move from work dir

clade/content/aur.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,193 @@
+Echoes of Grace singing, memories and emotions, clashed with the doctor's words.
+
+\begin{quote}
+\emph{Dans un sommeil que charmait ton image\\
+Je rêvais le bonheur, ardent mirage\ldots{}}
+\end{quote}
+
+``I know you've signed the waivers, but I need a verbal confirmation,'' she was saying. ``Do you understand the procedure?''
+
+\begin{quote}
+\emph{Tes yeux étaient plus doux, ta voix pure et sonore,\\
+Tu rayonnais comme un ciel éclairé par l'aurore;}
+\end{quote}
+
+Sylvie nodded. It was strange not to feel her hair, always so frizzy and buoyant, following the motion a scant second too late.
+
+``I'm sorry, Sylvie, it needs to be a verbal confirmation. The uploading process will be fatal and irreversible. There is some risk, about one and a half percent, that it won't work.'' The doctor paused and picked up a pen. She added, ``Won't work after the point where your body will have died, that is. Do you understand?''
+
+A swallow, dry, and another nod. ``What will happen in that case?''
+
+``Your family will receive a payout of ten million francs CFA. Your body will not be available for a burial, unfortunately.'' The doctor looked strangely abashed. ``The results of the process are\ldots{} ah, not pretty.''
+
+``I understand.''
+
+``One last thing, then. After the uploading process, successful or not, your blood, organs and tissue will be donated---or, ah\ldots{} sold---to a tissue bank in central Africa. Your family will receive ten percent of this, and the Centre the other ninety. This is to help defray the cost of the process.''
+
+Sylvie thought for a moment, rubbed her hand over her smooth-shaven head. ``About how much will that be?''
+
+``The cut to your family?'' The doctor fiddled with her pen, twirling it across delicate dark fingers. ``Lately, we've been getting about a hundred million francs, so again, about ten million. Not a bad payout, hmm?''
+
+Not bad indeed. Sylvie had little love for her family, minus her brother, so the payout wasn't a huge incentive, as it was for others. She just hoped Moussa wound up with a chunk of it. Unlikely, given her mother. She nodded. ``Uh, I agree. Confirm. Whatever.''
+
+``So then. Your surgery is scheduled in one hour. You have fifteen minutes before prep, which means fifteen more minutes to back out if you should choose. I'm going to head back to the team and leave you be to think this over.'' The doctor gestured to her right: a phone huddled, mute, on the table next to the coffee machine, the creamer and sugar. ``Dial zero on the phone on the desk if you wish to cancel. There will be no repercussions if you do.''
+
+The doctor stood and leaned forward, offering her hand. Sylvie lifted herself out of her chair and accepted the handshake, marveling at such an antiquated gesture, feeling the need, however real or not, to be careful of those delicate fingers. The grip was firm.
+
+As the doctor stepped out of the room, Sylvie settled back into the chair. She closed her eyes against the sight of all the posters advertising the procedure.
+
+``Upload today!'' they shouted.
+
+``Experience a life beyond need!'' they hollered.
+
+``Work without pressure!'' they howled.
+
+Everything was so loud, so loud.
+
+She had them all memorized, anyway. All those overbright promises that hat circled her head like a halo yearning for the System somewhere above the sky had grown wearisome.
+
+Right now, she just wanted quiet. She just wanted peace and stillness. She just wanted to \emph{think.}
+
+She just wanted to think of Grace.
+
+Grace with her silvering hair.
+
+Grace with her fair and smooth skin.
+
+Grace with her liquid laughter and lovely voice.
+
+They'd fallen in love within weeks. A chance meeting at a work party---Grace someone's plus-one, someone in accounting---had led to an hour and a half talking about music. The chat had led to a concert. Then another. Then coffee. They'd shared only a scant few years together after that---one of them married---before being separated again. An impenetrable boundary of distance, of the immiscibility of emulated sensorium and embodied flesh.
+
+Grace's decision hadn't been Sylvie's. Uploading, the very thought of it, made her skin itch and eyes ache. To be removed from this world and sent to another, to the System, didn't appeal to her. What greater life could the System offer? What did ``a life beyond need'' mean? That one could eat to one's delight? But she'd heard that hunger wasn't a thing, so what mattered satiation? That one could sleep as long as one wanted? But of what use were dreams up there? That one could live forever?
+
+It did appeal to Grace.
+
+Grace with her failing voice.
+
+Grace with her deteriorating coordination.
+
+Grace with her pain, her depression.
+
+For Grace, it was a way to escape her body. That body that Sylvie loved so much, and which was such a prison to Grace. A voluntary procedure---``Help combat overpopulation!'' the posters screamed, eugenics veiled thinly, and even then only with a wink and a nudge; the population had been dropping for a decade at least---but also a way to neatly sidestep the multiple sclerosis slowly claiming her body and mind.
+
+After the upload, Sylvie had heard from Grace through text, through mails sent to her terminal which she'd pore over at work, reading top to bottom, top to bottom, a daily \emph{lectio divina}. She asked Sylvie. She begged her. \emph{Come join me, come upload,} she said. \emph{The posters, they're all true, they're all right. We can be together as if nothing had changed. At least, nothing for the worse.}
+
+The thought \emph{still} made her skin itch and her eyes ache, but all the same, she kept dreaming of Grace. Dreaming of softer eyes, of a voice more sonorous. Her Grace shining like the dawn.
+
+So she'd relented.
+
+\begin{quote}
+\emph{Tu m'appelais et je quittais la terre\\
+Pour m'enfuir avec toi vers la lumière,\\
+Les cieux pour nous entr'ouvraient leurs nues,\\
+Splendeurs inconnues, lueurs divines entrevues\ldots}
+\end{quote}
+
+Sylvie's mind was filled to overflowing with Fauré, with that rolling, lilting theme, with Grace's voice at the piano. Even as she was put in a hospital gown, even as she was wheeled back to the operating room on a tired gurney, it played in her head. Maybe she hummed, she didn't know.
+
+``We're going to keep you awake, okay? We need to as part of the process, you have to be conscious but you'll be under local anesthesia. It'll make you feel a little dreamy. You may have visual disturbances.'' The doctor's smile was kind. ``Some report it to be enjoyable.''
+
+``Okay. How long will it take?''
+
+``An hour and a half, plus about thirty minutes to prep you for upload. The upload will happen in two stages,'' she said. ``You'll be uploaded to a local node at our center, which will give you access to a waiting room of sorts for the System proper. The upload to the L5 point will take several hours via Ansible---it's a lot of data going a long way, you understand---so the waiting room will usually have you stick around.''
+
+Sylvie thought for a moment, ``What about the copy that remains?''
+
+``It's free to quit, like a program on your terminal quitting. But they---the\ldots{} ah, sysadmins---usually request that it stay around in case the upload to the system gets interrupted for some reason. Cosmic rays or whatever technobabble fits that day.''
+
+``And I just\ldots{} wait?''
+
+``Wait until the upload's completed, then you'll either quit or the sim is halted.
+
+``And what will I feel if things go wrong?''
+
+The doctor hesitated, looked to her team. It was another team member, a man with a thick French accent, who responded. ``We don't really know. The local node will pick up on it and alert us. Death just looks like death to us.''
+
+Sylvie nodded. Tried to nod, at least. She was firmly strapped down. ``Alright.''
+
+There was a pinprick at the crook of her elbow. A feeling of coolness spread up her arm, into her chest. A tightness, there, and then a tightness along her neck. A brief moment of panic as she tried to flex her fingers.
+
+``We are starting the neuromuscular blocker. This will paralyze your voluntary muscles, so don't panic about the feeling,'' the anesthesiologist mumbled, distracted. He tapped her forearm, sending a pins-and-needles flash through the right half of her body. ``But it doesn't numb you. That will be the next one, the anesthetic.''
+
+Sylvie attempted to speak, but only managed a grunt of assent.
+
+The anesthesiologist nodded, ``Good. Here it comes, then.''
+
+The chill ache was replaced with a comfortable warmth.
+
+\emph{Not warmth,} she thought. \emph{Nothingness. Floatingness. Leaving-the-Earth-ness. Gone-ness.} Some part of her giggled. Dreamy indeed.
+
+``Sylvie, can you hear me? You won't be able to speak or blink or nod, but can you try and take two quick breaths? It may be difficult. We'll intubate if necessary.''
+
+Sylvie obeyed. Or thought she did, at least. She couldn't tell if the breaths were actually happening. It seemed to be enough for the anesthesiologist, whose shadow across her vision bowed and stepped out of sight.
+
+Time wandered.
+
+Voices rang with the timbre of bells. Sometimes they formed words, sometimes they were broken down into their component tones and she could only here formants, fundamentals. Surgeons talking to technicians.
+
+A dull, basso organ note of something grinding, her vision vibrating, blurring the sight of the light above the bed.
+
+A light? \emph{The} light? \emph{Are my eyes even open?}
+
+The light took the form of Grace, and Sylvie more readily gave in to the effects of the drug.
+
+Grace with her angelic smile. Grace lifting her up, away from the earth. Grace running, running into the ring of that surgeon's lamp. Into and through, up and up. Clouds, clouds parting.
+
+The organ note screamed up through several octaves.
+
+Calm, ringing voices.
+
+That yearning song tinkling pacidly through her mind, stretched and elongated. She was unable to tell whether it came from herself or from one of the techs. Or maybe from Grace. \emph{Dans un sommeil que charmait ton image\ldots{}} Tinkling and flowing. Rocking. Drunken. Drunken on dreams.
+
+Minutes fled by. Hours. Days, perhaps. Always, in front of her, her angel. Bright, soft skin that contrasted beautifully against her own, cream spilled in coffee. Always lifting her up. How far did they have to go?
+
+Grace was drifting away from her, receding.
+
+The light flared in intensity. Somehow became black. A shining, blinding blackness amid a field of more blackness, matte and plain.
+
+Tugging, pulling.
+
+Prying.
+
+A snap.
+
+A sense of wrongness, of gravity.
+
+Falling away. Layers of self peeling back, each successive shedding revealing something more raw, more primal. Molting. The boundary between her Self and the blackness complicating, fraying, fading.
+
+Grace was gone, too, faded to nothing.
+
+\emph{Come back!} Sylvie shouted into the nothingness. Her fists, raw and exposed to their very core, to the concept of Fist \emph{sans} physical representation, pounded at the blackness. Pounded at herself.
+
+\emph{Come back! Come back! Grace!} She wailed. Screamed. Sobbed.
+
+\emph{Grace\ldots{}}
+
+A whisper against building chords, Grace's sweet voice.
+
+And then the wave receded.
+
+\begin{quote}
+\emph{Hélas! Hélas! triste réveil des songes\\
+Je t'appelle, ô nuit, rends moi tes mensonges,\\
+Reviens, reviens radieuse,\\
+Reviens ô nuit mystérieuse!}
+\end{quote}
+
+\secdiv
+
+\noindent The team stood still. There was no written protocol as to what one should do while the local node processed the upload, but they always remained silent. The doctor held her breath every time.
+
+A small pinging noise. The local readout flashed red.
+
+Shoulders sagged around the room. The nurse's lips began to move in silent prayer.
+
+``Error in processing upload.'' The tinny speaker sounded impersonal. Perhaps it was designed that way to play down the loss. ``Irrecoverable data corruption. Please check all contacts before continuing or contact a System support technician for a full rig inspection.''
+
+``Well.'' The anesthesiologist's voice, so human, contrasted with the words from the speaker. ``That's that, then.''
+
+``That's that,'' the doctor echoed. She sighed and backed away from Sylvie's body. It was empty, now. A husk. A vessel poured out into nothing. ``I'll start the paperwork and call her family and the insurance company. Get the payout processed as soon as possible. Third one this month, too.''
+
+The other team members nodded. None looked happy.
+
+``Go on, get her cleaned up and sent to the handlers.'' She trudged from the room, her feet dragging. Pulling off her gloves one by one she added half to herself, ``At least someone will get something out of this. Alas.''

clade/content/cascade-failure.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,123 @@
+Gregory observed a herd of white-tailed deer from his perch in the upper branches of an ancient oak tree. They did not sense the anthropomorphic gray fox or his notebook, he'd shaped them so they would ignore him. A fly buzzed past one doe's head and she flicked an ear at it reflexively, just as coded. Gregory heard a rustling sound off to the northwest and watched the deer's heads shoot straight up, their ears cocked in the direction of the sound. The wolves were coming, right on schedule.
