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Memory Mods

Before leaving for the meeting Johnny Amani mainlined some Abandoned Father Issues with a quick kick of Moody Adolescence, topped off with a chunk of Teenage Quest to get him in the right mood.

“oh yeah” he nodded as the memories came back to him, washing away the previous evening’s Happy Boyhood and Teenage Country Farm memories. In a few moments all recollection of his smiling parents, supportive siblings and that time with the girl from the farm down the road faded. In their place there grew memories of restlessness, of ambition and other people letting him down. In the bathroom mirror he felt his face get more serious. His eyes narrow slightly. His father’s eyes, and damn that man for pushing him to the brink. Well today he’d show him. Today he’d brave the things his father had never dared. He could look his father in the eye without getting called a pussy.

The meeting was taking place in the former palace of a Silicon Valley firm that had been requisitioned during the revolution and turned into community buildings. Now the great silver torus rang not with the sounds of data acquisition nor the cries of tormented coders but instead with communal civic startups and privacy therapy centres.

Johnny breezed in through the entrance, nodding at the blond wood and the blandly cloned trees whose wood still bore the imprint of the long gone branding that had been encoded into its genetic structure. He felt like a Jobs or a Bezos, ready to take on the world and hold it in the palm of his hand. With that thought in mind he manfully strode into the smoked glass cubicle of the meeting room, all the other attendees looking up at him as he took his place on the smart plastic chair.

“Okay” he said as he felt his buttocks firmly gripped by the chair “lets do this” he looked around the room at the rest of them, feeling them bow before his authority “My name in Johnny Amani, and I’m a false memory addict. Welcome to the first meeting of memory addon addicts anonymous”

“Its not the fault of technology” Johnny explained once they had gone around the room and they had all introduced themselves (back at the first meeting. He’d been maudlin, having been mainlining some lost first love he’d downloaded on the darknet) “FakeMem technology had a noble start” he looked at the small group of fellow addicts, knowing almost instinctively what their addictions were. Pria, the teenage girl in the corner was lost in kiddie fantasy land, revelling in memories of secret worlds through ordinary wardrobes and aliens coming to collect her to fly their last starfighters. Elena, the corporate bitch on his left and his current closest girlpal, could just as easily been tattooed with the same Daddy issues memories that Johnny had dosed himself with “memory rewrite technology was developed back before the revolution to help PTSD cases – a branch of Google dreamed it up, tried to sell it to the Pentagon for soldiers who’d left their sanity down Mexico way. But of course by then Uncle Sam wasn’t buying anything. So they instead went all philanthropic. California was awash with refugees from both sides of the war. Kids who’d seen things no human being- let alone a child- should see. The engineers figured it was simple. PTSD is all about memory, you see something that fucks you up, your brain can’t handle it. It plays it out on repeat, forever. It can’t get past it, like a stuck record” he paused for dramatic effect “so if you replace the memory then you get rid of the trauma. Course it ended up being used for evil means – Mcluhn’s maxim still applies” Johnny nodded at the wall where the late, great prophet of the revolution’s most famous phrase hung on the wall. Under a picture of a plump middle aged woman the words went ‘any sufficiently advanced technology will first be used for liberation, but then inevitably for repression and control. Often by the same people’. Johnny bobbed his head in respect to Mcluhn’s wisdom “which we saw in the revolution when the Silicon Valley oligarchs realised they couldn’t just charm their way out of trouble so they tried to make us forget. Had whole cities where overnight people got their entire lives turned upside down. Woke up not knowing what memories were real and which were not. Evil times” he shook his head, he’d just been fresh out of college in the Midwest when the silicon valley appligarchy had been overthrown so he’d been sheltered from the worst of it. Even so the town right next to his had been hit by a wartime era fearbomb and it had taken years for the residents to restore their real memories from social media backups and simulated approximations “but this is not about all that. It’s about us. Because we’re not frightened little refugees, nor are we Navy SEALs who saw too many heads explode down in Juarez” he looked around at them all “we’re addicts. We’re addicted to changing our memories because either we get a buzz off of feeling like we’re someone else or otherwise we’re too terrified to face reality with just our own boring memories for company”

