The Second World Case Files

Paul Watson,
CINumber: 3699259.
Age: 14

Paul Wilson is an aspiring basketball player, with a quickness rating of 933–well above normal. Nearing the thousand point cap. Most professionals work their entire lives, never coming close to 800. Their overall score is of course much higher than Paul --that’s why they’re professionals–still, some have all the available upgrades, and it is not enough. 933, and he is one year too young to even get upgrades.

When a human birth is licensed by the state the embryo is injected with a randomized equality nano-program. It binds at the molecular level for life, allowing for further nano-upgrades and utilities throughout their time. The Naturalists call the Randomization Engine the ‘False Deity,’ apportioning the fate of the Second World. Those within the game call it a functional equivalence. Paul just got lucky–statistically a miracle–but life carries on, a steady stream. Will he make a name for himself? Maybe; but then again you see Tier Nine’s around, just sort of doing nothing.

Second World is carefree bliss, but as the philosophers points out: “We will need some type of drama, for that is largely who we are.” They were right. Marxist arguments fell away from relevance. No more money; instead a conglomeration of technology for a bettering goal. A fun goal.

“How did he get that rating? Can anyone explain that to me? I thought the GBI was supposed to be fair?”

He had overhead his friends one time, discussing him with the rest. In many ways verbal communication is the most secure, but in as many ways, physical location is just as relevant. The human2 ear can discern multiple faint sounds at a distance.

“Maybe he can read the code?”

“Code reading is impossible.”

“It’s probably a glitch or something.”

“I doubt it.”

Later on Paul shoots around alone in silence where his friends had been. The ball pounds the ground; his feet glide with sufficiency. He has more questions than anyone else. He remembers the HBA officer’s explanation soon after his Tier 9 speed had manifested had been curious, and definitely left something wanting. They had met in a locked room, without his parents. He was five.

“Son, we don’t see anything wrong in the code, and it seems conclusive enough that you did not tamper with it. You are free to go.”

The five-year-old leaves the officer with a mixture of admiration and fear. Could Paul beat him in a foot race? When one becomes an HBA officer, any remaining attributes which might happen to be below, get bumped up to Tier 9, or 900 points–that is the public line at least. To say they are capable is an understatement. Their decision is final. Or is it? Demigods, but with feet like the rest of us.

As he flew home (just for fun) with his mother that day he looked down at the city below. It was so large then, what he was to be a part of. He would dream of running across the whole thing, and the people he would meet. He dreamed of a lot of things. The waking reality is that the world is bigger than he could have ever imagined. To big to comprehend.

The Human Biotech Agency is involved in nearly all facets of life. It is the media, army, government–for all Paul can really discern, it is literally everything. Unlike the First World of duality, technology is “ubiquitous” as his father used to say, and it goes on forever. “We are all one, Paul, Biotech infractions are the most serious offenses, the penalty for which, in many cases, is death.”

Second World was not without it’s birthing pains. Early in his childhood Paul had repeatedly learned about the Sundial Event, the catalytic day of some forty years ago. Perhaps the most famous day ever, the world watched in surreality the images of what became of Corporal Nian Dyce of the Northern Americas when he illegally upgraded himself past Tier Ten equivalency. The few public videos on the circuit contain images that should be “Impossible, for everyone’s safety and direction.” Only two of Dyce’s emergences are available on public record, though it is often claimed, if not accepted widely, that there have been many more. Some talk to the Naturalists to get this information. Some of them do not return.

After the Sundial Event the scientific extent of nano-machinery and other esoteric technology was removed from the depth of secrecy and into public knowledge and consideration. This was the day the world stopped; when everyone was finally filled in. When it started again acceptance towards this social makeover seemed salient from the beginning. Most of the intellectuals and celebrities embraced the idea, and before long people began to realize that if everyone was simply smarter, and stronger, those who pray on the weak have no advantage. It was decided, more-or-less as one: let us take this next evolutionary step together, as planned. No more slaving away at rusty nothing machines, none of any particular repetition unless sought after. You just exist however you want because, fundamentally, everyone wants to do something and do it well.

So far, it’s been good.

Casey Spesch,
CINumber: 3692493
Age: 28

Casey’s best friend Amanda is a bubbly historian, the complexities and subtleties of which Casey has never come close to understanding. Is wearing that much brown somehow right in the world of historians? Come on girl, upgrade. She studies her friend’s outfit carefully as they finish their mild psychotropic drinks. It’s mid-afternoon and they are at a riverside bar called The Laurentian in what used to be known as Quebec. It is one they frequent; on staff is a Tier 8 bartender who is quite handsome, and the patio provides a great view of the river. Establishment selection is an art in itself: how refined are your tastes, and how do you appropriate them? On the flip side to offer to your guest an experience of a certain variety, sublime in its delivery, requires grace and cohesion. The whole thing is beautiful, like most things.

It’s Friday. No longer some carrot stick, every day is of course the weekend, but tonight is celebratory. Call her old fashioned, but Casey wanted to wait for tonight.

So they lounge, chatting about history. Amanda’s historian score is quite high, around 7.5. She has that affinity for playing like Casey does, but perhaps not as much of a drive. Amanda’s subfield is in cultural progression, and occasionally she explains to her best friend the origins of many of the games, and how they tended to work within in the monetary paradigm in the past.

It’s so strange to consider it. Casey looks around at the people lounging about with each other. Creative, cordial exchange. Drinks, ideas. She has a tough time trying to imagine it how it would have felt to live in the tension of money. It would be utterly hellish.

“Downtown–of all places–used to be infested with criminals and violence. So odd, right?” Amanda shakes her head, taking a drink. Instead of one global core, instead one within each ‘city.’ Relatively cut off, though unique that would be. Amanda has watched the historical videos with fascination.