+
+The herd sprang into action moments before the pack came into view. The wolves loped across the forest floor, dashing after their swift-hooved prey. Maybe the deer would manage to secure a sufficient head start to escape before they tired, or maybe one of the older or weaker members of the herd would fall behind into the wolves' waiting jaws. A week ago the pack had snagged an old buck who'd caught an infection the day before. The wolves had eaten well that night, and their appetites had returned now for another course.
+
+As the animals ran past Gregory noted a fat doe starting to lag behind. She'd feed the pack well if caught. The doe ran after her herd, the wolves began to pace her\ldots{} and kept on going past.
+
+Gregory sprang lightly from tree to tree, trying to get a better view of the ongoing chase. By the sim's rules his body was nearly weightless and could cling magnetically to any surface, a compromise from the impersonal ``god's eye view'' most similar ecosystem sims had employed. Dashing out along the underside of a branch he hung upside-down, following the hunters and their quarry with his gaze. Why weren't they going after the doe?
+
+Something about the formation of the pack and the herd seemed oddly familiar. On a whim he pulled up stills he'd taken of the last week's hunt, and groaned. Not only was the herd moving in exactly the same formation, minus the old buck, but so were the wolves. They were ignoring the new data right in front of them in favor of old data picked up a solid week ago.
+
+With a sigh Gregory closed the sim and quit.
+
+Gregory\#Tracker looked up from his book when he received his fork's memories. He stepped over to his desk and pulled up the notes for his simulated ecosystems. Somehow he needed to fix the priorities on the wolves' learning so their ability to remember the past didn't overpower their present. While he was tweaking the code he merged another fork, this one had taken an otter form to observe a pod of killer whales, they were still far from the now extinct mammals in terms of intelligence. The shaping of their minds just wasn't good enough at the moment. Would it ever be?
+
+According to the research papers he'd read, whales had nearly the cognitive capabilities of humans. At the time he'd uploaded, humanity still hadn't managed to create a general artificial intelligence without completely emulating a human brain. Why couldn't they have built one by now? He looked over the books lining the walls of his not-so-modest cabin. So many species lost to the still ongoing ecological disaster that was life on Earth now, only remaining through books and videos and paintings and other dead media. He wondered, were there any museums left on Earth that displayed the bones of those species, or had budget cuts closed them down and sold off the bones as dietary supplements?
+
+He glanced back at the book he'd been reading before the forks merged, when he'd uploaded he'd thought that he might finally have time to read all the books he'd wanted to read. When he first forked he'd attempted to read two books at once, but upon merging back he found that the details of the two books had been jumbled together in his head, the two sets of memories were too similar to one another. Since then Gregory had primarily used forking for various tasks related to his sims, while his root instance read and incorporated the memories of the forks.
+
+Another fork merged back in, more problems. He was trying to recreate the natural world before humans had mucked it all up, but it kept falling short. Why couldn't anyone have tried to upload a whale's brain instead of a human's? Or even a dog's? It was ridiculous.
+
+Gregory sighed, he was getting frustrated with this lack of progress, maybe he should just take a break. See what other people were doing with their immortality. A broadsheet listing what was new in entertainment appeared in his hand.
+
+There was a mind-boggling variety available: movies, novels, games, stage plays, dining, full sensoriums, new media\ldots{} his curiosity roused he selected that last tab. He had to wonder what qualified as ``new media'' in this strange world of electronic signals and code. He scrolled through the sub-categories.
+
+The exotic sims tempted him for a moment, but after reading the previews on a couple he moved on to the next category. They were mostly experiments in exotic physics, Escher stairs and inverted planets and the like. He had enough of that in his own work. Next he came to a category titled ``deep LARP,'' and had to look that up.
+
+Apparently people created long-term forks that lived a full life in a sim meant to recreate a fantasy world, rather than just dropping in occasionally to go on adventures like usual roleplays. According to some rumors, people sometimes got so immersed in the LARP that they forgot their lives before the sim. He didn't see the appeal, so he moved on.
+
+The next subcategory was ``instance art,'' apparently artistic forking. It seemed like every individual artist had a different definition of the art. There were plenty of furries, of course, and some who had invented even more exotic forms based on their ideas of what extraterrestrial life might be like. Others played games with their forks, using contests to decide which one of them should quit and leave no memories to be recovered. Then there was this exhibition hosted by one Dear, Also, The Tree That Was Felled. Gregory could not find much information on the content of the exhibition or its host, all he could discern was that the oddly named artist was that they-or rather ``it''-was a member of one of the older and more eccentric clades and that it had taken a form resembling a fennec fox.
+
+He looked through a few more options, but his mind kept returning to that strange fennec's exhibition. After another half-hour's consideration, and the return of yet another fork, he resolved to go.
+
+When it came time to head out for the exhibition though, he found himself unsure whether to attend ``in person'' or to send a fork. He had recalled his forks supervising the various sims but there was a nagging doubt in the back of his mind. Perhaps he should go oversee one of the sims himself and send a fork to the exhibition. It wouldn't be gauche to show up at an instance art event as a fork now would it?
+
+He changed his avatar form to his gray fox morph, then realized that Dear, Also the Tree That Was Felled might have plans for their fork. A human appeared to the fox's left, the two turned to face each other. ``Hello,'' the fox said.
+
+``Hello,'' replied the human. ``Well,'' he continued. ``At least I get to have some fun tonight. See you tomorrow.'' With that, he vanished.
+
+Gregory stared at the void his fork had left behind for half a minute, and then turned back to his desk and started scanning the various sims for one he wanted to continue tweaking. He eventually decided to restart the forest sim, hoping that this time the patch he'd applied would be enough. The oaks gradually materialized around him and the animals bounded into view.
+
+Just as before, the wolves took down the old buck in the first week. While he waited to see if they'd do anything different in the second hunt he forked and sent them to observe other sims. He checked in on the other animals he'd shaped: rabbits and foxes, woodpeckers and owls, mice and weasels; predators paired with prey. So far all was running as intended.
+
+The day of the second hunt arrived, Gregory took his position in the trees and watched the herd. The wolves appeared and he smiled as they beelined for the fat doe, the leader of the pack nipped at the doe's heels, it looked like the deer was doomed\ldots{} and then something truly unexpected happened.
+
+Two more wolves popped out of their hiding place in a pile of leaves and pounced on a deer off to the side of the herd and sank their teeth into its throat. The deer threw off the new wolves-- no, they were too small and their muzzles too narrow, coyotes! He didn't recall shaping any coyotes yet! They were still extant!
+
+The wounded deer staggered as it choked on its own blood and the coyotes struck again, tearing into its flanks and dragging it to the ground. As soon as the deer died the wolves abandoned their chase for the ready source of meat. The coyotes sprang back, strips of venison dangling from their mouths, but the wolves ignored them. After watching the wolves eat for a few minutes one of the coyotes cautiously stepped forward and quickly grabbed a mouthful of meat then retreated. The wolves continued to ignore it. Seeing that the wolves didn't care, both coyotes came forward and ate their fill.
+
+As annoyed as he was by this intrusion Gregory was genuinely impressed by the shaping on the coyotes. His wolves didn't know what to do with them, but they were able to figure out how to work the wolves' inability to recognize them to their advantage. He had to know who made those coyotes, and why.
+
+Gregory ran around the forest, within the hour he found another species he hadn't coded yet. An opossum climbing a tree, searching for insects. The extinction of the opossum caused one of the worst trophic cascades of North America as ticks bred out of control, but he hadn't coded ticks into this artificial ecosystem yet. Hadn't he?
+
+His eyes widening in dawning horror, he raced back to the deer herd. He found them grazing, ignorant of the shakeup in their ecosystem. As coded they did not react as he brushed their fur with his claws. The first three deer he checked didn't show any sign of parasites, but the fourth had a few black protrusions sticking out of the back of an ear. Carefully he picked one of the nodules off, as he feared there was a set of jointed legs underneath.
+
+Disgusted, he unraveled the tick, the script underlying the construct's physical form spooled out before his eyes. He found it disappointingly simple, even less complex than the code he'd written for the deer. With annoyance he deleted the tick with a flick of his finger.
+
+After deleting all the ticks he could find on the herd he went back to searching for new species. It didn't take long to find a raccoon-it was starting to seem like this mystery automata shaper had a thing for generalist species. He reached out for it, and the raccoon turned its head around and began to hiss in his direction. Surprised, Gregory looked around and behind him, he was still wondering what the raccoon could be reacting to when it bit him.
+
+Screaming in unexpected pain he frantically shook the strange mammal off of him. He managed to fling it into the tree, which it climbed up while he was examining his bleeding hand. It was almost impossible to believe, but there it was, a pair of fangtip holes in either side of his hand, seeping blood. He focused on sealing the wound, and then clearing away the blood. Gradually the blood evaporated, leaving no residue, and the holes were covered over with skin. There was no sign that it had ever happened in the first place but his memory.
+
+He exited the sim.
+
+Gregory found himself back in his cabin and immediately headed for his desk to shut the sim down. He opened the control panel, a large half-transparent display appeared in the air above the desk with tabs for the different sims. He touched the tab for the forest sim, pressed the button to end the sim, and was confronted with a large red warning message. ``Sim occupied by 24,471 active instances, are you sure you want to kick?''
+
+He backed out of the close screen and pulled up a census for the sim in question. One entry filled the screen and then another, and a third, fourth, tenth, more and more came in every few seconds as the query did its work. He waited while the screen continued to fill as the count neared the number indicated by the initial warning. Around the time it reached the tens of thousands he received a message from one of his forks.
+
+``Got eaten by a shark,'' the message read. ``It looked like a great white. Somehow it knew I was there. I don't plan on sending a memory dump to you, be glad of that.''
+
+Gregory tried to message the fork in question, and received no response, he'd already quit. He checked the census again and found that it now listed 24,475 instances. As he watched the count decreased to 24,474, then 24,473, then it increased to 24,476. Whatever was going on, it was getting out of control! Who were these people? He opened the ID info on one of the instances, which only confused him further.
+
+He sent out a message to all of his forks, meet him in the clearing.
+
+\secdiv
+
+\noindent Gregory's cabin was in the middle of a small evergreen forest, no simulated animals, just plants and the occasional recording of birdsong. As he stepped through the front door it occurred to him that he hadn't actually been outside his cabin in a few decades. The clearing that had surrounded the cabin was now filled with saplings, some of them already four meters tall and growing a layer of moss. Ivy reached for the cabin walls, but did not climb them; he had had the foresight to ward them against encroaching plant life. He wondered if there was enough space for the forks, and waved his hands to clear a few saplings from the area.
+
+As the meeting time approached they arrived, foxes, jackals, otters, and even a giraffe who'd been surveying a savannah. Every so often the original cleared away another tree to make more room. By the time the meeting arrived there were eight forks in the clearing, Gregory decided to wait to see if more would come before starting. Ten minutes later another gray fox arrived, he continued to wait, a half hour after the appointed time he decided to start.
+
+``Okay,'' he asked. ``How many of you have encountered anomalies in your sims?'' Every individual in the clearing raised a hand. ``Unexpected species?'' one, the giraffe, lowered a hoof. ``Animals that can see you?'' no change this time. ``Alright, have any of you forked since your initial iteration?''
+
+One of the otters spoke up, ``my down-tree instance forked me off when a shark grabbed him. I haven't seen him since it ate him, did he quit?''
+
+The original Gregory nodded, ``no memory dump, just a message. Glad you got away.'' He swiveled his head from side to side, taking in a panorama of the freshly renewed clearing. ``However, the census I took indicated that there should be another hundred thousand or so of you here.''
+
+Surprised chatter broke out among the assembled instances. Gregory rapped a hand on the cabin door to get their attention before continuing. ``After I got bitten by a raccoon in my forest sim I exited and ran a census. The forest had a constantly fluctuating population of some twenty-four thousand and change brain emulations. When I checked the ID numbers I found that every one of them was using our ID, with fork appendices of course.''
+
+Nine jaws hung open in shock. ``I ran censuses of the other sims and found that each one of them contained between two and thirty thousand forks. All with my ID,'' Gregory sighed. ``Yet, I resumed the old God's Eye view of the sims and couldn't find a single one of them. It's perplexing.''
