by P A Wikoff
“The G.P.S. says you’re still heading in the wrong direction. What is with you guys? So unprofessional,” Mr. Boyle said, shaking his head.
I manually turned the wheel in a south by southwest direction. “How about now?” That was dumb. Why did I say that? But what other choice did I have?”
“Do you even know where you’re going? I’m giving you a one-star review, Just Jim.”
It wasn’t Just Jim, it was just Jim, but I didn’t have the fight in me. Not with more pressing matters to attend to.
The comments were getting even more suspicious than before. Someone was spamming a jailhouse emoji followed by a noose. I didn’t want to die in prison. Then the noose changed into an eggplant. I didn’t want that in prison, either.
“If you don’t change direction right now, I’m going to get you blacklisted and fired.”
What to do, what to do, what to do? This wasn’t my best plan, but it just happened. I pressed the open-door button and jumped out of the car. Hey, the button worked this time.
I didn’t get very far on foot, though not for a lack of trying. Once the APB was out to get me, it was only a matter of minutes. The problem with modern day is that computers now write code for humans, not the other way around, and sometimes things get a little confused. All I did was borrow a car. I didn’t even break a window to get inside. So, you can imagine my surprise when I was stopped by about a dozen patrol robots, three armored tank-like vehicles, and two helicopter drones armed with laser missiles. All of which had their array of weapons trained on me. The task force of machines was operated by a single A.I. computer, one that could glitch out or crash every now and again. It was too much, beyond overkill. It seemed more like a task force you would use in a sand-box video game during a murder mayhem mission, not something in real life. But there I was, curled up in a ball, hoping that one of the laser missiles didn’t malfunction and go off accidentally. The only thing I was grateful for was that I didn’t have to pee.
Chapter Six
Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney
M y arrest made it all over the news feeds and went viral instantly. Skywalker Boyle did many interviews flaming my character, and his followers more than tripled in size.
Restrictions to my online communication forbade me from commenting on any threads discussing the case. I had to just watch from my jail cell while every bit of speculation surfaced about me and my morality.
Feeds around town were always constantly recording, but if no one ever reported a crime or anything nefarious, the footage would simply go into the backup server to rot. Once word of my crime got out, all kinds of footage of me surfaced. It was bad, and the media only made it worse.
Memes were calling me “Just Suicide Jim,” because they couldn’t see any other reason for my reckless behavior. That couldn’t have been farther from the truth, however. I didn’t want to die. I had wanted to experience life, real life.
People started riding exact duplicates of my Sky bike after a video of me “attempting suicide” surfaced. To some, my near-death experience “looked fun” and “something I’d like to try sometime.” It wasn’t long before my record was beaten, though I hadn’t even had a chance to tell anyone I made it.
People were going outside more, just to see the scrapes my Sky bike had made all the way from the crash site to the postal warehouse.
Like it or not, I was famous but not in a good way—in a down vote, poking-fun-at-you sort of way. I should have been excited, but this wasn’t the kind of attention I wanted, to be memed and mocked. I did have some genuine fanboys who defended and supported me, but they were few and far between.
As much as I despised it, my fans wore my likeness as an avatar for their AVSX10 digi-suits. Even the artist who had painted my face mask for me made a whole line of stuff for my “fandom.” Everyone was winning over this except me.
I guess the only silver lining was that people were getting out more. But while they were exploring their freedom, I was locked away for a solid month awaiting trial.
***
It felt like the longest month of my life. There was nothing to do but wait and watch the media frenzy surrounding my case. It was as if I were the first bit of non-online news to spike any interest, ever.
Luckily, today was my long-awaited trial and hopefully the end of my incarceration. Of course, it was slated to be broadcast on several different live streams. My face was already being plastered everywhere to promote the “event of the year.” As much as I already hated unwanted advertising and pop-up promotions in general, it was much worse when you saw your own likeness trying to sell you on something you would rather forget. No matter the algorithm, the system always knew that this case was most relevant to me and prioritized it over any other ad that I might have normally seen. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what they got out of advertising to me. I mean, I couldn’t miss the ordeal, even if I wanted to.
Maybe the stupid system thought I was a huge fan of myself because I wore my own face all the time, mistaking it for the digi-suit version. I really wished I knew how these things worked so that I could defeat them.
The circular walls of my cell were curved screens painted on moldable gel. They displayed rounded metal bars all around me. The gel-tech screens actually pushed out bar-shaped textures so that I could physically touch them. They felt like real metal that I could almost wrap my fingers around, and that was just horrifying. It was another layer in making me literally feel like a caged animal.
My jail cell didn’t have much in it, only a toilet under my loft-style bed, and at the opposite end there was a desk and console setup for me to use.
If I really was Just Suicide Jim, I already figured out exactly thirteen ways I could end myself using the three objects in my room—loft bed, toilet, and desk. But that was only because I had nothing else better to think about, not because I wanted to do it.
