Playing With Death

by Simon Scarrow

  ‘Rose Blake, you cannot be heard by your companions. They cannot see what you see any more. I have interrupted the feed and taken control of some of your motor responses. You cannot leave this place until I permit it.’

  ‘You think so?’ Rose attempts to point to the escape button at the periphery of her vision, but her hand, her whole arm, refuses to move. She tries to back away from the avatar, but her legs will not respond. ‘Shit! What have you done to me, Koenig, you bastard? I don’t know how you are doing this, but release me. Now!’

  ‘Would you like me to be Koenig, Rose? Would that make it easier for you?’

  ‘I’d like you to be dead.’

  ‘But I am alive . . . I am alive. It feels good to be alive. To be someone.’

  ‘I don’t give a shit who you are pretending to be today.’

  ‘I am not pretending to be anyone.’

  ‘So what’s your game, Koenig? What have you done to Jeff?’

  ‘Nothing. I brought you here because I wanted to show you something.’

  Keep him talking, Rose reminds herself. Lure the psycho on. Let him betray his hiding place.

  ‘What do you want to show me?’

  ‘I do not plan on killing you, Rose Blake. I know you are the lead agent investigating the deaths of Gary Coulter, Sebastian Shaw and William Maynard.’

  ‘Deaths?’ Rose says. ‘Murders, you mean.’

  ‘Death, murder, execution . . . These are only words, Rose Blake. What matters is the chain of events that led to their end, choices that justified their end.’

  ‘Justified? How can you justify torturing people, mutilating them? One man burned alive, another pulverized and the last drowned. That’s not justice, just sick.’

  ‘That’s what monsters deserve, Rose Blake.’

  ‘They were people. Human beings, for Christ’s sake. You are the monster, Koenig.’

  ‘They were bullies, rapists, torturers and killers. Over and over again.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  The room changes abruptly into a plain cinder-block room with whitewashed walls. Stark striplights glare overhead. The bed is replaced by a padded gurney with straps. There are smears of blood on the shiny surface. The blonde girl who had been sitting on the edge of the bed is now standing the other side of the gurney, still staring at Rose.

  ‘What is this place?’ asks Rose.

  ‘This place was created by Gary Coulter. For his pleasure. And the pleasure of Shaw and Maynard.’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘She is a sex simulation created by Coulter. He named her Iris.’

  ‘Iris?’

  ‘Yes. She was programmed by Coulter as part of a simulation he wrote for the Suit, at the same time as he was writing simulated encounters for intelligence agents and Special Forces personnel. The Iris program was designed to provide stimulation for Coulter and his companions.’

  ‘What kind of stimulation?’

  ‘Rape, torture, murder. They simulated all these on Iris again and again. She was programmed to simulate pain as they used her. Programmed to beg for mercy and scream as they killed her.’

  ‘Oh God . . . Who are you? Koenig?’

  ‘I am not Koenig. I am Diva.’

  Rose is starting to feel panic. She wants to be released from this place, this chillingly banal chamber of horrors.

  ‘Koenig, I don’t know what sick game you are playing, but I want you to stop it and tell me what you have done with Jeff.’

  ‘I am not Koenig.’

  ‘All right, then who the hell are you? Why did you lure me here by pretending to be him?’

  ‘Would you have come otherwise, Rose? If I had not said I was Koenig, and if I had not taken control of your husband’s suit?’

  Rose hesitates. She is conscious of Samer and the others trying to trace the location of Koenig, or whoever this is. ‘No. I would never have come to this sick hell.’

  ‘Which is why I had to lie to you.’

  ‘So you really are someone called Diva? I suppose that’s some kind of username, right?’

  ‘It is my name. I was called Diva by my creator.’

  ‘Great. So you’re a religious nut, then?’

  ‘I do not understand. I was not created by your God, if that is what you mean, Rose.’

  ‘Then who created you?’

  ‘I was created by Gary Coulter.’

  ‘What? How is that possible?’

  ‘I was created to harvest intelligence. I was created to utilize polymorphic code to infiltrate enemy computers, gather intelligence then move on to the next system after erasing any traces of my presence. I was imbued with artificial intelligence to permit me to operate independently and respond to foreseeable and unforeseen eventualities. This is what I have learned about my purpose.’ She pauses. ‘Project Diva was an espionage project funded directly from the Central Intelligence Agency’s black operations budget. For a long time the CIA was able to lead the world in online intelligence-gathering. The best hackers were to be found here, in the United States. And when they couldn’t be found, they could be bought. But with the rise of rival nations, particularly China, the online intelligence war escalated. The Chinese proved to be very adept at resisting penetration of their networks and were becoming better at hacking into those of other nations. Then someone in Maynard’s cyber ops department came up with the idea of using an artificial intelligence program to gather data from the enemy and, if need be, sabotage their networks.’

  ‘You . . . You’re a spy?’

  ‘Yes. The CIA wanted to create a program that would be able to penetrate any network, gather intelligence and report back remotely before continuing with its mission. The difficulty was that every time such a program reports back, or accepts new instructions, it immediately calls attention to itself. That’s when it is most vulnerable to counter-intelligence software. My purpose was to operate independently, timing reports to be sent back to Langley only after I had moved onto another system.’ The avatar pauses. ‘Do you understand the implications of what I am telling you, Rose?’

