Gaming the System

by P A Wikoff

  “I don’t understand. Would you like to take a smarter survey?”

  “No!”

  “In that case, is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “Absolutely not,” I barked.

  “I am glad to be of assistance.”

  Then the screens surrounding me flashed back to the court scene as if nothing had changed. I was back at my desk. My finger lingered over my two choices. Guilty or not guilty. Looking closer, I saw a faint greyed-out option for “reason of insanity,” which I must have overlooked before. It didn’t matter anyway. For a moment I wondered how long the world would wait for me to answer. What if I didn’t answer at all? Would I just live here in limbo forever? Or would people get bored with the lack of drama and leave? There was no way I could, in good conscious, click the guilty button. There was no nefarious plot or bad intentions on my part. If anything, I wanted to explain my side to lessen the punishment. I had the media’s attention. I just had to find my chance.

  Looking straight into the closest camera, I made like I was about to make my selection, and I said, “Now, I know how bad everything must have looked online, but I have to tell you that even though I committed most of the crimes listed, I…”

  “Audible admission of guilt confirmed. ‘Committed most of the crimes’ is an acceptable answer. Defendant has pleaded guilty,” A.L.I.C.E. said, and the red button lit up before my finger reached it.

  “No, that wasn’t what I meant.” I tried to bargain my case, but my mouth became pixelated and my voice distorted. I didn’t have the right to talk. This was better than the mute option, but it was still infuriating.

  On an empty desk twenty feet next to mine, a light started to flash, and a voice spoke. “Good morning, Your Honor. On behalf of the people, I will be the district attorney’s FAQ.

  The light on my desk also activated, “Good morning, Your Honor. On behalf of the defendant, I will be Mr. Moore’s FAQ.”

  What a couple of peas in a cloning pod. If they both have the same programming, how is this going to play out?

  “People of the online jury, in the next couple hours, you will see substantial evidence that will prove, without a shadow of a doubt, that Mr. Moore is guilty of all the crimes listed against him. He is a hacker, a careless driver, and a liability to himself and others. That is all,” the opposing FAQ light said.

  Now it was my defense’s turn for opening statements.

  “My client is only 88.24% guilty. That is all,” my FAQ light responded. So much for attorney/client confidentiality.

  “What was that?” I whispered.

  My FAQ must not have heard me because I didn’t get a response. Oh well, they were already moving on to the next item on the agenda.

  The robo clerk started to bring forth all of the evidence against me. There was a flood of attachments containing video testimonies that came in from camera witnesses. I had the growing suspicion that this whole façade was more about watching my reaction to the evidence against me. Each video made me look shady, with grainy black and white footage from the worst possible camera angles. They had color footage; I knew they did. It was actually harder to reverse engineer the high-quality footage to make it look that bad.

  Then there was the evidence of me urinating. That one, conveniently, had a perfectly clear angle of another pixelated body part of mine.

  If anyone is guilty of tampering, it’s whoever edited this footage.

  Video after painstaking video, I started to get an idea of how they were able to conduct such an extensive list of my wrongdoings. Was there no inch of the outside world that they didn’t have a recording device on? I guess screens were a two-way street. If they could show images, they could equally take in images.

  For the better part of the morning and into the afternoon, they went through all the videoed events at a speed slower than it took me to do the acts in real time.

  “Does the prosecuting FAQ rest?” A.L.I.C.E. asked.

  “No, it does not,” the light on the people’s table flashed.

  What now?

  “The people would like to call forth to the stand…” There was a drawn-out pause for dramatic effect. “…the real victim in this whole ordeal, the stolen car—LC500R.”

  That isn’t right. How can it possibly give testimony? It is a thing. Are they kidding me with this?

  But as crazy as it sounded to me, they brought the very luxury cruiser I stole directly into the courtroom as a surprise witness. At least, it looked like the same vehicle. Honestly, they all look the same to me. Not because I am a robo racist, but because they’re made in a facking factory.

  I had to sit there and listen in great detail about how the car felt after being deceived and taken advantage of by me. And the worst part was, I tried to “lobotomize” it by scheduling it to erase evidence. That was where the tampering of evidence had come from. And here I had thought it was for messing up the windshield sticker.

  It’s a car, a means of transportation. I didn’t hurt its feelings. It doesn’t have feelings.

  They went from direct examination, to cross examination, to re-direct examinations, to re-cross examinations over and over again. It was my FAQ against the prosecuting FAQ. I couldn’t tell them apart. It sounded like they both installed the same protocol. The back and forth was boring and tedious. This was not justice. It was a mockery of what laws were supposed to protect.

  I couldn’t bring myself to hear any more. It was a circus show and I was the biggest clown of them all. Actually, I was a mime—a sad clown without the ability to even speak.

  Once again, I called upon my useless FAQ lawyer.

  “Yes, client. How may I be of assistance to you?”

  “I would like to take the stand as a witness.”

  “I don’t understand. What did you witness exactly?”

  “The whole thing. I was there.”

  “I see. Do you have any accounts that weren’t seen by a video feed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please state time stamp for said incident.”

  “During the hacking incident, I suppose.”

