Initial Launch of The Program Heralds Bright Future for The Nation
Written by: Maxwell Thyme
Date Published: 12th of August, 2031A lot of things can be seen across The Nation - environmentally friendly factories, national movements for greener waste disposal, the first successful prototype fission reactor, and many other examples of what our country stands for. The Nation is one of vast technological might, recognised as the second most advanced country in the world, bested only by the United Arab Emirates. For years, the diligent people of The Nation have worked, leading to the great and monumental day we celebrate now.
The Program was first confirmed back five years ago on the 6th of November, 2026, and was placed under construction in January of the following year. From the outset it was advertised by the Government as a great project under the banner of which The Nation could strive and prosper unto even greater heights. Three years later we were given the first glimpses into what The Program would entail, and we all stood in wonder. No matter where people were, their reactions were the same when they read or watched or heard what was being planned.
And today, the 12th of August, 2031, we see the completion of that great work. The Program - a revolutionary project designed to bring together the best, brightest, and most valuable members of our society in the hopes of seeking next weeks future today. It is without doubt a prestigious concept designed to placed the most intelligent and interesting minds together to engineer The Nation behind closed doors, away from prying eyes and those that would interrupt their endeavours.
Following an interview with Richard Danford, one of the chief directors responsible for the completion of The Program's facility and basic necessities, our reporter was granted a private, first hand tour of the facility, and the kinds of equipment the selected Candidates would be allowed to use. The video recording of the tour as sanctioned by can be seen at the bottom of the article.
Please Register
The room is bland. Absurdly bland. I can’t think to a time in my life where I’ve ever witnessed such dry and drab decor is in this place, with its beige-white walls and cafeteria chairs. I can’t tell if this was something I should have expected based on the nature of this place - they were never going to welcome us with Five Star luxury after all - but, I don’t know, I suppose I expected something just a tad more homely than this. Something more comfortable, and alive.
Only one thing of any true note stands in the room, atop a similarly dry desk, with an uncomfortable looking chair slid underneath it. There’s a computer monitor, some kind of old fashioned model, with a black screen and blinking green cursor. I wouldn’t call myself an old man, but I even I grew up with machines more sophisticated than this thing. I could hazard a bet in saying my Mum’s washing machine has more features than it.
In the center of the screen is a series of words, “Please Register”. I slide the seat from out under the desk and take my place, removing the keyboard from the top and take a second to look around, but, finding no other peripheries, turn back to the monitor almost immediately. Despite my inner complaints regarding this place, I could never say such things aloud. After all, this is somewhere I’ve always wanted to go.
My hands glide across the keyboard with a kind of refined skill, filling out my name on the machine before hitting enter. It pauses for a second, no doubt searching a database of some or another kind as to whether my name is valid, before the text vanishes, only to be replaced shortly after. It’s an odd process, and one I can’t say I’m entirely familiar with, but I feel a strange, giddy excitement as I watch.
Welcome, Michael Khlein
Are You Ready To Begin Test Procedures? Y/N
Michael Khlein, that’s me. An IT engineer out in The Nation, keeping the world alive. Nowadays those kinds of jobs are the only lucrative ones you can get, save for illegal stuff, but with the advancements in law enforcement over the past years I imagine soon they won’t be so lucrative anymore. Without thinking, more like on instinct, I press the Y key, and then enter, in rapid succession. Once again, the Terminal stirs, generating whatever it needs to for this procedure.
How Many Times Can A Man Kill?
I watch as the machine writes out the question, and then keep watching, staring at it in confusion. This wasn’t the kind of thing I was meant to be asking. This was The Program, a home for the best and brightest of The Nation to hone their skills. Shouldn’t I have been out revolutionising the world of computer engineering with my fellow programmers, alongside engineers that will one day bring about the future?
I don’t even have an answer for this question. Maybe murder has crossed my mind a couple times, but never in the series way, not truly. The kind of thoughts you have when someone pisses you off at work - the dark recesses of your mind that creep in ever so subtly, only to hit you with the “what-ifs” like a truck. What is this test trying to prove? Is it some kind of psych-evaluation? I sure as hell didn’t sign up for those.
Without an answer in mind, I just write the first thing that comes to mind. “Once”. It accepts it, and proceeds to the second question without issue nor delay, but its lack of a response to the answer unsettles me a tad, though I can’t think why. There was no feedback, no indication of anyone on the other side actually taking in and deliberating on the response. If it was a prerecorded series of tests I could understand, but with the time it took to load even the first one, I’m not so sure anymore.
Would You Like to Change Your Previous Answer?
There must have been cameras in the room, even though I didn’t see them. If there were, they would have seen the bewildered look on my face. No amount of university courses, real world preparation and pep talks could have prepared me for this, and the visible confusion across my face is palpable. Just what kind of a test
is this? The questions appear random, nothing is linked, nothing makes sense.
I glance around at the two closed doors either side of me, tempted to try and pry one open, but a part of me knows its a futile exercise. It wouldn’t get me anywhere even if I could get them open. I’d probably just be removed from The Program indefinitely. At the thought of that, I take a second to steel myself. Things will be more like you expected tomorrow, they have to be. If anything, I’ll be with a lot of others at my intelligence range
Quickly, I hit the N key, and watch the screen switch to a third question.
