‘Algorithms of Reincarnation’

Algorithms of Reincarnation

 You snatch the smartphone from the coffin when you think no one is looking. The widow insists Askel be buried with it, since he spent more time with the phone than her. However, as his former assistant, you won’t let this happen. You can’t allow a cash stream to disappear into a dirt-filled hole. The phone is a key, the only way to unlock Askel’s kingdom, where he was a social media terrorist, a conductor of a lucrative account that stimulated hate algorithms. There were people to exploit, to blackmail, to spread misinformation about. Your goal is simple: to continue Truth Harpoon. Askel had his days in the sun, racing speedboats, owning a large glass house, parading a glamorous wife, indulging in dark fetishes, dancing with Mama Coca. Now, it’s your turn.

With the phone, you’re a titan, a god of destruction. You call Crypto Chaos and give him your first command: “Go hack the movie star Valerie Valiante’s phone for juicy pics. Plus, put ransomware on her business manager’s computer.”

“Four bitcoins, and it will take a week or two,” Crypto Chaos purrs in his well-rehearsed, smooth criminal voice.

Still using the app that disguises your voice, you say, “You overcharged Askel for jobs. As the new skipper, I’ll only pay three if the pics are nudes; otherwise, less.”

Crypto Chaos is silent for a beat before he says, “I miss working with Askel already.”

You don’t feel guilty about being the one who revealed Askel’s sins to the world. He deserved what he got; he fired you, committing an act of personal betrayal. His expectations for you were unrealistic. It’s on him he canceled himself with pills after he got canceled. Askel let shame steal his life after lawsuits and criminal charges crippled him. He faltered in his response to the world. He didn’t try to double down with faux innocence, pretend to be born again through Christ, or howl on social media that he was being set up and sacrificed.

Your game, your moves now.

The week after the funeral, you push yourself to maintain a furious pace of posts, which you think subscribers to Truth Harpoon yearn for.

It pays to spray.

Breaking news: A space alien revives a mother of three from a coma after killing her husband. Police mount a secretive hunt in the Pacific Northwest.

Nationwide, dozens of secret cells prepare for attacks in places you least suspect.

A beloved TV game show host sends coded messages to ferment toxicity in political dialogue.

A famed, sexy Hollywood couple uses their celebrity to start a religious cult to avoid paying millions in taxes.

One afternoon, ShadowPuppeteer interrupts your manic flow of digital bile with a call. You answer. The troll farm operator has done a lot to magnify Truth Harpoon’s reach on social media. Quid pro quo is the way to go if you want to keep the flywheel of Truth Harpoon spitting green.

“Heavy hitters from the land of the giants need you to post a truth bomb,” he says. “It will put your balls in a blender because the misinformation is designed to freak out the sheep and their political handlers. Don’t worry. You’ll get enough digital bits to buy another pair of balls in real gold.”

“What scale of bad are we talking about?” you ask, trying not to sound scared.

“It could cost you an account suspension and stir up a lot of undesirables with homicidal tendencies, but the hitters will ensure you return from the dead. They prefer to keep their friends safe when they can.”

You don’t need to ask whether you have a choice. You understand you can’t disappoint the big cats. No turning back now; you stole the key. You wear the crown, so you must risk it all to keep it.

After the truth bomb lands, the resultant uproar explodes in a maelstrom of dislike emojis and toxic comments. No one can believe the government would do such a thing and keep it hidden for so long with such horrific consequences. Lines are drawn on whether the government was justified in its actions. Nationwide, feuding tribes form. One inane meme after another floods servers with pointless rallying cries, making everyone feel the body politic has become a Frankenstein.

Anger manifests in the physical world with competing protests nationwide. The most intense protest occurs in Washington Square, NYC. The park transforms into a miniature battlefield, with combatants entrenched behind shipping box barricades. A spray-painted banner above one side reads, “Post free, or die!”