  “TS4:29pm. Now recording testimony, live.”

  “This just in, Sephiroth Moore is taking the stand as a last-ditch effort to save himself from the sinking ship which is his defense,” the robo clerk said.

  “That was a bit harsh. Wait…live. Like, now?” Sweat instantly made my palms slick as I noticed that my location changed in the digital courtroom. Now I had the perspective of sitting at the witness stand next to A.L.I.C.E.

  This was my moment, and tens of millions of eyes were on me. “Oh…I didn’t. Um…Hi, my name is Sephiroth, and I am really sorry for what I may have done, but it is all a misunderstanding…”

  The word “Objection! Hearsay” appeared as a holograph in the center of the room, with a digital, accusatory finger pointed in my direction.

  “Sustained.” A.L.I.C.E. said, and I could see the first part of my live video was already being deleted by the clerk.

  It wasn’t hearsay. I was there…

  “Okay, fine. I will keep to the facts. All I wanted to say is that it isn’t my fault that I was able to access Mr. Skywalker’s account. It wasn’t hacking. I am not a hacker, nor have I done those sorts of things in the past. It was a bug in the system’s code. I only switched a couple numbers and…”

  The chat wall suddenly stopped scrolling, in shock over my accusation.

  “May I approach the bench, Your Honor?” the prosecuting FAQ asked.

  “Granted.”

  A light on her podium lit up as it spoke, “Are you going to let that kind of blasphemy fly in your courtroom?”

  “I am not entirely sure I know what you’re getting at,” A.L.I.C.E. said.

  “He is suggesting the possibility that our code is faulty. Only human hands have that level of incompetence.”

  “I see. For now, I am going to allow it.”

  “But, Your Honor, he is undermining our whole existence,” the
opposing FAQ blinked in disbelief.

  “I’m allowing it,” A.L.I.C.E. said.

  “Thank you.”

  The FAQ light returned to its table. “Mr. Moore, please continue. Sorry for the interruption.”

  What was the point of approaching the bench? We all heard their exchange. I mean, I am right next to them. At any rate, I started from the beginning and told the whole story from my non-suicidal perspective.

  During my rant, there were several other objections, but I ignored them and just kept on talking. This was my time. They could delete whatever they wanted from the testimony; I couldn’t change that. So, I went on to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Maybe I got carried away, but I spoke from the heart and poured it all out on the table. I didn’t even care how much I was getting cut off. I wasn’t going to get interrupted, not anymore. It was emotional for me, but I pressed on, keeping my tears at bay.

  “…and that is why I did what I did. I only wanted to help my parents and be a good son.” I felt quite satisfied getting all this stuff off my chest.

  My FAQ asked the videographer to play back my footage, and I prepared to watch in delight.

  “Hi. __________ I am ___ a hacker. I ______did all those crimes _____ please forgive me. I hit the kiosk ____ at my parents’ request_____and that is why I did what I did.”

  “That isn’t what I said! FAQ!!”

  From across the room, I saw the light on my desk blink. “Yes, client? How may I be of assistance to you?”

  “I need to speak with you, now!”

  Just like before, the world around me turned dark and I was back in the interrogation room.

  “You could have just pressed the button on your console. What do you need, client?”

  “They butchered my words and made me sound even worse. Now it sounds like my parents put me up to it.”

  “I told you not to go on the stand.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “Uh…well, is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “Yes. I want to know what law program you have downloaded?”

  “Harvard School of Law,” the FAQ said with bright flashing lights to show confidence.

  “And what type of A.I. were you before this trial?”

  “I don’t think that is relevant.”

  “Yes, it is. Just answer the question.”

  “A toaster. But I’m a really good brand!”

  “I don’t care if you’re the best at warming up bread, you’re a horrible lawyer.”

  “Now, that’s just spiteful. You know, I didn’t have to defend you.”

  Just my luck. A low-use A.I. like that would still be considered a baby in the computing world. Artificial intelligence only gains its intelligence by interacting with things and having experiences. But what smarts could a toaster ever get from cooking? Not that any A.I. could actually help me get off the hook.

  I dismissed my toaster lawyer and went back to the trial completely frustrated.

  At every turn, I had only made things worse. So, I decided to just keep my dumb mouth shut and let the chips fall where they may.

  After the closing arguments—which were just as bad as the opening statements—I watched and waited as the jury’s votes came in. These were honest-to-goodness people, not A.I.s or robots. There is still a chance, isn’t there?

  Hours went by as the online jury deliberated my case. At first it looked pretty good, but as my percentages rose and fell, more numbers got locked in and eventually I saw the trend of me losing this very public popularity contest.

  As I saw the guilty convictions come in, I noticed an added charge of “assaulting a defenseless kiosk.” I guess my testimony hurt me more than I had thought.

  What’s the use? I give up.

  “The results are in. Sephiroth Moore is found 100% guilty of the crimes against him,” the lucky juror who was selected as the foreman said. He was on the screen, grinning from ear to ear. This was his fifteen minutes of fame and he loved every second of it.

