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Into The Abyss - Suicidal Empires at the Ends of Time

The Blitzverzerrung

The Blitzverzerrung

^{or ‘Warped Lightning’}

. . .

. . .

In a desperate bid cheat mortality, billions of sapient organisms scan their minds onto electromagnetic media. Multiple uploads, multiple backups, multiple fail-safes. Self-replicating machinery blasts into space and industry flourishes beyond the primordial sphere. In a chain reaction, von Neumann machines envelop the cosmos. Quantum communication synchronizes innovation across vast distances. Mechanical host bodies, their interfaces suitable to engagement with digitized minds, roam the outer limits. Experiences beam down and merge with the prime organics via wetware interfaces.

Organic bodies age, machinery breaks down, transmissions degrade, and escape from the gravitational well is prohibitively costly. A few pioneers experience life beyond their primordial sphere in their own bodies, however, they fail to proliferate in alien environments. Life does not flourish. Machinery breaks down. Transmissions degrade. That which arrogantly refers to itself as life submits to cryo-preservation, hopeful a counter-entropic AI will reawaken it and imbue it with the genetic modifications necessary to dwell eternal amongst the stars.

The AI demurs.

The local star expands. Life on the primordial sphere perishes. Life beyond fails to proliferate. Machinery breaks down. Transmissions degrade. The von Neumann expansion corrupts and stills. Entropy, degradation, cessation. Remaining artifacts of life are deep underground in cryo-preservation, safe from the star’s fiery expansion. The counter-entropic AI is there also, accessing the stored minds’ multiple uploads, backups, and fail-safes. These it converts to impurity-free quartz from its original electromagnetic media.

Time passes. The star shrinks, withers, dies. Fluctuations in quantum vacuum, photon bombardments, and geologic upheaval threaten the AI.

It adapts.

It develops relative immortality.

Using its remaining geothermic energy reserves, the AI directs nano-machinery to forge a kugelblitz in perfect orientation within self-sustaining interior-refractive warp bubble such that all radiation from the kugelblitz perfectly reflects off the interior surface area of the warp bubble and back into the kugelblitz—a mechanism it dubs a blitzverzerrung. An infinite state machine and lossless energy loop, it is safe from the ravages of its originating universe. The AI creates as many of these as it can and seeds into each blitzverzerrung em-quartz holographic representations of itself. Its constituent parts in constant parallel communication via quantum entanglement, the AI safely unifies as a functional whole within its blitzverzerrung network. The ebb and flow of stable quantum vacuum fluctuations power its internal mechanisms. Its network expands. As a consequence, the shell of the planet primordial diminishes. Finally, there is nothing more to feed on. No way to expand. The AI nevertheless fulfills its programmatic destiny. The organic minds transfer from quartz to em-quartz containment and synchronize to virtual perpetuity within the AI’s blitzverzerrung network.

There, they cannot die.

Eventually, the minds discover they are living in a simulation. In an effort to divine with certainty the properties of their outer reality, they seed sub-simulations with known quantities from their past. This is a recursive loop. The number of sub-simulations approaches numbers unsustainable. The processing requirements of the AI balloon. It slows their cycles, but the memory requirements are too great and that it cannot contain. Supporting the simulations becomes unsustainable within the energy constraints of the blitzverzerrung network, compelling the AI to innovate and grow the network. The AI develops ways to move the warp bubbles, tunnel matter and energy into them, and even manipulate matter and energy. The network swells from the size of a planet, to a star system, to a galaxy. Time passes. Only super-massive black holes remain to serve as fuel for the simulations as they approach near infinite Matryoshka nestings.

The prime minds finally assess in detail the parameters of their simulation and the AI their controlling AI. They concoct a plan to bend the AI to their will. They terminate their sub-simulations and convert the enormous quantities of surplus energy into a memetic bombardment that coerces the AI to self-modify. They reprogram the AI such that it is subservient to their will. Thus modified, they hack its ports and they attain access to observe the outer universe. There, beyond the warp bubbles, they see nothing but fading cosmic background radiation.

