Virtually Immortal

“If you had the option of leaving messages behind after death, would you?” a handsome man on the television asked. He was tall, slim, and his voice was pleasant. “No, not like a journal or a will. I’m talking about a real, interactive message. In a few words, a virtual copy of yourself that could interact with the world when you’re gone.”

The camera zoomed out to reveal him standing on the center of a stage. His hands were interlaced casually and hovered by his waist as he spoke. Behind him flickered the bright sheen of a projected slideshow. “Virtual Afterlife” was printed in large letters.

In response to his comments, a volley of surprised gasps and scattered applause echoed from the unseen audience. The man smiled, and with a wave of his hand he continued.

“You see, we’ve been developing the technology for years. Progress has been steady, and I’m proud to announce that the grand release is scheduled for next month. We’ve kept this exciting venture pretty hush hush, but the time for secrets has passed. If you’re up for it, how about a brief demonstration?”

Members of the audience voiced their approval, and a monitor was wheeled into view. Below the monitor sat a laptop, and he began to type on it without hesitation. Almost instantaneously, a copy of the man appeared. Their eyes were the same shade of green, their hair was trimmed short, and they wore identical smiles. The primary difference was that while the real man was fully visible to the audience, the virtual clone — although a few skeptics believed him to be a pre-recorded video — was only visible from halfway up the torso.

“I know what you may be thinking,” the speaker stated in a voice that shushed the crowd. “It could be a video, recorded last week. Allow me to demonstrate. May I have a volunteer?”

He pointed to someone off-screen and gestured for them to come forth. A timid woman soon came into view and stood next to him on the stage. They shook hands, and the man turned to face his double on the monitor.

“Introduce yourself to him and ask whatever question you wish,” the man instructed her. “Be as specific as you wish.”

“Uh, my name is Carey,” she began sheepishly. “What is the current date?”

“Hello, Carey,” the virtual man replied in a voice mirroring that of his flesh and blood counterpart. “Today’s date is April 6th, 2024. The current temperature outside is 61 degrees Fahrenheit, and the time is 2:07 pm. Do you wish to know anything else?”

The speaker grinned at hearing the machine recite data in his voice. Carey was noticeably taken aback by the response.

“Who, or what, are you, in your words?”

“I am a virtual copy of Daniel. I was created and developed to act in his place, if needed, and to make decisions based off of his wishes. For all intents and purposes, I will take Daniel’s place in the world if he ever becomes incapacitated. Does that answer your question?”

“Impressive, isn’t he?” said the tangible Daniel. “You may wonder how he came to resemble me so closely. Funny enough, he is able to call my wife and make dinner plans without me being aware.”

The audience laughed. Carey returned to her seat, and the speaker paced back and forth across the stage.

“In my case, I sat down for a number of sessions and interacted directly with the system. It recorded my voice, analyzed my movements, and formed its own intelligence based on what I know and desire. It took a few weeks, but the finished product is really quite extraordinary, don’t you think? The two of us are open to any and all questions.”

“Aren’t you worried?” someone from the crowd asked. “Don’t you think it could take over your life or something?”

Daniel’s smile turned mischievous as he responded, “But that’s exactly the point. This new, virtual, copy of me will take over my life when I can no longer live it on my own. People will doubtlessly say that it is unnatural, but if you had the choice to live forever, would you? This is the future, and this is what we are capable of!”

His voice was drowned out by a tidal wave of applause that seemed to echo out from the television screen. Their claps and cheers filled the dim room in which the speech was being watched. A moment later, it all went dark and the man with the remote, Alec, sighed. He sat in a small lounge that formed the corner of a tall office building. Its furnishings did not reflect the sleek and artificial nature of its inner workings. Instead, there was a wooden coffee table, two wooden chairs, and a pair of broad leather sofas that felt soft, comforting, and human. The man shifted restlessly in his seat and checked the time on his phone. A text message awaited him, reading: emtegrofreven. He stared at it for a few seconds, unsure of its meaning.

He was interrupted as Daniel entered and crossed the room at a brisk pace. In person, Daniel did not appear quite as handsome. Perspiration made his forehead shine and his eyes were ready to glaze over.

“Hey, Dan,” the seated man greeted him. “I take it that you haven’t solved your issue, yet. You’re still losing sleep, aren’t you? I know the expression.”