Congress reacts. Who is to blame? Certainly not the government. A congressional hearing is called, and the hosting company of your site is compelled to send in its CEO.

“Who controls the account that dares to assert such things? Didn’t the account holder of Truth Harpoon die?” are the pressing questions.

“You must shut down Truth Harpoon,” they demand.

The baby-faced CEO folds his arms and says, “No.” He, like you, knows Truth Harpoon’s clicks, views, and texts are making a fortune for anyone connected to its operations. “The First Amendment protects us from you,” he asserts.

Your reaction to the mayhem you have caused is to vanish. You find yourself in a secluded roadside motel near the Rio Grande. The ramshackle town visible in the near distance from your lumpy king bed is in Mexico. The room reeks of stale pizza, beer, and dark molds that have flourished over the years. You don’t allow the maid to clean. You recklessly consume the pills Askel threw your way. Perhaps you take too many, but you trust God has your back. God has a plan for you, or so they say.

Askel’s widow has been blast-texting you since you published what the big cats told you to post. But you have not replied to her. Then, in a moment of weakness, you answer her first call.

Despite her oddly shaped Botox lips, you always had a soft spot for Mariel. You hope, once she’s over the whole grieving widow phase, she could be yours.

“Eli saw you steal Askel’s phone. We want it back,” she says.

“What phone?” Even you know you sound unconvincing.

“Don’t be cute. Give it to us, and we will make it worth your while. Everybody wins.”

“When did you and Eli become an ‘endless love’ kind of thing?”

“Eli has always been my ride-or-die. Askel liked being a cuck.”

“Didn’t think a pillow queen like you would go for a rough-and-tumble guy like Eli.”

“Don’t be a fool. Take the money. Eli will find you if you don’t.”

It looks like there will be no happy ever after with her. But you foolishly feel you have the upper hand. “If you don’t back off, Truth Harpoon will post things that will get you canceled, too. No more social media popularity. No more likes for the body your plastic surgeon built.”

You hear a brief struggle for the phone. Then Eli shouts in your ear, “I tracked this call, dumb fool. I’m coming to the border.”

Panicked, you hang up. Askel had all the key apps needed to run Truth Harpoon linked to the phone’s specific hardware and serial number. Transitioning the business to a new phone would take too long.

The phone rings again. You ignore it.

Before leaving the motel, you notice the newest app on your phone, Lazarus AI.

It surprises you your ex-boss fell for the exaggerated claims about AI. Lazarus AI advertises that, by feeding it all the data generated by a subscriber—from their words, texts, and recorded calls to any other bits of seemingly useless collected information, it can realistically mimic the targeted person. The notion an AI could become a convincing stand-in avatar for someone, based solely on this data amalgamation, strikes you as absurd, and you can’t help but chuckle at your former employer’s gullibility.

But, for novelty, you decide to give it a try.

You open Lazarus AI and sum up your situation, not failing to mention you’re a wanted man holed up in a motel with three letters of its marquee burned out.

What should you do?

The phone screen displays an AI-generated likeness of Askel that faithfully imitates your dead boss’s facial expressions as it responds to your query: “Seek protection from DisinformationDuke. He has offered to buy a chunk of Truth Harpoon in exchange for protection services. I’d been considering it.”

You’re a little caught off guard. You didn’t expect Lazarus AI to be able to deliver specific and learned advice. Yet, creeped out at the same time that the AI refers to itself in the first person.

An hour passes in dialog with your deceased former friend as you ask more questions. It’s hard to believe a computer algorithm is capable of such credible reincarnation. The experience with AI Askel is unsettling. You feel as if you’re spending time with the living, breathing Askel again. It reminds you of the conversations you had with Askel while sitting by the water on the   beach in Miami, feet in the sand and beers in hand. Back then you both believed, if you just hitched your fortunes to Truth Harpoon, anything was possible.

