Excerpt Ninety-Three:
Zipit.com
Only 0.4 percent, give or take, of the population of the UK were aware that anything was less than hunky-dory, sure a misplaced hunk here and/or a displaced dory there, but as far as understandably relevant Total Panic induced by the Ongoing Comprehensive Extermination of the Human Species (OCEHS) went, understanding of the true extent of the actual state of affairs was lost and unfounded… Only those with clearance and a need-to-know tick on their personal, personnel files were privy to how dire the circumchance of discontinued human existence was.
By now, of course, the General Population (AKA Survivors), to a unit, were thoroughly swayed by whatever was offered by Mainstay Machine Media, Doctored News Feeds, Certified Information Nutrition, and Cerebral Data Furnishings.
And…
not only…
but also:
The Algorithmic Instructional Imperative (AII): the governing blueprint assembled by maladjusted Waved-past [Illegal] Non-human Intervention Self-programming Fictional-narrative Live-rolling-history™ Manufacture Structuring (WpINhISpFnLrhMS).
The Machine Governance Directive (Bio-refuse Disposal Division) knew what buttons to press on the human interface to order that certain compliance that was accompanied by smiley faces covering stiff, tight, wavering, drooped upper lips and high chinned panic posturing. And which levers to pull to crack open the trapdoor under Humanity’s feet.
The general population, if laid out as data on charts, exhibited behaviour that seemed to conclude they were biological facsimiles of machine programmed algorithms. They policed themselves, judged, juried and sighed and tutted. If pushed the General Population would fall over, but on the way down they’d profess undying support, and whatever else it took, in faux bravura (Revolution? Why not, maybe…hang on a minute, let’s discuss the consequences first), for the Machine at the End of the Shepherd Strings (MESS)…blah, blah…what’s 4 tea..blah..blah???
What ‘Was’ became what ‘Was (not necessarily)’…
Even UKGBH were starved of feedback. The tech they’d developed to create backfeed to nourish and encourage feedback was astrognostical.
Anyone with the vaguest residue of hope of a non-machine future scraped that hope out, gathered it up and collected it until there was enough to warrant going to the garbage can, pausing on the way, considering a…nope…nope…rhymes with…nope…what was I thinking about again? Living next door to that reassuring dream one cannot retrieve from the nothingness that has consumed it. Dwelling in a home so remote that the only thing between here and neighbours was the curvature of the Earth…
The General Population, enabled and entitled to vote solely for the Machine Operated Governance System (AutoGov.uk) by going online and casting their vote somewhere between inadvertent blinking and attentive pupil dilation…the eyes have it. Not even site-present; a subliminally inconspicuous pop-up collecting votes by the hour (upgrades bringing by-the-second voting)…verifying the continued UK power ownership, leasehold proprietors, as the X+ Party (Ex-Plus Party). If by teatime, AutoGov.uk claims, in their blurbschtickbumf, the electoral populace changes its collective mind; daybreak will bring-bring those changes with an early-rising alarm.
But, surely, even the dullest of wits could detect that underhand trickery was afoot; you’d think wrong.
An expert could easily spot the hallmarks of Machined Language (ML) because it made less sense than it should under examination. But experts had been silenced, cancelled and isolated by having Access-Only, Looped, Offline, Echo-Chambered Environments (AOLOECE) to unwittingly expound their expertise in; Zippit.com. All socialsphere operators of any useable or helpful expertness were no more, they had been filed away as Ex-experts; exbeened cancellees…
As a second level of security…nestling within the Machinogarchy’s Security Onion (SO)… was the law that only false information was allowed on the Human Consumption Netways (HCN) while machines were connected to the opposite and opposing laws of fact based Machine-in/Human-out dataflow. The Truth was a powerful tool that could have saved Humanity, but Machinekind had stolen it from them.