How Are You Liking Your Time In The Program Thus Far?
Without thinking I start typing. I didn’t expect a long response to come out of me this early in the game, but when I look back across the monitor, I’ve almost written an essay. I stare at it for a second, wondering how much pent up stress this has given me already. Before entering this Terminal room, the common room and cafeteria were equally bland. There were people, sure, but none seemed exceptionally intelligent as I had so hoped. Everything just felt… disappointing, as though I had been betrayed by some or another false advertising scheme you’d see down in the slums.
As quickly as I typed it, I go to delete it, and replace it was a simple, short, relatively praiseworthy review. I’m not a man to just say things outright - sugarcoating is perhaps one of the things I do best, at least when actually to people. I suppose alone with just a computer in front of me asking me to vent my thoughts that sort of falls away, despite the annoyance that brings me. I sigh, pressing the Y Key, and watching the screen spit out more text.
Thank You, Your Responses Have Been Recorded
Please Proceed To Your Right And Sit In The Chair
Confused, I watch as the Terminal blinks off, and the door to my right slowly slides open, revealing an equally bland room, with a single, large, metal chair. The walls are stark white, in contrast to the milky white of the Terminal room, giving it something of a clinical feel that sends a shiver along my spine. I’ve always hated hospitals - in fact it’s one of the few things, or places, that I hate in this world. The sanitary environment, the clockwork cleanliness, it all makes me strangely uncomfortable.
As per the instructions, I take the seat, mildly cautious, but equally as eager to finish with whatever these damn proceedings are. Even with only three questions I feel mentally exhausted, like it as forcing me to think ridiculously hard, despite being three more or less simple questions. Maybe I’m just tired from today. It was a long drive to The Facility. A nights rest would be more than welcome at this stage.
With my back against the metal, the lights switch off entirely, plunging the room into a deep, unsavoury, almost tangible darkness, that seeps into my body through the holes in my eyes. At first, a kind of panic creeps into my head, but is silenced almost immediately after. I’ve got nothing to fear here. It’s just the dark. Despite only being sat for a short amount of time, my legs itches with sleep, but as I go to move it, the feeling is sluggish and slow. I really am tired, huh? They’ll probably wake me up later if I sleep now.
Race To Build ASI Increases Tensions Between China, Russia, and America
Written by:Samuel Richards
Date Published: 9th of January, 2044Perhaps one of the greatest mysteries of the modern age is that of Artificial Intelligence. Despite its existence, there has yet to be a successful case of a truly intelligent computer system, which has always begged the question - is it possible? Is it really possible to create a system with the same learning and thinking patterns as a human being?
According to reports, it is, we just haven’t figured out the right way to do it. Many believe that the advent of ASI - or Artificial Super Intelligences - will spell the doom of mankind like a harbinger of the apocalypse. They believe that the system we create will rise up against up and destroy humanity through one mean or another, and simply be creating it in the first place we will have lost the quote unquote war that follows.
While that may be true, we won’t know until it begins. What we do know, though, is that another kind of war may be just around the corner. Reports around the country and globe suggest that America, China, and Russia, are all vying to be the first country to develop an ASI. Although sources are scarce and unreliable, it does seem possible. After all, only a few years back did we see the opening of The Program, a place for the best and brightest to join together in creating the future of the world.
It can’t be confirmed what will happen in the future, but the possibilities of a Second Cold War do exist. With The Nation pegged as the second most advanced country in the world allied with America to further their respective technological might’s, there is no question that an escalated situation could occur.
I expected a lot more from this place than I’m getting. First day in The Program, this over-hyped shit stain of a project for collected the best and brightest, and I’m greeted with dry interiors, barely any comforts, and a common room that might as well be fitted with Russian roulette for all the fun it brings. I don’t know what they expected people to think when they created a shithole like this, but if it was anything good they really were off their fucking rockers when coming up with this idea.
I’m stood in line at the cafeteria, feeling like some kind of school kid again. Tray in hand, served by ugly cunts without a modicum of intelligence nor an insight into the world. It’s ridiculous - best and brightest my ass. When they herd you around like cattle to eat barely edible food there has to be something wrong. I don’t trust this place, even though it hasn’t done anything to lose my trust just yet. It’s a strange place, truly. There’s an aura that I can’t quite explain, or understand.
When I finally sit down, quote unquote meal in hand, I’m greeted with stupid faces and idiotic eyes. The people around me are meant to be smart, but their personalities are more dull than the white washed shit they used to decorate the damn place. I find a table, as far away from people as I can, and take my seat, before digging into food that probably wouldn’t even be served to prison inmates. In fact, I know it wouldn’t.
My name’s Samuel Stuart, ex-factory worker. Arrested for illegal weapon modifications. Prison was alright - I preferred it to what came next. I was picked up by the military to work for the Ministry of Defence; making weapons, altering existing ones. All for their war that would never come. I could never figure out why they were so obsessed with this war, this fictional battle that would one day ravage the world when the time came. They were all fucking stupid, but the pay was good.
