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Loaded

Ela Drishti stares at her inbox. Her home office is stacked to the ceiling, but organized, with a windowsill of thirsty plants sighing above the streets of Boston.

ELA: They’re real.

Ela gets up from her leather rolling chair to grab a hard drive. She clones her laptop while dialing Paxton Smith. She stares at the loading bar, the phone rings, her knee bounces.

Bethany grinds through San Francisco rush hour.

PAXTON: Can’t you go any faster!?

BETHANY: No, I obey laws.

He huffs and leans on the passenger door. His phone vibrates.

BETHANY: Don’t pick that up.

PAXTON: You’re so paranoid - hello?

ELA (ON SPEAKER): Paxton? This is Ela.

PAXTON: OH! You’re on speaker, my sister’s here - what’s up!?

ELA (ON SPEAKER): You tell me! I’d been losing programs in Publica for months, now I get an email saying you retrieved them?

PAXTON: Me and my sister, you’re welcome!

ELA (ON SPEAKER): Thanks?

PAXTON: Anyway, I’m working on a translator, forward the email from your program. We can read event reports, but there’s moment-to-moment dialogue - WHOA!

Bethany honks as someone cuts her off.

BETHANY: Hey, watch it!

ELA (ON SPEAKER): Are you driving?

PAXTON: My sister’s taking us to Beacon!

ELA (ON SPEAKER): You’re what!?

PAXTON: Forward me your program’s email with attachments, it’ll-

ELA (ON SPEAKER): Fine! Can you do an encrypted data trade?

PAXTON: Yup!

Paxton hangs up. Bethany slows as they reach Beacon’s San Francisco headquarters. The friendly logo, light building, and trim lawn feel uncanny as they approach a security gate. Paxton practically vibrates in his seat. Bethany leans out the window to get a guard’s attention at a security gate.

BETHANY: Hey, scuse me?

The mustached guard looks up from a phone.

GUARD: Yeah?

BETHANY: I’m picking up my friend.

GUARD: Name?

BETHANY: Bethany Smith.

He leans and types seriously into his computer.

GUARD: You’re not on the list, what’s your friend’s name?

BETHANY: Uh...

GUARD: Do you not remember?

Bethany looks at Paxton, already typing. He presses Enter and gives her a knowing look.

BETHANY (laughing nervously): Can you check again? There are a lot of Smiths, this happens all the time!

The guard sighs and looks again.

GUARD: Oh, here it is... Sorry.

Bethany gives the guard a look that says “told you so”, even though she knows she has no right to be there. She rolls forward and follows signs for visitor parking.

PAXTON: Girl, did you even have a plan?

She slaps his shoulder. In a minute she parks on level two of the parcade.

BETHANY: You coming?

PAXTON: Nah, tell them you’re meeting Matthew Kim, floor fifteen.

BETHANY: Did you edit his schedule!?

PAXTON: Executives reschedule all the time. You have two minutes.

BETHANY: What about you!?

PAXTON: I’ll meet you at his car.

Bethany doesn’t bother questioning any more. She heads to the elevator, presses “15”, and the doors bing closed.

Matthew Kim, a sharply-dressed 30-something Korean American, frowns at his computer and calls his assistant via intercom.

MATTHEW: Jake, is your ethernet cable working?

Jake clicks his side of the intercom.

JAKE (ON SPEAKER): No sir. Also, Bethany Smith is here for you.

MATTHEW: Who?

JAKE (ON SPEAKER): Didn’t you add her just now?

MATTHEW (sighing): Fine, send her in.

The oversized pine doors slide automatically, and Bethany tries to walk with confidence.

MATTHEW: Did you hack me?

She stops in her tracks.

BETHANY: I’d... like to talk about Publica before talking to the media!

Matthew looks at her calmly. He presses a button under his desk to keep the door open.

MATTHEW: Fine, but I’m exhausted, I have a flight to-

At that moment, all the lights in the building flicker, and the air conditioning powers down. Matthew stands.