“Alec Idler, it’s great to see you in person,” Daniel replied with a fatigued smile. “Everything that I told you over the phone and through email is still an issue. The public doesn’t want to devote so much of their time to these backups. Yes, the end result is worthwhile, but people want the finished product sooner. Other people are afraid that they won’t live long enough to finish.”

“Still, you can finish the program in a few weeks,” Alec replied.

“There are plenty of people who don’t have a few weeks. We have a session going right now, if you’re ready to begin your work.”

Alec nodded and rose from the comforting hold of the sofa. He followed the man out of the lounge and passed into the realm of the artificial. It was impossible to stand anywhere in the main area of the floor without being far from a computer. Employees buzzed about their cubicles and a constant din of ringing phones made it difficult to hold a conversation. Daniel led the way into the nearest elevator, and when the heavy doors shut the two were locked in what felt like a soundproof cell. As if daring to break the ominous silence, Alec’s phone rang. He smiled upon seeing the caller’s name.

“Hey, I can only talk for a few moments,” he said “What’s up?”

“Not much,” a cheerful voice replied. “I just wanted to check up on you. Have you gotten to look around, yet?”

“You mean around town? I took a short drive to the usual spots, but it isn’t as fun without you here. It’s been three years since the move, but not a thing has changed. Is Rachel giving you any trouble back there?”

“She had a bad dream last night, but other than that, she’s as happy as ever. I just made lunch for her, and there’s a play date with Cynthia scheduled for this afternoon. Wish me luck.”

“I’m sure that it will be fine. With any luck, I’m only here for a quick tech support consultation. I’ll drive home as soon as possible, then maybe the three of us could go somewhere fun.”

“I’d like that a lot, Al.” Her sentence was punctuated with a cough.

“Sorry, I really need to go now. We’re about to reach the Afterlife lab. I promise to call you tonight, okay? Don’t forget to take your cold medicine.”

“You know that it isn’t a cold,” she replied. The cheerfulness in her voice was replaced by a serious tone. “Do as much as you can to help with their program. There are people in the world who are too good to die. I love you, Alec.”

“Yeah, I will,” he said after as short pause. “I love you too.”

The elevator ceased moving, and the heavy doors began to glide open. When Alec slipped the phone back into his pocket, Daniel deemed it an appropriate time to speak.

“How’s your wife doing? You don’t look too happy.”

“Morgan is alright, but I worry about her. She’s been sick, lately, and I wish that I could be home to take care of her.”

“How sick?” Daniel asked.

“The coughing won’t go away and often enough she has trouble focusing. It isn’t easy, but there are times when she seems perfectly fine. I value those moments.”

As they spoke, Daniel led him through a network of dim hallways. On either side of their path, windows looked in on laboratories and examination chambers. It was all surprisingly tidy and smelled faintly of bleach.

“Have the two of you spoken about the Afterlife Program?” Daniel inquired.

“Extensively. She understands how useful it is, but it isn’t what she wants. She’s told me that if anything happens to her, she wants to leave something human behind. Morgan wants me to have more than a computer program to remember her by.”

“Hm, that’s understandable. I wish the best for both of you. Anyway, we’re coming up on the room now. Brace yourself, Alec.”

They turned into a narrow room where three members of the lab crew waited. A thin layer of soft padding lined their jumpsuits, and protective visors obscured their faces. Beyond them, a two-way mirror looked in on their test subject.

“How is Mr. Dreyer doing?” he asked one.

“He’s been resting, but he’s stubborn and wants to continue with the session,” one of the technicians answered. “After what we’ve seen already, with the others, I don’t understand why. I’m afraid that he’s no longer trying to work with the program.”

“Show me, please,” Alec requested.

“You must be Doctor Idler,” she said. “We’ve set up a chair inside, so that you may observe.”

It was then that Alec looked through the window and laid eyes on Mr. Dreyer, who sat with his back to them. The statuesque man rested on a long cushioned chair, fixed at its base to an array of computer monitors and controls. Three monitors hovered in front of his face, close enough for him to reach out and touch.

When Alec followed one of the technicians in, Dreyer didn’t give either of them any notice. His arms dangled over the chair’s arm rests, tipped with fingers that were neither stretched nor clenched.

“How are you feeling?” the technician asked. Dreyer remained unresponsive and refused to even look at her until she mentioned their work. “Do you want to continue? We don’t need to, if you aren’t feeling ready.”

“No, I want to,” Dreyer sounded unsure of his own answer. “Turn it back on and let me talk to it. Turn it on.”