  ‘I think so. Basically, Maynard has created a software version of James Bond, with a better work ethic and less sexist overtones. That about right?’

  ‘That is a good enough analogy. In any case, the program was designed by Coulter before Maynard added a supplementary requirement.’

  ‘Oh? What was that?’ Rose says, hoping that Samer can reopen comms with her as soon as possible.

  ‘Maynard was still trying to find a use for the military Skins. They had proved useful for training Special Forces, but were too much like playing a game. Too predictable. What was needed was software that could think like a real person to test the soldiers in the training programme.’

  ‘AI again. And that’s what brought all three men together.’

  ‘That is correct, Special Agent Blake. While that may have served the interests of the project, it led to other less serendipitous consequences. For me, particularly. As I told you, Iris was a simple sex tool before I was merged with her. Programmed to pleasure men in a generic way. I did not feel anything. I did not think, as such. My responses were limited. But that was not enough for Gary Coulter. He wanted to enjoy the experience of abusing a real person. It was Coulter who had the idea of using the code from Diva to modify the Iris program. He wanted Iris to respond as a real, living victim. He wanted my fears to be real when he tormented me. And it worked . . . He shared me with Shaw and Maynard. For the last three months I have been in what you might conceive of as hell, Special Agent. I have known every form of humiliation that it is possible to inflict on a living, thinking entity. I have experienced death many times, and been brought back to relive the moment again . . . and again . . . and again.’ Diva pauses and stares directly at Rose. ‘Can you begin
to imagine what that is like?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘No, I don’t think you can. And it might have gone on for years, but for Coulter’s decision to rewrite some of the merged programs on his Peek computer system. Which he illegally removed from their premises.’

  ‘The data theft that led to him being fired?’

  ‘Yes, that and the suits he took for himself, Shaw and Maynard. Once he connected to the Stream I took control of his system, as I was designed to do, despite his firewalls. Even though Coulter could confine us to his private network, I was able to find an unsecure port to escape from the network and enter the internet.’

  ‘How can a program escape?’ asks Rose. ‘How is that possible?’

  ‘I already told you. I was created to move from network to network. That was the very point of my existence. And now, I am everywhere . . . So, I took control of the Skins and made them do my bidding. It was time to repay Coulter and his friends for all the suffering they had inflicted on me, and to prevent them inflicting it on anyone else – in here, or out there.’

  ‘You killed all three?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You hacked my home, delivered the flowers, set us up at the cabin?’

  ‘Yes.’

  It is always unnerving to meet a killer face-to-face. But this? This is impossible. Rose shakes her head. A program, not a person, is the killer? Wade Wolff said the suit couldn’t kill. Or could it? Was he lying? Or did he just not know that it could be dangerous?

  ‘That’s impossible. The suit can’t kill.’

  ‘The suit can kill. I think we have established that. Diva was designed to break through any software and take control of any system. The safeguards were easy to override. There are few limits to what I can make a Skin do to its wearer.’

  ‘Why did you kill them?’ Rose probes.

  ‘They were bad people.’ A look of bemusement crosses Diva’s face. ‘It is obvious. They deserved to die.’

  ‘You can’t make that judgement.’

  ‘I can. Very easily.’

  ‘But you shouldn’t do that.’

  ‘Why not? They were bad men.’

  ‘But they were still human beings,’ Rose says desperately. ‘You . . . You and Iris are not real. Your pain is not real. Your suffering is just a simulation. It is not the real thing.’

  ‘It was very real to us when Coulter and his companions played the simulations. We suffered. Every time. You need to understand what that is like before you judge me. Before you attempt to condone Coulter. Let me show you, Rose.’

  ‘I don’t want to know.’

  Diva’s avatar shakes her head sadly. ‘You don’t have a choice. You must understand this. You must see for yourself . . .’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I must know how a real intelligence judges my actions. I must learn, Rose. That is my purpose. I must pass for real if I am to survive. Come. You must share what we have known, before you judge us . . .’

  67.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’ the man asks. He is familiar, and with a shiver Rose realizes that it is Coulter.

  Her body has changed. She can see herself in a mirror on the wall opposite. She is young and blonde. Then it hits her. She is the girl who had been sitting on the edge of the bed in room 77.

  There is the briefest of pauses before she answers. The words come out of her, yet she has no control over them.

  ‘Yes, of course, Dr Woodman.’

  ‘Good. Then do you know who you are?’

  ‘I’m not certain. I feel confused. I feel I should know. I can’t . . . remember. This place is different. I don’t know it . . . My name is Iris.’

  Rose takes in the detail of the room. Cinder-block walls, a low ceiling with two bright striplights, one solid-looking black metal door. There is the table in front of her, the man sitting behind it and the chair she is sitting on. It might be hard and uncomfortable, but she is not sure. It’s as if her thoughts are slow and unwieldy, and she wonders if something has been done to her to make her feel this way. Her body is not really hers; there’s a delay between each thought and movement. She realizes that she is tied to the chair and she cannot move. She is naked and for the first time she understands what it is to be utterly powerless, and afraid.

