"Hey, CB!:" Sentio Ergo Sum

March. The alleged beginning of spring. Sun shining, nature awakening, the equinox and all that jazz.

March meant heartache for Jisung.

He walked into his lab with that enough-to-resuscitate-a-graveyard size coffee in his hand, and the first thing he did was to connect his phone to his gigantic speakers. The speakers may have been large, but the volume didn’t have to be. He just needed that high-quality sound his best friend in the whole world always obsessed over.

Playlist. “CB’s Theme”. Ode To The Bittersweet. Play.

The song belonged to the soundtrack of their favorite animation named Arcane Blues. It was more than some comfort movie. They watched it when they were happy. They watched it when they were sad. When they were sick in bed. Even to impress girls as immature as it was.

The secret was to play the theme song for their guests before the lingering feelings of the movie evanesced. Chris on the guitar, backing up Jisung’s beautiful vocals with his impromptu harmonies as if they never practiced this song by themselves. Cute gesture, but still executed with carnal urges in mind.

And it worked like a charm every time. All glory and praise to the makers of this movie, of course.

As Jisung turned on his computer, he thought about the insanely happy dimple-covered smile on his friend’s face even when he simply talked about music. The different instruments he tried to learn even though he didn’t have to. His aspirations. His dreams. The stage he wanted to be on someday. The hearts he was going to fill with all the unfelt emotions through journals’ worth of lyrics he couldn’t stop writing.

Enter prototype terminal code

Jisung typed the characters C-B-9-7 into the command line in front of him, and once the cursor stopped flashing, the screen changed into a holographic anthracite sphere with thin light gray patterns spreading all over it like capillaries. He connected the big-ass microphone Chris had gifted him to the computer and spoke with a sullen voice.

“Hey, CB.”

Once his soundwaves reached the system, the sphere changed colors and turned into a vibrant gradient of aqua and purple.

“Hey, Jisung!” Chris’ chirpy voice reverberated in the room, “What’s wrong, buddy?”

“The fuck?” Jisung looked around the room, slightly panicking, “Are you in the room because this is so not funny.”

The ever-familiar giggle overflowed from the speakers, and a documentary-like explanation followed.

“The average human speech is around 60 dB whereas yours is 63 dB. Your initiation command was executed in less than 70 dB today, which means you are upset about something.”

“Fine, smartass,” Jisung smiled to himself while taking a huge sip from his coffee.

“Smartass? Just because you can’t compute as fast I’m the smartass?” the voice protested, “How does that haterade taste, bro?”

Although he didn’t feel like it at all today, Jisung still couldn’t help chuckling. The banter was never not going to entertain him even on the days his heart felt like a block of lead in his chest. A speckle of normal dripped on the bleak of reality.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Maybe some other time,” Jisung trailed off while looking out the window. There wasn’t an ounce of cloud in the sky that morning.

What did it mean to be alive? Breathing? A beating heart? The need for sustenance? Survival instincts? 

Maslow’s infamous pyramid seemed to do a decent job covering pretty much everything for humans and other living things alike, but there was one thing it didn’t mention.

Pain. In whatever shape or form. You could even kill a beautiful flower just by spewing insults at it day and night.

If it hurts, you’re alive.

And March hurt like hell for Jisung.

“Hey, CB?” he looked up at the screen again.

“Yes?”

He reached his hand out to his monitor as if he would be able to feel some humane warmth from it. It had been exactly a year today, but still… The pain was as fresh as the first day.

“I miss you so fucking much,” his voice quivered.

Maybe there was good in every evil.

When the Cordolium pandemic hit two years ago, the entire world mobilized for one thing only—fight this beast to the best of its ability. Intensive R&D efforts, neverending restrictions, curfews, an endless stream of wellbeing resources all over the media to raise awareness during extended quarantine periods, and of course the perpetual dread of when the imminent threat was going to make landfall… These were all components of one nauseating pill to swallow. It was as if the earth was aging several centuries every day trying to break free of this chokehold as the disease seemed to be doing exactly what it came to do.

Crush all hope in the most literal sense of the word. 

Only two months after the first cases emerged, Cordolium was declared as the first viral mental illness since it literally altered brain chemistry. Once the virus entered the system, it viciously attacked all the dopamine and serotonin reserves of the human body, causing severe depression and intrusive thoughts while following the course of an aggressive infection. Even though no origin was officially cited, the conspiracy theorists were convinced this was a plot orchestrated by the pharma giants to boost the prices of already ridiculously expensive psych meds.

Prior to this outbreak, Digital Alchemy was just a tech company, but came 2049, they became one of the major contributors to the disaster relief endeavors, having absolutely no clue they were about to change the course of history forever.

The plan was to make up for the rapidly declining healthcare professional numbers all around the world by populating hospitals with human-like AI-powered staff. It was Hwang Hyunjin, the co-founder and CEO of Digital Alchemy, who coined the term speroid with the aspiration that these machines could become a hope for humans to stay afloat during these trying times. So many lives were being lost to Cordolium every day, and surviving didn’t necessarily mean everything would be okay. Even the aftermath of the disease took a toll on people, and survivors struggled with heavy depression during their post-infection mandated quarantine.

That was how speroids stepped into everyday human life.

The R&D heads of Digital Alchemy started working hard on another prototype to help soothe the battle scars of Cordolium, especially for individuals living alone. Something that would always be there for you. To help you reintegrate back to life. Something you wouldn’t worry about infecting, or grieve over when it was inevitably gone. They called it Emoticare companions, and it became such a huge commercial success that after entering human homes, speroids started to become a part of the workforce, as well.

