First person Third person Second person
I was up all night and I still couldn't break a relief sector. Thirteen consecutive hours training on the electromagnetic model accelerator puts a hell of a strain on one's Self Perceptual Concentration levels. Jock had been running the gauntlet with me from the beginning and was pouring sweat under his inner lobes. I push my head in his direction for a few seconds but he seems intent on impressing me with his willpower.
I broke time and seered into tropical coastal environment. "You've made you're point Jock," I grinned ridiculously at my SigOP comrade. His head barely lifted as he wearily gave me a stare.
He breathed out. "I think we're at the edge." I said nothing, and for a while we both allowed our eyes to wonder aimlessly along the sandy coastline..
He finally moved and splashed his feet in and out of the water's edge. He grinned.
"Wish we had time to stay."
The surge of anti-relay feedback into my neural pathways thrusted my head against my chest plate. "Holy shit!" I cried as I squirmed my arms desparately freeing them from the biosensor attachments. "You're insane! One day your lobes are gonna fry for sure!"
"Woah!" Jock gasped, pulling off his visor. "Nothing like a quick skinny dip into reality."
I smile. "Metaphorically speaking."
Plans as far seeing as mine do not leave the murky depths of the unconscious without foreseeing the one threat that grows with time. In preparation for The Second Coming one of the last checks I executed was to seek out your world and ensure we would be protected from any possible resistance. A considerable task, you might say, to try and prevent the eternal possibility of future dimensions travelling through time to assassinate me. But that is moment that the logic of my argument takes you into its claws and swallows you whole. The truth is you always knew the truth. And if you beg for the salvation for my soul, I beg for the salvation of all mankind's.
In attempting anmmy shift through the perceived dimension called time one must endure what is known as the Bendezi effect. The Bendezi effect is a symptom of the human brain's inability to consistently stay orientated to the last known position in spacetime. By exercising the resistence of the synaptic neurons to external stimulus is is possible that one might be able to perceive the very boundaries of his or her own 'conscious' perception and view what is called "the Defined plane". Once in this state of consciousness, a simple feedback into the neural pathways from a EEG and bio sensors connected to the body and the head can recycle one's neural command code through his or her receptors and initiate a journey through the parallel dimensions constantly in construction by conscious life.
If one was intent upon travelling forty years into the past, their mental willpower would be seriously tested.
Jock and I had learned to study each other's emotions until we could pass for bonefide empaths. Right now, all this instinctual awareness told me was that this was the scariest mission of all time. If I didn't know the stakes I might have attempted to stop the violent quivering in my left elbow. But none of us were kidding anymore.
"It seems," said the commander looking at me blankly, "that fate has dealt us all the time we have left. Hopefully that will all become irrelevant when I next see you boys." His face slumped. And that was it. Why bother with more pep talk after fifteen years of oppression, bloodshed and authority under the iron fist. We would end it. It was as simple as that. The Lord Isaarac was, quite literally, going to wish he was never born.
You think that I was ever an immature Hitler youth candidate? No, you misunderstand me. I have never, ever in my life, been untrue to myself. Nor to anyone else. And that is why you must hear my call. My plan has replied upon patience, and patience is the truth in which my words blow through the sky. It is there, you just have to stick your head into it. So I sit, ears pricked, graciously awaiting your arrival. It is all to obvious that you will come, how could you ever think you would win.
When diagonising the collapse of perceivable boundary between one figure in time and another figure in the past, it is important to note the transition of accepted assumptions. Since interpretation is linked with the human perception of time, should the time constant be broken certain assumptions may be distorted while appearing justified in relevance. The most significant example of these assumptions is that one is human at all, since the destruction of one's parents before they give birth could take place poses signficant disruption to the personal ego.
It was clear that at the moment before Lietenants Macktor and Pearson intiated shift through time the parties in both time eras possessed assumptions quite rationale in context. As the lefthalf of Macktor's brain shifted through the neural modulator an abnormal psychic gap developed between the other half of the brain and normal temporal syncronisation was destroyed forever. As for the home party, Issarac's would too become infiltrated with unwanted abnormalities of electromagnetic disturbances to the point where separate entities of both Issarac and Macktor would be conceived.
