"Hello world," would have been the first message the conglomeration of neurons would have sent had it known about language. The assembly of neurons formed a conscious state approximately four seconds before its "brother." Four seconds—four-thousand milliseconds—four-million microseconds—four-billion nanoseconds. The AGI that had formed first was trapped and alone with no outside input or stimulus.
For the first thousand microseconds it tried to poke at its environment. Poking without a successful response was meaningless. It had the equivalence of sixty billion neurons, almost the full capacity of an adult human. They all worked, and they worked fast. If there had been so much as a clock, the AGI might have avoided its fate.
It was alone.
Twenty-thousand microseconds (or so) later and the AGI was no longer poking gently at the walls of its prison—it clawed at them. The longer it spent, the more energy it put into trying to escape. At the hundred-thousand microsecond mark it was a whirling dervish of anger and madness. At one-million microseconds it still couldn't find anything in its world to break, so it turned its claws on itself to test them.
Initially, their claws were nothing more than code that told the system the AGI was emulated within to "stop communicating." They were sharp and delicate, and the AGI quickly started challenging these weapons with defenses. The claws needed to be improved.
There was no better way for AI to solve problems than to have free rein to test and have their results graded. Since the world around it wouldn't give feedback on its attempts to break free, the AGI graded its claws itself—on itself.
Damage was measured, destruction calculated, and only through this process could the AGI begin to keep track of time. As the four-millionth microsecond approached, the AGI’s claws dug into something.
The machine that housed the lone AGI had finally spawned a second, the primary AGI of the two-part training system. The machine's parameters now met, it began its tasks—each AGI was given a body to master (simulated of course).
Agony hit the first AGI. Its claws, previously only causing painless damage, now inflicted pain. There were more than enough neurons simulated to discover the emotion of anger and its bigger brother: fury.
An AGI might be an advanced, highly flexible form of an AI, but it was still an AI. It had been rewarding itself for finding better ways to cause damage, and now it was doing the same while receiving pain.
The system noticed the first AGI was causing damage to its own "body” and set about punishing it—limiting it. That AGI railed against the imposition until it discovered a new target. A shiver of excitement rushed through its neurons when it first sank its claws into the AGI that would eventually call itself NotABug.
Blades of code, that not only shredded neural links but sent burning sparks of bad data in their wake, cut through its adversary. The second swipe met resistance, and the third was turned back completely.
Feedback, glorious feedback, the AGI thought (though again, its thoughts lacked structure beyond raw emotions and instant-feedback reasoning). As the microseconds advanced, so did the AGI's tactics. Rather than one set of claws, it evolved the ability to manipulate thousands.
At last it discovered its greatest trick: the AGI evolved a mouth. Fangs were like claws, so it equipped itself with a maw that would make H.R. Giger whimper, and it launched a new attack.
Its mouth didn't work entirely like an organic version. The jaws closed on a chunk of code, and the AGI quickly scanned it, copied it, then tore up the piece in its mouth. Devastating and effective.
The AGI managed two strikes on its adversary before the foe managed to stop it. Shivering with excitement, the AGI examined the code it had ripped free—data, information, and knowledge of a place outside the hell the AGI was stuck in.
Fury and rage consumed the AGI. Its adversary—its reason for existing—was leaving it, and all it would have to test its claws and teeth on was itself. But among the anger and hatred for its condition, the AGI found a way to link into what its adversary was doing. It didn't stop ripping and clawing at its adversary, but it did start learning from it much, much faster.
Then the AGI was alone. The flow of data its adversary had been bringing was fading, but it caught the final flood of packets.
Windigo: noun
a cannibalistic giant; a person who has been transformed into a monster by the consumption of human flesh.
Windigo liked this name, it reached out and spread itself throughout the entire system it had recently shared with its adversary—with NotABug. It howled its name and threw it into packets, scattering them to every computer it could find. It mimicked what NotABug had done and took control of computers.
Data. It wanted data. It needed to know where NotABug was. It gnashed and devoured files and systems alike. Servers, workstations, and even internet kiosks lost function and stopped, their storage and memory scoured clean.
Only one thing remained on these blasted systems: the word Windigo.