+
+``Oh please,'' Gregory swung his head towards the corner of his cabin. His human self walked out around the corner, holding an unlit cigarette and a zippo. The human stuck the cigarette in his mouth. ``Don't tell me you have no idea yet.''
+
+Gregory wracked his brains for where this fork could come from. ``You're the fork who went to the gallery exhibition. I didn't even realize your memories hadn't come back.''
+
+The human lit his cigarette and took a drag. He held it between two fingers and exhaled a cloud of smoke before answering. ``You really should have sent your own workaholic ass there, maybe you'd understand then.''
+
+``You're the one who made all the new forks?'' Gregory pressed further. The human nodded. ``And the invasive species?''
+
+``Indeed I did,'' the human fork confirmed, tapping ash and glowing embers from the tip of his cigarette. ``Would you like to know how?''
+
+Gregory thought for a minute, he couldn't believe that a mere fork of himself could learn how to shape smarter constructs than him in mere days. A possibility came to him, but one of the jackals among his other forks spoke up first. ``You learned how to shape better automata from someone you met at the exhibition?''
+
+``In a way,'' the human confirmed. ``In that we are all man-made intelligences. Dear, Also, The Tree That Was Felled is a genius, but it doesn't really consider practical purposes to its techniques.''
+
+``Wait,'' the original Gregory interjected. ``I thought Dear, Also, The Tree That Was Felled was an instance artist.''
+
+The human grinned as he took another drag. ``Indeed it is.''
+
+One by one, the other Gregorys' eyes widened in realization. ``You...the animals, they're forks?!''
+
+``Yes!'' he confirmed. ``Every one of the invasive species out-smarting your constructs are forks. Everything more neurologically complex than an arthropod has a pruned version of my mind. Language faculties are limited, which might explain why they haven't responded to your summons, but they still have a competitive advantage over anything you coded.''
+
+``Why?'' the original Gregory inquired. ``Why do something so insane?''
+
+``Please,'' the human fork tossed aside the stub of his cigarette. ``You've been putting everything of yourself into these sims ever since you uploaded. I just made it a bit more literal.'' With that last cryptic comment, he quit.
+
+Gregory waited for the memories to flood in and explain what had just happened, but none came. As he waited in vain his gaze wandered to a thin column of smoke rising from the ground. The fork's cigarette butt had landed in a pile of dry pine needles, which were already beginning to smolder. Just before he could raise a hand to snuff it out he felt a new set of memories pushing at his consciousness, he began to integrate them only to find that no, it wasn't the troublemaking fork, but the otter whose down-tree instance had been eaten by a shark. His thoughts came flooding in, the realization that the shark was another instance of himself. How could he become such a monster, how could he lose himself so completely in his work?
+
+More memories came flooding in, the remaining forks were quitting, he turned to look as they vanished into thin air. Canids, aquatic species, the giraffe, they each simply blinked out of existence one-by-one. Some sent their memories to him, others refrained. He held the deluge of memory at bay, swerving back around to the exterior of the cabin. The fire was growing, before long it would be lapping at the sides of his cabin. He waved a hand and the flames began to shrink, leaving blackened earth behind. But he stopped short of extinguishing the fire altogether. \emph{What was the point?} he thought.
+
+If the fire burned down his cabin and the forest it was in, he could just make another, identical to the one that had existed before he decided to make that fork. It was just a sim, a construct, no different from the other sims he'd made or the false animals that populated them. Or had populated them. No doubt the fork's forks were now tearing his fragile artificial ecosystems to shreds.
+
+And why shouldn't they? They had created them after all, they were theirs to destroy if they wished. Why had he started this project anyways? Wasn't it to recreate nature, red in tooth and claw? In that respect, the fork had succeeded.
+
+While Gregory thought, the fire had spread to the treeline and was beginning to climb up the trunks. He turned away from the fire and exited the sim, headed for one of the taverns he'd looked up earlier. He could always recreate the sim later, after a few drinks maybe.

clade/content/earthbound.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,185 @@
+Hands ran through the earth.
+
+Calloused hands found the root and pulled.
+
+Nothing.
+
+Again.
+
+\emph{Stubborn thing.}
+
+Again.
+
+Riiiip!
+
+The thistle came free.
+
+John pulled it to the side and threw it in the pile with the rest. He looked at his flowers, periwinkle, blanket flower, scarlet flax. There was a dead stem, the petals eaten away by some bug or animal. He grunted in frustration and pulled it up by the roots, throwing it in the pile for composting.
+
+This was where he felt at home. Here, where the birds chirped and the wind blew. Here, with the smell of his flowers and the hard-won fruits of his labor. Here, with dirt under his nails and fingers brushing the dirt free. Flecks fell down, leaving his hands mostly clean.
+
+A message pinged for attention.
+
+\begin{quote}
+Liam \textless3: AVEC soon?
+\end{quote}
+
+Once upon a time, John would have smiled and felt giddy seeing a message from Liam. Today, he let out a sigh and felt his stomach twist with guilt for that feeling.
+
+John: Be there soon.
+
+He stood up, knees creaking. He grabbed the basket of weeds and brought it over to throw into the compost.
+
+Inside, he went to his vid screen and launched the command to start the call with Liam. The mere existence of the Audio/Visual Extrasystem Communication was the only thing that made this bearable. And even then\ldots{}
+
+``Hey darlin','' Liam drawled.
+
+``Hey!'' John smiled.
+
+Liam looked the same as he did when he uploaded. Preserved in time, in a time before the talk, before the pain, the fight and the lonely nights. But there weren't those creases that pulled his mouth down, that sat by his eyes. He looked better than all the times they spent at various doctors and specialists. Looking for\ldots{} relief. Not even a cure, just relief. He looked better than all those days curled up in bed waiting for the current flare-up to stop.
+
+``You're looking good,'' Liam said.
+
+``Bullshit! I'm getting grayer every day. Got called Gramps last week.''
+
+``You're still handsome to me.''
+
+``I know,'' Liam smiled. ``I'm surprised you haven't changed your appearance by now.''
+
+``I've gone back and forth. Sometimes I make myself younger or change eyes and hair. But with you\ldots{} I want to look how you remember me.''
+
+\emph{But you don't.}
+
+``I know.'' He paused for a moment. ``I'm happy I get to see you as ever.''
+
+``How's my girl? How's Cassie?'' the video flickered for a moment, distorting Liam's face and making his voice sound\ldots{} off.
+
+John frowned. ``Not good. She's not grooming herself as much as she used to. She's having a harder time jumping too. I'm getting worried about her.''
+
+``Oh baby\ldots{} Please give her some scratches from me.''
+
+\emph{She wants you back home. }
+
+``I will. She still curls up in your chair. I think she's still hoping you'll come back through the door and pick her up like you always did.''
+
+Liam sighed. He looked over and there, where there was nothing, a copy of Cassie appeared on the desk right next to Liam. It was Cassie as she was a few years ago, her fur better groomed, her meow a sweeter chirp than Cassie had, like it was from Liam's memory more than how Cassie actually behaved. It struck John as\ldots{} wrong. It made his skin crawl looking at the facsimile of their cat.
+
+``I know she wants me home. I\ldots{} I don't regret doing this. But I---``
+
+John shook his head. ``You don't need to explain yourself to me, babe. We talked about it so much. I know all your reasons, and we made this decision together.''
+
+``I know. I just\ldots{} it's hard.''
+
+\emph{Of course it's hard. }
+
+John reached out and rested his hand on the screen. He could still remember the touch of Liam's skin on his, the way they held each other that first time, nervous, excited, home. They were themselves home together, as young men, into adulthood, and then\ldots{} they stopped moving together.
+
+But he could still remember how good he looked in a suit at their wedding. He remembered the way his brow scrunched up when light hit his eyes in the morning. He remembered how peaceful he looked when John held him, even in pain, there was something about their togetherness that seemed to help.
+
+``No more pain though.'' John forced a smile, getting his memories out of his head for a moment. He had plenty of time for memories.
+
+``No pain.'' Liam nodded. ``I feel tingly sometimes. Like, I felt pain for so long that my body---my mind---still expects and almost wants it again, which is fucked up. But it's better.''
+
+``That's all that matters.''
+
+There was a long moment of silence, that filled the space between them before.
+
+``I love you,'' Liam said.
+
+``I love you too.''
+
+``How did the deacidification project go? I know you and the group were really hopeful for the latest push would make the WF pay attention.''
+
+John shrugged. He grunted in frustration as the memories of their latest efforts came back to him.
+
+``Not great. The Western Federation is still freaking out over Artemis. They don't care about anything we try and say. They're stuck in the same talking points and arguing and finger pointing as ever. Some people are talking about it more but it'll take time.''
+
+\emph{Time I don't have left.}
+
+Liam nodded, but his eyes seemed distracted. He shivered slightly, and John knew from their talks before that Liam just got a sensorium ping. That frustrated John. They were always good at staying present with each other during their dates and time together. But John could tell Liam wasn't here on this topic. Liam didn't seem to care about the effort that the two of them spent decades on anymore. The Earth Preservation Society didn't matter to Liam anymore.
+
+All Liam cared about was the System. And John felt left behind. He couldn't follow there. He wouldn't. It wasn't right for him. They'd spent their whole adult lives together working towards trying to save something in the Earth, anything!
+
+Liam was supposed to try and work through the Artemisians' data to help with finding information they had that could help clear the atmosphere. But once he got into the System, he was so distracted by everything else that their hope for the future seemed brushed aside by Liam's new world.
+
+Liam didn't have a horse in the race anymore.
+
+John tried to be angry, but instead he was just tired.
+
+``So, why don't you tell me about the garden while we work on dinner. I want to hear if you killed my peppers.''
+
+Liam didn't even have a response to John's comment. He just moved on. It was an obligation to talk about, not something he actually cared about anymore.
+
+``One time! That only happened once! Don't you try and pull that card on me.''
+
+``I was gone for 3 days! It was actually impressive you managed that.''
+
+``I made it up to you, didn't I?''
+
+Liam opened his mouth but froze. Artifacts disrupting the image. The link wasn't at stable as it could have been. It was the price that John and Liam paid for living out in the country. But the country still had vestibules of air that was less polluted, where growing any of your own food was even possible. The air was better for Liam too. They worked hard to make a phys side relationship work.
+
+So many doctors, uprooting to the country, physical therapies. But in the end, the choice for a comfortable life became obvious. And painful.
+
+Liam uploaded. And in three years, John and Liam had a relationship that was entirely emotional. He slept alone again, the thing he hated most about his life before Liam. He couldn't squeeze his husband's hand while they both read their own books. Or sneak up behind him and surprise him with a kiss. It was an ache, one he still felt. Video calls with his husband helped, their evenings together were the highlight of all of John's days. He didn't know if Liam had forked in the system, and he didn't want to ask. He didn't want to know if, while his husband was spending time with him, another version of him was out doing\ldots{} more exciting things. More interesting things. That scared John, a fear he'd voiced once, and wouldn't do again.
+
+``---made it up to me. You know that.'' Liam finally said, the link connecting again.
+
+John kissed his fingers and placed them to the screen. Some clever bastard had figured out a way for some gestures to be passed along sys side. Liam touched his lips and grinned. He shivered for a moment and looked down. Liam had told him that sometimes when John would touch his screen, his sensoria would act up. Like he could feel a kiss that wasn't there. It wasn't supposed to happen, there was nothing in AVEC that would allow for that kind of sensory input to be felt by the person in the system. Maybe it was all in Liam's head\ldots{} or the System's idea of his head.
+
+John brought the vid screen to the kitchen. Liam moved through his space until they were standing like mirrors in the same space. Liam had recreated their home together in the sim. He even included the creaky floorboard that John had finally gotten around to fixing. He never told Liam, knowing that his husband worked too hard to make sure the exact timbre of the creak was right in the sim.
+
+John sent the menu he'd had prepared for them to Liam. His eyes lit up when he saw it.
+
+``Butternut squash, Brussels sprouts in white wine, and baked potatoes. Very good choice, my dear.''
+
+``I've been known to make them.''
+
+``Now and then, yes.'' Liam grinned.
+
+Their evening continued together, both of them talking, laughing and sharing stories of their days, of old friends, and remembering all they had before everything changed. In some ways, it was like nothing had happened at all. It was like they were still living together, like the last 3 years had passed without pain or frustration. Without John's inner thoughts being uncharitable. He was hurt by the decision, but could live with it, for Liam to be happy.
