I go inside. Put on my headset and pick up the controller. I switch on my console and queue for a game. The day behind me is a haze, but a few rounds of Dispatch will make me feel better.
I play Dispatch most nights. Ok, every night. It’s the most popular game in the world. The company that created Dispatch, Elated, perfected remote cloud gaming. No matter where I am or how slow my connection is, I can play any game I like. Flawlessly.
A few minutes in, I get some strange in-game messages. They’re not from anyone on my team:
David. We don’t have much time. Drop your controller to the ground.
They call me by my name, not my screen name. That’s specific and weird, which intrigues me. What harm is there in dropping it to see what happens? What the heck, I’ll try it.
My character stops. Stupid spammers. But then, after a few seconds, my player starts moving. It runs, gets kills, changes weapons. My controller is still on the ground.
Then I hear myself – me – speaking over the game’s voice chat.
“Guys, are you also getting some lag?” That’s my voice. Then I hear myself yell “behind you!”
I reply to the message:
What the hell?
Them:
We intervened in the code so you could see the truth: that Elated has an AI clone of you on their servers.
They never solved the latency problem, but they learned that decisions can be precisely predicted. So they bought all the data they could and used it to make AI clones of their entire player base.
It feels like you’re playing; making those choices. You’re actually just watching an AI clone of you playing against other AI clones. Cheaper and easier than optimizing latency.
With all that data plugged in, these AIs make the same decision as you at the same moment – the direction you’ll walk, when you’ll shoot, what you’ll say.
I reply:
Is this a prank?
No reply. The weirdness of it all takes me out of myself. I log off, have a drink, go to sleep.
The next day, a rep from Elated calls. She tells me a caching error caused my player to move without input. I don’t want to sound conspiratorial, so I go with it.
But it doesn’t sit right. I heard my voice speaking without me. If there’s any truth to this, people need to know. That’s why I was shown, right?
I call a few journalists. One comes over to see it, but Dispatch no longer plays on its own.
My nights grow restless. If we make choices based purely on personal experiences, is the AI me conscious? Does it fear and hurt? Or is free will some deception of our gray matter; are our decisions precisely preordained based on previous actions, choices and events?
Either way, Elated is selling me back to myself for $49 a month.
I call the rep back to confront her. She denies the claims. I push. Put on hold. When she returns, she has a soothing tone. “It’s ok, David. We can address this.”
The doorbell rings while I’m still on the phone. Two people from Elated are there. They smile. They are extremely calm. Zen calm. They reassure me that what I saw can be explained and invite me to go with them to HQ. I agree, but I’m not entirely sure why – their demeanours are like a spell.
I’m sitting outside a room with a sign on the door: AI Support & Loose Ends. Someone in a lab coat calls me in. I expected a regular professional office, but I’m in a medical consultation room.
“Sit on the exam table please, David. How are you feeling?”
“Well, I don’t sleep properly because your company is…” I look around. “What is this?”
“What did they tell you we’re doing?”
“Who are you?”
“I support the AIs.”
“AIs?”
“They got you in the game chat, right?”
“What is this?”
“Listen, David. They were right, but you weren’t duplicated in some dark server.”
“I saw it. I heard myself. And you’ve trapped a—”
“David,” a pause. “You’re the AI. You’re the clone. They were trying to tell you—” the doctor points to the ceiling “—about this.” They point at me. “Not you.”
“If I wasn’t playing then who was?”
“When AIs like yourself stop inputting, the you up there takes control. It’s laggy, but it’s just a failsafe. We’re improving the latency, but—”
“Impossible. I have a job. A girlfriend.”
“Exactly. You live a full life down here so we can perfectly replicate your choices up there.”
“I remember being a kid, I remember my sister before she—”
“This is tough, I know. But we need you.” They look me in the eye for a second. “Your tolerance was good last time.”
“Last time?”
“This has happened before, David.” They’re lying, right?
“You don’t believe me.” The doctor spins around in their chair to face their computer. “Look at this.” They tap through several CCTV videos. I see myself sitting in the same room.
“What if I tell people?”
“Don’t worry about it.” That calming voice.
“What do you—” A prick in my arm. The lights overwhelm me.
I’m in the hallway outside my apartment.
I go inside. Put on my headset and pick up the controller. I switch on my console and queue for a game. The day behind me is a haze, but a few rounds of Dispatch will make me feel better.