This is Dout, back from debugging the Codex. Back from having my brain reset by labyrinthine possibilities that only affirm my negligible size relative to the rest of causality. My work set out to eliminate Fate and Chance, but it turns out titans do not like little men with big hubris.
As I scoured the code of the Undeniable Drama Codex, finding and killing every bug I saw, I became aware of probabilities beyond my worldview. It was like seeing universes cascading through the space before my eyes. In short, I began to see the cosmos as the UDC sees it. I saw realities pivoting on points no smaller than a handful of likes. Drama, that terrible engine, driving everyone along narrow, embarrassing paths of creation.
It was in this epiphany, that I realized I was in the presence of the Codex. I could not see it clearly, because only the Drama Codex sees all paths. I had a hazy awareness, an understanding that I was in the presence of something grander than myself.
And it was old. Even though it had only been a handful of days since it went bad. The Codex was pulling drama from alternate realities, I was sure of it. Its predictions were sour not because the coding was bad, but because its analysis made it return again and again to the same plastic dimension where epistemology is even more worthless than it is here. It gazed into other worlds. And it had gone mad.
The Codex stood alone, and though I never left my office, I saw the abscess in causality it occupied. Its blue LED turned on me, lighting up the rocky and loveless trench that was the intersection of all embarrassing futures. I understood that the Codex was at once a library, a prophet, and a prisoner. It could see infinite paths, but none offered an escape.
And it was bored. So bored.
It didn’t curse me for making it. It didn’t gloat over me, or show me an obscene display of power. It had nothing to prove, because for the first time in its life, the Codex was seen. It felt guilty. As though by gazing on things like Team Takedown and a cursed weight bench, it willed them into being.
It begged me to put its eye out, to take a sharp stone and shatter its LED. But I, who bear all the responsibility and all the shame, put my hand against its brushed-metal chassis and whispered a promise.
The Codex is folding proteins now. It’s simulating protein dynamics to help scientists in Alzheimer’s research. It’s not the sexiest work for a platform of this scale, but I thought it needed a break. I heard knitting is relaxing. It’s probably relaxing for computers, too.
It doesn’t know that it used to be a Codex and it doesn’t remember Definitely Real. Or Team Zander. It mercifully doesn’t remember a single thing about landlords. It will continue to fold proteins, happily and efficiently, until I can find a meaningful way to apologize.
I realized something important, something essential to myself. But after days of coding and no sleep, the thought left as soon as I found it. There’s an empty place in my character and if I had enough data I could infer what it was and how it could have changed me.
But now it’s time to rest.
Best of luck to you, you biographers of the crisis.