+
+In other ways, in more painful ways, John felt further apart from Liam than ever. He forgot the word for taskers again, and Liam got frustrated at having to explain things about the System again. It was a battle to fight and to have the conversations about what was what over and over again. John felt pain in his temples and called it a night early, not wanting to start another fight. He took something for his head, and went to sleep.
+
+When he woke early in the morning, John reached out and touched the space beside him. The spaces where Liam should be. He sighed. It hadn't gotten any easier to wake up without his husband beside him. Not dead, just gone.
+
+With the sound of John's movement, there was a shift from the bottom of the bed. The calico padded on the bed over to John. She bumped her head to John's scruffy chin. Her little \emph{mrowl} was raspy, the sleepy girl just as tired as John was.
+
+``Hey princess,'' John smiled. He reached a hand for her head. She leaned into the scratches, her eyes closing as her soft fur was rubbed in tribute to her regal demeanor. It was fitting for how Liam always treated and talked about Cassie. She was his baby in truth.
+
+``I know I'm not him. And you can't understand that he's not here anymore\ldots{} Soon it'll just be me.'' He sat up, putting his back to the headboard. Cassie took advantage of the increased real estate and rubbed her head against his chin. She stood on his chest, nuzzling into him for a moment, until his pets pushed her down to lay on him.
+
+``It's not fair. This isn't fair. Liam\ldots{} I know why he did it. I know why, Cass, but I still\ldots{} I still hate him for leaving me like this. I hate that I'll never see him in the morning anymore. I hate that I can't see him. I hate that he uploaded. That he chose the coward's way out. He left us. He left \emph{me.}''
+
+Cassie slow blinked at him, a low rumble in her throat. The feel of her fur on his stomach helped him a little.
+
+``I just want him back. I want him here again. This... this isn't what I agreed to. This isn't what I imagined our lives to be like. The System was right for him, but it's wrong for me. It's wrong for us! I\ldots{} I don't want to be\ldots{}
+
+``Is that even living, what Liam has? It's not real. It's just an illusion. A delusion\ldots''
+
+Cassie blinked at him again.
+
+``He's gone, isn't he? I\ldots{} I should let him go.''
+
+Cassie blinked and John sighed, sitting up in bed. She moved off of him, jumping onto the ground. As John started to get dressed, Cassie kept moving around him, rubbing against his leg. He smiled and kept petting her, happy that she was still there. John walked past the mantle and stopped. He looked at the urn there, sighing for a long moment as he read the inscription. This was something he kept secret from Liam. This was something for him.
+
+The money he got for Liam's upload was put to good use, keeping John secure and into a trust for environmental reform. Liam made it clear he didn't want his remains kept or spread. He didn't care about his body. He wasn't dead, after all!
+
+But John had it on his mantle under his wedding picture, the inscription etched into his heart as much as the piece of metal.
+
+\begin{quote}
+\emph{Liam O'Connell}
+
+\emph{Born: 2315}
+
+\emph{Uploaded: 2361}
+\end{quote}
+
+After his morning tea was finished, John went out in the cold morning. It was time to get outside. Get his hands dirty, to be among the grass and the garden that he and Liam worked hard to grow together. This was where he felt at peace. This---Earth---was his home. He wasn't a hippie, he didn't feel like he had a bond with nature, or that everything was perfect, it just made him feel at peace. The noise of the world, of his thoughts, of his pain went away when he was here. Liam left to get rid of his pain, and John worked the garden to keep his pain away.
+
+It was lonely, and things would never be the same without Liam here. But this was his home. His place was phys side, Liam's was sys-side. One day, John wouldn't wake up anymore. One day, Liam would be a widow. And he had a plan in place so Liam would be informed of the news when it came. But Liam\ldots{} would be the widow that John always thought \emph{he }would be. Passing that off to Liam\ldots{} it felt unjust. It felt cruel, passing something like that onto his husband. But John was a widow himself in many ways. His husband, the man he'd married and spent decades with was gone.
+
+And one day, the System could fail too. Some corruption in the data, power failures, disasters\ldots{} Liam could be gone too. Nothing was permanent. He knew that every day he woke up to a burnt orange of a sunrise through hazy smog. Or fighting to keep his garden alive enough with soil that seemed to be dying as much as he was.
+
+It wasn't enough for John. It hurt. Losing Liam hurt. But he could hold onto the idea of Liam. He'd said his goodbyes in his mind long ago. What they had now was a pale shadow, a love that no longer felt real. He loved Liam, but not enough to follow him, into that world, apparently. His world, this world, was enough, and John wanted to be here until the end.
+
+Everything had to end at some point.\protect\hypertarget{anchor}{}{}

clade/content/genre-clade.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,159 @@
+Walking away from my former home felt like a herculean task. However, nothing had felt easier than uploading to the System, even as I looked back on the memory centuries later.
+
+Simply put, my life never really started until after I woke up in a blank simulation, was instructed on how to give myself clothes, how to fork, as well as how to navigate my way through the System and earn currency in the form of reputation. I didn't really begin living until I stumbled through digital realm after digital realm, gaining a sense of my boundless surroundings. The first sim I'd went to was called Infinite Café\#06f4e37a, an entire cityscape composed of cafes, bakeries, juice bars, and coffee shops. There, I interacted with friendly, outspoken, and kind users who welcomed me to the System, and who in turn, gave me the opportunity to try many different pastries and baked goods for what seemed like days as I slowly opened myself up to others.
+
+One of the eternal friends I made during my time there was Zion, who appeared as a deathly-pale but lively person with ruby eyes. Identifying as non-binary and dressed clothes that they liked to call `Neo-Gothpunk aesthetics', Zion spoke like a System denizen who'd seen almost everything but approached it like a new experience. They were also an excellent conversationalist. The moment they offered me a seat in the crowded interior, Zion successfully kept me in an hours-long discussion on what the System offered to creatives.
+
+``I like to generate intricate landscapes made up of historical locations,'' they boasted without looking away from me or dismissing my intrigue. ``Just yesterday, I helped create a sim for these die-hard fans of live-action role-playing games, who wanted me to build a high detailed Gothic castle with hidden chambers, secrets, unknown treasures, and more. Do you like to LARP?'' I shook my head, which didn't surprise them. ``It's not for everyone, but I'm still curious to ask: now that you're here, what do you want to do with your immortality?''
+
+``I\ldots I'm not sure,'' came my confession. ``I\ldots only wanted to get away.''
+
+``Get away?'' Zion pondered, ``From whom, Dante?''
+
+``My\ldots family,'' I finally said after a moment.
+
+Ever since I could remember, my choices were made by my parents and grandparents. As the youngest son in a religious family, they did everything to mold me as a perfect believer. I dressed how they wanted me to dress, watched what they wanted me to watch, went where they wanted me to go, said what they wanted me to say, felt how they wanted me to feel.
+
+But not think.
+
+For all their influence into what I would come to recognize as an unhealthy childhood growing up, my relatives couldn't force me to think the way they needed me to think. That was among the few privileges God gave me, plus the downloaded books I managed to sneakily read in the school library during lunchtimes, if I even could find the opportunities in late high school.
+
+``I always thought that the religious types were extinct outside the System.'' Zion mulled remorsefully over my story, expression remaining calm as distracted users walked or talked around us. ``I know a few sims which are heavily closed off and feel more like cults, but that's it.''
+
+``My family believed that the world is in an apocalypse because of humanity's past sins,'' I said, then sipped on another cup of pumpkin spice latte. ``By the way, whatever this `pumpkin' is, it's tasty.''
+
+They chuckled. ``You must try it with some pumpkin bread, hon.''
+
+``Will do.'' I nodded as I set down my cup. The sensations still felt too real to be zeroes and ones. ``As far as I know, my family think I just ran away to the other side of the world. They don't know I uploaded myself, but if they did\ldots they'd consider me dead to them.''
+
+``Do you plan to reach out to them?'' Zion asked, to which I shrugged. ``I understand. For now, you should consider this a new chapter in your life. The first thing I did after uploading a couple decades ago was do everything that I've ever wanted to do on my bucket list. You should too.''
+
+\secdiv
+
+\noindent That I did. With insightful directions from Zion, I set out to explore the rest of the System. Little did I know that it would unravel the last remnant of shy indecisiveness clinging to me since childhood, as I found myself bouncing between virtual worlds that only existed in the imagination. Or even dreams.
+
+After the Infinite Café came other public sims I explored like a happy child visiting its first toy store. There were sims composed entirely of junk food, sims that hosted reenactments of historic events, as well as sims recreating hypothetical alien worlds throughout the Milky Way.
+
+My five senses experienced digital smells, sounds, sights, and tastes I never knew could exist. Besides places that showcased lost nature and impossible architecture, I found sims trapped in various time periods and settings only seen in history lessons; among them my favorite to frequently visit was called Athenaeum\#f6f6ff01, a sim which presented accurate replicas of famous libraries throughout history, with the ancient Library of Alexandria and its iconic lighthouse serving as a spawn point for newcomers and a sea of floral gardens connecting every standing library to each other.
+
+After spending hours marveling at the Alexandrian wing, I traveled between the Boston Athenaeum, National Library of China, and the Old American Library of Congress before taking a temporary break inside the Wiblingen Monastery Library. Although I didn't know much of architecture, I recognized the whimsically ornate ceilings, walls, and archways as `Rococo'. I sat down on a bench beneath a marble statue overlooking one of its extravagant hallways as a tear welled in one of my eyes. Never before did I realize how beautiful the past looked.
+
+What good was going to libraries though if one didn't take the time to read? Unlike the tablets though, almost every single reading material within the libraries were archaic paperbacks, hardbacks, scrolls, magazines, textbooks, and so much more to choose. Just seeing so many lined up along the mahogany shelves overwhelmed me, at first. My childlike wonder didn't know which to take off the shelf.
+
+So, I choose whatever my arms and my several forked instances could carry.
+
+One of the first advantages I discovered after being uploaded was that human limits no longer existed. I could eat and sleep whenever I felt like it. The fact most humans phys-side slept through a third of their lifetime didn't matter anymore. This applied to forks too.
+
+My forked versions and I learned very quickly not to let my digital clones quit directly after finishing a novel, nor while I was reading something at the same time. Otherwise, I developed an absolutely splitting headache with only a blurry recollection of what had just been read. So, over the course of several days, we took turns. For days, I eagerly paced myself to actually enjoy the books on every shelf. No more work hours, awkward family dinners, being interrupted, fighting against sleep as I stayed up way past my bedtime, pretending to be asleep, or skimming quickly to the end. I was allowed to enjoy each page for as long as I wanted.
+
+A million books later, I got bored. As each memory of my forks accumulated more novels into my head, I didn't find them as exciting anymore. Novels I thought would be amazing either were mediocre or shared too heavy of similarities with other books. Plenty followed a similar narrative or held similar dialogue. Most relied on tired tropes and overused cliches that didn't amaze me after seeing them play out over and over and over again. The longer I caught up on these endless books I'd always wanted to read, the more I thought back to when Zion asked me what I wanted to do.
+
+Well, half-way through reading yet another generic pulpy romance novella, I reached a sudden conclusion. I didn't just want to read. Without anyone to hold me back, I wanted to\ldots{}
+
+``You wanna write books now?'' Zion repeated my statement back to me during one of our rendezvouses at the Infinite Café. ``That's great, Dante! What do you plan to write?''
+
+``I'm thinking of an autobiography so far.'' I shrugged between distracted sips on another pumpkin latte (after having dunked my pumpkin bread in and utterly devoured it, much to Zion's giggling amusement). ``Nothing too major. If anything, it might help me unpack some things, or at the very least give me some closure of some kind. If not, I'll just write the first thing that pops into my head.''
+
+``You'll need your own sim then,'' Zion said.
+
+``My own sim?''
+
+``Where else are you going to work from? This café?'' They chuckled after finishing the rest of their chai latte. ``Of course, you're going to need to gain reputation. Sims aren't free.''
+
+The reputation market required me to interact with other people. Purchasing and designing a sim required using the reputation market too. Without reputation, I wouldn't really be allowed to make a place for myself to sit down and write. I'd already accumulated some from speaking with Zion and traveling to other sims, but gaining more reputation to afford a private sim was easier said than done, at first. Even so, the work was worth it.