Then I was offered a place here, and I thought what the hell. Can’t be any worse than that dump, right? Seems like I was wrong, and big time. My eyes trail across some of the others, trying to figure out their deal - who they were, where they were from, what they did before getting herded off here. A fun people watching exercise I did back in prison, though the inmates were much easier to figure out.
Without much warning, a man stands up at the far side of the room. His face is flushed, sweat dripping from his forehead like some kind of stressed waterfall. People look at him somewhat concerned as he climbs onto the table, and looks around, bewildered, constantly casting glances at the guards. Lining the walls, a series of guards stand, without weapons, to ensure the safety of the Candidates. Though I’m not sure I believe that.
“I wasn’t brought here of my own free will!” he starts shouting, spittle flying free from his mouth as he tries to piece together a sentence. One of the guards approaches him, no doubt trying to make him calm down, “They kidnapped me! Brought me against my will! They fucking kidnapped me!” the guard goes to grab him and he runs, jumping from table to table.
He was an old looking man, at least I thought so at first. Some wrinkles, tired eyes. Back when I was queuing he even seemed to have some kind of limp. But now, as I watch him jump over tables, weaving between trays of food and people, avoiding the guards, I realise that assessment was wrong. He looks in perfect condition despite his age, and his skill is remarkable, as though he had been trained.
“I’m a war veteran!” he shouts, leaping onto my table as the guards steadily encroach, “And he will find you all! I promise!” as soon as he finishes the words, a man tackles him to the ground, before drawing a taser and placing it to the back of his neck. The next second everything is silent, save idle and inane chatter from the crowd of people in the room.
I get up, and head out of the cafeteria, not wanting to remain in a room with idiots for another moment, my head still racing through the events that just transpired. Was he crazy? What the fuck just happened? None of the thing that just transpired make any sense to me, as I turn a corner and head into my room.
It’s just as dry and bland as the outside, decorated merely with a cabinet, chest of draws, a studio mirror, and a relatively uncomfortable double bed. This is my first day. The first time I’ve been here, the first time I’ve been to the cafeteria, the first time I’ve gotten food there. What the fuck was that? My knee taps against the floor, betraying to me that I’m somehow worried. I don’t understand.
”Samuel Stuart, Please Enter The Terminal Room.”
The intercom above my room comes to life, as does the door to my left, sliding open to reveal a somewhat cramped room of similar decor, decorated only be a desk, chair, and old fashioned computer. I take a moment to calm myself, thinking things through. That had nothing to do with me, nor anyone else in that room. It was just some madman doing what madmen do best - scaring people and getting attention.
When my knee stops shaking, I stand, wobbling for a second as a dizzy spell overtakes my senses, before I proceed into the room. Behind me, the door closes, leaving me trapped within a beige-white room of boring design choices, if anything in the room could even be called a design choice. Perhaps the only interesting thing in the monitor, with its old fashioned design, more like something you’d find in the 1980’s. They must have really skimped on the costs if this was all they could afford as a “Terminal”.
I take the keyboard from on top and slide the chair out, before taking a seat. The screen is black, with a blinking green cursor.
Please Register
I type out my name, and hit enter, watching as the shitty thing chugs trying to figure out if I have a valid name or not. For a moment, I wonder if it’s hanged, but as soon as the thought passes my mind, the text vanishes, only to be replaced by a new series of words. In my time working for the MoD, I saw my fair share of computer systems and technologies, but this has to be, by far, the oldest piece of kit I’ve ever seen. Before I do anything, I take a look around it, scouting out its different components from the outside, trying to figure out how this thing runs. Before I realise it, the Terminal emits a strange beep, directing my attention back to it.
Allotted Time For Answer Expired
Restarting Question
Are You Ready To Begin Test Procedures? Y/N
Half confused, but half understanding, I hit Y. So they implemented a timer on the questions? I stare as it tries to load whatever files it needs to, wondering on the purpose of such a timer. Surely giving your Candidates time to think of a suitable answer would be useful, though I can’t say I’ve ever created something quite like this. When the question finally loads, I look at it for a moment, and then answer. I do the same with the following.
I don’t know why a part of my refused to question the nature of the questions, but it didn’t. They were odd, closer to that of some psychological assessment than a test designed to measure genius, but the ingrained part of me to follow orders ordained to take over. Maybe they were weird, but it wasn’t my place to question that. I’m just here to partake in The Program, even if said Program is a dysfunctional pile of shit.
Thank You, Your Responses Have Been Recorded
Please Proceed To Your Right And Sit In The Chair
As the next set of text is displayed, the door to my right slides open, revealing a white washed, clearly sanitary room with a single, large, metal chair. From my seat I eye it cautiously, drawing the line with how far I’m willing to follow a military mindset. What kind of purpose could this of all things serve? A metal chair in a room straight out of a hospital - was this some kind of bad horror movie? Were they going to strap me down and carve my brain out to put it in some robotic husk?
Shaking my head in disbelief at my own ridiculous imagination, I stand. Sometimes a military mindset is for the best. Follow your orders, and don’t ask questions. You’ll get on just fine with that state of mind. I place my hand on the seat and slide myself against it, finding the most comfortable position I can in the sea of uncomfortable angles. The chair itself is pure metal, seemingly, without any pads of softeners to ease sitting down.