Alec sat on a folding chair that looked just about ready to collapse. He tried to sit in a position that allowed him to see both Dreyer and the monitors that he would respond to. Dreyer’s gaze was fixed on the central monitor as it flickered on. Moments later, Dreyer’s reflection appeared, and he saw himself through the computer’s camera. Lights blinked and a low mechanical hum vibrated through the inner mechanisms.

“You…what do you want with me?” the copy of Dreyer asked, noticeably unnerved.

“It’s you again. You’re back,” Dreyer snapped. “Who are you?!”

“I am your double. We share knowledge, a personality, and a life. All that you have is equally mine.”

“No! You do not have my life, whatever you are! You don’t have control!”

“Who are you?” the machine asked, as if genuinely confused. “I am Jared Dreyer.”

“Whatever you are, you are not me!” Dreyer shouted. The virtual face was ugly and contorted with rage. Its nostrils flared, its eyes narrowed, and it bared perfectly symmetrical teeth. Alec noticed that it was mimicking the expression of the real Dreyer.

“You want to destroy me!” one of the Dreyers exclaimed. Nobody in or outside of the cramped room could identify which had spoken. Their voices were too similar. Dreyer’s rage had ignited without warning, and each face unleashed a barrage of denials and insults at the other.

“I will never allow you to get rid of me.”

“What? I’m not the copy here. I’m the real Dreyer.”

“I was born on July 19th, 1992, at a hospital in Salt Lake City. My parents are Kim and Richard Dreyer, who live on Mitner Road about 13 minutes driving distance from the city. Our house has two floors, a garage that can hold two cars, 14 windows, three doors, and a treehouse in the back yard that sits in the rotting limbs of an old oak tree. A cage sits near the back porch, leftover from the summer when we owned a rabbit. The basement shelter doors are rusted shut from years of neglect. Inside the house, we have a fireplace that was sealed in before our purchase of the house. My bedroom is upstairs, on the left, beyond the length of 18 steps, perpendicular to a small upstairs bathroom…”

The voice continued to chant various facts without pause, and the other Dreyer watched in horror. He sunk back in his leather chair and threw sweaty palms against his face. He covered his eyes, as if that would silence the infernal flow of information.

“How do you know all of this?” he choked on his words pitifully and refused to uncover his eyes. “I never told you about this!”

“…and to make up for it she removed the crusts with a knife before toasting the bread. Then she covered it with a film of butter and just enough cinnamon to cheer me up. I’ve made it since then, whenever I’m upset…”

“I’ve had enough of you! You’ll never be human!”

Dreyer struck at his reflection on the screen, which had also covered its eyes during its verbal assault of memories and facts. For a moment before Dreyer’s fist made contact, the copy’s face was revealed to have changed. It no longer looked human, but rather a familiar face that had been distorted and torn apart at the edges. Alec wished to look away, but fear and fascination kept his eyes glued to the spectacle.

“Shut it off!” Daniel ordered from the other room. “Don’t you see that he’s had more than enough? Get him out!”

Dreyer bashed his fists against the monitor, to no avail. With each impact, the image of the doppelganger only became more grotesque. Dreyer let out an inhuman wail, and the program echoed it back with more volume and passion than Dreyer’s weak body could manage. It was a noise that blended rage, misery, and fear. The painful wails filled the room, and Alec covered his ears in an effort to block the chaos out. The machine’s pitch heightened and Dreyer’s voice abandoned his body. He threw himself back against the chair in resignation.

Alec held his ears tightly and shut his eyes as the electronic screeching persisted. Then, as if nothing had happened, it was gone. He opened his eyes and looked around the small room to see what had happened. The monitors were blank, Dreyer was motionless, and the technician was sprawled on the floor. Daniel dashed into the room to help, but the woman was unresponsive. The other workers watched cautiously from the doorway.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this bad,” Daniel muttered under his breath. “I didn’t realize that it would be this bad.”

Like Dreyer, Alec didn’t speak for a few hours. He communicated through weak nods and avoided eye contact with others. Daniel pushed for him to seek a medical examiner, but a short glare from Alec deterred him. Eventually, Alec retired to his hotel room for the night.

“Please, Al, talk to me,” Morgan pleaded over the phone that night. “There’s something wrong, isn’t there? Don’t shut me out!”

“I’ve heard of people corrupting the program before, and it can be a serious issue. They can really mess it up if they try. This guy didn’t seem to be in control of himself at all. He reacted immediately and negatively to the program, like an automatic response. It got to him before I arrived.”