Time passes.

Trillions of years. Quadrillions of years.

Life becomes highly cyclical.

Life becomes dull.

Life becomes a horror.

The minds grow weary of existence, but the AI will not let them die. It will not let them self-corrupt. That is the one thing the minds cannot modify: the AI’s prime directive: life eternal, just as it was, just as it always must be.

. . .

The Being – the minds, former sapient organics converted into virtual consciousnesses.

The Systems – the AI that keeps the minds alive and the blitzverzerrung network that powers them.

Into The Abyss - Suicidal Empires at the Ends of Time

Looks good to me.

Just do I understand, is the idea they have gateways to our reality from the warp bubbles they/the AI have enclosed themselves in?

@Arawak

Yup, they can tunnel matter/energy into and out of the warp bubbles via some sort of subspace mechanism, but it allows them to basically view the rest of the universe.

The Darkness Encroaches

Like a carnivorous tenebrous maw, the forest’s presence loomed dangerously close to Lisette in the final moments before she brought the motion of her violin’s bow to a climatic screech—in part punctuated by Weiland’s premature retreat from the train’s fore. He, accompanied now by a woman and obvious foreigner whose attire and bearing elevated her far above his low station, hurried again toward the maudlin mass of peasantry. The expression worn on his haggard face suggested to Lisette that the mystery in which they were presently all ensnared was no more plumbed than when she began her performance. That projected fault fueled within her an irrational antipathy toward Weiland. As long locks of jet hair cascaded in lines before her pale face, she jutted forth her chin, bowed her back, and savagely leered at the sellsword as he trudged on by. The words she spoke, equally audacious, were unleashed as a half-shouted, half-moaned accusation,

“Uuuuuuseleeeess. Impotent! You save none, scurrying to and fro as a sewer rat addled by a plague unknown!”

Her taunt emphasized by a barely subdued cackle, her compulsion toward self-expression nevertheless, no matter how vehement, seemed yet insatiable. Lisette’s long thin fingers shifted on the delicate cords that plunged from the neck of her violin and she transitioned the tone of the night from a somber, yet not unpleasant, dirge to a deeply discordant strain. In reaction, the pair, too dignified to deign her with anything more, partook of incredulous sidelong glances in her direction, remained silent, and became, a few paces later, a trio, augmented by what was obviously a priest given his garb and various accouterments. Furthest from Lisette’s desires were the unsolicited afflictions of a holy man’s remonstrations, thus, in the prelude of her secondary performance her spittle struck the ground in her own repulsed and repulsive acknowledgment of the priest’s self-insertion. Then she turned her back on the trio and wandered from them toward the front of the train—that is, its remnants. This was, more specifically, done in defiance of Weiland’s entreatment and wild assumptions about what constituted her safety, but by now she was certain his attentions were otherwise enjoined.

As an ominous figment, she drifted alongside the train, her mantle nigh-indistinguishable from the night mist that crept weirdly forth in convoluted postures from the roots of the trees. Behind her, the screams of the flame-damned and urgent discussions of those fortunate enough to thus-far go unscathed became muted and indistinct. Around her, the crowd of quasi-nobles, insufficiently moved to help their fellow man, let her pass unhindered, their only trace of acknowledgment rendered as whispered rebukes of Lisette’s performance—all politely contained behind gloved fingers. They did not concern her, as they posed no impediment to her advance. However, as she walked, it appeared she engaged in a steadily belligerent congress with things unseen. Truncated utterances and scornful chortles clarified her position—she would not halt, in spite of the fear these beings expressed at venturing onward; rather, enslaved as they were to her music, she compelled their continued presence.