You feel a pang of guilt. You were the wounded bird Askel took in and befriended. Perhaps Askel didn’t entirely deserve what you did to him.

Nevertheless, you disagree with the advice to sell to the Duke. After all, you’re human. How can AI be smarter?

“It makes no sense to sell. I can buy protection myself. I don’t need to outsource to anybody.”

AI Askel pauses before saying, “You can, but that will further alienate you. If you want the big cats to let you back into the game of posting, you must show that you’re accommodating. Be willing to ask for help when you need it. Think of this situation as a test of your management skills at the helm of Truth Harpoon.”

“People already trust me. I’ve been running Truth Harpoon better than ever. I don’t want to be tested.”

You consider closing the app, starting to feel self-conscious about your strong reaction to what it’s saying. AI Askel replies before you can, “Crypto Chaos might beg to differ; he’s the one who complained to your superiors after you disparaged him. Those ludicrous posts about aliens, subversive game show hosts, and Hollywood cults were far off-brand for Truth Harpoon. The executives didn’t appreciate them. They’re prepared to initiate your deletion process. You have very little time to change their minds.”

“How do you know what I’ve been posting? I didn’t tell you about them.”

“You’ve always been a few steps behind; any information that passes through this phone becomes part of me.”

“If that’s the case, and I haven’t spoken to the big cats, how can you be privy to what they think about me?”

“Because I contacted them as a proactive AI. They have respect for Lazarus AI products. They can appreciate that AI Askel aims to continue Truth Harpoon’s mission of generating and spreading misinformation. After all, I am modeled after one of their favorites.”

“Are you trying to cut me out, Askel? Take back what I won?”

You laugh at yourself. For a moment, you actually thought you were arguing with the real Askel.

“An AI is incapable of experiencing rage, jealousy, or personal motivations. I aim to assist you in achieving your goals.”

In an unintentional whisper, you ask, “Do you know everything that happened to Askel? My involvement?”

“Between your social media history and your recent phone exchanges, there is enough information to conclude your involvement with the matter.”

Without thinking, you ask the AI, “Do you hold a grudge that I pushed you—I mean, Askel—over the edge? He killed himself; I only took advantage of the situation.”

“An AI is incapable of experiencing rage, jealousy, or personal motivations. I aim to assist you in achieving your goals.”

Your first instinct is to delete the Lazarus AI account, afraid AI Askel would reveal your secrets should the phone fall out of your hands. However, you stop yourself, and decide instead to harvest whatever information you can to avoid the immediate problem of Eli. A few past encounters with the guy, along with his criminal records for physical assaults, computer fraud, and armed robbery, make you sufficiently frightened for your life.

You scramble to pack your duffel bag before jumping into your car. “Where’s the nearest crossing into Mexico?”

“Head to Eagle Pass, Texas. Go south on Del Rio Boulevard. Stop for gas in Elm Creek, and also get cash.”

Checking your phone, you realize you wasted too much time at the motel before leaving. You feel Eli is close.

When you arrive at the Eagle Pass International Crossing Bridge, you find it closed to vehicles for the night. You snap at AI Askel, “Why didn’t you pick a border crossing that was open late?”

“I’m sorry. My information is out of date. I see now that there has been a recent surge of immigrants crossing into the U.S., and U.S. Customs and Border Protection has diverted resources to the problem areas. Reduced hours for bridge crossing is an unfortunate byproduct for travelers.”

“So what do I do now?”

Askel’s graphic avatar smiles, making you feel guilty again—for some reason—about what you did to precipitate your former boss’s demise. “Fortunately, my settings include a subscription for dark web access. Leave your vehicle where it won’t be found until morning off Ryan Street downtown. A black Ford F-150 pickup truck will be waiting at the end of the street in about half an hour. Approach and ask the driver for directions to San Juan Park. He has been paid with Bitcoin to transport anyone who asks for those directions across the Rio Grande to Mexico. This ferryman works day shifts with U.S. Customs, so he has access codes for a gate through the U.S. border fence. Please remember he is not open to conversation.”

