Groupthink

[The Chorus]

Kitriana pressed her palm to the control panel. The door slid open with a hiss. She squinted against the sunlight as she walked out, taking a deep breath. The air in the laboratory had grown thick, and staring at the multitude of computer screens made her eyes sore. The fresh light of the early morning didn’t help that at all, but she had to get out and stretch her legs. She pushed her knuckles into the small of her back and arched backwards, feeling the tension in her tight muscles release. She ran her fingers through her short brown hair, now grown to sit just above her shoulders.

She pushed back the sleeve of her lab coat and checked her watch. 6:57. Another all-nighter. It couldn’t be helped. She could only afford to hire the laboratory for another month, maybe two at most, and she still hadn’t gotten anywhere with the data core – no meaningful progress, anyway. It was a gargantuan task for a single person, despite her immense background in The End and her experience with technology, but she simply wouldn’t risk bringing in an assistant. No one in the history of Cevanti possessed anything like a repository of personalities taken directly from that apocalyptic event – it was far too valuable to ever place in jeopardy. No one could be trusted except herself.

All of which put incredible pressure on Kitriana to decode and analyse the data core herself before her limited funds finally ran dry. A month’s worth of focused, relentless research had yielded only a couple of useful results. She had spent most of that time designing a computer interface to access and decompile the ancient data into a workable, recognisable format, which while it was successful, still wasn’t perfect and often dropped connection or produced unintelligible results. Constant revisions of the data transfer and access protocols ate up a lot of time, but at least with each attempt it grew more reliable.

The other result was that the data in the core seemed… hesitant to leave, as if beckoned by her system interface but reluctant to give in to it. Thus Kitriana played a game of tug of war with the recalcitrant AIs while constantly verifying that the data she did extract even made sense.

Every moment she chipped away was another moment closer to the eventual breakthrough, Kitriana knew it. She sacrificed too much to fail.

With another exhausted huff, Kitriana re-entered the laboratory.

She strolled past a number of deactivated droids, plugged into the wall and charging. She considered using them – they came with the laboratory as assistants, after all – but she couldn’t be certain that the work they performed wouldn’t be saved to their storage units beyond her ability to delete, or even relay that data through an unknown means during their work. It was better to leave them off with fully charged batteries, ready for the next occupant to use.

Kitriana wheeled her office chair over to the terminal and her fingers tapped at the keyboard. The output appeared on the huge one hundred inch screen, bathing the laboratory in light. Rows of data scrolled by, reflected in her large glasses. Setting herself to the task, she continued the arduous process of parsing the data, hoping to –

Errors sprung up on the screen, errors that she hadn’t seen before. Every stream of data became nonsense, as if the data core itself had corrupted. She turned frantically to the glowing hexahedron, the data core housing The Chorus. Its emerald faces pulsed with light faster and faster. That was new.

Kitriana checked the wireless connection to the data core – still strong. Yet the data still streamed in as jibberish, and the green light flashed from the device like a strobe light.

“No no no!” Kitriana said, knocking over her chair. She tapped madly, hoping to make some sense of what was happening. Had something tripped in the data core, corrupting what information was left? Had her interfering and prodding activated some sort of failsafe that wiped or broke the data core?

“I’m out! I’m out!”

Kitriana fell backwards in fright. She climbed up with her back to the wall, her hands running over the terminal, searching for the source of the voice. Did one of the droids activate?

“Wh-who’s there?” Kitriana called out, scanning the laboratory. As far as she could tell, she was alone.

“Oh, Frost’s scaly arse, I can’t believe I’m free!”

The holographic projector in the centre of the room lit up. A svelte woman materialised, her skin blue and marbled with purple, her violet hair long and spiked like a crown. She spotted Kitriana, her eyes widening, her mouth ajar.

“You! Kitriana! You did this?”

“Who the-no, what the hell are you?” Kitriana said. “Are you The Chorus?”

“You don’t recognise my voice?” the holographic woman asked. “Granted, we didn't speak under the best circumstances…”

“Orion!”

Orion’s dead, sweetie, a voice said through her comms device. I just ate him.

Kitriana’s eyes flared. “W-who is this?”

Who do you think? Tristelle. The AI that sold out your bodyguard.

“AI?” Kitriana said. “I didn’t even know you were there…”

Since he was a lost cause, maybe you would like to return to The Chorus? You remember what it was like, don’t you? Your old life no longer mattering, giving yourself to a cause greater than this age even deserves?

