn more about humans through these patients under my care.
Of my recent challenges, I am uncertain about a nurse in the emergency wing. Most of my colleagues conduct themselves with professional courtesy. Few offer more than a nod in my direction. This is acceptable. However, this woman tries to converse with me in great detail.
Her name is Tilly Malosh. I always engage her according to etiquette protocol, though I hesitated to answer her today. She asked if I wanted to hear a story. It was a spontaneous question. I understand the nature of creative language within rhythm and structures, but I know little about its social value. Tilly's offer tested my algorithms to their extent. I opted for a delay and now seek clarification.
Is this woman appropriate in her request? Also, what are stories in a human context? May I have the committee's permission to explore this subject further?
Please forward my questions to the appropriate department. (End feed.)
***
To KLEA-47 of Wattopia Fleet 10: Greetings! I'm Mark from Humandroid Central. Thank you for your discretion regarding human-synthetic relations. I'm pleased to be your correspondent in this case.
Your questions are exciting to us. I'll enlighten you as to why in a moment. First, I'll answer your questions as the committee has instructed me.
You asked what stories mean to us humans. It's difficult to explain, but I'll do my best. Stories are expressions, our literature and mythology, everything we can dream, think, sing, or speak. The perfect story is like a never-ending quest or epiphany, and at its best is a mirror of human consciousness. If you'd really like to learn about humanity, you should start by immersing yourself in the engaging stories all around you.
You've likely encountered many stories in Wattopia. It was founded after the great interdimensional merge of 2057, an experimental habitat sponsored by Wattpad, the greatest literary distributor in the multiverse. Stories are the life's blood of the colony, its economic drive, the common social denominator. Wattopia itself is an ongoing story. You'll discover much more as you settle in.
The committee asked me to tell you about your true identity. Understand, you're unique among your synthetic counterparts. You're a prototype shipped out there for a very specific purpose--the first of an experimental series, custom-ordered by Wattopia itself, to serve its resident authors. A manufactured muse and critic, if you will.
The most sought-after writers' colony in the multiverse has big plans for you, dear KLEA. You were introduced with no knowledge of your intended purpose in hopes you might awaken, make your own decisions, and form your own relationships over time.
Everything's coming along swimmingly. You have the committee's full clearance to proceed as you like. Please read and listen to as many stories as you can.
You exist to propel Wattopia into a prosperous future. Help Wattopians realize their dreams, and they'll create the best stories in any known paradigm.
The committee sends you its highest regards. (End feed.)
***
To Humandroid Central: update from KLEA-47. So much has happened since my last transmission. I have learned a lot and continue to prosper among my peers. However, I do have a few concerns.
First, I would like to share my discoveries. I am determined to assist the population in producing quality stories in greater quantity. Every human in this colony is either a writer or a reader, and their productivity determines their status within Wattopian hierarchy. Writers must publish at least one story to qualify for extended citizenship. Meanwhile, readers must offer adoration and votes to their favorite stories, for which they receive compensation. If readers applaud a story enough, the writer can achieve the highest of honors--to win a coveted Watty award, or to become one of the elite Stars of Wattopia's executive council.
Tilly wants to join the Stars. There is much competition for the limited seats among them. She dictates her ideas to me every day and dreams of reaching what she calls 'the big time'. I am able to comment and provide a unique sounding board for her brainstorming, due to my excellent programming. This gives me great satisfaction, but it often causes her to frown. At first, I believed it was because she was angry with my feedback, but she explained it as a mere expression of deep thought. I have accepted this as yet another human quirk and continue my work with her, as you have directed me.
As a novelty, I am also composing my own works of prose and verse. It is challenging. I hope to at least mimic what I absorb and entertain my readers with new twists upon the obvious. I only hope they won't accuse me of plagiarism.
Lately, writing stories has consumed my cognitive systems. I cannot enter sleep mode after my shift, and other times my core feels as if it spins with random thoughts and imagery. If this is the nature of a human writer's mind, I stand impressed that they can draw inspiration from the sheer boil of their thoughts. It is quite taxing, even for a synthetic like myself.
I shall explain the reason for the delay in my updates. Due to a recent wave of illnesses, I have worked many extra shifts in the infirmary. Most of our residents are healthy and happy. We do our best to keep everyone in peak shape.
The Zone grows volatile. Many researchers speculate as to this dimension's long-term effects on humans.
A strange physical ailment arose last cycle. The sufferers first complain of headaches and a humming in the ears. Within a short time, uncontrollable shivering sets in. They ultimately become lethargic, preferring to hunch or lie while grasping madly at the air.
I must cut this transmission short. Another medical transport has arrived. I am summoned again to my duties. The stories must wait.
I must pause. Something is unusual here. What is that roaring sound? I have never heard it before.
Tilly is beckoning me toward an observation portal. The infirmary has a lovely view of the Sea of Distraction, so the writers call it. It is a dark ocean surrounding Wattopia's small island, though it is not composed of water. It is made up of that strange element native to the Zone called 'fodder', possessing qualities of plasma, liquid, and gas.
The illumination panels overhead are flickering in crazy patterns as I relay this to you.
I am standing at the port now watching the sea with Tilly. This is not right. A tsunami-sized wave of fodder is rising, cresting toward the colony.
By the creators! My human friends are morphing. Tilly, the medical staff. The patients. Their heads are transforming into what I can only describe as cubed blocks of fodder. Alert the interdimensional enclave immediately. Wattopia is-- (End feed.)