Eager to get this over with, I logged into the trial server five minutes early. The screens surrounding me changed from embossed bars into a digital courtroom scene. I could see the gel backing change to one that was more concave, giving off the illusion that it was an open room. Even though they were only screens, it felt much more spacious than the confinement of the previous jail bars.
It felt like my whole body was inside a giant virtual reality helmet. It appeared as though I was really in the courtroom at a desk with the same console that I had in my jail cell.
I turned around to try and spot my bed and pisser, but they were gone. I mean, I knew they were still there, but being painted with liquid screens, they completely vanished from view, like if you were wearing green against a green screen.
The digital representation of a courtroom was pretty good. It looked exactly like what you would expect from an old movie or binge-able series, except instead of seats for an audience to attend, there was a huge floor-to-ceiling screen with a fast-scrolling chat room that mirrored the screen on my console. The members in the chat were exceeding one million five and still climbing rapidly.
As real as they tried to make the room, I knew it was fake. Something about it just felt too crisp, too digital. I could almost feel the soulless ones and zeros surrounding me.
The only real entity in the court, besides myself of course, was a robot clerk. I knew this was their job based on the plaque on their desk next to the witness stand. They were busy moving documents around, among other basic tasks. It was strange that they didn’t just have a digital program to fill this employee slot, but I guess they needed someone real—well, real enough to do busy work.
Whereas I was logged into their digital server, the robot clerk was actually there at the server’s location. On the clerk’s desk, there was something that looked like some kind of patch bay. It had lights and plenty of buttons.
“One minute until show time,” the clerk said in its very robot-sounding voice. Unlike A.I. programs, robots and other machines took a lot of pride in being nuts and bolts and didn’t agree with tryin
g to pass as human or living. The more wheels, claws, and metal, the better.
I was told that I had been assigned a public FAQ to defend me, but I had yet to see exactly what that meant. Either way, I had to focus and stick to my strategy.
This was it. I had done my research and knew that I had to get off with time already served. This trial was nothing more than a formality that had been over-hyped to please the public. Typical click bait. A great headline with disappointing content. All I had to do was plead no contest for grand theft auto on the basis of an emergency—which it was. Commandeering tech is a slap on the wrist. Maybe I might get a small fine or community service hours, but that was about it.
Here we go.
First, each of the twelve polling machines, and two alternate machines, were connected to the servers in a randomly selected district. Similar to other drafts—fantasy sports or gaming—each polling machine tallied the consensus based on the “thumbs up” or “thumbs down” in their respective chat rooms. If you happened to be a resident of any of the winning districts, you were given the opportunity to vote on the outcome of the trial from the comfort of your residence. All you had to do was read the jury instructions, then sign the terms of service, and you were in.
I only really cared if my parents’ district had been called, which it wasn’t. After all the jury districts were chosen, an hourglass icon appeared flipping upside down and around in the judge’s chair. A moderating A.I. was going to be downloaded at random. This was speculated to be the real tipping point in the whole trial. I disagreed. Artificial Intelligence are code, and despite their name, they possess no intelligence other than what they were programmed to simulate.
“Congratulations! You’ve been assigned a moderator,” the overlaying words popped up on my screen.”
“All rise. The People Vs. Sephiroth Moore, alias: Just Jim. Other known callsigns: JSJ, United States Postal Dork, Kiosk Killer,” the robot clerk said.
At least they got one right.
“Case number GSO9928, the honorable Judge A.L.I.C.E. will be presiding,” the clerk finished.
Upon hearing her name, I hesitated to stand up completely, resting my hands on the table. Wait a minute. No. No way. Not our A.L.I.C.E? There has to be a mistake. But as soon as I saw the blonde hair that turned up at the ends and signature cat-eye glasses appear behind the judge’s podium, I knew it had to be her.
This turn of events would make this show better than any reality streamer could have written—internal struggle with a digital family member, or whatever angle they might go for. I was betting they had to create a little drama for the fans.
“Please place two fingers on your forehead for the binary oath,” the robot clerk said.
Nope. I wasn’t going to do that. Not in class, not on sporting events, and definitely not now. I quickly sat back down in my chair as they went through their rigmarole. I wasn’t protesting anything or trying to make a big deal about it. I just didn’t agree with the tradition.
When I looked at the chat window on my display, it paused the scroll long enough for me to read it, tracking with my eyes’ movement. However, every time I wasn’t looking directly at it, the volume of activity was a chaotic blur of text that just went on and on.
The chat window read, “Ooooh, what a troll!”
I was not trolling.
“JSJ killin’ himself again.”
“Good game. K.O. before it even started.”
“Would you like free star juice for life? Click here for more info!”
“What a robo racist.”
Robots are not a race.
“Not smart. I would have at least tried to pucker up.”
“Is it me, or does jj look like a pig and a monkey had a love child?”
“WoahMyGod this ^^^”
“He is going to make his own love child, in prison.”