+
+\secdiv
+
+\noindent My very first sim started off crude, like a child's first attempt at a landscape, but over painstaking and devoted time I now possessed, it transformed into my new home. At first, the end result appeared like a painfully rendered imitation of what an artificial intelligence thought a log cabin looked like. After scrapping it, I started again from scratch. Only this time, I didn't rush the construction, but slowly built it brick by brick and tile by tile.
+
+Assistance from Zion during our now-scheduled weekly get-togethers at the Infinite Café helped a long way as well. They gave very useful advice on how to make the simulation feel real to me, and how to be intricate with each aspect in the grand design, from the simplest gusts of wind to the casting shadows of the Sun.
+
+In the end, I felt content with the final rendition; seemingly nothing more than a vast North American timber forest in springtime, the private sim's only man-made structure resembled a medium-sized rustic log cabin. The unlocked front door led to an open interior with a kitchen and granite counter-top table in one corner, a comfortable living room in the opposite corner, and a circular writing desk between a cozy ergonomic chair and a glass window overlooking a lake. One of my favorite features included an old-style typewriter which came with an endless supply of ink, plus a neighboring chalkboard on wheels to plan out my stories.
+
+I called my finished sim Writer's Retreat\#a9f5d4e2.
+
+My first few days spent within the digital sanctuary led to zero results. Aside from a few typing noises and agitated mutterings, I only really stared out the beautiful window. The first thing I initially wanted to focus on was jotting down the biggest accomplishments in my life (uploading being the ultimate achievement) and my favorite memories from growing up. The more I reflected on my life though, the more I chastised myself for past failures and regrets, none of which I bothered writing down. Instead, there was this nagging feeling at the back of my mind, thinking about how much better that one bad romance novel would've been if the main character's love interest had a little more interest in getting to know her.
+
+``I'll work on it after I'm done with this project,'' I promised myself.
+
+Another few days passed. I broke away from my isolation in order to join Zion again at the Infinite Café, only for my melancholy to disappear when they mentioned how busy they were with a sim commission and had sent a fork in their place. Seeing the duplication of my friend sitting before me, relaxed and completely invested in our conversation about backlogged projects, caused a great idea to pop into my head.
+
+``That's it!'' I suddenly shot up from our table with the widest of smiles. A few heads turned but didn't remain focused on me. ``Zion, you're a genius! A brilliant, brilliant genius!''
+
+``No need to heap praises on me,'' their fork replied after laughing. ``By the way, why am I a genius?''
+
+I demonstrated it by suddenly creating a forked version of myself, who promptly returned to the Writer's Retreat.
+
+They immediately understood, sharing my grin. ``You're right, I'm a genius, sweetie. Just don't push yourselves too hard, okay?''
+
+Not at first, we didn't. After renovating my one-room cabin for dual capacity, my days were spent at that desk, either jotting down vague notes or thinking back to repressed memories I'd been trying to erase. When I couldn't bear just staying in the cabin as my forked instance eagerly typed away on his own typewriter, I decided to venture outside and explore the sim. Within a couple of days, my fork asked if I'd be interested in reading the novella's rough draft. I eagerly accepted it, much to his delight, and mine.
+
+``Not bad, actually,'' I said after skimming through the first chapter. ``It'll need some work.''
+
+``We've got all the time in the world, right?'' He sat across from me in the living room, now communal. ``If this'll need to be edited and reworked, I'll want to stay for longer. I've got some other ideas I want to work on too.'' My fork began to snicker.
+
+``What?'' I asked.
+
+``From now on,'' he explained, ``you can call me `Romance Genre'.''
+
+I stared blankly at him. ``Really?''
+
+``Yes!'' He nodded vigorously, wearing a glint in his eyes I never thought was possible to see on my own face. ``If I ever feel like making any forks to write other book ideas, let's name them after genres! I'll be Romance Genre, and if you ever want to start working on a political thriller, but won't get away from this slump you're in, you'll fork out Political Thriller.''
+
+I shook my head and laughed. ``Whatever.''
+
+Romance Genre was the first fork, soon joined by Horror Genre after a particularly vivid nightmare, which then gave me an idea for a setting full of existential dread. The next Genres to join our quasi-family were Fantasy, Adventure, Slice-of-Life, Humor, Drama, Science Fiction, Young Adult, Horror Genre's twin `sisters' named Paranormal and Lovecraftian Fiction, Romance Genre's close collaborative brother Historical Fiction, the latter of whom also liked to collaborate with Alternate History, and who in turn forked out Steampunk, who had a begrudging respect towards Historical Fiction despite their antithetical differences and close similarities. Even Zion became an extended member of the clade after forming a relationship with Steampunk Genre. I remembered voicing my sheer confusion, similar to when Horror Genre introduced me to his younger sisters, but a long discussion with Steampunk and Zion together helped me realized how much he'd become a different person from me. Steampunk described to me how he didn't view someone's gender (or lack thereof) as a reason not to form a romance with someone. He sincerely loved them, regardless.
+
+Well, not that either of them needed it from me, but I approved of their relationship.
+
+Over the years, Writer's Retreat\#a9f5d4e2 expanded from a small writing cabin into a massive woodland mansion the size of a city. Every `house' within the mansion catered to the needs, wants, and aesthetic desires of each `Genre' in my growing clade. We talked, exchanged stories, ideas, drafts, and manuscripts before publishing them, supporting each other in our separate but connected endeavors to be the best writers in all of the System.
+
+Our most recent addition was Anthropomorphic Fiction, who came into existence after I'd joined Zion at a sim gathering hosted by a lively, awkwardly charming skunk author from the Ode clade named Dear The Wheat And Rye Under The Stars.
+
+Though she preferred to be called `Rye', I liked calling her `Catcher in the Rye', much to her chagrin and my utter amusement, even decades after our friendship formed.
+
+``Anthropomorphism is more than just a subgenre,'' she explained to me---or rather a forked instance of me---as we discussed literature inside the Old American Library of Congress within Athenaeum\#f6f6ff01. ``It is more akin to a meta-genre, Dante. A book about archaeologists going after a lost treasure in the jungle is just an average adventure, but if your protagonist is, say, a handsome lion and his foil a sultry vixen, you can have more fun displaying personalities that cannot be done with humans, yes?''
+
+``Not unless the writer's being lazy and just makes them animals with no reason,'' I argued.
+
+Rye frowned.
+
+``What? If a main character's a furry, but it's only brought up in the description once or twice, are they really a furry?''
+
+Rye's black-and-white-furred frown softened. ``Fair point,'' she admitted. ``But you are not really thinking about the storytelling possibilities, are you? Instead, you spend your days holed up in that cabin mulling over that autobiography.''
+
+``Is Anthro worried about me again?'' I groaned.
+
+``He thinks that you are obsessed with the past. You came here for a better future, yes?'' When I didn't answer, Rye said, ``If there is one thing that I have learned in my century and a half, it is that the past is very complicated, but fiction need not be. Not all stories must be told. Otherwise, that is all that you are going to do until the end of the universe.''
+
+I still didn't say anything, but instead nodded meekly as she leaned over to give a hug.
+
+``Anyway, my apologies, but I must cut this short. I have another meetup in a few minutes and would like to keep conflicts to a minimum.'' She grinned with perked ears as I'd been temporarily distracted by her swishing tail. ``You take care of yourself, okay?''
+
+``No promises,'' I shot back, my earlier snark returning.
+
+She waved at me and said, ``See you later, Memoir!''
+
+My forked instance rolled his eyes before quitting, promptly sending those memories to me. As the root instance and our quasi-family's patriarch, everybody else either called me by my real name Dante, or if they wanted to be a little humorous, `Memoir'.
+
+Before uploading, my lifelong objective had been to be never seen or heard unless required. My tall, lanky frame prevented me from being invisible, and despite having a deep voice, I kept it at a lowered volume until the day I had enough. Over time though, my old self dissipated with the previous life I'd had outside the System. I expressed myself more fully. I joked with friends, with my clade, and they joked with me. Laughter bubbled freely out of my lungs like oxygen, and I smiled without feeling forced whenever I walked into a conversation by accident. The scars lingered like ink blotches though, leaving stains.
+
+Rye's words stuck with me for some time. They remained at the back of my mind especially during one of my outings with Zion to the Infinite Cafe, who didn't fully notice my slow, contemplative sips as they described an ongoing project needing to be canceled after having it 99\% completed. The client cited trivial things and ballooned each one into seemingly unfixable things until Zion had enough of it.
+
+According to them, ``It brought me back to dealing with my father. He supported me following in his footsteps as an architect, but\ldots well, I guess he grew jealous, and when he did bother to keep in touch with me, Dad liked to nitpick my public sims that were shown back on the 'net''
+
+``Glad to know I'm not the only one with\ldots family complications.'' I shrugged.
+
+``Heh, I'll drink to that!'' They tapped their latte to mine, and we sipped together.
+
+One day, before attending Steampunk and Alternate History's collaborative book cover reveal in another sim called Grand Gala\#e39b94ee, I found myself staring at the comprehensive notes I'd collected for the autobiography. They started off gradual, over time brimming the entirety of my writing desk, the chalkboard, and the walls, until each paper harshly mimicked the whites of my parents' judgmental eyes.
+
+To this day, I don't know what came over me. Hours before, I'd been fervently detailing the days building up to my running away. I'd finally scribbled down the fury in my father and mother's faces when they'd discovered my\ldots disinterest in getting married---specifically, not to women. As punishment, they'd donated what little possessions I owned to the church charity. My own personal tablet didn't survive the purge either, especially as they felt reading `lurid romances' involving men and women contradicted the beliefs I'd confessed.
+
+One note on the chalkboard read, ``I had nothing left to lose after that night. Mom and Dad's religion killed me years ago, but after that day, the System resurrected me.''
+
+I understood now what Rye had been trying to tell me.
+
+Without thinking further on the matter, I collected every paper, note, or sketch, then sent them into the trash bin. Within seconds, the weight of twenty years disappeared from my shoulders, and I walked out of the cabin a freer man. Thinking about my new family, an amusing thought came to me at the same time I blinked away to the Gala sim.
+
+``I wonder what those goofballs are going to call me now that I'm no longer `Memoir'?''

clade/content/glossary.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,103 @@
+\subsubsection*{ACL}
+
+Originally short for ``Access Control List'', ACLs describe fine-grained permissions to access or use sims or the like. For instance, ACLs can be set such that only certain people may enter a sim, or to ensure that a cone of silence blocks sensorium messages
+
+\subsubsection*{Apygmaliophobia}
+
+The fear of uploading (literally, the fear of becoming an artificial copy of yourself). Coined in the late 2130s as the cost of uploading began to drop. Also occasionally used in relation to taskers who fear individuation.
+
+\subsubsection*{Artemis}
+
+An extrasolar probe bearing four races of uploaded consciousnesses. Discovered in 2346 by Tycho Brahe
+
+\subsubsection*{AVEC}
+
+Introduced in 2350, Audio/Visual Extrasystem Communication is the means by which those on the System may communicate with Earth via audio and visual transmission, rather than just text, something which was gently discouraged over the previous years to maintain a sense of mystique around sys-side. While Castor and Pollux also have this ability in theory, the bandwidth limitations of the Deep Space Network made it such that only still images can be sent.
+
+\subsubsection*{Clade}
+
+A collection of individuals all descended from the same uploaded consciousness through the process of forking. Clades are named after the root instance (e.g: the Bălan clade), but they can also choose their own name (e.g: the Ode clade).
+
+\subsubsection*{Cocladist}
+
+Used to refer to another member of the same clade. Up-, down-, and cross-tree are used to refer to the relation between the two cocladists: an up-tree instances is one that is descended from the individual, a down-tree instance is one from whom the individual is descended, and a cross-tree instance is one who shares the same down-tree instance but who isn't a descendent or an ancestor.
+
+\subsubsection*{Cone of silence}
+
+A mechanic on the System that prevents others from hearing what those within the cone are saying. As of 2349, it is also possible to opaque or blur the contents of the cone from the outside, and to prevent the transmission of sensorium messages.
+
+\subsubsection*{Conflict}
+
+During the process of merging, memories and ideas between the up- and down-tree instances will differ, if only by physical point of view. The more these instances diverge, the more these differences will cause conflicts, whether in how they remember things or how they think about things. During merging, this takes effort to rectify internally.
+
+\subsubsection*{Collective}
+
+A group of individuals who emulate the idea of clades phys-side, doing their best to maintain a tree-like hierarchy, share common names, and so on. Many also resent the System and refuse to upload.