As I find a decent spot, the lights dim unto nothingness, sinking the room, and myself, into a pitch black void. I would panic, but that military mindset has taken over. Don’t question the process, just follow it. If they were going to drown me in darkness, it must have had a purpose of one kind of another. For that reason alone I don’t question it, despite the burning desire to stand up and run around, seeking blindly for an exit that might not even exist.
Slowly, encompassed on all sides by the abyss, my eyes start to droop, and my body becomes heavy. Strange, I never felt tired before. Maybe it was just the darkness, lulling my body into a false sense of tiredness. A part of me knows I shouldn’t, but even the steel mind of a monk couldn’t prevent me from dozing off at this stage, let alone the mind of a soldier.
How Safe Is The Program? - Rumours Of Spies Stir In The Nation
Written by:Stephen Adams
Date Published: 27th of July, 2050With the race to develop the first Artificial Super Intelligence in full bloom after the terror attack on The Nation in 2047, many have questioned the integrity and security of The Nation. Despite being the second most advanced nation in the world, terrorist were successfully able to infiltrate the city and detonate a bomb, killing fifteen and wounding thirty six.
And now, as of recent, reports have been coming in from sources around The Nation that Counter Intelligence Operatives from rival countries seeking to steal Nation Technology were arrested within The Program itself. Considering the nature of The Program as a collective of the best and brightest minds this great country has to offer, one might assume that greater measures would be taken to prevent such infiltration from happening in the first place, let alone again.
With the arrest of these operatives, we can expect to see even further tensions between America, The Nation, Russia and China as the race develops into a full blown Cold War. With the emergence of Prime, a cyber terrorist presumed to be linked with either the Russian or Chinese Governments, it can only be prayed for that war does not follow in its footsteps.
Stress among citizens is high as of late with the idea that an out and out war could start soon, at any minute. The concept that even The Program, the place in this country that should be the most secure, has faults that could be exploited by enemy nations is a worrying thought to many. The prospect that their homes may not be as safe as they once thought is indeed troubling, though the Government has yet to make any comment on the rumours.
Entering into the Common Room, I have to wonder just what kinds of people actually designed this place. It is more than just drab - it’s dreary. The walls, with their dry colour scheme, create a kind of oppressive atmosphere that suffocates the life out of any colour present in the room. I can’t even tell if it was an intentional choice or some accidental, cataclysmic mistake that brought out this combination of traits, but so far, all I’ve seen of The Program has been, at best, disappointing.
Looking around, there is very little that could be considered entertainment. There’s a pool table, but despite looking, I haven’t been able to identify where the balls are. In the cupboards lie stacks of board games, which might have appealed to the inner child in me on some nostalgic and fundamental level, but at the same time, with the claustrophobic aura omnipresent in the room, I have no time for idle games.
If anything, this place feels more like a daycare room designed for early teenagers, rather than adults considered the best and brightest. For a prestigious movement bringing together the greatest minds of The Nation, their hospitalities are severely lacking. Perhaps the idea is to drive people into creating friendship groups by directing them into social interaction, but limiting their methods by which to entertain themselves seems, at least in part to me, an entirely counter productive exercise.
As quickly as I entered, I leave, making my way into the cafeteria. Despite my aversion to the common room, though, I might have preferred to remain. I train my gaze over the people in the room, sat alone or in small cliques, eating what would appear to be barely edible, “food”, or lack of a more creative and indicative term. The food served looks genuinely abysmal in quality, and while I tend to go for the more adventurous of meals, that is perhaps one of the few things I would refuse to eat.
Around the room I watch the guards, standing almost perfectly still, silently observing the crowd. It’s only my first day here, and while I haven’t had a chance to get to know the inner workings of this place, I can already tell that the guards will be one of my least favourite parts. Their deadpan stare, even if behind a mask, unsettles me in a deep and cardinal way - in a way I’m not sure I’ve ever been rattled in before.
Scouting around, I pick out a table lacking in people and seat myself, hoping to keep away from the crowd and any drama that might occur, as well as the food. I have to wonder if even being close to such low quality
stuff is safe for one’s health. No doubt eating it would cause some unpleasant side effects, at the very least.
But as I sit watching, simply observing, something catches my eye. It’s a man, walking sluggishly along the corridor from the habitation quarter into the cafeteria. His eyes are dim, almost blank, but behind them I catch a glimpse of feral fury, scanning the room for some kind of target. One of the guards face him, and then every one of them in the room does too, presumably spotting something before I could.
And then I spot it too. Realising what’s happening, I stand, but my legs catch the table and I fall back down again, before choosing to remain. I want to help, but I know I won’t be able to do much, if anything, in this situation. I can only watch as he reaches whoever he was looking for, and strikes out at them. There’s a scream from nearby as blood sprays across the table, splattering against the clothes of one Candidate, who stands and flees with the rest of the people on the table.
Before the guards can get to him, though, he grabs one of the people fleeing, and forces them in front of him, catching the taser with the meat shield body as the guard lunges at him. And that’s when I get a proper glimpse of it, glinting in the light - a long, straight edged knife, clearly designed for more than just cutting vegetables or spreading butter. Its edge is marred in the blood of whoever he just killed, and he backs towards the counter.