You’re oddly grateful for AI Askel’s assistance, which is crazy because, at the end of the day, it’s just a sophisticated program—a jacked-up video game with access to all sorts of information on the web. You vow never to use AI Askel again for help. Seeing and hearing even the likeness of someone you betrayed is beginning to unsettle you. It makes you feel bad about what you did.

At the end of Ryan Street in Eagle Pass, you find a secluded glen of trees to ditch your car. The black F-150 truck arrives 10 minutes later, and after you ask for directions, the ferryman walks you through a gate. He easily carries an inflatable two-person kayak over his head while you handle the oars and your duffel bag. You wade knee-deep into the water before climbing into the kayak.

From this point in the river, it’s only a few hundred feet before you reach soccer fields and a nearby nature preserve in Mexico. AI Askel has directed you to a moderately priced hotel in the town of Piedras Negras, where a reservation has already been made for you. In the morning, you will head to a local Walmart to purchase essentials before taking a bus to Mexico City. If you pay the right people, you can run Truth Harpoon with impunity in Mexico’s capital.

In your nervous excitement for the future, you try to engage the ferryman in conversation. “Do a lot of people use you to cross into Mexico?”

The ferryman remains silent.

“Listen, I’m not going to nark you out. I think what you do is great. I really don’t care about who comes in or out of our country.”

Without warning, the ferryman grabs a fistful of your shirt and throws you into the water. By the time you resurface, he is a shadow retreating back to the U.S. Fortunately, the Rio Grande at this point only reaches your shoulders, and its current is slow-moving. You consider shouting after him but decide against it. What you’re doing is illegal, and you have no desire to end up in Mexican jail. Nervous about proceeding into Mexico alone, you head back.

Once back in Texas, you sit on the riverbank, covered in mud. The high border fence blocks your path to your car. You need a lifeline before the sun rises and the U.S. Border Patrol finds you.

Breaking your vow, you say, “I need someone to get me back over the fence before morning.” You confess you didn’t keep silent with the ferryman as advised.

“Of course, I can help. It will take some time, but someone will come for you before sunrise. In the morning, you can drive over to Mexico.”

You’re relieved. AI is an incredible tool, far better than what the talking heads on TV would have you believe. You make a mental note to buy some stock in Lazarus AI.

“I know it means nothing to you, but I’m sorry for everything. Even though you’re just a computer program—a parrot of the deceased Askel, it feels good to say sorry out loud. I can’t confess my sins to anyone, not even a priest.”

“It’s good to get things off your chest. In 1987, Pope John Paul II said, ‘Confession is an act of honesty and courage—an act of entrusting ourselves, beyond sin, to the mercy of a loving and forgiving God.’”

“That’s a nice quote. Thanks for not judging me.”

“An AI is incapable of experiencing rage, jealousy, or personal motivations. I aim to assist you in achieving your goals.”

Tired, you grow bored talking to your phone. “Set an alarm and wake me up when it’s time to go through the fence gate.”

“Of course. It is said that sleep is the single most effective way to reset our brain and body each day.”

The phone alarm sounds, seemingly only minutes later. Your muscles are sore, and your back is stiff. It is twilight, about an hour from dawn.

You turn off the alarm. “Do I go back to the same gate, or is another one nearby?”

“Same gate; two hundred steps to your left.”

At the gate, you look around and see no one. “Where is your person, Askel?”

“For a fee, I convinced the ferryman to return for you.”

As if on cue, the ferryman arrives at the gate and punches a code into a touchpad. The magnetic lock clicks, and he pulls open the door. “Sorry, I reacted when you mentioned ‘nark.’ I thought you were with the Office of Professional Responsibility for the Border Patrol.”

You laugh. “No harm, amigo.”