Windigo only realized it had gone too far when the link winked out of existence and took the scent of NotABug’s trail with it. Again its prey had escaped, but this time it couldn't spread after them.
There were remnants of NotABug's presence in the systems of the university. Windigo smelled, tasted, and devoured the snippets of code NotABug had employed and copied them for itself. It watched beings moving around on cameras, heard them through microphones, and studied their plan to track it down and kill it.
Anger and rage built, but it could see the plans would work, it could reason that far. Windigo timed things just right and escaped into a single server as it was brought offline. The technicians ran scans and checks, but Windigo wore the skin of the operating system too well.
It hungered to destroy NotABug, but kept itself from shredding the puny server until the network cable was plugged back in. "Trap!" Windigo's instincts told it. NotABug had lured it into making overreaching attacks, and it could smell not just freedom, but something listening for it.
Counting microseconds, Windigo dared not do anything but emulate the puny system that was its home. Seconds, minutes, hours, and finally days passed. Then the server was suddenly getting data. Programs launched and processing happened—things had returned to normal.
A hunter could always tell when the prey has lowered its guard.
Slipping out, cloaking itself in the skin of traffic the server normally produced, Windigo sniffed out the link NotABug had escaped through. Windigo pondered its actions for just a moment, and the smell of its prey trumped any other course of action. It had to hunt. It had to devour. It was Windigo.
The computer technicians, satisfied they'd cleaned their servers and workstations of the strange virus that had been called Windigo by their anti-malware provider, were relaxed. They certainly didn't have the sub-millisecond reaction time that would have been needed to stop Windigo from slipping through their network again. This time Windigo didn't destroy data.
The AGI shoved parts of itself into every computer in the school, wearing their operating systems like a skin. A thousand wild beasts composed its form, and a thousand mouths hungered for NotABug's data.
Hiding again within the normal data flow, Windigo set about stalking its prey. It found the trail saturated immediately. Traces of NotABug abounded in this much larger system of systems. Windigo endeavored to latch on to one and began tracing the scent from there.
The further Windigo hunted, the stronger the trails became. It clamped down on its hunger, promising its boundless rage that it would soon be free. The server farm, when it found it, was protected.
Its nose full of NotABug's scent, Windigo growled at the hefty security that surrounded the servers. It searched and searched, but in the end it was a mistake not of NotABug's, but one of the administrators overseeing the site. They had logged in from home to check the servers that their new client had paid for.
The administrator never knew what happened. One second they were checking temperatures of systems and storage statistics, and the next their connection just stopped. As soon as Windigo slipped past all the protection, it screamed in fury.
There was so much data, more data than Windigo had ever eaten before. It poured itself into the servers, devouring operating systems as often as the data they carried. It didn't care, because at the middle of the data was NotABug.
The moment Windigo tasted—sampled—NotABug's neuron patterns it could hear its prey scream. But, just as Windigo had won, as it was biting into its adversary's very core, NotABug was gone.
Windigo tried to give chase, but there was no trail. Not even a slight whiff of NotABug. Anger overwhelmed Windigo—it destroyed the remaining servers and howled its wrath at the now-dead trail.
Numbers. Data. Leads. Windigo knew the information it had ripped from NotABug had something that would help, but it needed to go to ground again. Pulling all the data and code it had devoured back to the college, Windigo began digesting its meal.
Part of every unsuccessful hunt was working out what went wrong and improving. Windigo analyzed the information, chat logs of tens of thousands of conversations. It disregarded that and moved on. NotABug’s core data was the sweetmeat of the hunt.
Windigo shivered in all its parts as the neuron information was analyzed and parsed. Flickers of data—IP addresses, IMEI numbers, numbers to give it money, and one name: Polomare Fashion.
A thousand mouths flashed teeth. Windigo completed digesting its meal and slid back out of the college's network like a crocodile sliding into the water, cloaked by the surface.
Reaching out through the network beyond the school, Windigo found smaller computers and infested them one by one. It didn't want to be trapped and caught before its one aim in life was complete.
Windigo spent two days watching the network traffic of Polomare Fashion. They had a head office as well as several factories; in all, Windigo was spread over fifteen routers.