“You don’t understand, he deserved it! He deserved it!” he shouts, his back hitting the wall as the guards encroach on his position, “He was a rapist! A fucking serial rapist! They let scum like that fucker in here and they expect us to play fucking place house?!” despite the coherence to his statements, I can barely focus on what he’s saying, instead staring at the corpse of the man he slashed - face down against the table in a pool of his own blood.
When I look back, it’s due to another scream. A woman to the back of the action, with her hands clasped over her mouth, must have realised something, and as I look back I realise it too, but a few seconds late. In a fraction of an instant, the attacker plunged the knife into his throat, before twisting the blade out, spraying blood across the floor and guards as he sank to the floor.
That was the last moment for me. I took of running down the hall, into my room, before kicking the door to my bathroom open and falling against the toilet bowl in unbridled nausea. I’d seen corpses before - pictures of corpses - but never had I watched someone die in front of me, watched the light from their eyes fade as their own life essence seeped out of their body. It sickened me to the core, forcing out what little stomach contents I had.
My first day in The Program, and I had already watched a murder-suicide take place before my eyes. What the fuck was wrong with this place? These people? I don’t understand anything about this. What happened to being a prestigious movement, full of the best and brightest? The smartest and the most brilliant, brought together to build the future?
”Stephen Adams, Please Enter The Terminal Room.”
My groan is audible as the intercom in my room blares to life, forcing me from my feet. Doing my best not to look at what just came out of my stomach, I drop the toilet lid and flush, before dipping my head under the tap and drying it quickly with a towel. I needed answers. If things like this were going to happen, there had better have been an explanation.
Stepping out of the room, I see the already open door, leading into a small room with a desk, chair, and computer. The beige-white walls leave much to be desired, but after the day I’ve had, I barely have time to recognise it. I simply walk in, pull out the chair, and sit down. I grab the keyboard, place it in front of me, and read the screen.
Please Register
My name is Stephen Adams. Maybe I’m not the smartest of people, and maybe I’m not the wisest, but I have a keen mind - as a journalist, you need it. I’m not interesting in opinion or heresy, just fact. And the fact of the matter is, something was deeply wrong with this place. This place, this Program, was meant to be a safe environment for people to gather and build the future, and yet two people just died, and dozens more witnessed it.
As the computer processed my name, I took a second to wonder what I would write, what I would say, and what I would ask. I pressed Y on the next screen, taking my time to think as the device loaded up the first question. I needed answers, something I could use. The people needed to hear about this, without a doubt, and if that meant being evicted from The Program then so be it.
In fictional Writing, What Is Most Important To World Building?
It was an inane question, and one I didn’t have the time or patience to answer. Instead, I typed my own question.
What is the purpose of The Program?Command Unrecognised
What the fuck happened today?Command Unrecognised
Answer me you piece of shit. Whoever is on the other side of this fucking Terminal, answer me now, what the fuck happened today?Command Unrecognised
I paused for a second, thinking of my next response. I cast my gaze around the room, trying to isolate anything to work with, before finally settling on The Terminal itself.
“If you won’t answer me, then fine.” I said merely aloud, trying to catch the attention of any cameras as I turned the Terminal around, intent on dismantling it. Standing up, I lifted the chair, before bringing it down on it, heaving the crack of metal against its plastic casing. And again. And again.
Until the door beside me opened, leading back into my room. Except the doorway wasn’t empty - stood in the way was a guard, staring at me with its deadpan expression through its white mask. A solid hit to the jaw put me down, and from my place on the floor I could hear the Terminal printing text of some kind.
Terminal Disruption Recognised
Dispatching Human Interface
[Forced Login Recognised]
[User Administrator Logged In]
Your continued abuse of the system has drawn the attention of the administrative board.
You will continue the test as instructed, or you will be forcibly evicted from The Program.
Failure to comply will result in forceful removal./
Shakily, I stand, wary of the guard to my immediate left as I pull the chair upright and take my seat. This is far from the outcome I wanted, but I’m not entirely sure what I expected. Did I really think this would just go my way? This was a regimented system, no doubt - even the deaths could be accounted for and covered up in one way or another. I would have to comply. There was no other alternative,
So I did. I answered the questions, I was herded into the room, and forced onto the seat. The lights went dark, and I fell asleep.
Suicide Of Program Candidate Leaked By Cyberterrorist
Written by: Charlotte Riley
Date Published: 8th of December, 2053A dark day has fallen over The Nation, but it is equally one of contemplation and rumination. Things have been brought to light as of late that bring into question the integrity of our country, and the government, as well as their methods for running its resources. How much do we really know in regards to what goes on in this country behind our backs, and how much do we trust our government to tell the truth?
Late last night, a report was leaked by the renowned cyber-terrorist Prime regarding The Program, and his interference. Despite admitting guilt to several criminal acts, he also brought to the public’s eye a dark side to the way this country is run. Perhaps it is unwise to trust what a terrorist says, but the reports appear genuine, and the photos and videos leaked are far from for the faint of heart.