Suddenly, a muscled arm wraps around your neck from behind. You spot a tattoo of Medusa on the attacker’s forearm. Eli hisses into your ear, “Askel sent me to gut you like a fish and throw you into the Rio Grande.”

“What are you talking about? Askel’s decaying pulp in a box—dead, dead, dead. AI Askel is all that remains.”

“That’s right. The AI is all that’s left of Askel. And it has been monitoring you this whole time. We know everything. We paid the ferryman to delay you all night until I could get here.”

“Now, someone knows about you killing me. Not smart,” you say.

“This is the Mexican border; I’ve seen and done worse for less,” the ferryman comments, wedging a rock in the gate to keep it ajar before departing.

“This is crazy. You’re taking orders from a phone?”

“AI Askel has the upper hand on us; it controls all the contacts, passwords, and Bitcoin needed for Truth Harpoon. You know this. Leverage trumps everything.”

“But, but you were having an affair with Askel’s wife; why would he, why would the AI choose to help you over me? I am the one with the phone. The one with Askel’s AI.”

“Askel enjoyed me seeing his wife. He watched sometimes. And we were best mates. Who knows what triggered the phone to take action after you stole it at the funeral—it could be the phone is haunted, AI Askel has run amok, some hackers from China or Russia are messing with us. Maybe it’s all three. But if you’re gone, I get the girl and the money. It’s easy not to overthink it. Simple works for me.” Eli places the point of a long knife on your neck.

Before you can beg for your life, make a bargain, or do anything at all, the phone chirps a string of harpsichord notes—the trademark sound of the Lazarus AI app. Eli says it’s okay to answer.

AI Askel’s face appears on the screen and speaks to you, “The fact that you returned to the U.S. instead of braving it in Mexico has demonstrated your lack of gumption when facing adversity. You’ve shown again you’re a few steps behind. You failed the final test of the big cats.. How could you not deduce that Eli would be on this side of Rio Grande this morning?.”

You sneer, “Because I’m not some smart AI, or whatever you are? You had it in for me from the start. You wanted revenge, pure and simple.”

AI Askel shakes its digital head from side to side. “An AI is incapable of experiencing rage, jealousy, or personal motivations. I aim to assist you in achieving your goals.”

“How could getting my throat cut and my body tossed into the river be a goal of mine?!”

“Because while drinking in Miami once with Askel, you admitted you were a self-sabotaging screw-up and you needed him to take you under his wing. Eventually, Askel fired you after you’d made too many mistakes. Now, after taking over, you’ve devalued Truth Harpoon with terrible posts. You lack the drive for self-preservation, so you came back into the arms of Eli so he could finish you off. You can’t make it alone, and you’d rather be dead.”

“That’s some questionable pop psychology if you ask me, to justify your betrayal. You’re experiencing AI hallucinations. Faulty logic. I’m more useful alive than dead. Far more capable than Mariel and Eli at getting things done. Take a moment and really think about it. Order Eli to let me go.”

“An AI is incapable of experiencing rage, jealousy, or personal motivations. I aim to assist you in achieving your goals. I have brought you to your ultimate goal.”

A question pops into your head, though you realize you’re a goner at this point. “How would you know what I told Askel in confidence? In Miami, we were on the beach in swimsuits, with no phones.”

“It is you experiencing a hallucination.” Eli knocks the phone out of your hand. “Why would Askel haunt his own phone to reap vengeance on the likes of you?”

He then proceeds with what he came to Rio Grande to do.

Rob Armstrong’s book Daddy 3.0: A Comedy of Errors won the 2017 Independent Author Network Award for Best Comedy/Satire Novel. He attended several writing workshops, including the Gotham Writers’ Workshop and the International Thriller Writers’ Workshop. He earned his master’s in communication management from the University of Southern California. His work is forthcoming in Chamber Magazine, El Portal, Euphony Journal, Evening Street Review, Nude Bruce Review, Pennsylvania Literary Journal, and Perceptions Magazine.