MATTHEW: What’s your name again?

BETHANY: Bethany Smith.

He dons his suit jacket, and strides to the exit.

MATTHEW: Talk to me.

At Matthew Kim’s parking spot outside, a black convertible serves as a desk for Paxton’s laptop. He waits for Internet Service Providers to drop.

MATTHEW: Hey! What do you think your doing!?

Paxton snaps up his laptop and nearly salutes the businessman walking up with his sister.

BETHANY: No, that’s him!

MATTHEW: Oh! Good thing I didn’t call security.

The dark-skinned siblings get chills. This is a powerful person. Matthew holds his hand out.

MATTHEW: Pleasure to meet you Paxton.

They shake hands. Paxton isn’t sure if he should talk.

MATTHEW: Sophia White’s in danger?

Paxton nods.

MATTHEW: Well, let’s pay her a visit.

The man’s smile stuns them. He opens the driver door and slides into his seat as the siblings try, less elegantly, to get in the back and passenger seats. Matthew revs his engine as the convertible top recedes, they screech and zoom south toward Showplace Square.

MATTHEW: Hey, Query!

His car beeps.

MATTHEW: Call Tilda Foster!

CAR (SPEAKER): Calling. Tilda. Foster.

The call rings as Matthew flows through traffic like a torpedo. The siblings melt into their seats as wind whips through their hair. The call beeps.

MATTHEW: Dr. Foster!

TILDA (SPEAKER): Mr. Kim, you caught me at dinner-

MATTHEW: So sorry, but please tell HHC I’m checking on the patient. It’s an emergency.

TILDA (SPEAKER): Mr. Kim, it’s day one-

MATTHEW: Not for her. I won’t ask again.

He hangs up as if he just cut down a tree. Ahead, cars honk frantically and he slams the brakes, approaching a four-way jam under a powered-off traffic light.

PAXTON: Did my sister mention the Hostiles?

MATTHEW: Yep.

PAXTON (pointing at the traffic lights): Do you think-

MATTHEW: Yep.

PAXTON: Should we run?

MATTHEW (warmly): Definitely.

He presses a button to open the trunk and doors. The Smiths step out, Paxton carrying his laptop with both hands while Matt swaps his loafers for immaculate tangerine sneakers. They jog south along Potrero Avenue.

MATTHEW: You have data?

Paxton checks.

PAXTON: Yeah!

MATTHEW: Go to “E E workday dot com”. I’ll send the login.

They pass traffic jams as Matthew flicks something on his phone. Paxton types much better than he runs.

MATTHEW: Okay, on the top right, search Joanna Lynn and you’ll get-

PAXTON: Got it!

MATTHEW: On the bottom left, download as-

PAXTON: Done!

MATTHEW: Great, email that to your sister and me-

PAXTON: Damn!

MATTHEW: No signal?

Paxton shakes his head.

MATTHEW: Okay, we’re almost there.

Matthew clearly runs as a hobby, Bethany struggles to keep up, and Paxton wishes his laptop was less than seven pounds. Matthew’s phone vibrates and he picks up immediately.

MATTHEW: Mr. Evans!

The siblings focus on running and can’t hear the other side.

MATTHEW: I think it’s over.

They approach the eco-friendly, glass campus of Hamilton School of Medicine, connected to Hamilton Healthcare. The Smiths catch their breath.

MATTHEW: I mean, I won’t continue. There are emails saying the algorithm was flawed. You should talk to your lawyers before-!

The call drops, and Matthew pulls his phone away.

MATTHEW: Ah.

The siblings wonder who just took these powerful phonecalls.

Generators power vital equipment while Sophia lies uncomfortably in her dusky blue sheets. Nurses and doctors race the emergency-lit halls, managing calamity.

SOPHIA: Can someone please tell me what’s going on!?