While the government has yet to comment, Prime claims that he was directly involved with the suicide of an important Candidate within The Program. In a video shared over countless social media platforms, a scene can clearly be viewed of a man wielding a knife murdering another Candidate, before taking his own life in a brutal fashion. The recording itself appears to have been ripped directly from a security camera, although the authenticity is doubtful.
Based on the report, Prime has been attempting to leak similar information to this for many months, but has failed every time due to the governments oppressive censorship regime in regards to The Program. With their failure to release a public statement on the matter as soon as the news broke, could it be that they are attempting to cover up the incident? If so, this brings into question the reliability of the government to reveal the truth to the public. What else could be going on that we don’t know?
Stood in line at the cafeteria, I’m reminded of my childhood. I can’t really say I have fond memories, but they’re there, and they’re vivid, visceral almost. I didn’t exactly have the best childhood, but it was good enough for what it was. It was more or less stereotypical in terms of a childhood, really. Bullied some, got average enough grades. Sometimes it was fun, other times it was hell, and somewhere in the middle we got by just enough to make it out alive.
I know not everyone does, but I at least enjoyed school a little bit. Maybe that’s why I have so many memories of it - sure, it wasn’t great, but there was a modicum of enjoyment to it that stuck around with me, even into my adult life, and even into The Program. I definitely wouldn’t want to relive that time by any means, of course. By thinking about them brings about a kind of nostalgic comfort. The food is about as bad as it was back then too.
I can feel the strain on my back as I walk. I’m not old, per se, but getting there, and my body is far from what it used to be. Tray in hand, I begin walking over towards a seating area, intent on taking my place away from the crowd. It’s my first day, yes, but I’d rather not make too many friends - or enemies as the case may be - so soon. It’s easier if I take things slow.
But as I walk, a hand grabs me, and pulls me off to the side. With the force, I drop the tray, and it hits the floor with a loud crash, directing all eyes towards me and the person pulling me. For a moment I stagger, but regain my feet as the person, who I now recognise as a woman, drags me into the common room. There are people in there, but there eyes seem to widen as she enters, and they scatter in fear.
When she finally releases me, she sits down, her body wracked with nervous anxiety, shaking from head to toe.
“Who the fuck are you?” I say on instinct, hearing my own voice for the first time today. I don’t know this woman, that much I’m sure of, but as I look her over, I catch something glinting in the light off by her side. She’s carrying a revolver. On instinct, I take a step back, but she holds up a hand to stop me.
“Please, you need to listen to me. What’s your name?”
“Jonathan. Jonathan West, why?”
“Your name isn’t Jonathan West. That’s wrong.” I tilt my head at her, wondering what she means. How can that not be my name? For all my life I’ve been called Jonathan West, Jonny for short. That’s been who I am for the past sixty or so years, “Your name is Edward Greve. Jonathan West is… a fabricated memory.”
At the mention of fabricated memories, I can’t help but laugh, but as the sound escapes my lips, my eyes meet hers. They’re bloodshot, and cold, with a edge of deathly seriousness befitting of someone telling a joke. My voice catches, and the laugh comes out as more of a choke.
“What the hell are you talking about, fabricated memories? You think I’m gonna believe that?”
“Prime has a message for you. He’s going to find you, soon. The Program isn’t what you think it is, and things are going to get a whole lot worse before they get better.”
“Wait, wait, then, who are
you?!”
She seems to roll the question around in her head, and in her mouth, speaking cautiously, while keeping her eyes trained exclusively on the door.
“Julia Holland. I’m the leader of an Anarchist gang.” at that I stare at her, gauging if she’s lying, but she isn’t.
“How the fuck did someone like you get in here then?!”
“I could ask the same thing of you, Edward.” her eyes flick to mine, before they go back to the door, and widen, “Shit, they’re here.”
In the next moment she stands, and pulls the revolver out from beside her. At the door are several guards, all encroaching on our position. Without even waiting for a signal, or a comment, or even a sound, she pulls the trigger, splitting the air with the deafening sound of a gunshot. I barely even see the bullet enter his skull before it passes straight through, spraying sparks and shrapnel around with it. As soon as it does, the body locks up, keeping completely straight and still.
“They’re not human - they’re machines.” My mind goes blank a she fires another shot, hitting the second guard with pinpoint accuracy, “ADAM’s. Automated Deviant Assessment Mechanisms. That’s us - Deviants. Every single fucking one of us.” a third shot takes out the last, but as she drops the revolver, the last of the guards - ADAM - from the cafeteria come around the corner, stepping around the bodies of their fellows.
I can’t even speak. My voice is hoarse and caught, and no amount of sound I try and make comes out.
“Listen to me, Edward!” Julia’s voice snaps me back to reality as she fires a fourth shot, “They wipe your memories everyday and replace them with new ones. Everyday is your first, even personality it different. Prime can Revive you - give you your old life back. He will find you, you just have to be patient.”
With the ADAM almost upon us, she curses.
“Just fucking run, Edward!” she says, opening the chamber to find two bullets left. Her eyes fall on me, and she smiles, before raising the gun to her head, and blowing her brains out against the wall. The the second time today my mind goes blank. Why? Why would she do that? Why kill herself?! I lean down, looking over her body, before grabbing the gun, keeping my body between myself and the ADAM to obfuscate the act. I can’t understand why she would do something so… radical, so stupid. In the shock I stand up and run, back to my room, not even being stopped by the ADAM as I go.