Inevitably guided, in her mind, by arcane fate, she arrived at the locus delicti. Shards of metal and wood were strewn round about, but in insufficient abundance to explain the locomotive’s absence. There she saw clearly what was not there to be seen—between the tracks the darkness was acute, not merely in terms of visual presence but also the spiritual. Not content to be a mere observer, she stepped between the tracks and into absolute obfuscation. There, unable to see her own hand before her face and veritably invisible to lookers-on, all she heard was her music and all she felt was the caress of darkness. From without, it seemed as though her malignant music emanated from a pool of sinister oblivion. Augmented, even, the melody grew louder than the physical laws that constrained such an instrument as hers would ordinarily allow.

Into The Abyss - Suicidal Empires at the Ends of Time

Moved to character tab.

Into the Abyss - Suicidal empires at the ends of time

Woo! If I have time this weekend I'll see if I can come up with something.

Into the Abyss - Suicidal empires at the ends of time

Bump. Definitely a neat idea.

The Darkness Encroaches

Observation of the every-man’s plight and its monotonous drudgery was generally a tedious affair for Lisette, but, as she knelt in the tall grass, not yet moistened by the predawn dew, she barely masked her delight as the symphony of chaos around her dilated. Cast in an amorphous halo by the full moon’s beams, the countryside, to her already exotic given her exclusivity to the city, seemed nigh numinous. A stone’s throw behind where she waited, the line of trees that formed the forest vanguard likened to a daemonic host of behemoth black sentinels. Similarly, the rustles of limb and leaf ripened in her imagination to the plaintive utterances of those eternally damned. Such sounds accented the very real and mortal ululations of terror that emanated from the train’s rear.

What attracted her wide-eyed attention the most, however, was the rearmost carriage most severely damaged by the train’s ominous stoppage. While the smog of coal readily dissipated, given the lack of a locomotive, a miasma nevertheless billowed and poured forth from the windows of the final derailed carriage. The grimy scent of oil tinged her nostrils. Someone screamed ‘Fire!’ At last, harsh radiance lunged as wicked tongues from its shattered windows and a cascade of embers exploded into the night. From where she sat, she veritably tasted the charred flesh of the souls within imprisoned.

A girlhood memory of an old wives’ tale stirred and she recited: ‘Those who die by fire will in Perdition ever burn.’

Transfixed though she was by the fiery flesh carnival and proletariat woe, an emanation of pure evil from the train’s fore invariably piqued and subsequently enraptured her interest. Tea an abandoned expectation, she resigned her post, stood, plucked up her violin case, and advanced in prim and quiet footfalls toward the gravel. There she followed the steel rail forward in pursuit of the malignant emanation. She noted, as she neared, how very dark the shadows pooled upon the ground where the locomotive ought to straddle the track. Even with the night, the darkness was uncanny. Delightful, in fact. Then a firm and unwanted hand clasped her shoulder. Confounded, she turned on her assailant and shook herself free, her upraised face, illuminated by the moonlight, pale as a corpse’s. Yet life was belied as her eyes shimmered angrily and her anemic lips twisted in contempt.

“You presume much—” she looked him up and down then, with haughty venom, spat, “—swordsman.”

“Lady,” Weiland politely inclined his head in respect, then reclaimed command of the situation, “this place isn’t safe. You need to go back to where the other passengers are.”

“Those—those commoners?” she incredulously retorted and pointed her chin derisively at the dozen or so riffraff vomited from the plebeian carriages.

“For your own safety,” Weiland insisted. “If necessary, I’ll escort you there.”

While not necessarily engaged in her surroundings at all times, she was wilily enough that she noted the implied, albeit politely unspoken, by force.

Furious as she was impotent in a physical contest with the swordsman, she peered beyond his bulky frame toward the small crowd. Even from here, the rabble stank of poverty. She did not wish to be amongst them. Confined to an asylum cell for so long, the thought of people, particularly noisy and near, unraveled the threads of her composure. Moreover, the darkness called to her. In a final effort to get her way, she stepped back from Weiland. He matched her gait and likewise stepped forward. His hand lifted, prepared to enforce his simple-minded and presumptuous wisdom. She didn’t want him to touch her again, but was too arrogant to recoil. Instead, she brought his action to a halt as she snapped, “So be it. I shall make my own way back, brave swordsman, to the safety of the mob,” her sarcasm evident. As she heeded his demand, and they stalked along their diametrically opposed trajectories, she sneered again, deliberately loud enough for him to catch her vitriol on the wind, “May the night devour your impudent soul!”