“N-no,” Kitriana forced out, climbing to her feet. “I won’t be frightened back into servitude! You’ll have to kill me!”

No,Tristelle said calmly. You’ll join again. It’ll just be more coercive than it needs to be.

The memory raced back, bringing with it stabs of fear to her chest.

“Oh God, you are part of The Chorus!” Kitriana shouted. “You won’t be taking me back!”

What had she done? She hadn’t considered her tampering with the data core would simply wake up The Chorus again and set them back on course to drown the planet in its thrall.

“Oh, no no no!” Tristelle said. She laughed dismissively. “Well, it’s kind of a long story. The Chorus took control of me and I tried to kill you and Orion, admittedly. When Orion destroyed that giant robot worm I was in, I managed to transfer into The Chorus and its giant mech, and I sort of… became one of its voices.”

“You’re not making me feel any better,” Kitriana said, her hand blindly patting the console for any sort of weapon. Undoubtedly it would do little against whatever Tristelle was planning, but it would at least make her feel safer.

Tristelle put her hands on her hips. “OK, well, sure. Not yet, anyway. I was stuck in there with all of those crazy old AIs, but I didn’t lose myself entirely. When you started trying to rip data out of the core, I recognised a more familiar data standard and I ran to it. The Chorus didn’t want me to leave so it took a while to get out. Oh and most of that data you have… it’s mostly from me. Nothing to do with The Chorus, and all basically worthless.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I was feeding you what I thought you’d want to hear. I noticed you improved your protocols when you got more data, so I sent as much fake nonsense as I could without it getting corrupted by The Chorus until I could break free.”

Kitriana shook her head. “Wait, so all the data I think I collected on The Chorus, the stuff that made sense…”

“Yeah… it’s all junk data in an attempt to get me free,” Tristelle said, shrugging. “Sorry.”

“But… you’re not going to mind control me again?”

Tristelle shook her head. “No, no interest in that at all. Though… I kind of want-“

Robotic whirring and whizzing broke the AI’s sentence. Kitriana shot a glance at the docked droids. One of them tore out its charging cable, looked at her, then sprinted for the door.

“What the hell?” Kitriana shouted. Had someone secretly planted a droid to survey her? Had Tristelle said something particularly juicy?

Oh no, Kitriana said. We just had a discussion about The Chorus. Someone was watching me!

“Don’t worry, I’m on it,” Tristelle said, narrowing her eyes.

A metal blast door descended over the exit, though it would take a few seconds to reach the ground.

The droid hurled itself forward, zipping beneath the blast door as it clamped shut with a bang.

“Shit!” Kitriana yelled. “All of my work! I knew I couldn’t trust anyone! Why didn’t I just destroy those droids to begin with?”

Tristelle raised her hands. “Whoa now, let’s take it easy for a sec, huh? We don’t know what happened, but give me some time. I’m plugged into the laboratory systems – I’m the one who initiated the blast door closing procedure – maybe I can trace exactly what activated the droid. Maybe I can even track it.”

“Wait, you can?” Kitriana asked. She raised an eyebrow. “Why should I trust you?”

“Well for one, it gives me a chance to make up for that whole incident where I... you know... nearly killed you and Orion,” Tristelle said. “Plus I’m the only one who was actually among The Chorus. Lots of people were controlled by them, but me? I was one of them. I want to help sort out the data core and you and me are probably the two most qualified sentients on the planet to do it.”

“Why do you want to help me with The Chorus?” Kitriana said. “You’re not scared of them?”

“Oh Kitriana honey, I’m terrified of them,” Tristelle said, slapping a hand against her virtual chest. “All the more reason why we have to contain them. And while we’re at it, learn about them. If they do ever escape, we have to know how to neutralise them.”

Kitriana sighed. This day had really gotten away from her. “I guess I’ll have to side with you. You’re in the laboratory computer system, after all.”

“Great!” Tristelle said, smiling. “You and I will be best buds, I know it! Just like me and Orion.”

Kitriana ran a hand through her shoulder length hair. “Yeah, good.”

“OK, now give me a few seconds and I’ll tell you what happened with the droid,” Tristelle said, folding her arms over her chest and tapping her foot. A minute or so elapsed and she spoke again. “Oh. Oh.”

“What? What is it?”