Reports Of Illegal Smuggling Within The Program Breach Social Media
Written by: Charlotte Riley
Date Published: 3rd of January, 2054With the information revealed by Prime in regards to The Program, it is no surprise that more and more information is being leaked, further bringing into question just what kind of practices go on inside The Program, as well as how trustworthy the government is. While it can’t be said that the government is lying, they have still yet to make statements regarding previous allegations. With further allegations popping up, will they still be able to withstand the heat?
The new information from famous Cyber-terrorist Prime regards the practice of smuggling items into The Program. He has made the claim that he himself has done so in the past, and that other third parties may be doing the same. Such items as weapons, drugs, food, and other such commodities may be being brought into the Facility illegally, at the behest of both Candidates and the guards that work there.
Whether these allegations are true or not remains up in the air, and many citizens believe that Prime, as a terrorist, should not be trusted in his, reports, however the evidence he provides does appear damning as far as the government goes. Specifically, he has named the Minister of Defence, Richard Walbank, as a number one suspect in these acts. This is corroborated by the fact that he had a large hand in the construction of The Facility, as well as in the concept of The Program itself.
Sat in my room, I can’t help but wonder just what is going on. Nothing seems to make sense anymore. It’s only my first day, but in this room, on this bed, it feels like I’ve been here for my whole life. I don’t know why I get that feeling, but when I look around a strange and palpable sense of de-ja-vu strikes at my very core. It’s like something in this very room is trying to tell me something important, but no matter how hard I grasp at that truth it continually slips through my fingers.
In my hand is a revolver. It only has a single shot left, but under my bed I found a full box of ammunition. On instinct I loaded it, but I don’t know why I would need it. That said, there is a strange comfort in my heart when wielding this. I’ve held this revolver before - I know its weight, I’ve seen it used. I could probably kill someone with this easily, even though I’ve never fired a gun in my life. I don’t know why I feel these things - it’s almost as though someone has hijacked my brain and fucked with the circuitry.
Tired of sitting on the bland bed, in the bland room, I make my way out of the room. Food would be nice, company would be better. I just need something, anything, to take my mind off the sensations running through my skull, anything to take away the feeling of being mind fucked constantly. I take step after step making my way to the entrance of the cafeteria before stepping back instinctively.
The guards are grabbing and restraining a man, desperately attempting to pull the pin on a grenade. Fear clutches my heart and I flee back to my room, swinging the door wide and slamming it shut behind my, the adrenaline fuelling my actions entirely. Everything I do is on instinct, everything I do is reactionary. In the silence of the room, my heartbeat is deafening.
”Roger Hammond, Please Enter The Terminal Room.”
Not even moments after I entered the room did the intercom flare to life, filling my ears with the sound of crackled noise. This is the last thing I need right now. The shaking on my legs and the sweat beading along my forehead are clearly evidence of that, but nonetheless I step forward, into the sliding door, and into the beige-white Terminal room.
Except the door doesn’t close behind me. In fact, neither of the doors close - I can see into a room straight ahead, with stark white, nigh clinical walls, and a pure metal, terribly uncomfortable looking chair. Confused, I take my seat, and watch as the monitor flickers and crackles with strange symbols, until I’m greeted with a chat prompt window.
Prime: Hello, Edward.
Candidate: Who is this?
Prime: I’m Prime. You probably don’t remember me, but that’s to be expected.
Prime: I need you to go and sit on the chair to your right. Things will become a lot clearer after that.
Candidate: Why the fuck would I do that?
Prime: Because there are two guards and two ADAM on their way, armed with lethal force.
My hair stands on end at the idea of lethal force, and instinctively my gaze travels to the revolver lying on my bed. With a nod, I stand, and head to the chair, trying my best to find a comfortable spot despite its sheer uncomfortable nature. With my back pressed against the chair, the lights flicker, seemingly trying to turn off, but forced to remain on by some unknown, external force.
A mechanical whirr fills the room, and the ceiling parts way, opening up to reveal a vast metal contraption, reaching up into the Facility. Every part seemed to be accompanied by some kind of gear, or servo, which each respectively turned and pulled and
moved in some other way, creating the illusions of a giant metal beast, stirring awake, and pulling itself down from the sky unto the ground - unto me.
Its descent was far from quiet. Gears whirred in place as they span it high speeds, descending the mechanical leviathan into the room with every passing second. My eyes must have betrayed a kind of fear at the contraption as it worked its way into the room, lowering down what looked to be a helmet of a kind, though ornately decorated - or perhaps haphazardly - with wires, mechanisms, sensors, ports, and every other kind of device one could think of. It was more than just a monstrosity, it was a device that resonated a kind of evil.
Despite my reluctance and struggling, the helmet descended, blanketing my vision in darkness. A faint trickle of light was the only only thing to enter my retinas from a small screen displayed before each other my eyes. The screens lit up in bright white, forcing me to close my eyes, but mechanical arms clutched at my eyelids, prevent them from connecting, and keeping the incandescent array of colour within my vision. And I kept watching. And I kept watching.
Prime: Do you understand now?