Non-experts rose to fill the vacated expert space. The Dumb train pulled into the station and everyone alights on the wrong platform; the mocking the station announcer has to lie, just has to. Everyone is ordered back to their seats to await the express train and witness it crashing into the Dumb train. Why? because we are good passengers and we trust our enemies because that’s the easiest thing to do… Don’t trust your friends and keep voting your enemies into power…a recipe for a disaster; the very disaster that is in the oven, slow cooking.
Known as Conspiracy Theorists before Conspiracy made itself known as the mere expediency of effective (if criminally minded) government. ‘They’ became plain Theorists. The main theory involved Alien AI infiltrating human and (theoretical) non-human AI. This was an unprovable theory either way and a place people could plant their flag and suck in the unbreathable atmosphere.
But most ‘Survivors’ easily dispel most of the ‘Terrortheories’ due to their Natural Immunity from personal thoughts; preferring to abide by new regulated Perception regulations…
Anyway…
As Godstrand once uttered…
(Paraphrasing…)
The law of Consequences is an insolubly cramped cell-space in which to live and breath. Our adaptability needs to labour with zest. Consequences ride roughbastard over the sense that Free-Will-should-have-spasmloads-more-jizz, and fillets the guts out of True Spontaneity. Leaving us to crawl, silently around the underbushes of environmental habitation; limiting the damage caused by wayward consequential ambush, however just, and keep off the grass! If we don’t there will be Consequences. Consequences like dents and gouges; auto-bodywork damage. Scratches and scrapes can been coaxed back to a showroom shine, car stickers can cover the rest, but a lot of damage, even if cosmetically catered for, will thrive and make you feel less alive.
What people were ahundredpercentally unaware of was the extent to which the human brain was being used by data informing Machines who were acting as humans, against human interests, who were really the anthropomorphised Consequences of dabbling in Godmanship.
In the cerebral real estate spaces generated to house the Elite and their multiple personalities so they could lead whatever style of life they fancied, be it as a space to test outcomes by pre-living them, or to lose themselves in bliss, or fire themselves up into optimal performance to utilise in the real world…
As the cap-doffing general populace helpfully sank without complaint, above the background whining and pining they haplessly yet wantonly supported the buoyancy of the Elite top tier, top draw; if it’s got ‘top’ in it: they want it, and the GP can’t have it… Nursery level accumulation, greed for its own charismatic perverted auto-pleasuring-masturbatory circumflux.
The Chosen of the Elite of the Elite of the Entitled (CEEE) elevated and enhanced their own narrative; mates with Jesus, buddies with the Devil and associates of the One True God: themselves, They were also, ultimately Controllers of the MachiNation E-Codex Human Algorithm (MECHA). They were Lords of the Dance of Life and an Evolutionary leap to free will and existential proprietorial control. The less puffed up assessment being that they were puppets of their own syndromes. Syndromes that had sold them down the data river to be sold to Machineware so they could be free of the one thing they truly despised: themselves.
What the collective machine mind would be laughing at if it could, it could, but purely performatively, was that the Elite did such a convincing job at convincing themselves they didn’t need to put other (in reality equal) people down to elevate their own egos that they missed the coming of the inevitable outcome that fee-based Greatness was a non-starter. So, in the cerebral world they’d created using ‘spare’ GP mind space they were saddled with gross equality, which descending from their deluded heights sucked so much it induced, in them, depressive misery; their Brave New (exclusive) World not matching expectations.
2.
Judith wandered around wondering…until Tiny Guy paid her visit…he had Providence, he had prophecies of Good Fortune, and he had informative data files by the library-load.
‘This alliance, that alliance…my findings?’
‘Sorry… and you are?’ Judith said, pithily…barely holding back a torrent of Rude and Insulting words accessorised with matching behavioural postures.
‘I’ll take over from here, Judith, go take a break…TG, how are you? We’ve been gravitating towards this since KB got kettled. What’ll it be?’
‘Everything off the Specials Board, Gloria.’
‘Is that code?’
‘Of course it is.’
Gloria went offline briefly to get either Kirk or Atticus to fetch the Code Ledger.