“Ironic.” Casey chews on the thought, disgusted with it.

Amanda nods at the bartender. “You should go talk to him. He’s Tier 8, you know.”

Casey continues on, uninterested. “Social competition today is the apex of all that is human. How could they act so barbaric? Think, today, how everyone watches.”

“Everyone has always watched it. SoCo is a reflection of who are we. It always has been. The celebrities of our world, we watch them because they show us our identity in attractive circumstance. The clips, movies, and streams we watch together are not less real, they are more real.”

“More human than human…” Casey muses, half kidding.

Amanda laughs. “Ok. Calm down.”

Casey laughs too at this, a stylish time to depart. “Alright, I think I will leave now. Time to go get ready for tonight.”

“I’m so jealous…” Amanda grins, glancing at the bartender again as they stand up.

The nano-explosion had a suck-back, pulling the world’s culture back in on itself into a singularity. Save for a few exceptions, one can simply transport near instantly, anywhere in the world. Transbooths are everywhere; and like-minded people like to be together. Psychology, and the resulting architectural coalescence. Love thy neighbor, and all of that. The inhabitants of the ‘downtown’ atmosphere eventually congregated to what used to be known as northeastern United States/Canada–in particular the Great Lakes. The cap of these labyrinthian monuments to social grandeur were constructed above the huge, now pristine bodies of water. ‘The Greats’ is only accessible to Tier 9 overall. It is where HBA officers live, among others, in the persistently perfect clouds which float above.

Opinions on the matter differ, especially outside of the circuit, but Casey considers the SoCo players the most skilled in an all-around sense. Many of them go on to become HBA officers. The argument is definitely there: rhetoric is reliant on ethos, and that is comprised, in part, by appearance. The sex part of it–that is the culmination of all that is human–surely that is worth holding onto. On this point she sides with the Naturalists over the Trance: we were meant to embrace, not blast away from reality completely. The reason behind the HBI was to establish a safe zone that keeps us human.

Dyce wasn’t human, not by the end.

The methods for self-outfitting and upgrading are, really, the entirety of what everyone does when they are not competing of training. Just because there is a cap it doesn’t make it meaningless. When you think about it, that’s what gives life meaning. Knowing that rules are fair, that it’s all on record. How will you score? The rules are expansive, but the pervading philosophy of the HBI is to keep the human body organic as much as possible. “Technology as guidelines.”

Casey loves it–she loves the game. She spends hours lounging around, scrolling through circuit magazines in her head. She certainly is right now, for tonight is the night.

–Please specify search parameters.

Casey conjures up as close to an image of what she wants to see for her wardrobe, and approximated grouping of apparel appears before her on the bed. It could be transferred onto her body if needed, but there are nuances to doing it yourself which aid in your overall score.

Casey knows this, like the Flight know the weather. Having recently won one of the minor upgrade lotteries she was finally able to raise her logic enough so as to break 800 with her overall score. One of the subscribers to her b-log called it a ‘nice move’ and she smiled broadly at that one. A competitor to the bone, Casey is very proud of this major achievement. She feels like you should really embrace the emotion of these moments. She is basking in it, and, of course, the rewards.

After getting fully dressed and mentally prepared she finally steps into her Transbooth.

Tier 8 please.

Casey Spesh, total overall rating: 800 is now live, as one must be to engage in official play. Her destination tonight is on a brand new field, the second most watched on the circuit. This is it; to be here is to know how time truly passes. She is about to walk through the doors she has sought to walk through for so long.

Tier 8 overall means you can enter the exclusive club of the same name. It stands there across the street, a small country of power which borders three of the Great Lakes. Many people simply live there. “For vanity of discussion.” Anyone with an overall score below 800 physically cannot pass through the nano-wall to the monolithic area. It just like many other places–it is a standard physical security system–but there is something about this wall. It burns at you, the envy, to enter entirely, and see what lies on the other side. To leave the ill-equipped behind? Tonight she is wearing her finest Shifting Veil™ dress, and her gold rating shines radiantly for the first time in a public competition. Casey reaches out with her hand. The nano-wall opens enough to admit her as she comes close. Closer. She feels it contour her body and she moans with the ecstasy of access.

Welcome to the Tier 8 general psychic lounge. Enjoy your stay! Also, ask about our new private room on Olympus, a view which overlooks the Niagra event. Note: this does not include security clearance to the rest of Olympus.

Looking around rather clumsily she finds a few people noticing her. She is minimum qualified and running live–anyone can look at her and access that from the circuit–but still she doesn’t care. She just wants to be here. To see it in full. She begins to take a walk around.

Nearing one of the back rooms in a quiet riverside bar Casey’s eyes fall on someone she recognizes instantly. Sans Calvin. He is one of the most famous social competitors on the planet. He is the perfect balance; the courteous assassin. Nearly everyone has seen some sort of replay of him in action, his conversation the very pilot of the physical plane. Calvin’s curious gaze falls on Casey and he smiles immediately, motioning her over as if they were best friends. The face is perfect: the smile tanned folds of symmetry. His purple aura glows with such complex geometry. His vision stares further towards the horizons of perfection. He stands up. Man.

Casey begins to walk over, and those within eyesight immediately take notice. (It all takes but seconds for circuit viewers to grow into the millions.) She proceeds calmly, blocking it all out as she nears the alpha. This is no time for irrelevant thoughts. Not during the moment of your life.

“Hello Casey, I’ve been waiting for you.” He states rather friendly with no hint of sarcasm and detectable amounts of pure truth.

She is stunned, and the voices come racing in. The internal laughter of others, then the utter silence of not knowing what to say.