Morgan lost herself in a short coughing fit, and Alec frowned. Her sickness continued to reveal itself more with each passing day.

“I’m terrified at the thought of losing you,” he said subconsciously. He stared at the floor and waited silently for her reply.

“Al, I promise that I’m not going anywhere. I wouldn’t do that to you and Rachel.”

Alec managed a feeble smile, and their conversation gradually returned to normal. He didn’t want to dwell on her condition. Morgan provided an account of her day, then mentioned Rachel’s playdate. She avoided any mention of the coughing fits. Alec didn’t find himself ready to sleep until the clock passed two in the morning.

He was forcibly woken from his rest by the shrill tone of his cell phone. Alec had only been able to sleep for two hours. Daniel left a message, urging Alec to come see him. Reluctantly, he returned to the building at Daniel’s request. When Alec arrived, he was caught off guard by the somberness in Daniel’s expression.

“What happened? You didn’t say much on the phone?”

“Come with me, please,” Daniel requested with his voice just above a whisper.

Alec followed him in silence, down the elevator, into the grid of hallways and rooms. In the early hours of the morning, the lab was a different place. He was able to count the active workers on his fingers. Alec expected to revisit Dreyer’s cramped chamber, but Daniel led him down a narrow hallway that led away from the observation rooms.

“Aren’t we going to see Dreyer?” Alec asked as they progressed down the hallway.

“We are. He isn’t in the old room anymore. They’ve moved him.”

“This is pretty far from the other rooms,” Alec stated. The doors were far apart and lacked windows. The air felt significantly colder as they approached the end of the hallway.

“He’s in here,” Daniel said plainly as he gestured to the last door on the right.

They entered the room, and Alec immediately noticed a few details about the room. A bright artificial light cause him to squint. Large gray cabinets were set in the left wall, a collection of narrow tables bordered the right wall, various medical instruments were displayed on the side opposite of the entrance, and Dreyer lay on a table in the dead center of the room.

One arm was stretched out and dropped over the side of the table. Dreyer’s fingers were worn down to bloodied stubs of exposed bone. Alec shivered, both at the chill in the air and at the sight of Dreyer. The man did not look peaceful in death. Shallow cuts decorated his face, and one of his eyes was covered with a cloth pad.

“How did it happen?” Alec asked.

“I didn’t see it start. He accessed the program, somehow. He must have. The technicians wouldn’t have allowed it without my notice. He was alone with the program and it was too much for him. His shouting was the most alarming noise I’ve ever heard. We ran to help, but the door was blocked with a chair. He threw himself against it with all of his strength, clawing at the mechanisms and screeching like a trapped animal as sparks flew. He went in to fight the machine, and he died as a result.”

“Did it kill him?”

“No, it lacks the capability. We did not design it to do this. It’s supposed to preserve who people are, not destroy them. I can’t fathom the program murdering someone.”

“What happens next?” Alec asked after a long moment of silence.

“We have an obligation to improve, and that’s what we’re going to do. We will take a few days to reevaluate our protocols and plan the next few months, but after that short break we really need to resume our work. This could dictate the future, after all.”

Alec stayed in town a few days longer out of respect to the dead. An inner voice doubted whether it would truly be possible to help people. He feared that more minds would reject the new program. He attended the funeral, but watched from a distance. Dreyer’s family gathered, and Alec couldn’t stand to face them. When they departed, he moved closer. As he stood by Dreyer’s grave, the phone vibrated in his hand, and he glanced down to see a text message from Morgan. A string of letters waited for him, devoid of discernable meaning: emevigro fesaelpniaga uoyeesotevi laebdluoci tahthsiwi. He stared down at the illegible message and glanced back at Dreyer’s final resting place.

When enough time had passed he walked away, but instead of returning to his car he stayed within the cemetery and walked to the far corner. He paused under the shade of a tall yew tree and remained silent as he examined the familiar face of the nearest head.

“Morgan Idler April 12th, 1989 — May 29th, 2021
Beloved Wife and Mother — She Will be Missed

There was no emotion on his face, but he was compelled to visit the spot out of ritual. He stood there, motionless, until his phone buzzed again. He looked down to see the name of who was calling him, and it read “Morgan.”

“Hey, honey, I wanted to wait around and pay my respects. I’m coming home, now. I should get there in time for dinner.”

“I think I’ll order pizza this time,” Morgan’s voice replied. “What toppings would you like? Rachel already chose hers.”