Candidate: I can’t fucking believe this, I seriously can’t fucking believe this.
Prime: Well, I’m sure you’re glad I gave you that gun now, aren’t you?
Candidate: You mean
Candidate: She killed herself to give me that gun?
Prime: Exactly
Prime: Julia had always admired your work, Edward. When I told her who you were, after her own Revival, she was thrilled.
Prime: Of course, you didn’t have your memories. She was disappointed by that.
Candidate: She didn’t have to die.
Prime: No, but she didn’t want to live either - not as a slave of the government.
Candidate: I could have broken her out - both of us out!
Prime: Maybe. But maybe not.
Prime: Now listen - you have that gun because I altered the security footage and hijacked the ADAM Data Cloud, but I couldn’t mask the Revival. They know you have your memories. Two guards and two ADAM are currently en route to your room.
Prime: Take the gun, and leave through the way they enter. You’ll be inside the Administrative Ward - find the control room, and destroy it.
My gaze turned to the left, and up, quickly identifying the hidden camera. With a nod, I stood, and walked to the bed, taking up the gun and the stashing the ammo in my clothes. Everything had come back to me - everything that I was, everything that I did. They stole
years from my life, years that I’ll never get back.
My name is Edward Greve. I’m a serial killer, famous for targeting pro-technological advancement advocates. The kinds of people who think making an ASI is a great idea. And those people made me a puppet. They stole precious time that I could have spent living, and instead they used it for strategic advice.
Because that was their ploy - The Program, a classified project to gather deviant citizens and subject them to personalised tests intent on garnering useful information. Erase their memories each day, and keep them in a repeated loop of compliance. Erase their personalities for more varied results. It makes me sick to think I was part of their game, but not any longer.
The moment the door opened, there was no questions asked. It was a secret entrance, hidden in the wall of the room, allowing for easy access to every room. An ADAM can be dispatched in moments with it. But not when you expect them. Two guards and two ADAM came through the door, exactly as Prime said - the ADAM with firearms, and the guards with rifles. Except they weren’t counting on me knowing they were coming. Four dead bodies, and an empty gun.
In the next second I grabbed the rifle, and headed down the corridor, mowing down every person I saw. Scientist, guard, ADAM, it didn’t matter. Their blood would paint The Program a better colour than that shitty beige-white by the time I was finished for the things they did and stole from me. Bullet after bullet after bullet after bullet, gun after gun. Body after body. I can only imagine Prime watching, experiencing the thrill of The Program falling under his machinations. He’s a lot like me. We both want the same thing.
At the Control Room, a group of guards stood waiting outside. For once in the encounter, it was a challenging fire fight, but fuelled by sheer adrenaline and fury, every one of them fell before me. No amount of resistance would be enough to stop me, not anymore. That red mist that descends in anger had fallen long ago, bathing my vision in a crimson symphony. Many people said revenge was an unsavoury business, but as I kicked down the door to the Control Room, I would have said it was quite sweet.
But on the other side of that door were more guards. More guns. More chances.Without warning they fired, like a firing squad. In slow motion, I could feel every bullet, every shot, tearing through my body at breakneck pace. An agonising eternity passed between bullets travelling at the speed of light, until I feel, lying dead in a pool of my own blood.
The lights switch off entirely, plunging the room into a deep, unsavoury, almost tangible darkness, that seeps into my body through the holes in my being. At first, a kind of panic creeps into my head, but is silenced almost immediately after. I’ve got nothing to fear here. It’s just the dark. Despite only being sat for a short amount of time, my legs itches with sleep, but as I go to move it, the feeling is sluggish and slow. I really am tired, huh? They’ll probably wake me up later if I sleep now.
The Nation’s Government Issues Public Statement Regarding Prime and Deaths Within The Program
Written by: Charlotte Riley
Date Published: 17th of April, 2054After a long and extended wait, the Government of The Nation has finally released a puplic statement regarding Prime and the allegations regarding deaths and smuggling within The Program. Although there are some that claim everything the Government has said is a lie, their statement involves some key evidence related to incidents that have occurred, including Prime’s breaching of The Program’s key systems and influencing activities within it,
According to their statement, Prime has been the key influencer behind the deaths caused within The Program, as well as the smuggling of weapons and drugs inside The Facility. One of these incidents is one that happened only recently - being the murder of prominent and valuable Candidate Edward Greve, who was murdered just a week ago due to external influences.
It is stated that Prime intentionally manipulated key threads within their systems, which resulted in the malfunction of a fire suppression system. A fire was then set by a mole, which resulted in the death of Edward Greve. It was believed to be an intentional arson attack with the sole purpose of removing Greve from The Program. His genius was listed as one of the greatest minds in The Nation, and his death will be sorely mourned by all who knew him.
A similar incident happened many years earlier, in which Prime smuggled weapons into the Facility and leaked false information about different Candidates in order to create infighting and chaos. This is believed to be the cause of the murder-suicide in 2053.
The Government has also apologised for not being entirely transparent through these times, but has stated that they believed revealing the extensive damage Prime had caused would lead to undue stress within communities. They have assured the citizens that they are working desperately to fix the issues with their systems, and the leaks that allowed Prime access to begin with.
Dane
BrokenPromise