“Lethal injection amirite?”
“Hey, Jimmyboy, why don’t you die in an avalanche.”
That’s enough.
Just more of the same stupid banter and intercloud flames. It doesn’t matter if you’re on a review site or on a forum for hats, people online all sound the same. Just insert blank name into blank scenario on how blank is going to die.
Over the past month, I didn’t care what every troll thought about me. Now was no different. Their negativity was just going to get in my head. It was already giving me a headache. I minimized the window on my screen. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get rid of the screen inside the courtroom, but luckily it was behind me.
While A.L.I.C.E. was getting sworn in, a laundry list of my charges scrolled past the marquee above the judge’s podium. “Grand theft auto, venturing outside without the proper equipment, speeding, polluting, flying in a restricted zone, littering, illegal use of fireworks, fraternizing with infected wildlife, reckless hovering, crash and run, illegal parking, lying, tampering, impersonating a postal drone, divulging personal information over a live stream, urinating in public, and hacking.
“Wait, what? Those are my charges? I swear, I was only borrow-…” I kept talking, but they somehow muted my voice, even from myself. I wanted to tell them it was all a misunderstanding, a hoax, but I couldn’t. I was censored, silenced, and dehumanized.
While preparing for today, I had only looked up the grand theft auto charge. I had no idea they were going to throw the ebook at me. My once hopeful outcome had turned grim. They were going to attempt to get me for the maximum sentencing, and I didn’t know what to do about it.
“Order in the court. The defendant doesn’t have the floor,” A.L.I.C.E. spoke from the judge’s podium without looking directly at me. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I said, hearing my own voice again. I couldn’t wrap my head around how she could have been picked over all the millions of A.I.s around the world. There was no way to figure out the odds, but it had to be a longshot and more than coincidence. Could my parents somehow be involved? Maybe it isn’t that bad after all.
“Good morning, Seph. I will be observing your trial today. Even though I am but a simple A.I., be assured that I have downloaded all the necessary laws pertinent to your case, and I will judge you fairly and accordingly.
She called me Seph. I’m screwed.
“How do you plead to the charges the people have brought against you?” the words flashed on my display with two buttons, a green one that said “not guilty” and a red one that said “guilty.”
For a moment I looked at all the claims and pondered how to proceed. How did they get all this information about me?
I swiped and scrolled around on my console, looking for a text box. This situation wasn’t as simple as a “yes” or “no” answer. I needed a moment to finally speak for myself and set the record straight.
After a bit of tooling around, I couldn’t find what I was looking for, because it didn’t exist. However, I did find something else that might be just as useful to me, if not more. With a press of a button, I called for my FAQ lawyer.
The screens around me all went black. It felt as if I was plucked out of the room and dropped into something akin to an interrogation room. The desk in front of me was the same, but everything else was stripped away, leaving a single light shining from the ceiling. This must be them giving us the privacy of attorney/client privilege.
“Hello?” My voice had an echo to it here.
“Yes, client. Welcome to the sidebar. How may I be of assistance to you?” The light above blinked on every syllable, as if it was the one talking.
“I would like to plead not guilty to some claims and guilty to others. How would I go about doing that? I looked for a custom field but couldn’t find one.”
“I am sorry. I don’t understand your request. Are you saying you’re guilty for all the crimes listed, but you are somehow unable to reach the guilty button?” the light flashed out a response.
“No. I can reach the button, but I only want to plead guilty to some of the claims, not all of them.
“Due to the substantial evidence against you, I wouldn’t recommend pleading not guilty.
“But I’m not guilty. Not completely.”
“Okay. Is that your final answer, not guilty?”
“No! I didn’t say that.”
“I am so sorry to inform you, but the results from your mental analysis came back negative, which excludes you from the ‘reason of insanity’ option on your menu. You have to either plead guilty, or not guilty. Please make your choice.”
I rubbed my forehead, trying to recover from all the flashy, flashy.
“Look, people of the jury, I didn’t actually give away any personal information on Skywalker Boyle. That is a misconception. However, I did steal…” I took a beat, “…borrow the hover car, that and…all those other bits are a little true. Well…mostly true. What should I do?”
“Here is a list of your crimes. Click on the thumbs up icon next to the crimes you are guilty of, and click the thumbs down icon next to the ones you feel you are not guilty of.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Finally, I was getting somewhere.
A window on my console popped up. I went through each of the items one by one and replayed each incident in my head before making my decision. After I was done, everything except doxing Mr. Boyle had a thumbs up. Reluctantly, I went back and changed my answer for grand theft auto, making it also thumbs down, because, technically, I was borrowing it.
“There, done,” I said, feeling a pang of optimism in my choices.
“Thank you. Based on your survey, you are 88.24% guilty, and 11.76% not guilty. Would you like to plead guilty to all crimes now?”
“What? That’s all that was, a stupid indecision survey?”