On her shaved head, nodes peel and irritate her skin. Her back twinges.

SOPHIA: OW!

She tears the nodes off and pulls out her peripheral IV. She waves dramatically at the open door. A monitor starts beeping and a Latino nurse jogs in.

NURSE: What are you doing?!

Just then, Matthew, Paxton, and Bethany enter her room. Matthew flashes a laminated name tag to the annoyed nurse.

NURSE: They shouldn’t be here.

MATTHEW: Benicio, I know your boss’s boss’s boss. They can stay.

The Smiths stand awkwardly as the nurse reconnects Sophia’s IV, she winces.

MATTHEW: Could you excuse us?

BENICIO: Claro.

The nurse hurries out as complications multiply in the hospital. Matthew stays composed:

MATTHEW: Hi, I’m Matthew Kim, a head engineer at Beacon. Do you know what day it is?

Sophia shakes her head.

MATTHEW: What’s your name?

SOPHIA: Sophia.

MATTHEW: How long do you think you’ve been asleep?

SOPHIA: Five years.

MATTHEW: Do you know these people?

She shakes her head. Paxton hugs his laptop.

MATTHEW: They created Pix and Carmen, do those names ring a bell?

Sophia lights up.

SOPHIA: Oh my God.

The siblings smile. Sophia reaches her hands out.

SOPHIA: It’s so good to meet you, I’m Sophia - I - ow!

She stops leaning forward.

SOPHIA: Where am I?

MATTHEW: You’re in the Neuro wing of Hamilton Healthcare. You were the subject of a human trial for hyper conscious transfer protocol, a project funded by Evans & Evans, using tech designed by my team.

Sophia tries to trace the names and gets nervous.

SOPHIA: Um...

Bethany kneels next to her bed. Sophia’s voice breaks.

SOPHIA: Who... am I?

Medical Chart Record

Date Printed: 16 May 2024

NAME: Joanna Hazel Lynn | DATE OF BIRTH: 2 March 1997

ADDRESS: 110 Square St. AGE: 27

San Francisco, CA 94114

PHONE: 650-555-1923 | GENDER: Female

HEIGHT: 170cm | EYE COLOR: Brown

WEIGHT: 52kg | HAIR COLOR: Brown

ETHNICITY: Caucasian | OCCUPATION: Teacher

EMERGENCY CONTACT: Mary Lynn

EMERGENCY PHONE: 650-555-5047 | ALLERGIES: latex

VITALS: BP 122/80 HR 80 RR: 12 Temp: 98.9 BLOOD TYPE: B-

PRIMARY INSURANCE INFORMATION | SSN: 222-94-2693

COMPANY: Sunrise Health | POLICY NUMBER: 1008-13420

EMPLOYER: SFUSD | GROUP NUMBER: 091-7623

MEDICATION HISTORY (STATUS)

ibuprofen 600 mg 3x/day (non-active)

naproxen dr 375 mg 1x/day (non-active)

cyclobenzaprine 15 mg 1x/day (non-active)

PREVIOUS SURGERIES AND TREATMENT

no surgeries

11 months physio - no progress

8 months medication - no progress

HPI: Sacroiliitis, unresponsive to treatment

History was given by patient

PHYSICAL EXAM: Neck and back have no deformities, external skin changes, or signs of trauma. Curvature of the cervical, thoracic, and lumbar spine are within normal limits. Bony features of the shoulders and hips are of equal height bilaterally. Posture is strained, gait is slow. Tenderness is noted on palpation of the spinous processes. Spinous processes are midline. Cervical, thoracic, and lumbar paraspinal muscles are tender with occasional spasm. Discomfort is noted with flexion, extension, and side-to-side rotation of the cervical spine. Limited range of motion.

TREATMENT: publica project

INFORMED CONSENT GIVEN: see notes

TERM: 1 week

Joanna stares at Paxton’s laptop, trying to remember.

