LOG 3.0 // THE FALSE REBELLION

  LOG: XSPU SURVEY VESSEL AETHEL

  AUDITOR: ZYD, V'LAR, KY'RELL

  LOCATION: HELIOPAUSE

  "The data is skewed," Zyd stated, disconnecting from the hospital feed. The lingering taste of rot and isopropyl alcohol made her perception twitch. "We have only audited the victims. The Worker. The Sick. The Dying."

  "We are building a profile of the prey," V'lar argued.

  On the Hololith, the recording played in a loop: The 'Priests' in the synthetic suits screaming as the digital numbers turned red.

  Zyd reviewed the data from the center of the bridge. “We are missing a variable.” She stated.

  "Analyze the hierarchy," Ky'rell ordered. "V'lar, what is your assessment of the threat?"

  "It mimics a parasitic infestation," V'lar grunted. "The 'Hex' that killed the salaryman and raised the price of the insulin... it originated here. I assumed these Priests were the apex predators. That they were harvesting the lower castes."

  "Incorrect," Zyd interrupted. "Look at their biometrics."

  She zoomed in on a screaming trader in the pit. "Cortisol: Critical. Heart Rate: 160. This unit is not feeding, V'lar. It is panicking. It is terrified of the Totem."

  "So the Priests do not control the Hex?"

  "Negative," Zyd said. "They serve it. They are attempting to appease it. When the numbers turn Red, they sacrifice resources, jobs, factories, and insulin prices to turn the numbers Green again. They are not the masters of this planet. They are just high-ranking servants….The priest is an interpretation layer."

  “Interesting theory, they interpret the pulse of the control layer and divine its true meaning to drive action. By triggering the Hex they hoped to mitigate the damage of the wellness increase….” V’lar considered his next words carefully. “However, we have yet to determine the potential damage. The implications of the Hex seemed dire: loss of life.”

  "Then what are they praying to?" Ky'rell asked, staring at the ticker tape. "Is it a deity? A rival? A rogue cosmic civilization?" his long slender fingers tapped at the control panel of the hololith. “What dictates the control layer, who or what is driving the totem.”

  "It is a Consumption Engine," Zyd theorized. "A phantom signal. It demands growth. When growth slows, it punishes the hive. But I cannot locate the physical body of the beast. Where does the value go?"

  "We need more data, let us assume that the totem, the control layer has hard rules." Ky'rell decided. "We have seen the victims. We have seen the servants. We have seen the gatekeeper mechanism. The priests' roles are too accumulate value within the system, then are punished when the system fails to produce more value. This species has developed an unnatural resource accumulation drive. What is the purpose of this drive? My theory is that there exists an entity that this world fears; it demands a tithing and appeasement. This world is being mined for something. Yet no resources are being extracted off-world.”

  "We lack a Control Group," Zyd realized. "If this entity feeds on anxiety and value, there must be a biological unit that is immune. Be it an engineered social construct such as religion, a biological imperative or an external force, it cannot be a planetary hegemony. We need to find humans who are not locked in fight or flight.”

  “I believe we are observing biological predation of some kind. It isn’t the biomass of the humans that is being consumed, but their labour. They use animals for labour and food, it is the same mechanism but planet-wide.”

  Ky’rell considered their positions while determining the next course of action.

  “Zyd, return to the observation blister. Look for clusters of humans who do not fit within these patterns, and focus on regional outliers. V’lar, we will analyze the micro while Zyd analyzes the macro situation. Lets find a subject that breaks the pattern we’ve seen so far.”

  "Scanning," V'lar said. "Filtering for 'Low Cortisol' signatures. Ignoring economic status."

  “Wait,” Zyd interjected. “Filter for subjects with high value accumulation. The system punished the woman seeking insulin due to low value accumulation, then presented a metabolic lock to ensure value extraction. When she was declined medication, it was held ransom until she agreed to accept the debt.”

  Zyd pushed off from her station to drift upwards towards the powerful instruments of the blister.

  The map of Earth went dark. The screaming red clusters of the cities vanished. A single green dot blinked in a residential sector.

  "Target acquired, the subject’s environment can be observed and simulated," V'lar noted. "Sector 305. Single biological unit. Cortisol levels are... suppressed."

  "Suppressed?"

  "He is self-regulating via tactile engagement," V'lar said. "He is unaffected by the Hex."

  “I didn’t expect to find a subject so soon, Zyd remain with us.” Ky’rell ordered.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "Transitioning," Zyd agreed, clawing her way back down to the hololith.

  [blue]DATA STREAM CONNECTED.[/blue]

  The simulation shifted, the powerful computing clusters of the Aethel finding every camera feed, blueprint, video and picture taken inside the garage and overlaying it against the real-time map using the home's own WiFi network.