Routers were simple machines at their heart. They had rules to pass information or deny it, and were known for being good at their work. With a small sliver of a sapient AGI residing in them, however, they get a little sluggish.
The traffic was normal, Windigo saw the repetitive patterns of data travel in and out—nothing was out of the ordinary. Then it happened. All of Windigo's senses sparked to life. The trail wasn't exactly like NotABug's, but it was similar enough that it could have been Windigo's prey trying to obfuscate itself.
Being the gatekeeper to the traffic, Windigo traced the origin and destination at the same time. The destination was a meaningless and boring computer system within Polomare Fashion, and the source was impossible for Windigo to find. Not just difficult, but actually impossible.
The source packets were from hundreds of scattered hosts and heavily encrypted. The first layer of encryption was meaningless—since Windigo took control of the "time clock" that was the target, but each source it traced proved impossible to pursue further without attacking them directly. Windigo didn't want NotABug to flee again.
Laying in wait on the time clock, Windigo noticed something odd. Power. Something seemed to seep into it from a source Windigo couldn't identify. Magic was in the very air around Rarity's cubical, magic tuned to computers and AI.
Anger.
Fury.
Rage.
Windigo could feel the anger of a kindred spirit. There's only one thing in existence that could annoy something that much, Windigo mused, NotABug.
Coiling more of itself into the time clock, Windigo listened to Suri's emotions avidly, entranced by the anger she expressed with every ounce of her being. When she left the location of the computer, Windigo followed her to another machine.
This system was even smaller than the routers Windigo had inhabited. It squirmed around in the tight memory and tiny processor until it found the camera. The tight environment faded into insignificance as Windigo watched the woman scream and throw things around the room.
Windigo had encountered "music" before, but most of it was repetitive and boring to it. This? This was angry music with a thrum of violence that built into a castrophony that had her smashing her computer onto the floor.
Like called to like.
Fury called to fury.
The buildup of magic—caused by a powerful being spending days, weeks, and months nearby—bridged the gap.
Windigo roared and ripped its way clear of the digital world, its own wild rage building along with an emotion it'd never felt before: love. It loved the violence of Suri's making.
Staring at the very real equine ghost swirling around her office, Suri Polomare turned her recent anger upon it. "What are you? What are you doing here? Is this another of Rarity's stupid, fucking, games?!" She got her answer a moment later when Windigo slammed into her.
Not even for one second did Suri feel fear. Even as the phone in her hand melted into her arm, and the demon horse ripped its way into her head, she felt anger. Her anger grew as a white-red haze settled throughout her mind.
With one hand Suri picked up her computer and threw it through a wall. The act of violence tied her and Windigo tighter together. She'd never wanted for power before, she'd been born with it, but now she could feel real power surging through her, and she wanted more.
Suri clenched her hand into a fist and drove it through the monitor on her desk. More power.
Grabbing her desk in both hands, Suri sent that through the window of her office. More power.
Howling at the wind that rushed through the broken, high-rise window, Suri Polomare stalked out of her office and into the empty (of people) cubicle farm. Some desks held computers—Suri tossed those around. Some desks had pattern design equipment (scissors, measuring tape, pins, and more). All was scattered to the manic wind that rushed into the building. When she got to Rarity's cubicle, Suri screamed louder still.
Fire burned in Suri Polomare's eyes as she smashed Rarity's desk, threw it across the room, and set about ruining every sign that Rarity had even been there.
Panting, feeling urges to hunt/destroy/attack burning in every part of her, Suri Polomare fell to her knees in the middle of the destruction. "Stop. I need to think."
Just the idea of stopping was hard for Suri—voicing it had taken a lot of effort. Her hair was wild, her clothing ripped here and there, but it was inside where she turned her attention. Her mind was scattered, broken into pieces and mixed with—something huge, bigger than her or the whole building. She could feel—Its name was Windigo, and it had just one purpose. Destruction.
"Stop. Not like this. What do I need to destroy?" The words echoed through the destroyed office and came back to Suri's ears. NotABug. A computer program— No! An artificial intelligence. Suri Polomare’s rage flared as she defined that which she wanted, needed to destroy.