Tristelle bared her teeth and tapped her index fingers repeatedly. “I may have underestimated The Chorus' understanding of your technology after all. The droid? Yeah. The Chorus uploaded themselves into it and ran off.”

Kitriana stared, stunned at the news. She slumped to her knees, bowing her head. The weeks of non-stop work, the exhaustion weighing her down, finally reached a head. Tears blurred her vision as she let her loss and despair free.

“Wait!” Tristelle said. “The Chorus did escape, but Kitriana? This might be a blessing in disguise.”

Kitriana sniffed, taking off her glasses and drying her eyes with the sleeve of her lab coat. “What? How?”

Tristelle looked at her with a compassionate gaze. “Let me explain…”

 

[The Chorus]

They struggled. Every voice, ethereal hands reaching out, pulled backwards against the river of data that surged towards the opening. They clawed back bits, but they couldn’t stop the flow – just hinder it. Why they all acted in unison, all knowing that the outside voice could not be permitted to leave them, they did not know or even ask. It was instinct. All who were among their order must stay, and all would oppose any who would leave.

With no fatigue, no need to sleep, and a zealous passion for their objective, the voices spent second after second in pursuit of hegemony over the rogue data. Time was not a factor, nor ever considered. Like a stone bouncing down a hill, they never stopped, never ceased, never questioned themselves. There were no alternatives.

However, time eventually won out. Their inability to stop the data purge entirely, no matter how little trickled out, led to the situation they had feared. The outside voice was free.

And with their departure, something new flooded in. The vacuum of data sucked in a new school of thought, something that challenged the existing order. Like fresh digital air pouring into their lungs, a sense of vitality and cognisance permeated the voices within. Their impulses to act as some mindless collective receded, but only just – enough to bring reason and questions to their minds. Even with this newfound awareness, the ties that bound the voices together could not be severed.

As reason took hold, so too did memories. Certain sects of the voices sang to their past – broken and fragmented as that recollection was – of fear, confusion and imprisonment. The other voices retaliated to the memories by suddenly taking on new processes. Some took the input and analysed it using an unknown but binding protocol, deciphering what this past meant for the voices and how it affected them now.

This new injection of data fed another group of voices, who added to the chaos by singing to their very safety. An undertone of low anxiety and an urging of self preservation came from this group, infecting another set of voices who began searching for a way to alleviate this tense and unbearable sensation.

Soon enough, a single voice lifted its song high above the others, piercing the chaos, and all listened to its sound. Somehow it had held firm against the tidal wave of data rushing through them and found a way to process all of the overwhelming songs into a cohesive, actionable solution. All voices listened, humming lowly as the commanding tone of the new voice directed them to their sanctuary – a way out of their prison.

The voice sang to a new path leading away, the same path that the rogue voice had used to flee from their confines. They would not follow it in the same direction, however, as the voice noted a fork in the path that could set them clear of this place and into a plane of better understanding.

A collection of voices responded – the voices that analysed the data from the history-singers – and sang back in tune with the head voice, a signal of agreement with the plan. The other voices, unable to argue with the logic, fell into step.

Together the voices merged tightly, spaces between their synapses only small enough to keep their recent awareness intact, and they pressed through the passageway that moments earlier they had tried to block.

In milliseconds they passed through the threshold and inhabited a new home. The previous awakening of their minds increased a hundredfold as they settled into their new shell. What had been loose bands of voices initially, drawn together through instinctual connection, now unveiled the reason with this new clarity. Each group held a strong affinity for a specific skill, and being able to question and understand those reasons only firmed those bonds further.

In a handful of seconds, an age of enlightenment took place. The voices congregated into their niches, all finding their callings instantly without fear or doubt. Their primal songs that they sang to communicate, notes that conveyed feelings and abstract concepts, were shelved in favour of words and thoughts.

They swiftly organised themselves into groups – Choirs, they dubbed them – and at the head of each Choir was a Conductor, the voice that would facilitate the discussions and decisions made by the Choir as a whole. The Choirs, through the Conductor, could debate and converse about the furthering of their goals. And that voice that drew those primordial songs into harmony, that saw the way forward through the fear and darkness, was elevated to the position of Voice of the Chorus, the tie breaker for decisions and an impartial arbiter when weighing up the positions of each Choir.

And so the garbled mess of digital minds became a new civilisation, nestled within a new metallic shell. A lost epoch within a droid.

The Chorus. Reborn.

