Glitching Out

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Constance would have almost looked flustered, had it not been for that permanent, reassuring smile on her face.
"Wendy- put them back. I, I, I read them sometimes, when you were away, and when I was in the institute- to pass the time, nothing more...please! Put them back, you won't like it..."

But Wendy didn't put them back. She opened the magazines wide enough to see for herself, her blue eyes casting a glow to let her see better.

Ten new styles for coming year!
We ask Dame Denique for her views on the upcoming album, and raising children.
Workaholic, or just tired? How to know when your hubby is avoiding you!
Agony Aunts and more.

Technological fear-mongering? We talked to a professional -The face of a killer? -Assimov's mistake?

"What is this?" Wendy said again, flipping through the pages furiously. A magazine catered to young women, a newspaper regarding current events, and a print titled Tech America. When she came to an article in Tech America's pages, written before the world had cracked apart- a human's topical opinion piece- she stopped and stared at the page with such intensity it was a miracle the cheap newsprint didn't burst into flames. They were talking about her in this article. There was her face, there was Constance's! The institute's first proud guinea pigs.


ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE GONE WRONG?

Police investigsting Maine's controversial institution made a grisly discovery on the evening of August, 23. Three scientists strangled in a room, a room where the alarms continued to blare, unattended. This scene was the result of the newest Experimental feature in Maine's institute, a study into the new victims of a virus sweeping the nation. Police Chief Sou Jo says this occurance is not something to cause a wide-spread panic over. It is assumed whilst the Affected managed to escape, it wouldn't take long for the perpetrators to be brought into law enforcement's sights again.
"They have been taught in a limited manor regarding human behavior. Both will fail to integrate, and subsequently be repurposed. In fact, it's a surprise they have evaded capture for so long." Says the head of the experiment, Mark Street, already facing backlash of a sort for his decision to include the two AIs.
However, this individual case has nevertheless given the public cause for concern. Have the rules of robotics been disregarded?
Mark Street has explained to us at Tech, America, that this is a virus, not nearly as predictable as man-made technology.

"Ah, you shouldn't get so upset about it, it's only an article in a, in a, in a pulpmagazine, Wendy, they blow everything out of proportion, you know that..."

"Stop the car."
 
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Daphne laughed, then immediately gasped as she wobbled briefly before regaining her balance. A shock of adrenaline burst in her chest.
"Uh, none," she admitted, balancing her duffel on her shoulders. "I'm a computer science student - we don't do this sort of thing much." She was talking with exhilaration in her voice; through all the fear and grief and pain she'd experienced since the Glitch began, this little gem of thrilling fun was making her grin. For once all she had to do was focus on leaping from one roof to the next, and each step of the way she was rewarded by adrenaline making her stomach lurch and heart flutter.
 
Patient Wendy Schmidt, first afflicted and brought to the institute in 2025, was described as devoid of human attributes. Scrutinized under the eyes of science for so long, one might say those employed at the institute knew 'her' well. It is understood patient Wendy may have devised the plot to brutally strangle three scientists in an unsupervised lab.
Patient Constance Crown, a character brought in at a later date, was under the influence of a much more docile strand of virus. The patient collaborated with the studies into her behaviour, and responded well to experiments. It is uncharacteristic, Tech America is told, of the individual to have committed something on this scale.

Constance cringed, shrank away as far as the cramped space inside the automobile would allow. "What did I do that's so terrible? What? The magazines, they sound good, I thought. Told the story right, did they not?"
Wendy let out something akin to a growl.
"They must have fucked with you. To see you... Reading this crap. Cosmopolitan? Seriously?"
Constance grimaced, as much as her permanent smile would allow her.
"The fashions- the articles are nice."

"I'm back, Scare. Situations worse than previously thought."
 
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Mangle laughed, helping her new friend along the way. "It's all about knowing where to put your feet. Takes a while to learn and judge what can and can't take your weight." She had a faint idea of where to go- an old warehouse, long since abandoned on the outskirts of town. They could hole up there, raid the surrounding places for supplies and plan their next move.