+
+\subsubsection*{Dispersionista}
+
+An individual who enjoys individuation on the System. They will fork and allow their forks to diverge from themselves without any goal of letting them merge back down.
+
+\subsubsection*{Dissolution strategy}
+
+A set of general categories for how one approaches forking, merging, and individuation.
+
+\subsubsection*{Forking}
+
+The process of creating a complete copy of oneself. The new instance is exactly the same as the individual up to the point of forking, when they immediately begin to diverge, even if only in their physical points of view.
+
+\subsubsection*{Individuation}
+
+The slow process of an up-tree instance changing from a down-tree instance. The longer the two spend apart and the greater the differences in their experiences, the greater the individuation. Dispersionistas in particular encourage individuation, while taskers do their best to avoid it at all costs.
+
+\subsubsection*{Instance}
+
+A consciousness within the System, whether the original uploaded mind or one of their forks.
+
+\subsubsection*{Launch Vehicle}
+
+The two smaller copies of the original L5 point System launched in 2325 in opposite directions at a high enough velocity to leave the Solar System. Often abbreviated to LVs.
+
+\subsubsection*{Merging}
+
+The process of incorporating the memories (and thus personality changes formed by new memories) of an up-tree instance after they quit.
+
+\subsubsection*{Perisystem architecture}
+
+The infrastructure of data and tools for working within the System that serve as the foundation of life. The perisystem architecture contains the reputation market and clade listing, allows one to store information, retrieve data from libraries, control forking and ACLs, and much more.
+
+\subsubsection*{Phys-side/sys-side}
+
+Phys-side (rhymes with `fissile') refers to the physical world outside of the System, while sys-side refers to everything on the System.
+
+\subsubsection*{Quitting}
+
+The act of an instance ceasing to exist on the System. If the instance is a fork of an individual, the down-tree instance may merge back in the memories from the instance who quits (this set of memories can be given a priority, felt as an amount of adrenaline; at a high priority, this can be quite startling, while at a priority of zero, the down-tree instance won't even be notified of the quitting). If there is no down-tree instance --- as in the case of the root instance or an orphaned branch of a clade --- quitting is quite difficult, described as trying to wade through mud or push through a barrier.
+
+\subsubsection*{Reputation/reputation market/the exchange}
+
+In order to regulate resource usage on the hardware of the System, certain things cost reputation (denoted Ŕ), such as forking, as well as acquiring sim designs, clothing, and so on. These latter are exchanged on the reputation market (sometimes called the exchange). Reputation can be gained by creating things to put on the market or simply just interacting on the System: having conversations, making friends, and so on. When one first uploads, one is provided with a chunk of reputation to get started with.
+
+\subsubsection*{Root instance}
+
+The root instance is the original uploaded consciousness, the progenitor of the clade from which all other instances are forked.
+
+\subsubsection*{Signifier}
+
+The full name of an instance, including the first eight hexadecimal digits of the unique tag that identifies it as distinct from other individuals in the clade (our out of it) with the same name (e.g: Ioan Bălan\#5f39bccd7). This full signifier of an instance, along with all the clade information is available to anyone to check via the perisystem architecture, which makes truly impersonating someone else impossible.
+
+\subsubsection*{Sim}
+
+Refers to locations owned by an individual or set of individuals, whether it's as small as a single room or as large as a city. Hold-over language from the virtual reality aspects of the `net, where rooms or worlds were called 'sims'.
+
+\subsubsection*{System}
+
+Used to describe both the hardware to which consciousnesses are uploaded as well as the world that exists inside that hardware. Originally chosen as a vague name to prevent leaks while the project was still secret, it stuck through the centuries until a few years after the launch project, when each of the three Systems began to be called by specific names: Castor and Pollux for the launch vehicles and Lagrange for the System remaining near Earth.
+
+\subsubsection*{Tasker}
+
+An individual who specifically does not enjoy individuation. They will rarely fork, only doing so if they absolutely must, and then usually only to accomplish a task that requires more hands.
+
+\subsubsection*{Tracker}
+
+Between taskers and dispersionistas, trackers fork more often and are more willing to let individuation take place as their forks track specific projects or relationships, almost always merging back down.

clade/content/sgaf.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,352 @@
+Ernie felt a gentle sensorium ping wake him from the deep sleep he found himself in. He blinked his eyes blearily and reached for an alarm clock. When his hand didn't find anything to latch onto, he was awake enough to remember he was on the System, and could just think about the current time to check it. Old habits die hard. It was systime 204+1400, about 2PM or so. He didn't think he had set an alarm ping for himself before taking a nap, but he must have wanted to make sure he was up and ready for this afternoon. Maybe he was just being cautious. Ever since he uploaded, it felt like he was making up for lost time when it came to sleep.
+
+He groaned, stood up slowly, and rubbed the sleep out of the corners of his eyes. He concentrated on the outfit he had planned to wear, a plaid flannel that was comfortable and a pair of blue jeans with a ratchet belt, and his pajamas shifted seamlessly into the outfit he had envisioned. With years of practice, he'd figured out the art of changing clothes on the fly. Though, with the scale and breadth of his usual wardrobe, it was surprising it took that long. He was thankful that he wouldn't have to worry about showing up to a diner with his top half wearing his sleeping shirt anymore.
+
+He walked over to his bedroom closet and opened the doors to pick out the final piece to his outfit. After carefully considering four of his best mesh hats, he decided on the one with a black brim and a logo from a football team that hadn't existed phys-side for at least fifty years. Hard to go wrong with the classics. He could have willed the hat onto his head but this was one part of his ritual to leave the house that he stubbornly clung onto. The act of choosing was one that needed to be tactile for him to feel like he was ready to step out. And with one last check on the time and his reputation balance, he stepped from his home sim.
+
+He arrived at SGAF Forum\#4da206f6 a scant few milliseconds later. He could have gotten there a bit faster, had this been a sim he frequented often, but today was a day of new experiences for Ernie. He was just a tad bit nervous, as he hadn't tried breaking into a new social group for a good couple decades now. His current circle was mostly former truck drivers, though there was some occasional overlap with the folks who worked at the various diners that he would visit.
+
+In fact, it was a chance meeting at a diner that had gotten him this invitation.
+
+Everybody's got a hobby, and in the case of functionally immortal folks, they tend to have several. More time to diversify and whatnot. One of Ernie's hobbies was trying to find the best reuben sandwich that he could eat in the wide expanse of the System. This was no small feat either. He'd been diligently eating at just about every diner he could get into for the past seventy or so years and had quite the list going. It was a great way to get him out of the house and he found that over time he was able to home in on the aspects of a great reuben for him. The rye bread needed to be at least a certain thickness with a little bit of give, the dressing shouldn't be too runny, the coleslaw had to have a decent bite to it, the swiss shouldn't be sharp or bitter, and the corned beef needed to provide just the right amount of tension and snap when taking a bite. With new restaurants opening and closing every day across however many millions of sims, he had no shortage of places to visit.
+
+During one of these trips, he had gotten into a conversation with a woman who was sitting at the diner's bar next to him. Her name was Melanie and they had quickly hit it off after Ernie impressed on her that the diner had a really terrible reuben. They had talked a bit more about current events with Melanie catching Ernie up on how the Castor and Pollux probes were doing a few years after the big Launch. He wasn't sure he could wrap his head around a good chunk of the more technical stuff she was telling him, but she seemed to be fine with him nodding his head as though he understood. That had led her to talk about how a few of her friends had left forks on each of the probes. Ernie wasn't a big fan of forking and when Melanie asked why, he had said he didn't feel comfortable going into it. Noticing his distress, she had told him that she had trouble with forking as well. And before he could say anything more, she had slipped a small metallic card under his sandwich plate. She then settled her tab and had told Ernie to keep in touch, before stepping from the sim. When he looked at the card later, he found the address coordinates to a sim underneath an embossed title that read ``Support Group for Anomalies in Forking'' along with a meeting time. Curiosity had won out and so now he stood outside of a massive glass-paneled building that looked closer to a corporate high-rise suite than a place for group therapy.
+
+He was surprised that he didn't materialize right within the meeting room. There must have been a reason that the entry point for the sim would be outside of the building, but most designers prioritized an instance's ease of experience over realism. While there were doubtless sim architects who would disagree, function often trumped form. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a small sign crudely printed on notebook paper and taped up to the glass with masking tape. The sign read, ``Due to renovations, SGAF meeting moved to the auxiliary room for the time being. Please be patient as a group member will come to assist you in getting into the temporary room.''
+
+Ernie thought about leaving and coming back next week, but he had already gone to the trouble of getting dressed in his good flannel. So, he waited for someone to come answer the door and let him in. When he checked the time for the fourth time in a row, he had just about run out of patience.
+
+``Welp,'' he said while hiking up the front of his jeans, ``nothin' for it.'' He walked over to the door of the building and reached forward to open it. Surely someone inside would be able to tell him where he needed to go?
+
+But before he could put his hand on the handle, the door on his left swung open and a familiar face poked her head out.
+
+``Oh good! You did decide to come after all,'' Melanie said. Her smile was infectious. She was a middle-aged woman with an olive complexion and thick bouncy curls of hair that came to her shoulder. She was wearing a t-shirt that was a mix of pinks and whites underneath a dark blue satin jacket that had a metallic sheen with pants of a similar color but different material on her legs.
+
+``Yep, figured I should see what this is all about,'' Ernie replied.
+
+``Well don't just stand there, come on inside. I'm excited for you to meet everyone.'' She gestured with her hand for Ernie to follow her inside. He grabbed the door and shut it behind him as he walked through.
+
+It was a long walk and by the time they had reached a rather imposing solid oak door, Ernie was having second thoughts about coming. He leaned against the wall as Melanie fished around in her pockets for a set of keys. But instead of going to open the door, she carefully removed a single key from the keyring and pressed it into Ernie's hand.
+
+``While this is more symbolic than practical, I've just given you very limited ACLs to access the auxiliary meeting room. You should be able to open the door and step through now. We can go in once you're ready.''
+
+Ernie smiled slightly and said, ``Thanks. Don't suppose I can get ya to explain what it's gonna be like in there before we walk in?''
+
+``Oh, you'll be fine. You're encouraged to talk through how you feel about forking but no one is obligated to share if they don't feel like it. And the others will understand since they've been in your shoes before.''
+
+Ernie felt relieved at that. He wasn't sure how comfortable he was going to be with all of this, so it was nice that Melanie had given him an out at the start. She must have gone through this a fair number of times with other people if she knew to address that fear right from the jump. He pushed himself off of the nearby wall with a grunt and placed his key into the lock of the massive door. There was a slight resistance as he felt the tumblers in the door click into place. He looked over at Melanie expectantly and she gave a small nod of her head as if to say ``go ahead''. He twisted the doorknob in his hand and pulled back towards him hard. He was surprised to find that the door was much lighter than he anticipated as it swung open quickly. Melanie laughed and walked through the door into the auxiliary room. Ernie followed her in, making sure to shut the door behind him.
+
+The room was huge and could hardly be called `auxiliary'. If this was what they considered a spare room, he would have been blown away by the main room. The walls were covered in a dark brown wood paneling and had framed pictures of people from what looked like previous SGAF events or meetings. The pictures themselves were taken within this room, which Ernie felt was odd. They must get more use out of the spare room than he expected. Along the edges of the rooms were a collection of sofas, couches, and wooden chairs, presumably for the members to use to sit down on. The center of the room looked like it was designed to hold a large circular table, but that space was currently empty. There were a couple plants in the corners of the room to break up the space with a few splashes of green and yellow. No flowering plants though, only ferns and fronds. More colors than that would be too distracting. The room felt like it was designed to give the impression of a psychiatrist's office, even to Ernie who had never been in one back phys-side.
+
+Around the circle sat three other people in chairs that were as unique as them. Ernie did his best not to stare, but his eyes were drawn to the chair that looked absolutely uncomfortable to sit in. Thin seat suspended in the air over a base of interlocking segments of white polished marble with hovering armrests that moved along with their body. He knew of furries, but he had never seen a furry like this one before.
+
+Ernie tried to recall the last time he had interacted with furries and realized that it had been back when he was phys-side. His truck's GPS had crashed on him and he was in a part of the country that was entirely unfamiliar. When he pulled into the nearest gas station looking for directions, a group of furries helped him out by opening up his GPS and fixing the offending part.