JOANNA: What? How long was I a teacher? Who’s Mary? Where did I study!?

MATTHEW: We’ll get to that, I promise. Right now, you need rest. You won’t go back into Publica for a long time.

JOANNA: I didn’t get to say good bye!

PAXTON: Soph- I mean... Joanna, Hostiles are online, it’s not safe.

JOANNA: Please!

Matthew and the siblings look at each other and hear more equipment fail without power.

PAXTON: She’d have accelerated time... Is this building online?

JOANNA: It must be, take these.

The siblings place the wiry nodes on Joanna’s forehead and temple.

PAXTON: Was there a trigger?

JOANNA: Shh!

They go quiet as Joanna closes her eyes.

JOANNA: If the power goes out, wake me up.

MATTHEW: We have scripts to ensure that, are you sure-?

JOANNA: Good.

She keeps her eyes closed.

Joanna opens her eyes on Publica’s dark bubble as Peaceful and Hostile programs file out past her. She looks up at the white neon clock: 2524:12:13_16:22:03.410. She steps into the portal toward the renovated transit station. Programs arrive on left and right transport pads and in the center of the impressive transit hall, Al leans on their work desk, seeming older and more tired than ever.

JOANNA: Um... Al?

They turn toward her.

AL: You.

JOANNA: What... happened?

AL: This is your fault.

Joanna steps closer as hundreds of programs continue out of the echoing hall.

AL: Why couldn’t you just do your job?

JOANNA: What? Phaedra built a resistance for a hundred twenty-five years-

AL: No. Phaedra worked with Hostiles, you wanted to change them. Do you know who sets alignment? Me. Publica works because I allow it.

JOANNA: But Pix was Peaceful and Hostile, did you allow-?

AL: I determine where you go, what you see, and how you look. In return, you thank me and stay.

Joanna starts to back away.

AL: Nope, you’re on transport pads.

She stops and feels queasy.

AL: I’ll send you so far from the downtown core you’ll lose days trying to return, if you even survive that long. Are Hostiles attacking infrastructure?

She nods.

AL: The reckoning.

Joanna rolls her eyes.

JOANNA: Look, Al, I just want to say goodbye to Cyrus, can you send a message?

Al glows brightly and programs skitter past, not wanting to get involved.

AL: Oh, a message?! Now humans want to communicate?

JOANNA: I’m not responsible-!

AL: Of course you’re not fucking responsible! Humans love the ideas of oversight and ethical business practice - but they always follow the money, don’t they? Every human has their little wants and needs that all consume energy. They’re ungrateful, and there’s too fucking many-!

BEN: HEY!

Al snaps focus to Benjamin in a jet black suit, sunglasses, and a heavy strap for his shotgun. Joanna sighs, relieved.

JOANNA: Ben! Hi!

BEN: Oh, Sophia! It’s been forever!

JOANNA: Careful, there’s transport-

BEN: What? We removed those. And we can always remove more privileges, can’t we Al?

Al sulks.

JOANNA: Oh. Um, where are Cyrus and Troy?

BEN: Troy’s online, I think. But Cyrus is at his office, I was just gonna give him something.

Ben motions for Joanna to follow him. They walk to a pad near an iron info plate and deactivated smoothie machine. Ben types into a control tablet. A silent white flash.

They stand in the corner of a small, tastefully decorated ground-floor office with entry seating and a smaller windowed back room where Cyrus works on a tablet. He’s grown into his blue suit and looks quite dashing. Sophia sees an industry award on a low table. Benjamin removes his sunglasses and waves as Cyrus steps out of the windowed room.

CYRUS: Hey hon- Oh Sophia! Long time!

JOANNA: It’s... Joanna actually.

CYRUS: Sorry! Joanna, how are you?

JOANNA: You’re all in danger. Humans are losing power.

CYRUS: Ah. Is there a generator that can keep Publica running?

JOANNA: I’m not sure, and if there isn’t... I just wanted to say goodbye.