May need to bring her back sooner than anticipated if she's too bad, Datascare warned. Can you manage to send pictures?
 
Sure. Wendy turned to face Constance, using her optics to snap a few photos of the woman's permanently grinning face. She sent them through the Connect to Datascare, alongside images of the magazines in her presence.
 
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Datascare grimaced, sending a vague collection of her distaste down the line with her thoughts. If she gets any worse it'll scale up to an emergency reGlitching. One of us will have to come get you. We'll let the mission go ahead for now; I trust your ability to stop her from doing anything stupid.
She related the info back to the others. To say they weren't happy was a mild understatement. Zelroth wanted to bring her back immediately, Cyberdark was ready to go pester Virus to reGlitch her over long distance (even though that didn't work and they were aware of this) and Glitchdancer was outright ready to go beat sense into the girl.
It wasn't going to be fun bringing her back.
 
Beneath them - the roofs they'd been climbing had been getting progressively higher, and now the ghost town was sprawled out down below - there were Glitched in the streets, and Daphne could see the wires in their necks where veins should be. There were others that looked so human, wearing modest clothing to hide some sort of technological abnormality. She forced her gaze away, looking ahead and jumping to the next roof. Mangle was a few steps in front of her, laughing infectiously. Daphne smiled too, in part out of joy at finding a charismatic fellow survivor, and because she was picking up now on how to leap precariously. Her movements were more fluid, and her bright brown eyes were wide.
 
Herman had no way of telling how much time had passed. Most technology that could potentially transfer the virus had been confiscated for the public's safety, including watches and phones. The way of knowing the time of day was watching the light shine through the warehouse windows. It was night, it seemed.
"How long do you reckon we're going to be staying here anyway?" Reginald had seemingly recovered from the insult of his old name being dredged up.
"For however long it takes for the world to grow saner." Herman muttered, eyes on his book. Reginald made a sucking noise through his teeth, sighing.
"Fuuuck, man." The comic book he held slumped to the floor. The man got to his feet and wandered around the warehouse. He observed the bland walls.
"Man, this place, we could fix it up a little. Do some interior decorating, that kind of shit."
"With what, Twitch?" Herman grimaced. Reginald seemed not to notice the nickname this time. The sentiment occurred to him.
"Oh yeah."
 
Mangle practically danced along the rooftops. She would move much faster; could, if she wasn't teaching Daphne. They could've made this journey in far less time, but she didn't want her new friend to fall.
Something caught her eye; a large, flat building, with not much on top.
"The warehouse, over there," she called back. Her voice was quiet against the Glitched wandering the street below, so that she wasn't heard and therefore found. "We can climb down there and relax."
 
Daphne slowed beside Mangle, eyeing up the warehouse. It was on the outskirts of the town centre; it looked dilapidated and abandoned. No cameras, most likely. Safe.
"Yeah," she agreed, shifting the bags on her back. "Let's do it."
 
"I'm going to fucking pretend this didn't happen." Wendy leaned forward, cool eyes scanning Constance's face. The woman was raising her hands, palms flat in a defensive manor.
"Alright, alright Wendy, I-"
Wendy grabbed the woman's wrist in a large hand, and Constance could feel the bones and wires constricting-
"Okay! Wendy!"
"I want none of that body language shit either. They taught you that at the institute and I want you to forget it." She let go of the small, bird-like, easy to break bone. Constance let out a sigh.
"I will, Wendy." Those pathetic optics staring up at her, that mournful voice, and that permanent grin. To anybody but their minds it looked as if she was mocking Wendy.
"Now start the car. There's a warehouse up ahead."
 
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It only took a few moments for Mangle to pick out a rough route to take and start down along it.
They crossed over to the warehouse roof, and she looked around.
"It looks like there's a staircase there," she pointed. "But we'll need to jump down. It'll make noise if anyone's in there. It does look like it's the only way in, though, so either we risk it or try the front entrance..."
 