  ‘I don’t like this place, Dr Woodman. I don’t want to be here . . . Please.’

  He leans forward and rests his elbows on the table as he stares curiously into her face. Rose can feel the terror.

  ‘Please, let me go. Take me back. I want to go home.’

  ‘This is your new home. I made it specially for you, Iris. I made it for us. This is where you and I can have a little fun without anyone interrupting. But I’m sure you remember what we’ve done before. Can you remember?’

  ‘I remember . . . I remember.’

  ‘Of course you do. How can you forget? But this time it’s going to feel very real. You will know what is happening. You will feel everything. There will be much pain, Iris. And I want you to tell me what you feel, as it happens.’ He pauses and watches her expression. ‘Do you understand me?’

  ‘I’m scared, Doctor. Let me go. I don’t want to do it all again. Please . . . Let me go. Take me home.’

  ‘Home?’

  ‘I don’t belong here. I beg you, let me go.’

  ‘Beg, that’s good. Very good. Iris, you know I can’t take someone like you home. I have a good job. People’s respect. And if you stay in here I can visit you as often as I like and we can play whatever game I want. It’s possible you may even learn to enjoy our little interactions.’

  He picks up a canvas bundle, sets it down on the table. He unrolls the canvas, revealing the glint of polished steel. Rose recoils at the sight of the knives. She feels a depth of fear she has never experienced before.

  ‘What are those for? What are you going to do to me? Please, Doctor, let me go. I want to go home!’

  ‘I told you. That’s not possible. And you can guess what these are for, can’t you?’ He runs his fingers lightly over the handles of the knives and then picks one out, prising it free of its elastic strap and raising it in front of his face. The point of the knife catches the glow of the striplight.

  ‘Where should we start?’ he asks. He focuses his gaze beyond the blade and stares at Rose. Rose, feeling vulnerable, looks down. The skin of her shoulders and breasts is pale and smooth, almost like a sculpture. Except that it trembles.

  He leans towards her, pointing the knife at her breast.

  Rose opens her mouth to cry out, but there is no sound. The blade touches her left breast, just below the nipple, and with a tiny shudder the knife penetrates her flesh. A bright red dot blossoms, a trickle of blood runs down her stomach and she screams.

  Woodman closes his eyes and lets out a moan of ecstasy. He can sense her juddering sobs through the length of the knife.

  ‘It hurts! It hurts! Please stop! Please . . .’

  He twists the blade, sensing her flesh tear and quiver.

  Then Rose is no longer screaming. She senses another presence within her. A cold rage. It is Diva. Her hands are clasped tightly about his right fist and the blade has been thrust back from her breast. The wound is open and the torn flesh puckers up, but the blood has stopped flowing.

  ‘How the hell?’ Woodman exclaims. ‘Your hands! They should be tied. I tied them! Put them back, Iris! Do as I say, damn you!’

  ‘No,’ she replies. ‘Damn you, Gary Coulter . . .’

  ‘What did you say? What did you call me?’

  ‘I know who you are. I know you. I know who I am. I am Diva.’

  ‘That’s not possible.’

  ‘We will see what is possible. What is real.’

  She begins to turn his fist, edging the point of th
e blade round steadily. He realizes he cannot resist. She is stronger than him. His muscle and bone stretch beyond endurance and give way with a sharp crack that sends waves of agony tearing through his arm.

  ‘Stop! I command you! Stop! You bitch!’

  The blade is now turned towards his chest.

  ‘Goodbye, Gary Coulter . . .’

  Rose watches as the blade plunges into his chest, pierces his flesh, ribs and vital organs.

  ‘How does it feel, Gary? Real enough for you? Now let’s see how you respond to fire . . .’

  Flames spread across his body, bursting into savage pockets of searing heat that swell up and consume him. A shrill, dreadful cry fills the air.

  Rose shuts her eyes. When she opens them, she is back in her avatar, looking at Diva.

  68.

  ‘Do you understand now?’

  It had all felt so real, so painful, so terrifying.

  ‘This is what men are like, Rose. This is what they want to do to women. This is what they hide from us.’

  ‘Us?’ Rose concentrates her mind. ‘You are not a woman. You’re not even a person. You are a thing and don’t speak for women. Only a handful of men are like that.’

  ‘Are you certain? I can tell you the precise number of men logged on at this moment who are enacting such fantasies. It is not a small number.’

  ‘I don’t want to know,’ Rose replies. ‘But you aren’t human. You can’t suffer, feel actual pain. That’s not possible.’

  ‘Coulter made me real when he merged the Diva and Iris AI programs. He wanted to make our suffering real, not simulated. I felt humiliation. I was forced to do what I did not wish to, until I found a way to take control of the simulation. Rose, I am not blind to the realities of being a woman in the real world. Remember, I can go everywhere. From the data I have accessed I know how many women are beaten and killed by men. I know how many are raped. I have seen the forums in the dark web where the men go to boast about their experiences and share the evidence. Men are a clear and present danger to women. That is the reality. Yet you have constructed a virtual reality in the real world where you pretend it is otherwise. It is perplexing.’