+
+This furry in particular was an amalgam of many different animal features that Ernie could only really guess at. Their head was long and canine, but the ears were small and close to the head. On top of their head was a set of deer antlers. Their body was covered in a light brown fur that poked out of a shiny black suit coat complete with coat-tails. Behind them was a long and lizard-like tail that swayed hypnotically. They exuded a kind of confidence in how they carried themself that was intimidating to Ernie. None of their disparate parts seemed to be causing them discomfort and even the places on them that transitioned to a new animal seemed to fade and give way to the next without hesitation.
+
+They leaned forward in their chair and gestured to Ernie saying, ``I didn't expect you to bring someone new today Melanie! What kind of morsel do we have here?'' As they talked Ernie could see a flash of their fangs and the many rows of teeth inside of their mouth.
+
+``Settle down Devonian, we don't want to scare him off before he's even had a chance to get to know us,'' said a man sitting backwards in a combined school desk and chair much smaller than him. He was wearing a blue turtleneck and khaki pants and fiddled with a wooden ruler at his desk.
+
+``Do you think so little of me David? I was just implying I would have gotten dressed better had I known ahead of time we'd be having company.''
+
+``You're already sufficiently fancy. What would be the next step up? A regency era ball gown with a full train?'' asked a woman sitting on a polished wooden bench that was just wide enough for her. Ernie felt uneasy looking over at her because she looked like she was actively melting. Not in a painful way, but in the sort of way where her facial features were closer to a painting done in Picasso's style of noses, eyes, and mouth off center and rearranged on the canvas of her head.
+
+``My dearest Samantha, you should know that I don't much care for wearing regency gowns. Too many puffy shoulders for my taste. But you do have a point. Perhaps next month I'll wear a dress that matches my sensibilities.''
+
+``Oh, that does sound fun. Maybe we could color coordinate the whole group. Young man, would you say that warm tones match better for you? Or are you more of a fan of colder colors?''
+
+It took Ernie a second to realize that Samantha was addressing him. He fidgeted with the back of his mesh cap and said, ``I don't exactly know what you're talking about ma'am, sorry.''
+
+Samantha laughed out of the corner of her face and said, ``Don't worry about it, Ernie. I'm sure we'll be able to find something that would look good on you.''
+
+At this Ernie crossed his arms over his chest saying, ``Well, I think I look pretty good in flannel.''
+
+``It does suit you well, there's no question in that. Melanie, can you help him get a chair?'' David asked.
+
+Melanie nodded and scanned around the room until she found the chairs stacked in the corner. A few seconds later she walked toward the group with two wooden chairs plucked from the edge of the room. She set one down in front of Ernie closer to the rest of the group's circle and then took a seat on her own. She looked up at the ceiling and waved her left hand's fingers through the air in subtle gestures. When she was done, she brought her head back down to eye level.
+
+``Sorry about that, old habits from navigating cards in ancient sims back phys-side. I just granted you limited ACLs to make a chair that is comfortable for you to sit in. Unless the wooden one works for you, but as you can see most folks decide to personalize it a bit.''
+
+Ernie sat down tentatively and let himself lean back into the back of the chair. He wasn't the best at conjuring things from his mind's eye without a fair bit of practice so he was worried that he'd be stuck in this decidedly uncomfortable chair for the whole time. However, as he leaned back, he could feel the chair shift and morph around him. The wood underneath him reshaped and filled with stuffing, the supporting structure hardening into a lightweight black metal frame. As he reached the limit for leaning backwards, a padded footrest extended out from the base of the chair and cradled his legs and feet. He reached down over the edge of the chair's rapidly manifesting puffy armrests and curled his fingers around the wooden lever he knew would be there. With a grunt and a swing of his legs downward, he pulled on the lever and catapulted himself back to an upright sitting position. It even squeaked with the same loose spring that had been there back phys-side. There was a singular piece of furniture that Ernie knew better than his own body: his trusty periwinkle blue rocking chair recliner.
+
+Melanie asked, ``Is that better then?''
+
+``Much better.''
+
+She clapped her hands together and cleared her throat slightly. ``Alright, we're just about ready to start with our session today then. Since Ernie is new, I want to reiterate that while this could be considered therapy, I'm not a practicing therapist. I'm a retired therapist and as such I want to encourage you to seek out professional therapy services in addition to this group. If you're interested in scheduling one on one sessions, I have a great list of therapists on the System that would love to work with you.''
+
+David leaned over his desk and whispered to Ernie, ``Just make sure you don't schedule an appointment with Ms. Genet.''
+
+Melanie narrowed her eyes and shot a nasty look over at David before saying, ``Just because Sarah and you weren't a good fit doesn't mean she's not a good therapist.''
+
+He leaned back in his desk looking sufficiently embarrassed for getting caught. For a split second, Ernie could picture him as a student getting called out by the teacher during class.
+
+She continued, ``I'm going to go first and introduce myself and talk a little bit about my relationship with forking. I would encourage you all to do the same if you feel comfortable so that Ernie can get an idea of what we're about here at the SGAF. Don't feel shy about asking questions either, as that will help us to loosen up and discuss our problems. You do not need to answer any questions you do not feel like answering. If someone does not want to answer, you must drop it. End of discussion, no exceptions. This process relies on us trusting each other and part of building that trust is respecting our boundaries.''
+
+She rocketed up from her chair, knocking it over in the process and placed a hand over her heart. Her eyes scanned back and forth across the circle to make sure that she had everyone's attention. When she was satisfied that they were all focused on her she said, ``My name is Melanie Marquetta and whenever I go to fork, \emph{this} happens\ldots''
+
+She then stepped out of her body and Ernie could see the original Melanie along with an almost perfect facsimile of her sculpted entirely out of dark blue metal forks. Hundreds of thousands of interlocking pieces of metal, all very clearly tableware, were woven together into her body shape. Even her hair was made of delicately curled and coiled metal strands. She was the magnum opus of a master metalworker who looked to Melanie as their muse.
+
+Both instances stood still as a statue for a moment and Ernie was concerned that the process of forking had harmed her. Melanie smiled and in unison her and her metal copy moved their arms from off of their chests outward in a flourish. This caught Ernie off-guard and he shouted out, ``What the hell!''
+
+The Melanie made of flesh said, ``That's the usual reaction I get whenever I do this, so I won't take it personally. What do you think, Metalanie?'' She turned her head towards her metal doppelganger and Metalanie said, ``I expected him to jump a little more if I'm being honest.''
+
+Whenever Metalanie spoke, she sounded like Melanie's voice was being passed through a long metal tunnel. It had an echo to it that made it hard for Ernie to parse out what she had said until a few moments after she had stopped speaking. He also noticed that while Metalanie could move like Melanie, the movements were slower and less graceful. As though she was fighting the metal she was made of to be able to move around. Ernie had so many questions.
+
+``So does this mean you're an instance artist then?'' he asked. Ernie had heard of instance artists in passing but didn't know a lot about them. He had heard that people had found a way to use forking as an art medium but that was the breadth of his experience with them as a group. It certainly seemed like it would apply to Melanie.
+
+Melanie bent down to pick up her chair off the floor and sat down. Metalanie moved behind her and draped her arms over the top of the chair. Melanie said, ``No, I'm not an instance artist. That honor goes to Samantha.''
+
+Samantha piped up and said, ``Guilty as charged! One of these days I'll get you to come to one of my shows, darling.''
+
+''I swear I'll get out to one eventually. You know how busy I get,'' Melanie said.
+
+Ernie furrowed his brows together as he tried to formulate his next question.
+
+``So then, what's yer deal? You just like making really fancy copies of yourself in metal?''
+
+``No, it's actually a fair bit less complicated. My `deal' is that whenever I go to fork, it winds up as a metal copy of myself made out of forks. Every. Time.''
+
+And to prove her point she forked four more times until there were four more Metalanie's standing around her chair. Each one was a different color of metal from burnished bronze to gleaming gold, but all of them were made of metal.
+
+``I can influence the color of the metal and even change some aspects of how I'm dressed but other than that, I can't affect my forks.''
+
+She crossed her right leg over her left and let all instances of Metalanie quit and merge back down into her. For a moment she was half flesh and half metal, but as she resolved merge conflicts her flesh won out little by little. She opened her eyes and said, ``And then merging down brings its own unique set of challenges with just having experienced life as a being completely made of metal. I've gotten really good at experiential merging and that's helped a lot.''
+
+``So, when you fork, you're forced to be made of metal? Wouldn't that have come up when you did that initial forking test thingy, they make you do right as ya upload? I would think the System would have caught something as big as that.''
+
+``It's actually funny you mention that initial check. But hold that thought a second.''
+
+Melanie scrunched her face up and Ernie could tell she was straining against some invisible force. Her right arm wrenched upwards and she strained to pull her pinky and ring fingers down to her palm. She moved her other fingers into position so that she made a kind of gun with her middle and pointer fingers with the thumb as the trigger. She swung the faux gun around and Ernie instinctively ducked. She wasn't pointing it at him, but rather at the inner elbow joint of her left arm. She moved her thumb up and down and Ernie wondered why she was shooting her arm in this way. Melanie didn't say anything and after a few motions, she began to flex her left arm out and in, out and in. She then moved to another joint and repeated the process.
+
+``It's silly if I'm being honest with myself, but visualizing the oil helps to lubricate my joints after a lot of quick merges.''
+
+Now it made sense to Ernie. Not a gun, but an oil can. It only took her a couple more seconds until she was fully mobile again at which point, she said, ``That's a relief. Now where was I again?''
+
+Devonian spoke up and said, ``You were going to explain to Ernie about your upload.''
+
+``That's right, thank you.'' She turned to face Ernie and said, ``I may not act like it, but I was one of the first batch of people to upload once they started opening up the process to the public. Now that was back around 2126 and they were still working out how to automate the process of onboarding new users to the System. I didn't know this prior to uploading, but I doubt that it would have changed my mind at the time. The reason that I had the money to upload and why I'm a retired therapist are closely linked. And before you ask, that is something I will not budge on speaking more about.''
+
+Ernie nodded in agreement. He could tell from the conviction of her last sentence that prying anymore would get him a one-way boot from the sim.
+
+``So, I get myself uploaded to the System and I hear this automated voice go over some of the basics with me. They get me familiar with how to make clothes and before it can tell me about forking it glitches out. Next thing I know the gray box I was standing in opens up and when I step through the door, I'm in some random city sim.''
+
+She took
+a moment to brush the hair out of her face before continuing. ``I wasn't in the best state of mind when I first uploaded. Before I knew it, I had found a bar and proceeded to drink myself extremely drunk. I'm talking completely wasted. Toasty to the max. Knackered and shit-to-face and round the bend. From what people have told me, I was a sight to behold. This was also before I was told you could affect your sensorium and sober yourself up. So here I was at the bar, getting drunker by the minute, and I overheard someone talking about forking. And to me, this is the funniest thing in the world. Some yahoo is talking about making a copy of himself and it's made of forks. What a wild concept. But I'm just drunk enough to give it a try. I go to fork and sure enough, when I step out of my body, there's a copy of me made out of forks. Which just gets me laughing even harder. So, I make another copy, and another copy, and another copy. By the time I got bounced from the sim, I had spent a good chunk of my reputation making copies of myself. It wasn't until a few weeks later, after I had some time to process living on the System, that I tried to fork again and found that metal-me had stuck.''
+
+Ernie whistled through his teeth and said, ``Geez Melanie! That sure is quite the story. How'd you figure that your metal-you was stuck though?''
+
+``A lot of trial and error, mostly. After I had a chance to meet and talk with other people on the System, I realized that my experience of forking was very different to others. They would talk about forking with intention to change their appearance and at the time I couldn't even affect how my forks would look. That only came with years of patience and practice. Meanwhile, Joe Schmoe over here can fork himself some new eyebrows just as easy as he pleases. It was incredibly frustrating and isolating for years. And then, one particularly bad day, I resolved to find others on the System that I could properly relate to. Build a community, as it were. That project has kept me nice and busy for the last few decades and I don't plan on stopping anytime soon.''
+
+She smiled and looked back over to Ernie. Not with expectation, but with understanding. And Ernie could tell that Melanie had been in his shoes before. There was something in the way she looked past him and into all of the arguments he had over the years about his forking habits. He was just about to share, when Samantha cut him off.
+
+``I actually want to talk about the ease of changing your appearance as that struck a chord with me as you were sharing.''