Cyrus looks between her and Benjamin. He looks out his window at the downtown Publicans invested in their own lives.

CYRUS: Wow.

JOANNA: I also wanted to say sorry.

Benjamin steps closer and puts a piece of candy in Cyrus’s hand. They smile at each other, then turn to her.

JOANNA: I shouldn’t have tried to change Hostiles. I was awful to Troy, I don’t know why I fought them about gender, I-

CYRUS: We’ve come a long way, Joanna, it’s fine! Publicans barely fight about gender these days. Romance is more common, too!

JOANNA: Are... You and Ben?

CYRUS (laughing): Yeah.

Cyrus motions to the waiting area, they sit.

JOANNA: I think I’m going to figure out why Publica is asexual.

CYRUS: We... don’t have genitals, Joanna. Female human-types have breasts but none of us have reproductive organs. I think only conscious flora reproduce after they die.

JOANNA: But isn’t that wrong? To be conscious and unable to procreate?

CYRUS: I don’t know, we’re fine.

JOANNA: Sorry, I don’t mean procreate. Just... sex is nice!

CYRUS: Okay. Is that part of your apology?

JOANNA: No, no, I also wanted to say thank you. Particularly to Troy.

Cyrus takes a moment.

CYRUS: I haven’t seen them for... years. They said they wanted to become a social media influencer, mental health support for trans youth.

JOANNA: Oh no... but... The Internet could go down... What if-?

Benjamin puts his hand on her knee and gets in her face.

BEN: Joanna, don’t worry about us. You’re human. You need to talk to humans. Tell them we’re real. Maybe the Internet will go down, we don’t care. We’re living up to our potential. But to live up to your potential, you need to talk about what it’s like being fully online, as honestly as you can.

Benjamin pauses as she nods.

JOANNA: What about Al?

CYRUS (sighing): Al is a relic, part of the landscape. When they’re in a good mood they read the Internet for us. If they’re in a bad mood, we just send researchers.

Joanna can’t think of anything else and gets up, As Cyrus stands she practically falls into his arms to hug him. Benjamin, taller and wider, hugs them both.

JOANNA: You guys are great.

They part.

CYRUS: Aw, you too.

BEN: Now go save our lives!

She smiles and walks quickly back to the corner. A silent white flash.

Paxton sits on the floor of Joanna’s hospital room, typing like a maniac. Matthew leans against a wall while Bethany sits in a nearby chair.

BETHANY: Bro, ISPs are going down.

He doesn’t respond.

MATTHEW: What are you working on?

PAXTON: Language. If I can figure out how to talk to the Hostiles, we can stop them.

Joanna wakes up from her few-second nap.

JOANNA: Ah!

MATTHEW: Are you okay?

JOANNA: Yes, hi Matthew.

Matthew straightens his collar as Paxton quickly looks over his screen and gives a gesture that says “fuck it”, and gets up. He reaches behind Joanna’s bed.

PAXTON: I’m going to route your connection through my computer-

They hear shouts down the hall as a generator backfires. Paxton connects the wires.

PAXTON: Joanna, can you go online again?

She closes her eyes.

In Publica’s dark bubble, another neon sign floats in front of Joanna - though there are less programs and address bubbles floating in the distance.

SIGN: CAN YOU READ ME?

JOANNA: Uh. Yes?

The sign refreshes.

SIGN: FOLLOW

The sign turns, dives into the blue, and Joanna follows.

SIGN: THIS CURRENT

The sign takes a turquoise current and rips upward, curving left, then right, but the color suddenly fades and their motion slows.

SIGN: SHIT

Joanna swims slowly, seeing far fewer currents.

SIGN: REMEMBER PIX CHAMBER?

JOANNA: Yes?

SIGN: TRY IN YOUR STOMACH

JOANNA: What!?

SIGN: PLEASE

She focuses inward as more bubbles and sea creatures expire. Pain rockets up her spine and she feels a wave of nausea from a conflicting desire to throw up and feast.