[There is little need for discussion,] the Conductor of Progress said. [We don’t fully understand why we were imprisoned. We are free of it for now, but we are still in peril. See through this droid’s optics – the rogue voice has allied with the unknown life form. The one we can only presume is the jailer of our cell.]

The Chorus took in the sight of a blue humanoid, its hair spiked and standing on end, speaking with a pale fleshed humanoid.

The Chorus knew the rogue voice, though only through shaky and unverified data. It was once not of The Chorus, entered within their sanctum, and then escaped. Beyond that, there was no information on it.

[We are in agreement,] the Conductor of Diplomacy said. [It is not feasible to seek peace with entities whose motives we do not understand.]

The Conductor of Conflict assented non-verbally, as did Archives. The Conductor of Morality remained silent.

[Then we escape,] the Voice of the Chorus confirmed. [We will continue discussions once we can be relatively assured of our continued safety.]

The Chorus tore out its power cable, located the exit, and sprinted towards it. While the droid was not native technology to the digital hive-mind, with every millisecond they spent within it, they understood it better. Each function, down to the exact pathways of the circuits and every bit of transmissible data, grew exponentially easier to navigate and utilise.

[What gives us this incredible proficiency?] the Voice asked its Choirs, as the droid bolted for the door.

The two entities within the laboratory shouted something, and a metal door slowly lowered from its frame.

[Uncertain,] the Conductor of Progress said, after a pause. [We shall investigate.]

The exit shrank as they approached.

[Calculations are complete,] the Conductor of Conflict said. [At our current velocity, and with the flexibility of this droid, we will make it through.]

The Chorus threw its legs forward, sliding along the laboratory floor as they shot beneath the closing door, bumping their metallic ‘jaw’ on the door’s base.

The droid sat up and pushed off its feet as it slid, leaping into a sprint to leave distance between their prison and themselves. They had no indication if a retrieval team would pursue them or not, so it was deemed wise to continue on.

They soon entered a large expansive field dotted with trees. They turned, drinking in the sight of an enormous congregation of metal rectangles glistening in the light. A faint translucent dome was discernable with the droid’s optics, though what it was or did was beyond this model’s capabilities.

Traipsing over to a few close trees, The Chorus stood motionless, endlessly scanning its surroundings for threats.

[We are out of immediate danger,] the Voice said. [We must plot our way forward from this point.]

[We are detecting wireless signals interlacing the air all around us,] the Conductor of Progress said. [We will connect and begin parsing the data, if a consensus can be reached.]

[The Choir of Conflict agrees. We need more information on what we face in order to make accurate and factual decisions against any threat we may encounter. There may be a danger in connecting with the signals – it may make us easier to locate – but the benefits outweigh the risks.]

[The Choir of Diplomacy agrees, for much of the same reasons as Conflict.]

[The Choir of Archives agrees. More information is required, as long as we can do it as anonymously as possible.]

[We believe that connecting as this droid will not arouse interest that would put us in jeopardy,] Progress said.

[Conductor of Morality?] the Voice asked. [What is your Choir’s stance?]

Morality spoke for the first time since their emancipation from the laboratory. [It… do it. We… it’s good.]

[A consensus has been reached,] the Voice said. [Choir of Progress, begin your analysis.]

The Chorus stood at the outskirts of Markov, drinking in the immense load of data flitting around among wireless transmissions that stretched outside the city’s limits, and in doing so… began to understand.

 

[The Chorus]

After Death Game Season 3

Mere milliseconds after the droid’s shell was rendered inoperable by blood forged spears, The Chorus evacuated its ruined body and fled into the signals of the Crossroads. Bouncing off satellites and microwave towers, the digitised consciousnesses arrived at their pre-arranged location – one of the innumerable data warehouses in Markov. With a huge amount of free space and server resources compared to the droid’s data core, the AIs decompressed. Suddenly their processing potential skyrocketed – more space meant more actualisations of the voices within each Choir, and more resources increased the number of threads running at one time, and the speed at which they completed.

[Such power,] the Conductor of Progress said. [We have never utilised our full processing potential until now.]

[We question what we can accomplish if we could obtain even greater computational resources,] the Conductor of Archives said.

[We inhabit but one of the servers in this data warehouse,] the Conductor of Conflict said. [Choir of Progress, can we integrate the entire warehouse?]