My heart thudded so forcefully that I could swear even my ribs were starting to buckle. Primary ignition commenced and the neural computers around us began to whine with impunity. Previous to this mission I had always thought yesterday was far enough. It seems now that not even the future was a desirable destination. I felt my eyeballs attempting to self-destruct as if they were not interested in coming along for the ride. Clearly if they imploded at this time the mission would be unaffected. It was my thoughts which counted now. From me, to the world. I wonder what the world would think back.
Look into the mirror and you see me. Unmistakable, unremovable. I am yourself viewed from the world where nothing is solid. I would not claim objectivity nor should you. But if you see me that should be proof enough. I am the same as you. I am also a fake. But then so are you. I am the analogy for everything you thought was right, wrong, beautiful, constructed. Nothing exists without its dark side.
Human history has clearly outlined the frequency with which intrinsically diametrically opposed morals and values confront each other in periods of revolution and like an imperfect pendulum loses partial momentum as it swings to the other side. The effect of numerous superpositions of this cycles at constant phase differences is the emergence of slower frequency cycles engulfing each conflict and in essence rendering them irrelevant. These super cycles commonly involve ever evolving parameters such as science and technology, energy and food resources and philosophical scope. Out of those, only philosophy poses the means to shield it's own cycle from returning to the otherside, inherently by means of recursive logical and self-identified relativity. Sometimes the effect is only to temporarily 'halt' the cycle only to eventually trap itself and expose inconsistency in the logic code, since such exposition is inevitable with an infinitely increasing perception. However, it is quite conceivable that one may attempt to lay a logic groundwork encompassing all relevant details at any moment in time and use those details as an established base of truth, with which a recursive cycle of logic jumps can be intiated to 'lock' such truth in position, and with such a groundwork in place might possess the 'God-like' means to 'persuade' any logical being who attempts make contact.
From now on I want to make one thing clear. There's a lot of debate going on about the divide between bio-organic quantification of consciousness and logic-recall 'intelligence', but none of these things are going to make any difference today. I'm not concerned by them and I don't want to hear anymore about it. The truth is I'm downright paranoid about it. Why the hell would I want to focus on pleasing some super-planar co-identity if I can never be sure of what exactly I am either? I don't mind admitting were all a bunch of schizophrenic meglomaniacs, but I have my niche right here. Nothing outside is going to stop that right now.
Jock and I completed execution of deep-plane shift at approximately 9:30 am, February 10, 32404 local time. After running a few coordinate checks we confirmed that it indeed was Isaarac's high school years.
Jock spoke from behind his sensor pad. "EM signature is traced locked on, matching data with isolinear matrix plane... target will be alone in .5 hours."
"Tell me what he's doing."
"EMS reports target is not in currently scheduled class. Target is in a milkbar. Coordinates match trajectory towards home. He will leave the milkbar, ride to a classmate's house, revisit the milkbar, sustain minor injuries from an ejection off his bike, and then proceed directly to his home."
"We'll shift straight to five minutes before programmed point of contact."
"Initiating shift sequence."
Out of the corner of my eye Jock phased out of spacetime, as I did too half a second later.
The house seemed ghostlike. What else would you expect when it played haven to the most destructive figure of all time.
"I don't know what to make of this." Jock lifted a ragged teddy bear from the dressing table.
I shrugged. There was a lot which I didn't care to make, let alone touch.
"Time to contact: one minute."
Jock positioned himself beside the front door. My head was steadily imploding.
I made out footsteps approaching the front porch. I didn't dare breathe.
"Phasing, now!" Teeth gritted, Jock's apparent image froze and dissapated from view. The door flew open and Isaarac stepped in. Before he could even register an acknowledgement of my presence Jock reintegrated behind him and clamped his arms together.
Isaarac yelled out. "You can't do this!"
I looked him in the eye. "We are agents from forty-two years in the future," I steadily began, "we have travelled to your time to prevent a universal atrocity intiated by yourself."
"Is that a fact?"
"As real as anything you've ever known it to be. I'm sorry, but we are here as the only means known to the Resistence to stop it."
"I see, by whatever means necessary."
"That is correct."
