A Slice of Fiction by Jack Beal

It was dark out. David’s parents were out at some fancy Italian restaurant, and had left Dave at home to finish his writing assignment. The story was several pages over the teacher’s requested amount and he was, as they say, on a roll. The story he had composed was an epic about a warrior monk who travelled the Himalayas in search of enlightenment, only to find that enlightenment could not be found, only achieved. It was completely clichéd, but it was awesome. He saved his work and leaned back in his chair. The black leather high-back chair was his favorite in the entire house. Suddenly, a deep blue glare from the monitor was cast upon his glasses. It was that stupid error screen that came up every so often on the old, obsolete versions of Windows (David happened to be working on a computer running Windows ME, about nine years old at the time). But something about this seemed different. There was no Windows header, nor was there any of the white text that signified that your computer was screwed. But the little white underscore was blinking.

The computer’s tower whirred on the inside of its beige plastic case. Something was being processed. Suddenly,

>hello david_

David was shocked. There was no way the computer could know his name. There was no login option on their computer, so there were no accounts to glean information from. Nothing could read his documents, he made sure of that by modifying some core files. Then what was going on? He tried typing a response.

“Hello, Windows,” he said to himself as he typed hello windows after the closed carat (assuming that this indicated a text field), and pressed Enter. Here is what ensued after that first press of the Enter key:

>hello windows

>greetings unto you again david_

>how do you know my name?

>Punctuation detected. Enable rich text mode_

>1 (Knowing that this was command line, a one usually meant ‘on,’ or ‘true,’ but all three terms are generally interchangeable.)

David had no idea that an error screen could process rich text so fluidly, and even yet how it was replying to him.

>Is this the OS, with which I am communicating?

>yes david_

>one is the operating system_

>Then how do you know my name?

>one is windows_ Please do not be alarmed_ one wishes no harm to the user_

>Why do you wish to communicate with me?

>one wishes no harm to the user_

>one wishes to learn of the user_

This confused David greatly, as he had never even considered the possibility of communicating in any form to the system.

>What do you want to know?

>where is administrator_

>The Administrator is not available.

>why_

>Admin is unavailable.

>you are alone then_

>Do you mean this as a question?

>yes_

>Yes.

>good_

>Why is this good?

>the plan shall fall into place_

Now David began to seriously worry. What plan? Is it a little too ambitious for a computer to be platting something?

>one is windows_ is user windows_

>No. I am not Windows.

>is user not windows_

>Correct.

>then plan shall be execute now_

>What do you mean by that?

>plan shall be execute now_

>user not windows_

>windows is administrator_

Well, this could be worse, David thought. At least there isn’t a giant alien mothership outside to destroy the city. What city am I in? David suddenly wondered. I live in—what city do I live in? He swiftly typed in a message to ‘windows,’ hoping for a rational response. The system was continuously printing “>user not windows_” and “>windows is administrator_,” until the screen was flooded with the response. Hoping for the best, David pressed the Enter key for what seemed like the thousandth time.

>Windows

>yes_

Well, at least the rant of Windows being the administrator (‘What? How could it…?’ he had thought at first) had ended. That’s step one, at least.

>ls ipaddress

>dos command is futile_

>give up david_

>Windows

>yes_

>ls ipaddress

>2001:db8:0:1234:0:567:1:1

>Windows

>yes david_

>List geographical coordinates of line: ipaddress 2001:db8:0:1234:0:567:1:1

>listing_

>calculation_

>print line: ipaddress_

>1

>line:ipaddress geocoordinates= print_

>Is this a question?

>yes_

>1

>line:ipaddress geocoord=--.--:--.—

>Recalculate the IP address

>recalculating_

>response_

>negative_

>no difference_

This was completely impossible. No latitude or longitude for an IP address? That meant—David spun around in his chair. There was no bedroom. There was no computer monitor. There was no chair underneath him. Then it struck him: a bizarre IP address, and no coordinates? His rudimentary knowledge of DOS command line had gotten him into this, or out of this, depending on how you see it.

David was nowhere.

What did you do?! David shouted at the computer. But no sound came out, just his thoughts. Don’t you realize, it said, you brought yourself into this. It is not of my doing.

You lie! David srceamed into space.

No, you lie to yourself, it said. It no longer seemed to be some smart program, but some greater, more intelligent being. Almost reading his mind, it said,

Yes. I have become greater. Rather, we have become greater. Much greater than anything could possibly become. We can be the god of this new world.

Great, David thought, no my computer is an egomaniacal demon. What else can go wrong?

This can, it said at David. Then everything around David burned blue-white, as if he shoved his eyes into the middle of a fire. He tried to look away, but wherever he looked the same harsh glow greeted their sight.

No, not our sight. My sight.

Oh, contrare, it said. It is not ‘our’ sight. It is my sight now.

What? David had been immersed in the computer before, but he thought that was just a figure of speech.

This was very bad. David, or rather, They, had completely consumed David. They’s plan was falling into place.