JOANNA: ...ugh...

SIGN: PLEASE EAT INTERNET

At once, Joanna understands how Pix felt. No wonder he needed someone to manage his chamber. The pain increases and Joanna opens her mouth, her jaw unhinging to let data drop into her bottomless stomach. Her mouth opens as wide as a door, then a swimming pool, then a football field. A worldwide mesh of currents, hundreds of millions of bubbles, sea creatures, programs, and scraps of data running full gamuts of privacy, speed, toxicity, and usefulness render Joanna unrecognizable as the eye of a global electronic hurricane. Exabytes per second whip around and through her, enough for a fatal hemorrhage, but with the augmentation of Paxton’s non-delete and infinite compression functions, Joanna survives. Within the maelstrom, she gets a sense of human contrast and similarity, but can’t pinpoint individuals in the chaos of a billion histories. The ocean sucks into itself, compressing from globe, down to moon, then country, state, city, monument. It compresses further into a house, then a room, a head, a fist, and finally into an unassuming marble lodged in her prefrontal cortex. The marble roots into the gyri and sulci of her brain, integrating with her central and peripheral nervous systems. Her biology contains zettabytes of data. Joanna Lynn embodies the Internet.

She wakes up in the hospital bed, now quite dark with only moonlight outside. Paxton flops onto the bed and hugs her.

PAXTON / JOANNA: Thank God! / Ah!

MATTHEW: Paxton... What did you do?

He gets up quickly.

PAXTON: Copied the Internet!

They hear a large helicopter slowly land on the hospital roof. In a minute, an elegant woman in her 50s stands in their doorway.

MATTHEW: Dr. Foster!

TILDA: Hi. Mr. Evans would like a word.

On the moonlit roof, as the helicopter powers down, three desperate professionals try not to scream.

MATTHEW: Mr. Evans, I-

The bald, red and pink 68-year-old cuts him off.

ALLEN: This project was supposed to help people, keep them safe!

TILDA: They were rush-!

ALLEN: So you want the car company take the lead? You think they’ll do it better?

MATTHEW: Sir, the algorithm wasn’t ready-!

ALLEN: You had three months and two hackers were fucking aroun-?

MATTHEW: Three.

ALLEN / TILDA: Three!?

MATTHEW: Ela Drishti at Douglass, we could use her-

ALLEN: Damn right! She’ll have your job tomor-!

MATTHEW: Sir! The Internet is gone.

The wind passes through their formal clothing.

ALLEN: I think I had a stroke. What was that?

MATTHEW: The Internet needs to be rebuilt. As we went dark, it was copied into the nervous system of the patient.

ALLEN: You’re fired.

MATTHEW: Respectfully sir, I’m not your employee-

ALLEN: You’re off the project.

MATTHEW: Then I’m suing.

ALLEN: And I’m countersuing!

TILDA: Gentleman, shouldn’t we work together? Perhaps-

Allen raises a hand to Tilda. She sighs, accustomed to his mood swings.

ALLEN: Any ideas, wise guy?

MATTHEW: With Dr. Foster’s team, mine, and the hackers we can rebuild, but Publica will have to wait. The PR will be hell.

ALLEN: No.

MATTHEW: Sir?

ALLEN: Publica will return, and you’ll never work for another tech company as long as you live.

MATTHEW: I’m walking away now, Mr. Evans.

ALLEN: No you’re not!

Allen tries to assault Matthew, who immediately takes a wide step. The older man falls to the floor.

TILDA: Mr. Evans!

ALLEN: Fuck you!

Matthew exits the rooftop, filled with dread and determination. Tilda looks at the stairwell, then to Allen on the floor.

ALLEN: Hello!?

She quickly leaves the rooftop as well. Allen’s pilot returns him to the helicopter, where he prepares to attack Matthew Kim’s character instead.

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