Chapter 1 of 7: Accidental Discovery
“Rahish! Come over!” Serge’s voice, usually as calm as the quiet before a storm, quivered with panicked excitement.
Serge, the typical developer, stood in sharp contrast to his surroundings. Of average height, he sported an extra layer of security mass around his belly, a testament to long hours at the desk. His dark hair was tousled, barely tamed into a semblance of a beard, and his eyes bore the double-sized shadows of countless late nights. His features were average, set off by naturally tan skin.
In stark contrast, Rahish was a sight to behold. Towering over most, his presence was marked by a well-groomed appearance, with green eyes that stood out against his dark skin and ebony black hair. His flawless complexion and attire screamed Wall Street rather than an underwhelming development company.
“Look at this,” he said, twitching in his chair and pointing at one of his four monitors. The screen flickered with a digital pattern, computer code, and a simulated output.
Serge smirked, planning to tease Rahish mercilessly. But as Rahish’s eyes followed his coworker's finger to the screen, his freshly made coffee mug slipped from his grasp, crashing to the floor. His eyes widened in disbelief.
The office fell silent, all eyes turning toward the commotion. Other developers gathered around Rahish and Serge, who stared blankly at the ever-changing code on the screen – a kaleidoscope of realities, timelines, and oddities shimmering in and out of existence. The date on the app fluctuated wildly with each passing image.
The small software company, Cycles.ai, had been developing a predictive AI algorithm for natural and societal cyclical events, spiced with theoretical physics and temporal science. Now, a single line of code, flawed or flawlessly executed, had taken on a life of its own.
James, the supervisor, wove his way through the crowd, a skeptical frown creasing his face. The smallest person in the entire office, James's stature was offset by a well-fed physique. He dressed uniformly in cheap, striped, double-lined shirts and jeans that seemed to scream 'I am like you' in a pointed effort to blend in. His blue eyes, ash-blond hair, and meticulously maintained three-day beard rounded out his otherwise round appearance, embodying the typical manager archetype.
“Very funny, Serge. Delete it and back to work,” he said dismissively. “This prank's cost will come out of your paycheck. Oh, and clean up Rahish’s mess!”
Serge turned to James. Rahish, without shifting his gaze from the screen, interjected, “James, this is real. The code—it’s genuine. Let me explore it before deleting. We might have stumbled upon something more valuable than oil.” His voice was calm but firm.
James, eyeing Rahish, his star developer and unrivaled coding genius, conceded, “If you think there’s something to it, investigate. But by tomorrow, I want results, or it’s gone. And you’ll work through the weekend if it's a dead end.” His tone was unyielding.
As the crowd dispersed, Rahish pulled up a chair beside Serge. “Serge, get me the digital interface,” he said, his voice tinged with unmistakable excitement. “Let’s see if this is the real deal.”
Serge rummaged through his drawers, his movements growing more frantic with each passing second. With a grunt of frustration, he turned to Rahish and muttered an apologetic “excuse me” before opening another drawer. Who in turn rolled his eyes, the by far most expensive piece of technology was lost in someone's drawer.
His search continued, a symphony of shuffling and shifting, until his eyes lit up. “Here you are,” he murmured to himself, triumph in his tone as he retrieved the device.
It was a sophisticated piece of technology—a 3D glass with a neural plug, designed to connect to a biological interface port. This device wasn’t just a tool; it was a gateway to a new realm of coding. It allowed developers to not only see but to feel the code and its results within their minds, diving deep into the digital fabric of their creations. More than mere visualization, it offered an immersive experience, a tangible connection to the software they programmed.
“Let’s see,” Rahish echoed, taking the device from Serge’s hands with a mix of curiosity and reverence. He examined it briefly, the weight of the moment not lost on him. This wasn’t just another debugging session – they were about to venture into uncharted digital territory.
As Rahish delicately adjusted the interface, Serge's gaze remained fixed on the ever-shifting images displayed on the screen. His mind wandered, drawn into a whirlpool of possibilities that this window into time and space presented. The scope was breathtaking, almost godlike. In his mind's eye, Serge envisioned a reality where every outcome could be foreseen, influenced, redirected, or even entirely averted. The power inherent in such access was beyond comprehension.
In this vivid daydream, a person with such knowledge would be unstoppable, a puppeteer orchestrating events while remaining hidden in the shadows. To the unsuspecting world, life would continue as normal, oblivious to the manipulation stripping away the very essence of free will and choice. As these thoughts swirled in his mind, a faint, slightly sinister smile crept upon Serge’s lips. He indulged in a fantasy of absolute control, of total domination, a scenario where he reigned supreme.
Yet, in the midst of his reverie, a subtle unease tugged at the edges of his consciousness. The enormity of such power, the ethical abyss it bordered, left a haunting echo in the room. The line between breakthrough and catastrophe, it seemed, was a razor's edge.
Stefan:
Share your thoughts, what would you do, if technology gave you all access to all knowledge from across space and time? Who would you choose to be? Savior, or Shadow-manipulator …