With each series rolled out, the developers perfected the human look. The skin felt exactly like a human’s. The motions were seamless with nothing robotic about them, but the one thing they struggled with the most?

The eyes.

This was the main difference between a human and a machine back in the day. You could easily discern a speroid by looking at its eyes for how devoid of emotion the gaze was. When the calendars showed late 2050, they were so freakishly human that some people… did not like it.

Being a “humanist” used to have a much different meaning. Now it was a word given to human supremacists.

Like most things that started with big aspirations, the nation was extremely divided on the issue, and things seemed to be only getting worse. Speroids had even become the number one selling point in election campaigns. There were demonstrations and protests going on at every corner. It was a hit or miss whether you would run into a violent group on the street on any given day.

Yet every June 17, everybody knew some shit was going to go down.

Breaking News: World Speroid Day festivities turn into tragedy with Animus vs. Harmoniq clash. Multiple casualties. President to declare extraordinary senate meeting outcomes.

The clock was showing almost midnight, yet Hyunjin, Minho, and Jisung were still at the DA Headquarters, watching the news with grim expressions on their faces. The footage on TV showed a group of Animus supporters burning several newly purchased speroids right in front of an Alchemy store to allegedly prove ‘Speroids don’t feel anything’, and there were banners hung everywhere.

DISSOLVE D.A.! KNOW YOUR RANK! FREE WILL IS MIGHT!   

“This is a fucking machine! I pay for it, and it does whatever I tell it to do. I’m its master!”

“Speroids got fucking full of themselves now because of this digital bullshit. Humans existed just fine before them and we will continue to do so!”

“This is getting way out of hand,” Hyunjin furrowed his brows even more at the remarks of the protesters.

“Dude watched too much Star Wars and got paranoid machines will take over,” Minho scoffed while adjusting his glasses, “Solid proof right there that ignorance is, in fact, not bliss.”

“I know it’s not ethical or whatever, but I’m this close to forcing people to declare their Animus affiliation in their job application forms,” Jisung slammed his fist on the heavy conference table, “Humans created speroids, my ass. Bitch, we created them and even we don’t get this high and mighty!”

“Calm your tits, Jisung.”

“They claim it means soul, but did you know Animus is where animosity originates from?” he swiveled his chair to turn to the two men on the other side, “These are just a bunch of hooligans with a fucking god complex. How the fuck someone with common sense can support these purebred haters is beyond me.”

Right at that moment the news broadcast was interrupted, and the camera showed a podium placed in front of the assembly building. The President herself was approaching towards the countless microphones carrying logos of different channels.

“We have heard our esteemed citizens loud and clear.”

“Anything to cling to her fucking seat,” Minho clenched his teeth, “Kiss ass.”

“For the wellbeing and prosperity of our nation, it is quite apparent that dire measures need to be taken,” the President calmly addressed the cameras in front of her, “As of June 18 until further notice, a state of emergency has been declared, effective immediately. All speroids are mandated to have visible markers on their necks that clearly display their machine status, and all owners are to hand over their speroids immediately to the nearest Alchemy branch for appropriate branding.”

“WHAT?!” a unison shriek was heard in the conference room.

“That’s literally segregation!” Minho raised his voice even more, an act only reserved for preposterous situations like this.

“Security forces are currently working hard on an extensive guideline outlining acts of humanizing against speroids, and further details will be shared as soon as possible,” the President continued, “Any violation shall be considered as breaking the law and will be punished with hefty fines or jail time depending on the crime committed.”

Hyunjin was in complete disbelief at what was coming out of this woman’s mouth. She literally went in front of all the media outlets at some godforsaken hour of the night and was officially declaring that speroids were lower class. It was apparently so urgent that the news couldn’t even wait until morning.

Something was definitely going on.

“This is fucking outrageous. Artificial intelligence is not a thing anymore!” Jisung loudly protested as if people on the TV were going to be able to hear him, “Program it all you want. Speroids still form their own personalities based on what they are exposed to. Does any other species that can do the same come to fucking mind?!”

“And we’re supposed to have a neutral stance, huh?” Minho started laughing hysterically, “Fuck Animus all the way, and Harmoniq till I die. I’m gonna get a fucking neck tattoo myself.”

Jisung’s frustration levels reached such an uncontrollable level that he harshly pushed his chair back and started stomping towards the exit. 

“Where are you going?”

“To fucking work!” he slammed the door close.

“I’ll go after him,” Hyunjin addressed Minho and started listing his demands, “Check emails and all our official communication channels, then get Seungmin here immediately. We need all the legal counsel we can get.”

Once Hyunjin stepped out to the hallway, he started booking it towards Jisung’s lab, only to find him right in front of the huge glass wall looking into the maintenance zone, the area where defuncts were taken care of. His eyes were scanning them one by one as if he was looking at dying patients abandoned at some hospital ward. Hyunjin slowed down his steps and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze as though to say ‘I’m right here’.

What did it mean to be alive? Breathing? A beating heart? The need for sustenance? Survival instincts? 

“Fear of death is a universal thing,” Jisung spoke without taking his eyes off the speroids inside, “Look at them. Look at the fear in their eyes just because they think they will get shut down. How can anyone say they don’t feel anything?”

Pain. In whatever shape or form. If it hurts, you’re alive, and Jisung knew a thing or two about that.

“Did we really do a good thing, Hyun?” he turned to Hyunjin with nothing but uneasiness in his eyes.

“We did what we believed in,” Hyunjin heaved a deep sigh, “It’s time to stand up for it. Now more than ever.”

Exxxtraoddinary? Appreciate with a pudding.

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