“I’m Pria” the teenage girl had stood up first. Brave of her, Johnny though, but a cynical part of him knew that her bravery came not from within but from false memories of that time when she was twelve and she’d faced down an army of orks with nothing but her mage skills for survival. Course he only knew that because he’d done the same. Got fired from his job because of it – not for being an addict but for flipping out when a co-worker had laughed at him checking all the cupboards in a board room for secret passages to other worlds “and I’ve been using false memories since I was about ten years old” the girl gulped, wearing the faraway expression that meant she was refusing to meet anyone else’s eye. The room was good for that, the glass was only smoked on one side so from the other you could look out over the centre of the torus, down to where once cadres of Silicon Valley brodudes had set forth to conquer the world in the name of big data “I don’t even know why I started. I used to think it was cause I got bullied, then I checked my downloads and I realised that the whole bullying thing was a FakeMem too. I must have just been lonely, so I started taking them. I started with a few light ones. You know, the meet a celeb memories. A couple of Shanghai Disney world rides. My dad wasn’t always there so he used to share a few from his travels, so we could both pretend we’d been together” her voice quavered slightly “maybe that’s why I got too deep” she glanced at Johnny “but I don’t wanna act like I blame my dad. I got myself addicted. I didn’t want to be me, I think, it was easier to be Princess Peach or Empress of the Porcelain people. Better than being boring old Pria Park who went to the local high school and didn’t have a single experience different from anyone else I’d ever met”

With that she abruptly sat down. Johnny started the applause, nodding bullishly at her admissions “excellent. Remember, there’s no judgement here. We’ve all done things we regret, things we want to forget. Hell, that’s half the reason we became addicts” he looked suddenly serious “but because of that there isn’t a quick fix. The only way we can get past our addiction is to recognise what it is, to work together to support each other. To remember that our addiction isn’t some harmless fun” he looked around soberly at all of them “most of us have had so many mods we can’t even tell our real memories from the fake ones. We’ve squandered reality chasing some impossible dream. We need to stop looking to some bolt from the blue remedy. There isn’t something we can download into our brains that will magically fix us. There isn’t some brand new mod that will bring everything back and make us better again. We only have each other”

“You know there’s an erase doing the round” Elena cornered Johnny, waiting till everyone else was gone and doing so on the pretext of cleaning up the coffee cups and wiping down the non digital whiteboard of its inspirational slogans. Only when the room had emptied had she sidled up to Johnny and whispered in his ear.

“didn’t you listen to my inspiring and not at all plagiarised speech?” said Johnny dismissively as he reset the room, wiping the machine memory of the defiantly non networked software that monitored the office. Revolution protocols stated that it was illegal to store any digital information of any user without express permission and even then to make sure it was not accessible by anyone with any commercial purpose “there isn’t some quick fix download. Its fantasy” he looked her in the eye, her façade of corporate bitch almost totally vanished. Now he saw the anxiety and insecurity that had lead to her addiction. The worst part was knowing that his own face mirrored that too “memory isn’t archaeology. You can’t just peel back the layers looking for what was originally there. Human memory is organic. When you change a memory you are literally moving the brain cells around. You change their alignment. They make new connections and the old ones are broken. There isn’t an erase function for that”

“This time its different” said Alma “look, I’m not going to get into a technical discussion but it seems like its more of a reconstruction than an erasure. Because you know that when you implant a new FakeMem it overrides the old one, but to do so you need to understand the old state. So it already maps your brain, right?”

“Sure” said Johnny, whose technical knowledge was probably less than Elena’s but wasn’t about to admit it. Perhaps had he not been stuffed to the gills with father resentment memories he might have not been indulging some alpha male bullshit but that was an argument for another day.

