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Black Ice

Black Ice

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Black Ice

Lunghezza:
60 pagine
53 minuti
Editore:
Pubblicato:
Mar 12, 2018
ISBN:
9781370271917
Formato:
Libro

Descrizione

A serial killer incarcerated for a thousand years makes a plea to the citizens of the three worlds of Earth, as well the omniscient 'SkyBrain' that controls them, to finally be put to death.

But, in a future society, life in prison means eternity with absolutely no chance of reprieve–a ruling upheld at all cost. Detainee 01, though, holds an irresistible bargaining chip a thousand years in the making and employs a calculated move that even the almighty eye-in-the sky did not see coming.

The killer once known as 'Jack Frost', through the advent of a popular, but mysterious virtual reality programme that enables viewers to relive a prisoner's memories in exacting detail, finally gets the opportunity to showcase murders committed from his far-flung past. The public, accessing his memory banks, may choose to become the murderer, or, if brave enough, the victims themselves.

Despite the nature of his heinous crimes, Detainee 01's narrative inadvertently endears him to what has become a lacklustre, automaton society among which crime and individuality is non-existent. As a result, a most unexpected turn of events transpires to throw the SkyBrain's authority into question as well putting history itself into jeopardy.

Editore:
Pubblicato:
Mar 12, 2018
ISBN:
9781370271917
Formato:
Libro

Informazioni sull'autore

Often with subtle underlying humour, S P Mount's inimitable styling brings thought provoking stories to readers of all ages."Originality is key."

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Black Ice - S P Mount

Black Ice

S P Mount

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2018 S P Mount

Visit my Smashwords Author Page for more works

Table of Contents

Prologue

Wrong Side of the Tracks

All Hail the Iceman

Life or Death

Epilogue

Prologue

I sensed them: billions of citizens connected to a virtual reality experience via the SkyBrains in the orbits of three worlds. People and androids collectively salivating, enjoying the first-hand thrill of murders exactly as I’d committed them in centuries past.

And afterwards, as word spread, more of them linked in anticipation of the revelation I teased would change the very course of history. The future. Yes I, ‘Jack Frost’, long-forgotten psychopath, turned brightest star in the universe.

The game, Crime Time, allows one’s BrainGrain to link to those of notorious criminals from the ancient past, enabling the participant to jump into the perpetrators’ bodies and execute the most heinous crimes of a millennium—a macabre activity that revealed the truth about just how little humanity has really evolved.

And they connected, en masse, citizens of Earth, the Moon Colonies and as far away as Mars. They connected to me.

Society’s taste buds had grown bored of simply lapping at a saucer of creamy vanilla. Its ravenous appetite demanded meat, a side dish of depravity to whet a more discerning palate. In fact, any other flavour at all would do if it would alleviate the blandness of its everyday worlds. The coat of virtue, so heavily draped across them, revealed itself to be no more than a threadbare yarn, spun-silk lies woven artfully by the high and mighty, omniscient SkyBrain.

And even if mankind’s thirst for blood remained as wanton as ever, oh my, how technology had progressed since I’d first been confined; a far cry from the New Dark Ages that I was dragged up in, when neither man nor computer held any merit whatsoever.

Humans had devolved to an alarmingly primitive state. Crime rose to unprecedented numbers overnight. And machines, without satellite connectivity for functionality, had become no more than children’s toys, or had been disassembled for spare parts in the hopes that rudimentary versions of communication devices could be made to work like once they had in the pre-digital age.

But, at least we’d been real back then, our minds were our own. We were individuals, and not the mechanised society that exists today. Yes, virtual reality these days is virtually no illusory thing at all.

In this era, the citizens accept the technological wonders that would have seemed magical even at the height of my own digital age. The minds of the people have taken a backseat to their BrainGrains. They simply travel through all aspects of life on auto-pilot. The veracity of anything is increasingly difficult for them to discern.

Of course, up until recent months, I’d only ever been able to observe the three worlds of Earth remotely. The SkyBrain had never before allowed my thoughts to interact with mind or machine—the only way people know how to communicate in this far-flung century. In fact, the art of conversation has become so lost to the ages that it might actually have been mythical.

But the experience of the game is changing that. Crime Time is enormously popular, and indeed, the very reason for my salvation. An opportune respite from my mundane existence, just as it is for the citizens.

The voyeurs grabbed onto Crime Time in all but a robotic neck lock when, apparently, a renegade programmer first set the virus rampant within the SkyBrain’s system. Yeah, right. We’re talking the SkyBrain; still the impenetrable mega-computer it’s always claimed, and proven to be. It was a truly inspired programme, though, and even if its author had supposedly joined the ranks of the Detainees for having created it. Nonetheless, the SkyBrain admitted the profound impact it had on society.

Therefore, like everything else, it’d taken control. Regulated it. Imposed rules. It brought the experience into play under official sanction to satisfy the inner desire of a so-called enlightened but increasingly jaded civilization.

Phhh. Politicians. Some things never change.

Yes, Crime Time became an experiment. Perhaps. For despite the SkyBrain’s indoctrination agenda, the citizens were only human, even the robot population; made in more than just their creators’ image. Both the people and the machines’ actual brains had been deprived of stimulation to create a perfect automaton society, blended with no seasoning at

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