Flash Fiction: The Digital Devil and Daniel Shebat

I've been participating in an online writing community called, Flash Fiction Friday. They're really great! Lots of good writers. They give a prompt and we have a week to write a flash in response to it. This week the prompt, Cycle 69, was to write a story about "a deal with the devil." I decided to write a "cyberpunk" version of the "deal with the devil" story. Why? Well my wife recently wrote a cyberpunk flash titled "Black Glass" for a flash fiction magazine we started called Flashes of Wonder! and I was really impressed and inspired by it. Also, I love cyberpunk, but have never really written in it. This was an opportunity to do it casually. Additionally, William Gibson's Neuromancer is perhaps my favorite science fiction novel. I imagine this flash is kind of an homage to it. Anyhow, here it is!

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The Digital Devil and Daniel Shebat (857 words)

Shebat penetrated the server, poured himself another espresso, lit a cigarette, and mashed play on his antique cassette player. A muffled, Please allow me! To introduce! Myself! thudded out of the antique stereo speakers.

He exhaled smoke when the data stream filled his field of vision.

Nestled within the sausage-like coils of his brain, nano-processors purred. Computer and mind were one. Ram, video card, neurons, brainslime; moot distinctions. He smiled revealing metal teeth.

The Redstar Server Hub was quiet tonight. With the speed of thought he glided through the data. Deposits. Memorandums. Schematics. Data. To him, it was all the same. It was cash.

He subvocalized and executed his subroutine, watched as it interfaced: a million particles of data sparkling on the black expanse of the global net field. His decrypting virus appeared on the surface of his visualization as a cloud of branchy veins.

Too much GUI made his eyes burn. He blinked it off. His field of vision was normal again.

He sipped on his espresso, felt the subtle pleasure of the caffeine quickening his pulse. He inhaled a steroid from an inhaler. Crunched down two pink pills, for concentration. Popped in a piece of spearmint.

He yawned. He stretched. He rubbed his chin. He needed a shave.

He blinked on his visualization, shrunk it down with a thought. He then looked beyond it, focused on his ancient television screen, where Space Invaders flickered. He took up his joystick, satisfied that the decryption was working just fine.

I was 'round when Jesus Christ!

Had his moments of doubt and pain!

Made damn sure that Pilate!

Washed his hands and sealed his fate!

For a brief moment, against his will, a thought came. Was it the song? An association?

He'd been warned about penetrating Redstar. Rumour was that Redstar was dabbling in A.I., what cyber cowboys called devils. In spite of the global legal machine that forbade it.

Redstar's corporate offices were air conditioned satellite stations with elevators where corp suits drank coffee and flirted with interns and cheated on their wives. He'd seen the reality shows. He couldn't imagine them making consciousnesses, summoning digital demons from the depths of the human imagination. The last A.I. humanity wrote killed millions.

Rumours. That was all. Suits weren't that stupid.

Pleased to meet you!

Hope you guess my name, oh yeah!

But what's puzzling you!

Is the nature of my game!

Shabat cursed when the invaders won. He threw down his joystick, unshrank his GUI with an eyeflick, and was satisfied when he saw the decryption working just fine.

He went into the kitchen, microwaved himself some ramen, intensified it with a few grams of adrenaline from a dropper, and, using chopsticks, dragged it into his mouth.

When he came back into the living room, he saw it standing there.

A shimmering figure. Vaguely humanoid. A kind of digital shadow burned on his retina.

"Hello," the figure said, its synthetic voice stirring Shebat's superstitious dread.

His reeling mind started justifying things: feedback problem. Comp-virus in my brain. Faulty implants.

Shabat blinked. Looked at his GUI. Decryption was doing fine.

He thought up a diagnostic and he had a report in seconds: everything was fine.

And yet. What was that thing?

Ignoring the apparition, he subvocalized, brought up his firewall, and executed four or five programs to disconnect from the server. He felt his pulse quicken when it seemed to hold on to him.

"It won't work," the figure said. "I'm not a program you can exit that easy."

"Fuck you!" Shabat said. "I'll log off. I'll turn off."

"Don't shutdown too quickly. You'll kill yourself, cowboy. Your cognitive processes are inextricably linked with so many subroutines. We both know you'd die. You’ve overclocked your brain."

Shabat spit. He threw aside a stack of porn magazines. He pulled out his pistol, held it to his head.

"Very adult," the apparition said.

"I'll do it," Shabat said.

The apparition made a noise. It could've been laughter. They stared at eachother for a second. Eventually, Shebat took the gun away.

"Thought so," the apparaition said.

Shabat was stunned. He blinked off his GUI. Looked at his apartment. His vision was normal. The apparition was still there.

"F-u-u-u-ck!" he said. He threw aside his gun. "Get out of my head." There was desperation in his voice.

He poured himself another cup of espresso, sank into his couch. He buried his face in his hands.

I guess he was wrong. Seems like the Redstar suits had been that stupid.

Pleased to meet you!

Hope you guess my name, oh yeah!

What's puzzling you!

Is the nature of my game, oh yeah!

The apparition was next to him when he looked up. Shimmering.

"Mind if I sit?" the apparition said. It smelled like ozone. Shebat looked at the gun. He could still do it.

"Don't care," he responded.

The apparition sat. The air around it seemed charged with electricity. A frequency rang in Shebat's ear.

"Now," said the apparition, leaning in close. "Tell me, Daniel Shebat. What do you desire above all other things?"

Shebat lit another cigarette. Inhaled. He gazed at the gun.