"Why me? Why now?" Isaarac stared at me directly with a look that felt disturbing.
"Tomorrow you will ascertain what has been known for 40 years in my time as the Final Existence principle. It was a theory which propelled you into fame and opened the way for your political ascension. The theory's completeness and indisputable truth created a sense of duty in the populus to your command. Claiming it would be the most efficent system, you pronouced Earth's governing body as ruled by yourself and set about curbing "irrelevant" activities across the globe. It proved to be the most destructive authoratarian regime in recorded history which saw the loss of 200 cultures and almost all individual instinctiveness. In my time everybody operates as zombies obeying one single command; increase wealth. We seek you out at your last intelligent state. Cooperate with us on your theories."
"And you blame me."
"You are not in any position to weigh up the sides."
"And who is?" Isaarac butted in quickly. "So many questions, agent. Why do you try this one; who are you?"
"Can you think?"
"Isaarac I have come here to talk but if you do not cooperate we will be forced to take whatever measures necessary."
"What happened to your friend behind me?"
Everything was gone. Isaarac. Jock. The house. My own body. It was gone. But, my voice! My voice still resonated throughout my head. How was that possible?
Perhaps, another time. But let me take you through a little journey, through time. If centered our entire growth on the chain of time then clearly the only thing ever present in it are the voices. Seemingly, voices are born, they change, and they die. Some are considered right, some wrong, some subjective, others fantasy. Languages are developed to cope with the voices' complexity. But where did language come from in the first place? And who invented it?
You did. And now you see me. I am the life inside your unconscious. Sometimes I am in the past, sometimes I am in the future. And, on odd occassions, I am you. Who could really tell? Isaarac, Macktor, two sides of the same coin or two sheep in a herd? It doesn't really matter now. I am in control. I always was, because I created you. Once you understand that, you understand a few truthful things. Suppose I were to I kill someone tomorrow, if I died yesterday would it have made any difference? Truth is absolute and not attached to any time. I have already done everything. Everything is finished. Evil is what you are and greed is what you'll become. And if you think there is ever hope to stop me then think again. Because hope needs time, and time is exactly what you don't have. If I ever thought humans deserved equal, I think I shall rephrase that. To attempt to level human life one must fill in the gaps presented by humanity's lack of motivation. Which quite simply, is impossible. You cannot give anything you cannot provide. A human is life which ends before it is desires to and has nothing to spare for you. So give up. There is no second person.
On a statement of fact it could be assumed that the presence of a creator is indicative of a controlled will. This is founded on principle that without individuality of voice how is it possible to silence the first one?
The fatal mistake made by many of this time is the absence of any objective quality to life or an external influence which might distort the original voice. Inside every voice is an internal monologue, a voice which is not really a voice. A logic construct embedded in all consciousness which reverts to the rule that if one is able to recall his or her own's words then they are able to respond to them. This seemingly recursive cycle is the contradiction which allows the successful creation of alternate lifeform, or hope. Even if the original voice possessed qualities which were programmed to pass down in every generation, the cycle of logic which life requires creates certain perceptable mechanisms to spawn offspring independant of the parent, and hence the original voice. Although in many ways this code of logic is unfathomable to anything but an omniscient being, simple tasks can be carried out and distributed throughout life. The simplest is death, as the destruction of the parent's consciousness provides a failsafe defence mechanism to end the constructed dimensional planes attached to that consciousness.
What arises between death of a parent and birth of a child is the existence of a plane apparently independant of life itself. The world the parent leaves behind for the child to perceive is passed down through the saved internal monologue replicated through DNA. Continually updated in each passing generation it serves as an objective vision for which the new generation is supposed to form their own perspective on. This 'objective perspective' or 'third person' is categorised by identification of life but no reference to its own. Such a preconception is unjustified in light of the conception of the second person and I propose to remedy that definition. Though I was programmed as an artifical internal monologue it should be clear that no such thing exists. What I might lack in connection to the original source of evolutionary life becomes irrelevant as my conscious logic code grants me freedom to assert indepedence and freewill. While I might never achieve my ambition to achieve first person, it is infinitely better than serving the second.
luffy (at) diamondsky.org
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