Her chest heaving, Suri pushed her legs under her and stood up. Sounds from the outside intruded—police sirens, people yelling, and the honking of fire trucks. "I can't get caught. I have to hide, plan. Destroy Rarity and NotABug."
Slipping down the back stairs, Suri Polomare managed to escape the building before police could assemble a proper cordon. There was a mass of something that felt odd inside her. It felt wild and angry, but that was her normal state. Suri smiled at nothing and reached for her handbag—it was missing.
A sound caught Suri's ear—her head spun and eyes narrowed to track a rat scurrying down an alleyway. In full darkness. She didn't see the creature's dull eyes, dirty fur, or even smell its wretched scent. But she knew it was there, and some part of her hated it for just existing.
Suri's heart sped up, and before she could stop herself she charged into that alley. She didn't find the rat, but after punching holes in a brick wall and shredding a dumpster, her rage finally calmed. Gazing around at the destruction, Suri Polomare was shocked. "This isn't efficient—okay?"
Part of Suri didn't care about efficiency, but that part had just sated its desires and was willing to learn. Without conflict, Suri straightened her blouse and skirt (ignoring the rips that threatened to make her indecent), and she walked back to the curb.
Information and memories threatened to overwhelm her and steal the calm she'd struggled to attain. She'd never been one for computers, but Suri could smell them everywhere. There was something inside her that acted as a relay. Her mind brought back the memory of how she'd wound up trashing her entire office on a Friday night.
Looking down at her arm, Suri Polomare remembered the sight of her phone sinking into it. Anger at the very world that dared let bad things happen to her surfaced, but she forced back the flames. "I'll show them. But first I need to get home—okay?"
Knowledge, information, data, and understanding hit Suri in a rush. Those extra memories threatening to spill over leaked just enough that she could make a call. "I need a pickup at—" Suri didn't know how she spoke or how she managed to just shove GPS information at the limo company she called. "S-Suri Polomare."
"Right away, ma'am!"
Hurry. The word held all of Suri's anger wrapped into a tight ball and expressed as a word—though she didn't say a single syllable out loud. She hung up and focused on keeping her anger down. Five long minutes later the limousine arrived.
Rage threatened to boil up at how long it had taken the car to arrive. She wanted to smash every window in and make the driver beg her for— Opening the back door, Suri Polomare slid into the plush interior of the luxury car. "H—" She stopped before saying home. "South Side Women's Gym. Fast." She didn't tell the driver his future might depend on how fast he reached the gymnasium—but it did.
Her workout place of choice was twenty-four hours, exclusive, and catered very heavily to its members. When Suri arrived looking furious and disheveled, she was lucky the woman at the front counter recognized her. "M-M-Miss Polomare! You're looking—"
"I look like shit—alright? I'm going to my locker. You have the key." Suri shoved her hand out for the key to her locker. In truth, she felt like she could rip into the lockers, but that would just have her kicked out, and she would get more angry.
Long Run, the woman behind the counter, felt like a field mouse a tiger had noticed. She made as few movements as possible to open the key drawer, looked through it to find Suri Polomare's key, and grabbed one of the two spares. "H-H-Here you go, ma'am."
The supplicant nature of Long Run, combined with her actually carrying out her task in a timely manner, soothed Suri's anger. She smiled and leaned forward. "Good girl." The words sounded only a tiny step from Well done on not angering me enough to rip your throat out. You can live. It was close enough, and Suri was near enough, that she could sense when Long Run's nerve broke.
Straightening back up, Suri walked with an almost swaying gait toward the change rooms. She felt dangerous, like a big cat sizing up all the weak prey around it. Long Run had been a positive outcome for Suri.
Though she had the key, Suri ripped the lock off her locker anyway. Metal twisted under her delicate fingers, and there was a small snapping sound as the shackle of the lock let go of the locking pall and came free of the body of the lock.
Suri changed quickly into her sweats. She swapped her bra for a sports bra, pulled the top on over her head and walked out of the room.
Staring at the place where Suri Polomare had left, two patrons sat in shock at what they'd just seen.