“So all you’d have to do to roll back the memories would be to establish the right trail. If’ you’ve got a record of the mods you’ve added then you should be able to follow them back and restore the original”

“Sounds like this software is pretty heavy duty” said Johnny “and also pretty fucking illegal. To go through a download record like that would violate, like, a dozen Revolution protocols. In fact it probably qualifies as a bioweapon in itself. Could probably be Gitmoed because of it”

“I’ll take that as a no then” said Elena turning to leave “cause I’m gonna download it in, like, two hours time”

“Oh no” said johnny quickly, leaping to intercept her “I just said it was seriously illegal. I didn’t say I wasn’t interested”

“in that case meet me here” Elena scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to him. Her handwriting was almost illegible, side effects of growing up before the revolution when every piece of information was sent via machine “at 4pm. Its gonna be a blast”

“sure” said Johnny, already having moved beyond second thoughts into third and fourth thoughts. Did he really want to do this? He sighed as Elena exited the room “guess I’m going to have to call my sponsor”

“so let me get this straight, another FM junkie wants you to download something that’s going to definitely roll back you mods and free you of your addiction?” “yup” said Johnny. They were sitting across the street from the former silicon valley campus in a café that had been liberated for the people but was otherwise unchanged from its days feeding the libertarian messiahs and the big data pushers of silicon valley. There were even still the posters on the wall of the last generation of Silicon Valley billionaires. Anywhere else in America those posters would have been torn down, but there was still an ambivalent relationship to the survivors living in the valley itself. Most of them had been hardcore privacy crusaders but there wasn’t one of them that hadn’t been raised on stories of the tech entrepreneurs, the men and other men who had taken a bunch of numbers and made a billion dollars out of them. Indeed the man sitting opposite Johnny was a typical example “that’s just what I’m gonna do Greg” “dude, that’s fucked up” said Gred Deen. Back in the revolution he’d on the frontline, former coder turned poacher, white hatting for the good guys when his former employers at Google had taken the ‘don’t’ out of their famous slogan. He’d met Johnny when the pair of them were in rehab, Greg could remember nothing of his life before the revolution, because for the five years after it he’d modded his memories so heavily his synapses were permanently screwed. Now he worked as a barista at the coffee bar, body occasionally wracked by flashbacks to memories that may or may not have been his own “you understand that, right? I mean that’s junkie talk. That one final big hit will set you straight? That’s not how it works. Hell, if I thought I could get back my real memories that way then I’d sign on the dotted line, but the fact is that it doesn’t work. I got out of being a junkie the hard way, same as you need to”

“but I want the real me back” said Johnny pitifully, pulling at his shirt “not this macho bullshit guy I am today, nor the sensitive well rounded guy I pretended to be yesterday. The real me”

“not sure any of us would know that even if we had our memories” he shook his head as he poured out cups of GM’d java guaranteed to wake up even the sleepiest of heads “I mean, you know what life was like before the rev, right?”

“I got too many memories man, you know that”

“back then people had their public selves – all that social media profile shit. Then they had their sensitive inner selves they’d only reveal in messages to their nearest and dearest. Were either of those the real them? Hard to know. You could watch someone’s livefeed for hours and you don’t know if it was the real them or not. People act differently depending on who they think is watching”

“I looked up my social media feed a couple of years ago” confessed Johnny, dropping his voice to a whisper. It didn’t do to talk about things like that. Even before the revolution social media had been a warzone. After the revolution a general amnesty had been predicated on the notion that any every trace of data harvested in those years should be destroyed. Some people had grumbled that this let the perpetrators of the Twitter massacre of Osaka and the snapchat murders off the hook but it was generally agreed that peace relied somewhat on amnesia. An irony which Gregg and Johnny could well appreciate.

“and?” asked Gregg carefully, his hands shaking minutely

“I didn’t find anything”

“nor should you man”

“no, but really. There was nothing. I mean, I used some back channels that would get me in trouble if certain people knew. But I was desperate. I was using several times a day back then. I’d have done anything. I thought if I could find….”

“good job you didn’t” rumbled Gregg menacingly “people know you’ve got that kind of data then they think you’re with the tech underground….”