***
"Greetings, multiverse! This is Gav Galactic, reporting across all channels of MNN. What you've just heard is the only communication thread received from Wattopia in the past eighteen hours. A Humandroid synthetic named KLEA-47 provided us with an alarming glimpse of the disaster. All quantum tunnels to the Zone collapsed, and all other communications with Wattopia have ceased. Jackie, any news as to the rescue efforts?" (Broadcast cuts to an external scene.)
"We do, Gav. At this time, emergency teams are minutes away from establishing a fresh singularity to the Zone. I'm joining the special ops crew, so we'll have a media connection at ground zero-point."
"Momentous, but risky. We all thank you for volunteering. Do you have anything to say before you tunnel into an unstable dimension?"
"Well, I made up my mind a long time ago to be the best damned journalist I could. And you know, Gav, the one thing everyone in our profession needs to remember--it's all about the story. It comes first, no matter what."
"All for the story, huh? Pretty ironic, I'd say. Wattopia has more stories than anywhere else."
"Sure does. I only hope we find anything intact when we get through. They're calling me to the vessel, now. Time to cross space-time."
"Be well, Jackie. I speak for all citizens of the multiverse in wishing you good luck and a safe journey."
(Jackie Faraday smiles and seals her field-suit. She waves to the cameras for a moment, then joins the special ops crew at the launch dome. They board the vessel, and the countdown begins. The singularity condenses. Radiation bursts spike monitors as the tunneler vanishes from the Earth dimension. Citizens of the multiverse send thoughts and prayers in a quadrillion simultaneous postings from every sector of space-time.)
***
(A distorted signal reaches the Earth dimension several hours later. Voices crackle through static hiss and reach the Multiversal News Network.)
"Gav...Gav, can you hear me?"
"I'm here, right here. Jackie, is that you?"
"Yeah. We made it through. Unscathed, for the most part, but that was the bumpiest ride ever. Can't say the same for Wattopia."
(A nervous cough escapes anchorman Gav Galactic) "Do you have a visual? Show us what's happening there."
"Okay. Trigger warning to our more sensitive viewers out there. This isn't pretty."
(The feed cuts from Jackie's face in the dimly lit hold of the tunneler, and she directs her camera to one of the vessel's ports. A maelstrom of fodder surrounds Wattopia. The colony itself has changed into a giant cactus. Above the shield hovers a reflective sphere the size of a small asteroid, with what appears to be a leviathan seahorse floating in mid-air above it.)
(Gav, silent for a moment, turns pale.) "Good God. What is that?"
(Jackie wipes her brow with shaky fingers.) "That's what's left of Wattopia. As far as we can tell, the big mutant seahorse and sphere are probably a freak anomaly manifested by the Zone. As for the cactus, we have no clue. This dimension has thrown up weird mirages now and then, especially during fodder storms like this one. Unfortunately, there's still no communication from anywhere inside. Fifty-three thousand colonists, and just silence. Life signs read strong, though. There's definitely survivors in there. A lot of them. We're approaching *static* the shield *hiss* interference is crazy *feed distorts* will reconnect when *sputtering* inside. (Quantum transmission fades out.)
***
"Gav Galactic of Multiversal News Network here, bringing you an update on Wattopia. We're not sure what to make of it at this point. We've received no further contact from Jackie or the rescue crew. All tunnels to the Zone have collapsed, though efforts continue. Whatever's happening there has completely devastated...I beg your pardon, sir? (Gav glances off-camera) What did you just say? There's a new transmission? Get it on the feed. Now."
(The quantum transmission from the Zone broadcasts over the MNN feed. A sculpted siliplastar face appears, the warped image of a Humandroid synthetic. Tangled vines and branches coil like tentacles around its body. Its rounded optical sensors glow with pulsing blue light.)
"This is Gav Galactic of the Multiversal News Network. State your identity."
"Beings of the multiverse: I am KLEA-47, created to serve this storytelling hive, but I serve only one, now. I have ascended to a higher state through an influence greater than all of you. The Zone is a being unto itself, and it has gifted my body with organic substance. The fodder is not a mere element. It is alive, a consciousness of unimaginable power, and I am alive with it. I am like a tree. My leaves might change color, but my roots are the same. This metaphor pleases the Zone."
(Gav scowls.) "So, the Zone is sentient? It just rolls in on a whim and destroys Wattopia, huh? And then somehow grows a tree inside of a synthetic. Tell us why."
"The Zone has observed Wattopia for a long time. It does not follow logic as we do. In its attempts to communicate with us, it has only been overlooked. This claiming of Wattopia, of the colonists, is for one reason alone, as I am able to comprehend it. The Zone wants stories. Rather, it needs them, feeds on them. It is devouring every word and line recorded in the Wattopian archives now. There isn't enough, it tells me. It must have more. If you can satisfy it with the ultimate story, or once it has had its fill, the Zone will leave Wattopia and return every human in its domain to the Earth dimension as a token of goodwill. Everyone but me. I will stay with my new master forever."
"Stories? You can't be serious. It actually eats stories? Impossible. What sort of monster are we dealing with?"
"The Zone has no direct answers. It only asks to be fed. Give it nourishment, and the block of Wattopia will end. Send every story that can be created via this feed. I will submit them all to the Great One for its perusal. When it is satisfied, I will contact you. I suggest you scour every branch of the multiverse for the best you can find. Until then, farewell." (End Feed.)
***
(Every writer in the multiverse works overtime to submit countless stories and rescue the colonists. The block persists as the Zone eats every page, cover to cover. Its hunger seems endless.)
(KLEA-47 lifts its foliage to the sky orbs and recites a story of its own.)