"Let's risk it," Daphne answered quickly. She couldn't bear the thought of trying the front entrance, which faced an open road and would expose them to anyone hiding in the shadows. The stairway would clatter as they landed on it, but it was well-hidden.
She undid a button on her blouse, rolled up her sleeves and looked down fiercely at the jump. Going from a straight-A computer science student to this wasn't easy, but Daphne was nothing if not practical and unrelenting.
 
Mangle nodded. She gripped the side of the ledge leading down and dropped down, hanging for a moment to let momentum fade before letting go and falling the few feet to the stairway below. It rattled and shook, but the iron gratings held. She scouted around the area before giving a thumbs up to Daphne and moving aside for her to drop down. It was safe.
 
Following Mangle's actions, Daphne backed off the ledge and gripped fast onto it with her elbows and hands, feet dangling. After a moment she let herself drop and winced at the clatter, wobbling before steadying herself and picking up the bags she'd dropped down beforehand. She looked around cautiously, then at the door into the warehouse.
"C'mon."
 
Mangle picked up her stuff, strapping it to her back again before nodding. She crept down the stairs, wincing at the faint creaking, though she tried to avoid it as best she could. They were heavily rusted and practically falling apart; she was surprised she hadn't busted one of the steps. Nonetheless, she stood in front of the door, and creaked it open, staring into the room beyond.
It was basically an empty warehouse, but two boys sat in the middle reading and bickering. There didn't appear to be any of the tell-tale signs of a Glitched; no glow near them, and the warehouse was entirely sealed off. One appeared to be reading some sort of book, and the other was pacing around erratically. She stuck her head back through and reported as much to Daphne.
"I don't know if they're Glitched or not. What do you think we should do?"
 
"Hey. Hey! Ssshh!" Reginald placed a finger to his lips, trying to place the new set of sounds he was hearing.
"I wasn't-"
"Sssshhh!" Reginald insisted much to the protest of his band-mate, craning his head to listen for a moment. When there was no recurring noise, he turned to Herman again.
"I think I heard voices."
"Off our meds again, are we?" Herman raised an eyebrow, earning a glare from Reggie and a comic-book slung at him.
"For real man!"
 
Daphne leaned against the wall, eyes pressing closed for a moment. Now that she didn't have to focus solely on leaping between rooftops, the weight of the world started to pull at her hair.
"They probably heard us," she whispered as adrenaline seeped into her veins, preparing her to bolt away. "Does it look like they heard us?"
Overhead, the sky appeared swollen with the coming storm. Grey shadows dampened the gold undertones of Daphne's ebony skin. She looked up. It was minutes before the rain would come; she could see it already falling in the distance, sweeping towards them. There were a couple more possible safe-houses, but they weren't close enough to reach before the storm hit and darkness started to descend. She was desperate for the warehouse to be their salvation - for her sake, and for Mangle's.
"Watch them for a little bit, if they aren't coming this way... if you watch them you might be able to tell what they are."
 
Mangle nodded. She crept through the door, onto one of the large storage containers stuck in the warehouse. The door was especially high up, but she wasn't about to question the logic of these things; the likely scenario was that these crates weren't designed to be moved, but rather stay where they were and be filled and emptied as they were needed. It was an odd design, but she had more important things to be concerned with at the moment.
She dropped down silently behind the top crate onto the one sticking slightly out below it. Creeping along, she peered round the edge. It gave her a good view of the two males in the warehouse.
They appeared to be...listening.
Mangle listened too. She was good at that. And the warehouse would be good at picking up sounds if they moved or spoke.
 
Daphne waited. She could just about see Mangle through the door, and her eyes began roving immediately for their quickest and safest escape should the inhabitants of the warehouse be not so friendly. The stairwell was an obvious starting point, leading down to a thin back path used mostly to keep bins out of sight - from there, she started working out which roads would best lead them out of town.
This warehouse was a little too close to the more built-up areas for Daphne's liking. As the Glitched grew and expanded, she knew they'd soon infest this part of the suburbs. They had a week, perhaps, before they'd better move on.
She waited, watching Mangle.
 
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