“you really believe that even exists?” said Johnny “come on, its just rumours. If any of the silicon valley execs survived the last days of the rev then they’re hiding pretty deep. Hardly think they’re plotting some kind of takeover. People would never stand for it”

“never know” said Gregg “you didn’t know these people like I did….”

“I didn’t think you remembered” said Johnny accusingly

“don’t need to. I kept diaries. Stories that would make your hair curl. These were people who got to where they were by hacking society. Disruption, that was their big deal. They didn’t see the world like we do. Where you consider other people’s feelings and point of view. There was one thing they cared about. Power. Sometimes that came from money and other times it came from having so much dirt on people they could play ‘em like a harp. These people don’t just vanish” Gregg looked up to where several customers were waiting “like I say. Don’t try to dig up the past. If you fail you’ll just keep on being a junkie and if you succeed, well you might just wish you failed”

Elena was waiting impatiently outside the hotel. It had the slightly melted pastel look of cheaply 3D printed walls and the fixtures inside recalled both the enthusiasm of the immediate post rev world as well as its terrible design choices.

“You got it then?” asked Johnny, still not sure if he was doing the right thing. He’d changed his mind five times since speaking with Greg and nearly turned around and headed home. But he needed to know, either because life is a journey towards truth or else as Greg said he was just a junkie needing a fix.

“course” said Elena, the last of her corporate bitch memory mod fading like old hair dye. Together they strode into the dilapidated hotel, the automatic credit readers long having been ripped out and replaced by a small armoured booth where a revolution veteran sat starting into space. They paid cash with the certainty that the veteran wouldn’t remember who they were. Odds on she wasn’t sure if they were real in the first place.

“are you ready?” asked Elena as she prepped the EEG machine and laid the electrodes across Johnny’s head. He could hear the apprehension vying with the excitement in her voice.

“no” said Johnny truthfully “ I mean, shit. What if we don’t like who we are? Cause chances are we were not good people. Otherwise why would have modded our memories in the first place?”

“we’ll never know unless we give it a try” said Elena, adjusting the electrodes on her own head “ready when you are”

“Listen if it turns out that the revolution was a fake and that we really live in google verse or Apple gulag then I’ll never forgive you” Johnny looked at Elena fiercely.

“Yeah, that would be awful” she said “not least cause there’s already, like, a dozen conspiracy theories that say exactly that” she smiled “probably find that actually we were just assholes instead. But I’d like to be my own asshole, if that makes sense”

“Hey, I don’t need memories to tell me I’m an idiot” said Johnny as Elena tapped a code into the machine “I see that every morning when I wake up”

“See you on the flip side” said Elena as the machine counted down from ten “lets hope we weren’t too bad people”

With that there was a burst of light. With most memory mods the effect came on slowly, the memories trickling through like coloured syrup through water. With this one however Johnny staggered under the weight of it. Echoes of past memory mods imploded in his mind as the program traced back through a decade of mod addiction. A burst of Happy Childhood suddenly overwritten by Growing up Gangsta. The light notes of Teenage Adventurer melded with High School Hero. He could feel his neurons requiring themselves. The false memories being replaced by those he had gathered himself through eyes and ear, processed by his own mind. Suddenly it was there. Reality. And at the same time he finally realised why he had become an addict in the first place. And he realised that Greg was full of shit. Not only had that fucker clearly had his memory working, but that he had known full well who Johnny really was.

“Oh shit” he said, opening his eyes to see by the expression on her face that Elena was having the same realisation as him. He ripped the smooth electrodes off his head, holding it like it was bout to explode or send him mad, which effectively it had done. “Oh shit, shit shit. The fuck have we done?”

“Well I don’t know about you” said Elena, or as he realised now former CEO of Google and warcriminal responsible for the privacy deaths of millions, Mia Ramsey “but I’m gonna download as many memory mods as I can till I forget this ever happened”

“Oh yeah” said Johnny, or rather Facebook chief security officer Alan Khan. AKA the man responsible for the fear bombing of three cities and the subsequence suicide spike that had seen ten thousand people take their own lives “I guess there are worse things than being an asshole after all”

#fakememories #sf