  The abstract horror of the data stream was replaced by the smell of Carnauba wax, leather, and the sweet, heavy scent of unburnt hydrocarbons. Zyd stood in a garage that functioned as a sanctuary; the security cameras and wifi signals provided the Aethel’s systems with data for the simulation. The floor was polished epoxy. The tools were arranged in efficient, foam-lined shadows.

  In the center sat a machine: A small two-seat sports car.

  "Identify asset," Ky’rell ordered.

  "Primitive transport, developed for form rather than function," V'lar analyzed. "Internal combustion. Thermodynamically disastrous—it converts 85% of its fuel into noise and heat, only 15% into motion."

  "And the subject?"

  The man was older. Silver hair. He was wearing oil-stained coveralls. He was leaning over the open engine bay.

  "Look at the biometrics," Zyd whispered.

  "He is in a Flow State," Zyd realized. "He is not working for survival. He is working for dominance over entropy."

  The man applied torque to a rusted bolt on the exhaust manifold. Creak. Snap.

  The bolt sheared off. The metal head clattered to the floor moments after the wrench slipped. The mans knuckle’s slammed against cold immovable casting of the engine block.

  Zyd flinched, expecting the "Subway Response"—the panic.

  Instead, the man simply muttered under his breath and shook his head, sucking at a bruised fist. Dropping the sheared bolt into a bin with the others, he walked to his tool chest, selected a cobalt drill bit and a tap-and-die set.

  "He is fixing it," Zyd said, a tone of respect entering her voice. "He is applying physics to a broken reality, and he expects the reality to yield. Yet every component he touches breaks."

  "This is an Antimemetic," Ky'rell noted.

  "Explain," V'lar asked.

  "The Entity feeds on Dependency," Ky'rell said. "It needs the host to feel helpless so it can demand an offering. But this unit? Every time he fixes a broken part, he denies the Market a transaction. He is curing the infection of dependency through mechanical competence."

  "It is a rebellion," Zyd agreed. "Physics is the only honest broker he has left."

  The man reached into the engine bay and extracted the exhaust manifold, placing it on the cold floor with a thud. He reached into box of bolts, testing the new threads cut into the engine block.

  "Wait," V'lar interrupted. "I am auditing the component he is about to install."

  "Tracing the metallurgy," V'lar said.

  Zyd focused on the package sitting on the workbench. It was a beautiful, rustic wooden box with burned lettering: HERITAGE MECHANICS?.

  "Accessing the local specification sheet," V'lar read. "Commander, I am comparing the manufacturer's data against the physical scan."

  V'lar projected a schematic of the new bolt.

  "The scan indicates a low-carbon, iron and manganese alloy," V'lar analyzed. "Soft. Unhardened. In local terminology, this is 'Grade 2' hardware."

  "Is that standard for this application?" Zyd asked.

  "Negative," V'lar said. "High-temperature exhaust manifolds undergo thermal expansion. They require High-Tensile alloys, Grade 8 or Class 10.9 to maintain clamping force."

  "Why did he purchase inferior hardware?"

  "Look at the finish," V'lar pointed. "It is triple-plated. It is polished to a mirror shine."

  "It is decorative," Zyd realized.

  "It is a trap," V'lar corrected. "I am reading the data associated with this part number. These bolts are notorious for premature failure. The soft metal stretches under heat cycles. It deforms. And when the user attempts to remove it..."

  "It shears," Zyd finished, astonished by the trap.

  "Precisely. The chrome plating hides the poor grain structure. The manufacturer prioritized Visual Value over Tensile Strength."

  Zyd looked at the receipt on the man's digital pad.

  "And the exhaust?" Zyd asked.

  "It is a musical instrument," V'lar said. "It does not improve power or efficiency. It is tuned to emit a frequency of 100Hz at idle. That frequency triggers a chemical response in the brain. He isn't buying speed, Zyd. He is buying the sound of capability."

  "It is not a rebellion, and it isn't an antimemetic," Zyd whispered. "It is just another feeding mechanism."

  "He believes he is fighting the system," Ky'rell noted.

  "But the System is selling him the ammunition," Zyd finished. "They identified the 'Right to Repair' instinct—the desire for mechanical autonomy—and they turned it into a luxury product. They realized that if they let the humans feel self-sufficient, they could charge a 400 times the material cost on shiny, soft metal."

  The man smiled as he threaded the new, overpriced bolt into the engine block. He wiped his hands on a branded rag, satisfied with his work.

  The key turned and the beast roared to life. The powerful engine sprang to life, a deep guttural growl. He felt the vibration of the engine. He heard the thrum of the exhaust. His brain released a hit of dopamine. He felt like a man who didn't need the system.

  But he had just installed a component guaranteed to fail the next time he ran the engine hot.

  "It is the ultimate adaptation," Zyd said, her voice hollow. "The system does not fear the resistance, Commander."

  She watched the man polish the chrome, unaware that his "hobby" was a line item on a hedge fund's quarterly report.

  "It franchises it."

  LOG 3.0 END.