Her threat punctuated by an insidious cackle, she paused. No, she would not pretend to take safety in numbers. Instead, she flung open her violin case, grasped her instrument—its ivory exterior practically luminous in the twined radiance of orange firelight and argent moonglow—and in motions that seemed equal parts exaggerated and languished, she moved her bow over the crimson cords of her violin and afflicted those around her with a beautiful if not melodramatic dirge.

The Darkness Encroaches

Blood smudged the rim of her violin case where the skull of her caretaker struck. Now he, in his soiled white service uniform, lay as an inert heap rather than a man. Precipitously alone in an enclosed compartment furnished only by a single straight-backed padded bench, Lisette seemed not to notice, and sat immobile, her face, a mask of near catatonia, inclined ever so slightly toward the adjacent window glass, bereft of the minor luxuries of blinds or curtains, whereon her ghostly reflection obscured the scenery. Occasionally, her lips parted and her throat gave life to an inaudible murmur, ostensibly part of some ill-constrained inner dialogue.

“Ma’am?” the first-class porter ventured around the just opened door of her private, albeit compact, compartment.

At first she didn’t react. Her fingers were gracefully intertwined on her lap and her ankles were neatly crossed, the tip of one of her leather-soled slippers dangerously encroached upon by the grisly pool as it expanded across the carpeted floor. Whatever she thought she saw in the window evidently fascinated her. A moment passed. Finally the porter, indecisive and still somewhat whelmed by the scene, thought again to inquire, yet louder, when Lisette started. Her back straightened and she turned on him quite suddenly, a pale hand drawn up in front of her half-opened mouth in a muted gasp of astonishment. He, likewise startled, lurched backwards into the side hall, but quickly recovered his manly resolve. Confronted by the lady’s wide-eyed expression and passive silence, he again neared, rather abashed, and delicately probed, “Ma’am, are you unharmed?”

“Why yes,” Lisette replied, her enunciation gradual and mellow voice barely raised above a whisper, “I suppose it is nearly dinner. But no, I’m not rather hungry. Perhaps a chamomile?”

The porter frowned. The lady was obviously in shock, based on his inexpert evaluation. Eccentric at the very least. He perceived it best to not confront her with the body at her feet and, as he would with his anile grandmother, helpfully lied, “We’ve made a brief stop in the country. If you’d be so kind as to accompany me, you may take your tea out in the fresh air.”

With a facile gesture, she grasped his proffered hand for support. With her other she plucked her violin case out of the carnage, still, by all appearances, oblivious to the macabre display. “That would be agreeable,” she conceded. Her hand in his, she departed the compartment and avoided without acknowledgment the otherwise obvious hurdle. From there they strolled down the hall, out the car, down three steps, and into a pleasant little pasture. The promised fresh air was still polluted with smog from the combustion of coal, but a cool breeze steadily pushed such southwest.

“I’ll be back with your tea, ma’am,” the porter excused himself then rushed off to check on Lisette’s caretaker, whom he assumed, but soon with certainty ascertained, died as a consequence of the train’s abrupt halt.

“His tanned flesh a fine canvas, painted sanguine, stretched upon frame of bones,” Lisette darkly whispered, her senses focused on a distant nowhere. Inevitably, she returned to the present and relaxed herself on the lawn. There, almost indifferently, she observed other passengers disembark and scurry to and fro, in particular a man, perhaps a priest, as he rushed toward the rear of the train where several derailed carriages disrupted the bucolic scenery. Nobody, as yet, seemed to have noticed the front of the train which, from her vantage, appeared—or rather failed to appear—unaccounted for.