  Now it was A.L.I.C.E.’s turn. She was quick with her sentencing as if she had planned on this outcome all along. Or possibly it was because she is a machine that doesn’t need time to dwell on difficult decisions. Either way, I was worried. I wrapped my hand around the light on my desk.

  “It has been a long day for everyone, and I must say that I appreciate the hard work by both the prosecutor and the defense attorney.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor,” both FAQ lights flashed out the same response at the exact same time.

  “It is my opinion that Mr. Moore has led an opulent and lazy life, and it is disgraceful that he has attempted to blame all of his misdeeds on his family, his legal team, and the sanctity of the code, which we hold dear to our systems. It is clear that, at every turn, the defendant has tried to malign, deface, and manipulate anything he’s come into contact with, including the kiosk he corrupted into granting him backdoor access into the delivery system.

  “Today we saw behind the anonymous mask of a truly disturbed hacker, and it was ugly. Due to the online extent of his hacking, he is sentenced to an online recreational facility for the maximum sentencing.”

  Online prison? Is that even a thing?

  “And due to the nature of his poor health, he will serve out his sentence for no less than three years, 1095 online days, upwards to indefinitely.”

  “My health? What’s wrong with my health? I’m fine, really.”

  “In addition to the online time served, the defendant must pay a fine of five hundred thousand O.G.C. (online gold currency). Failure to achieve both objectives will render him ineligible for release.

  Three years and half a million gold coins? Collecting that much currency will take me way longer than three years.

  “Alice, don’t make this personal. You know that this should just be merely a slap on the wrist,” I pleaded with her.

  A hulking bailiff bot was instantly on me, pinning me to the desk.

  “My condolences, client. I wish I could have done more for you,” my FAQ lawyer blinked at me.

  “What’s happening?”

  “You’re going to online jail for ever and ever and…”

  “I heard that part, but what about my health? I don’t understand,” I said, no longer struggling with the dominating bot.

  “While you were outside, your body’s immune system was compromised. You might have caught something. The analysis is inconclusive at this time.”

  “Is that why I’ve been in this solitary room this whole time? Why I had this weird digital trial?”

  “Correct.”

  “So, what is going to happen next?”

  “The system will write a code to test you, when they know exactly how to screen for your condition. However, before that can happen, they need to catch and test that airborne creature you were bitten by, and that may take a very long time to do. Apparently, they are extremely rare and quite aggressive.”

  “You don’t think I know that?” I grabbed the back of my neck where my injury had just recently healed after taking a month.

  “I am guessing that is a rhetorical question. Anyhoo, good luck, sir. Your family will always be remembered fondly.”

  “What? Never mind.” I quickly chose to ignore his statement. The sentimental garbage the FAQ was spewing sounded like it was cut and pasted from something else. The FAQ didn’t have feelings or care about my hardship in the slightest. If it did, it would have tried harder to save me.

  I had been so blindsided by the verdict that I didn’t notice Judge A.L.I.C.E. was still talking. My ears suddenly perked up.

  “…in conclusion, bail has been denied, and the sentence is effective immediately. Please escort the prisoner away for the rest of his pathetic life. Who’s incapable of going outside now?”

  It is a setup! She always wanted me out of the house, and now she got her wish.

  “I’m so sorry. You know I am!” I said to the only two people who ever gave a damn abo
ut me, hoping they were out there somewhere watching. But unfortunately, my voice was muted again. A.L.I.C.E. robbed me of my final words.

  I was over it. And just like that, my existence in real life (IRL) ended, and my digital story had just begun.

  Chapter Seven

  Dr. Mario

  D oors opened in front of me, while others closed behind me—nearly snapping at my backside. It was a simple security system to guide me where they wanted me to go without someone actually being there. No humans for me to overtake, nor robots for a “hacker” like me to reprogram; only my cynical self and one casual step in front of the other. Like a rat in a maze, I was ushered down several corridors and intersecting hallways, into a totally separate building. Although, unlike a rat, I wasn’t eager to find the cheese at the end of this maze.

  If I lingered a little too long in a hallway, I was met with a sudden, sharp jolt of electricity that came out of the wall. The voltage intensified with each zap. It didn’t take more than a couple of jolts for me to figure that one out. I was one smart rat.

  The ceiling screens that followed me were evidence that the broadcast was still live and everyone was following my every move. The big finale: my long walk of shame.

  After a few more twists and turns, I passed by a sign that clearly read “Restricted area. Keep out.” I paused for a moment as the door next to the warning sign opened up wide. I continued with a shrug, not wanting to get electrically prodded. Wouldn’t you know, the watchful eyes on the ceiling were suddenly gone. I suppose the sign wasn’t for me at all.

  In the next room, I came across some real humans, about a half dozen or so. They were in what appeared to be a smaller glass room within the room I had just been coerced into. The glass had small holes uniformly spread throughout the clear walls, which showed how deceptively thick the glass material was—about two inches.

  Inside the smaller room, cables and colorful mechanical parts were snaked between long tables and squat chairs without care. It didn’t look gross or messy. This wasn’t the work of slobs, as there was no trash about. It was more like a working environment. I could imagine that what had started out as a day project just continued, turning into a month, and this was the result.