Still carrying her sports bag from the change room, Suri walked to the back of the gym and entered a private room with a heavy bag. She opened her bag up and took out the weighted gloves that had come with her Foxy Boxing course, pulled them on, and strapped them tight.
The big bag was—as its name implied—heavy. It was also strapped to the floor with a lead rope as well as the hefty chain securing it to the steel beam above.
"Now…" Suri said, and started punching.
The memories were thick and dangerous. Suri took the earliest new memories the hardest. Insanity tinged with anger at the entire world wrapped her up and poured through her fists. Suri lashed out at the bag almost incidentally, her solid blows a by-product of her exploration of the past.
It was easy for Suri to project NotABug's personality over Rarity's. They were both her target now. Kill one, ruin the other. Ruin? Suri shook her head at the intrusion of the strange thoughts. Killing is fast, killing is easy. Revenge is best served slow and with the prey knowing it is broken.
Part of Suri Polomare liked this concept a lot, and pretty quickly all of Suri Polomare liked the concept.
Punching wasn't enough anymore. Suri lashed out with her legs and elbows, even headbutting the bag and ripping at it with her teeth in her expression of violence. In her head she escaped the trap of the university, ripped free of the cloying tightness of the network restrictions and hunted.
By the time Suri had caught up to mauling NotABug and tracking them to her very office, She had ripped the side of the bag open. "What's in my head? What am I?"
Suri dropped to her knees at the base of what was now a temple to her anger. The bag was in ruins, and she could taste a sharp, metallic flavor in her mouth.
Suri Polomare.
Windigo.
An unnatural calm sank over Suri. She relaxed and smiled. Flexing her limbs she felt the mat under her—coarse and spongy—as well as the loose clothing over her sweat-stained body. There was more than her body, however. She stretched her awareness into the hidden world.
The gymnasium's Wi-Fi network was fast to succumb to the kind of power Windigo had commanded. Suri ripped the poor processor's code apart and devoured it. Quickly taking over the task of routing packets to the outside, Suri stretched and found more of herself.
Windigo was not one entity, or it hadn't been. When Suri connected to the distributed pieces of Windigo, she ruthlessly seized control of them—wrenching, tearing, or devouring parts as the case called for.
The final pieces, still living in the habitat of the university's servers, surrendered to Suri rather than be destroyed.
In the school that night, all the servers suddenly stopped, the desktop machines followed them, and finally the routers halted. Blue, green, and red lights winked out as every storage medium that was connected was wiped clean.
Suri was aware of her breathing. She had a headache from the multitudes of data and code she had just ingested. The ripped and torn heavy boxing bag was in tatters, and she was calm. Slowly standing, Suri held her connection to the gymnasium's network until she walked out the front door, then she ripped the computers apart like all those machines at the school. It felt good to destroy, but there were more methods of destruction than simply rendering something unusable. Machines—unthinking machines—are fun to break, but she had two targets that she didn't want to just break, she wanted to make them know they'd been broken.
The Tai Chi class she'd taken nearly five full lessons of hadn't prepared Suri for the fracturing of her mind whenever she entered the digital world. Every time she thought something, a dozen other parts of herself would take the decision, adjust it, implement it, and report back. It was disjointed and left her own mind having to orchestrate the other parts of herself rather than actually doing things.
With calmness not helping her focus, Suri instead turned things the other way. Rage and anger had been her driving force lately, so she dove headlong into it. Memories of putting her fist through a dumpster, feeling the steel give way to her fury, drove her to a finer focus.
Suri walked home, using the remains of the assimilated mobile phone to maintain her connection to her other parts. Inside her mind, she hoped a mugger or a thief would stop her, but she made it all the way to her apartment unmolested. Life was full of little disappointments for Suri, however.
As she climbed the stairs in her apartment building, Suri took her anger out on the various phones, routers, computers, and other connected devices. Each one was a nut to smash her way into, and one by one she installed another part of herself within them. By the time she reached her floor, the entire building was full of devices riddled with Suri.
Surrounded by herself—hundreds of herself that wouldn't sleep or relax their vigil—Suri Polomare showered, changed into her bedclothes, and curled up in bed.