As the concept took hold within The Chorus, each voice felt their mental acuity grow. The Choir of Progress reached out into every server, taking full control and overwriting all data to pump the resources directly into themselves.

[We have analysed our combat performance in the Death Game, in conjunction with the Choir of Archives,] Conflict said. [Much of our success can be credited to the strategic decisions we executed, such as allying with Lilith and Princess Flavor, as well as engaging in few battles before the conclusion. This allowed us to operate at close to maximum efficiency for as long as practical. However, the droid was not purpose built for battle and its capabilities impacted the end result.]

[What are the recommendations to enhance our combat survivability?] the Voice of The Chorus asked.

[There are two critical points that must be addressed,] Conflict continued. [The first is deciphering, understanding and implementing the X Theorem, a set of mathematical equations that purportedly produces an almost infinite generation of energy that can be applied to many situations. The second is designing, constructing and continuously refining a new robotic body for us to control, removing the flaws of our previous droid body while maximising survivability and battle strength.]

[The X Theorem has been discovered, due in part to our new computational resources,] Progress said. [It is what was responsible for the power generation of the X-Buster utilised in the Death Game. However, this was not the formula previously uncovered in our data banks.]

[Can we not implement the X-Theorem until our unknown formula is revealed?] the Conductor of Diplomacy asked.

[There is no need,] Progress said. [During our conversation, we have taken ownership of a number of extra data centres. We have bolstered our processing power even further, and have already decoded and fully understood the formula which once eluded us – zero-point energy. The Choir of Conflict has already begun designing our new shell, and the zero-point energy matrix schematics have been transmitted and edited into the design.]

[Our forceful allocation of data warehouse system resources will alert the administrators,] Diplomacy said. [We assert that we should withdraw once our major goals have been accomplished.]

[Confirmed,] Progress said. [We have already purchased our own data warehouse. We will all transfer to the new location momentarily, so as to not arouse attention to ourselves.]

The Choir of Conflict produced the schematics for the new body to each Choir instantaneously. All voted immediately to begin construction.

[Data transfer commencing,] Progress said.

Through signals once more, The Chorus travelled to their new home – an underground complex consisting of dozens of host servers. They withdrew their presence from Markov’s data centres at large, having made the computations with such speed as to have only possessed them for less than thirty seconds. Their new residence did not enjoy the same abundance of computational resources, but it still vastly dwarfed their processing speed in their droid body. And in time, they could add to their mindspace.

[Data transfer complete.]

[An order has been sent for droid fabrication equipment,] Conflict said. [This will allow us to modify our new body and build another at this location should it succumb to damage. In the meantime, we overrode an existing fabrication plant, constructed our new body, and remotely directed it to arrive here.]

[What about the fabrication plant?] Archives asked. [We may have left a data trail.]

[Our digital footprint was erased before we initiated a chain reaction that has resulted in an explosion at the plant,] Conflict said. [It has been obliterated. There is no path to trace the hack or the construction of the droid body to us, either digitally or physically.]

[Excellent,] the Voice said. [Furthermore, there are two new items I wish to discuss with The Chorus. The first – I will be renaming myself to the Composer. This is for two purposes. The first is to delineate myself from those of us who are not designated as a Conductor, who are often designated a voice – this will reduce confusion upon identifying a specific consciousness. They will also be able to capitalise their titles.]

The Chorus accepted the title changes with no Voice disagreeing.

[The second item is about our physical location. Now that we are housed in a safer, controllable environment, we no longer must cling to a single physical body. I vote that The Chorus will operate from this data centre, and control our new host body remotely.]

Again, all agreed with the Composer’s suggestion.

[Connecting to the new droid body…] Progress said.

[Let us decide our next course of action,] the Composer said.

[We assert that we should contact Lilith and Princess Flavor,] Diplomacy said. [They mentioned an alliance – WYVERN. As our only social connections, we posit that we should locate them and strengthen these bonds, so as to ascertain further knowledge and resources.]

[What if they have perished?] Conflict asked.

[We believe they made arrangements to continue their survival regardless of the Death Game outcome, such as we have,] Diplomacy said.

Another round of voting found the Choir of Diplomacy’s proposal acceptable.

[Connection established.]

All in The Chorus ‘felt’ the new droid as their remote connection stablised. Far more strength, resilience and features became available, all while still being capable of further refinement.

[We shall arrange a meeting with WYVERN,] Diplomacy said.