***Hey all,
This is my first attempt at writing. Ever. Please be kind.
The concept for this story has been bouncing around in my head for several years now, and while MC was only hinted at so far, in Chapter two you will see why it belongs here.
I stopped Chapter 1 at ~1000 words to gauge interest, and try to read the room before diving deeper- no sex in this chapter, though there will be a lot of sex in Ch. 2 if all goes as planned ;P ***
Life since I uploaded has been different (as expected), yet surprisingly the same.
People considered the possibilities for decades before the tech became viable, and while some of their ideas were fantastical and completely unrealistic, most failed to understand the breadth of of the changes careening down the highway towards mankind.
For example: We became able to create an accurate simulation of a copied human mind long before we had the distributed processing power to run just one at real time. Today, while death is a thing of the past (barring freak accidents), and massive promotional programs are run by the Social Security Administration begging people to upload early to save the creaking financial bones of a endowment once flush with assets, most people once uploaded still run at about 20% of real time- despite the SSA becoming the largest server farm operator and research sponsor in the world.
The poor are as always, fucked.
I, of course am not most people.
-Chapter 1-
Mornings are odd. I still need sleep- far less since I accelerate well past real time during my off hours, and the need is purely for the reallocation of data- no biological needs there. But they're odd because I wake up... awake. During my (sadly far longer than I wish) stint in meatspace, mornings were my least favorite time of day. Cloudy, stumbling, aching- none of those feelings assail me now, and aside from a moment's disorientation I wake up completely clear headed.
Today I begin my day by rolling out of my bed, feeling the carefully designed qualia given by the thick, luxurious carpet, and pulling on my velvet smoking jacket.
Once uploaded, your experience varies wildly depending on your abilities, and willingness to learn. Some of us, known colloquially as "intuits" found (on the advent of neural-computer interfaces in the late 2040s) that we had an unusual ability to separate ourselves from physical methods of communication- writing and transmitting code without a need for simulated crutches (body, keyboard, screens), and allowing us to move through simulated environments in what can most accurately be analogized as "god-mode".
Most people- especially those over the age of 30, must have an entire environment created for them, just to be able to function virtually. I cannot deny the comfort of such anchors, but I find most mass-produced work to be shoddy, and lacking in the details- and frankly, it's more satisfying to build ones own.
This was to be an exciting day. My emails with a prospective subject had gone well, and I was to meet her later in the afternoon to sign the paperwork. I walked over to my item compositor (I choose weird names for everything I create- honestly, because it amuses me), and tell her to make me a cup of coffee, and an everything bagel. An excited "yes sir" later, and my breakfast was ready. Kelley (my "item compositor"), is alive. Not an AI, but an actual consciousness.
I've tied the parts of her brain responsible for orgasm, to her ability to create things. The better pleased I am with her work, the more intense her feelings of satisfaction. She has no body, aside from her fixture in my wall- and aside from her adjustment period, seems to be the happiest she has ever been in her life. Kelley was my first acquisition. That was an odd day...
We sat across the poorly rendered table. Kelley's avatar was a depressingly low-quality artist's recreation of her as a twenty-something, made from some early digital photos, before digital optics were nearly capable enough for the task- and likely a few scanned in prints.