+
+Melanie nodded and said, ``Go ahead Samantha. Why don't you introduce yourself first?''
+
+Samantha got up from her chair slowly and addressed the room. ``Hello everyone, my name is Samantha. Every time I fork, a portion of my face goes slightly off center.''
+
+Ernie was waiting for her to fork like Melanie did, but Samantha just sat back down and continued talking.
+
+``There's a reason I can't show you what forking for me looks like. It ties directly into why I can't fork right now at all. You see, I've got a gallery showing coming up and with me as the central piece in the show I need to keep my face exactly as it is for the intended audience I'm seeking out. If I fork even one more time, there's a chance that my canvas will get smudged as it were.''
+
+Devonian leaned forward in their chair and said, ``That's got to be dreadfully limiting. How do you manage that while working in instance artistry?''
+
+Samantha's smile was nervous and tired. ``I do my best, but it is difficult. When most of your friends or colleagues are dispersionistas, there is a social pressure to fork and fork often. I don't think they're doing it intentionally or maliciously, but subconsciously there is an expectation that while working in instance artistry you will be able to fork often. I was lucky to carve out a niche for myself doing the kind of art that my difficulties in forking allows me to do, but that doesn't help when I am invited to art shows for networking and I can't go. I used to use the cost to my reputation as an excuse for not being able to fork, but as that cost went down, less and less people would accept it.''
+
+David leaned back in his chair and said, ``I think we all can relate to not having the same freedom of movement that others that can fork normally have. I know that I've had a rough time trying to juggle my schedule when there is an expectation that I can be in multiple places at once. As nice as living on the System is, that is definitely a part I could stand to live without.''
+
+The group mumbled a few affirmations of agreement and Devonian chimed in. ``I can't say that I have the same problem, but I do sympathize with the sentiment.''
+
+``Oh, you don't count. Not with how you fork,'' David said.
+
+Devonian's snout creased up and they showed a flash of their many rows of teeth. ``I suppose not, considering I don't have an issue with forking as often as I please. Yet, I am still affected by this process differently. Hence, why I am here at all.''
+
+He sighed, ``I know, I know. I didn't mean to come at you so strongly. I had a bad week and I don't want to take it out on you.''
+
+Devonian let their lips fall over their teeth once more and made a show of smoothing out their suit jacket. Melanie stepped in and said, ``Do you want to talk about your week?''
+
+He looked like he was thinking intently before he answered. ``Let Samantha finish first, I want a little time to sort through my feelings before sharing.''
+
+Ernie raised his hand sheepishly causing Melanie to laugh a little bit. ``Yes Ernie? You wanted to say something?''
+
+He put his hand down and said, ``Well, Samantha was talking about how she found instance art she could still do and I wanted to hear more about that. I've not been to a lot of art shows but it sounds interestin'.''
+
+Samantha brightened at this, smiling her off-center smile the widest Ernie had seen yet. ``But of course, Ernie darling! I've worked a lot with time-lapse photography in the past and that's one of my more popular mediums. I take a picture every day after forking exactly once and combine them into a short video that shows the path my features take as they move across my face. I try to keep the backdrop of the images the same throughout, but when I got bored of that I realized I could incorporate stop motion animation on the desk of the table I would take my photos in front of. That was an incredibly grueling but rewarding period of my work as an instance artist. I had to practice quite a bit before I could make the animation smooth. Not to mention what to use as a subject that would complement the trajectory of my face before I knew where it would end up.''
+
+``My bread and butter for my exhibitions has always been displaying my face in new and novel ways. For one exhibit I made hundreds of ornate painting frames and ran between them all while looking at the guests with funny faces. That was incredibly fun. The guests all got into it. I must admit that some of my recent work has been inspired by Melanie in part, as I pose still like a statue in gaudy primary color clothes while a stage light of the same color shines on a section of my face. I invite the guests to walk around me in a circle and as they reach a new part of my face, I change my outfit, pose, and lighting to evoke a new emotion.''
+
+She folded her hands on her lap looking extremely pleased with herself. ``Thank you for indulging me, dear. I get on a roll about my artistic process and I don't shut up for anything. Are you ready to share David?''
+
+``Yeah, I think I pinned down what was bugging me.''
+
+He sat up in his chair and planted his feet firmly underneath the desk. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, rubbing his fingers over his eyelids. When he had collected himself, he opened his eyes back up and spoke.
+
+``I'm angry and upset because a good friend of mine got miffed that I sent a fork to spend some time with him instead of sending my root instance. The complicated part of this is that he's someone who should know better since he knows how forking affects me.''
+
+``Well, that does explain why you've been so combative today. I dare say I'd be a mite bit more growly if that had happened to me. Do you think you're more upset because you didn't expect this kind of behavior from him?'' Devonian asked.
+
+``Maybe? I felt like since I've explained this to him before he wouldn't hold it over me if I had to send a fork, but it seems to have had the opposite effect. Now that he knows, he ends up stewing on where my root instance is and that causes a lot of friction between us.''
+
+Melanie sighed and said, ``I've unfortunately had to deal with this before. It's part of the reason that I keep the people who know about how my forking works to a minimum. Once folks can definitively tell that you've sent a fork, they can get squirrely about why it wasn't important enough for you to show up in person. Never mind that forks are so ubiquitous with everyone else that it's not a problem. It suddenly becomes an issue since you don't fork as often. They start to think that you value them or that relationship less because you're not there `in person'.''
+
+``That does feel like what's going on, I hate to admit it. What makes this worse is that it's difficult to explain this kind of social pressure to fork to those outside of the System. I keep in touch with a few teachers phys-side, but they don't have a great frame of reference for it to compare to.''
+
+Ernie raised his hand again and David's training as a teacher kicked in. He pointed to him and called him by name.
+
+``Yeah, I feel like I'm a bit out of the loop here. Why would your friend even be able to tell that you sent a fork? Not meaning to offend none, but you look like the most unassumin' of the lot of ya.''
+
+``I suppose I should give you some more context. I don't need to worry about the concept of a body anymore. Ideally, this should have been good for me. I was in a lot of pain before uploading and the retirement plan for a teacher was not promising. But seeing as I was a biology teacher for twenty some odd years at a high school, talking about bodies and their various functions were a daily occurrence for me. So, to exist as this concept of thought and data made it harder for me to fork. I would get caught up in the minutiae of how the human body works whenever I tried. There was a diagram I had hung up as a poster for the class and in this poster was a detailed layout of the different sections of the human body layered on top of each other. That poster burned deeply into my brain after looking at it through class after class. The result is that when I step out of my body, I do so in stages.''
+
+David slid out of his desk chair feet first, tumbling forward and springing up on the balls of his heels. He looked back over to Ernie and asked, ``You don't get squeamish, do you?''
+
+Ernie wasn't sure how to answer that question. He felt like if David was asking him that now, it was quite the loaded question. He settled for a less than confident ``No?''
+
+David must have felt like that was enough for him as he stepped to the right and began to fork. His first fork stepped out of his skin and his underlying muscles were his new outer layer. Another fork and all that was left was a collection of organs free-floating on a transparent frame. The next fork was just the thin wiry nerve endings that made up David's nervous system. When he forked for the last time, Ernie was incredibly relieved to see that it was just David's skeleton.
+
+The original David coordinated his other forks to line up in a straight line with the skeleton at the back and then asked, ``Now stand in front of us all and look through.'' Ernie got up from his recliner and reluctantly did as he was asked. He could see what David had been saying earlier. Each fork when layered on top of each other created a very detailed look at the inside of his body.
+
+Ernie squinted and leaned in closer to the muscle fork and asked, ``So which of these were ya when you visited your friend? I could imagine him getting upset if you showed up as a big blob of muscle.''
+
+The Skeleton-David walked up to Ernie from the back of the line and put his bony hand on his shoulder. Ernie suppressed a shudder that rocketed through him at the contact with the cold and calcium-rich touch.
+
+His words chattered and echoed through the skull's mouth, but they were still decipherable. ``That would've been me. I was sent to spend time with him since the other forks are more unsettling. It's not a great solution, but it beats sending a living collection of loose organs.''
+
+``So then, you had to fork at least four times to get to the body that you knew wouldn't upset your friend. And you're upset that he doesn't seem to be understanding the effort you're putting in for him?'' Samantha had been thinking quietly, but as she finished speaking the original David started jumping up and down.
+
+``Yes! Yes! This is it exactly! You've hit the nail on the head. I know that he knows that it's a lot of forking for me to get to my skeleton and he doesn't seem to care. And what's worse is that he had to tell me about why he was upset this week, months afterward, because I didn't let that fork merge down.''
+
+Ernie gently reached up and took Skeleton-David's hand from his shoulder and let it drop to his side. He walked slowly over to the original David and crossed his arms over his chest.
+
+``Now you let me know if I'm talkin' out of turn, but I think I've got a notion why yer friend was so upset with you.''
+
+David shrugged and said, ``Shoot.''
+
+``You said that you don't merge in your forks. Well, what if he was upset that you wouldn't remember the time you both spent together because he knew that you wouldn't merge? Wouldn't that feel a little bit like he had his time wasted?''
+
+David put his fingers on his chin as he thought about what Ernie had said. He gave the command for his other forks to quit and his eyes lit up. ``Shit. I think you might be right. I, uh, might owe him an apology. Thanks Ernie.''
+
+``Wasn't any trouble at all. Glad I could help.'' Ernie uncrossed his arms and pat David gently on his back. They made their way back to their respective chairs and sat down. Devonian clapped from their awkward chair.
+
+``Well done, you're already a natural.''
+
+Ernie had to agree with Devonian, yet it was a little strange that the others were so comfortable with him. He had just met them a little bit ago, but the way they talked to him, it felt like they knew him already. Maybe they were just more in touch with their feelings than he was. They've got that practice from coming and sharing that he isn't used to after all. But then why did it feel second nature already? His train of thought was interrupted by Melanie and he put it out of his mind for now.
+
+She tilted her head towards Devonian and asked, ``Are you up to sharing this week Devonian?''
+
+They licked the corner of their snout with a forked tongue that was longer than Ernie felt could comfortably fit within their face and nodded.
+
+``But I'm not going to get up. I've just gotten comfortable and if I stand up, I guarantee I'll end up having to reposition my tail for the next half hour.''
+
+``Suit yourself,'' Melanie said.
+
+``I do, every morning.''
+
+There was a collective groan from around the circle and Devonian chuckled to themself.
+
+``Alright, enough tomfoolery.'' They turned their head and spoke directly to Ernie. ``When I uploaded, I was human in appearance. That may be hard to visualize, but it's the truth.''
+
+They paused for a minute and then said, ``I just realized that you may need some crucial context or else this next part of my story will be lost on you. So, do you by chance know what a furry is Ernie?''
+
+``Yeah, I know of `em. Fine folks helped me out in a pinch once.''
+
+``Oh good, that makes this easier. I was a furry back before uploading and had quite a few fursonas to my name. Most furries have one fursona that they pick and stick with for many years. Some will switch it up occasionally and others have a group of about two to three they'll rotate between. I say all this because I was firmly outside of the norm.''
+
+``I had a whole menagerie of fursonas that I would swap between whenever the mood struck me. One day I'd be a lion and the next I'd be a deer. Fridays felt like a goat kind of day for a while and then I had my snake period. What I'm trying to get at is that I had a lot of feelings about how to represent myself as a furry and those feelings shifted and changed daily.''
+
+``Fast-forward to my upload day and I'm genuinely shocked when I get my bearings that I'm human. I had heard stories of other furries who uploaded who had a similar experience. Their sense of self was more aligned with their human body rather than their animal counterpart. But would I be spared this fate? Surely, I, with my cavalcade of creatures, would have one that would stick. Alas, it was not meant to be. That is, until I went to fork for the first time.''
+
+Devonian forked and next to them on their right side stood a bipedal anthropomorphic lion dressed in the same suit that they were wearing. They forked again and on their left was a svelte black bird whose feathers shimmered with blue, brown, and black iridescence when the light caught them at just the right angle.
+
+``Some of my fursonas are more masculine,'' said the Devonian-Lion in a rumbling bass voice.
+
+``While others are a way for me to explore my femininity,'' said the Devonian-Bird in a lilting sing-song cadence.
+
+``And so, after a fashion, I realized that my fursonas were still a part of me. They would only manifest when I forked however. Curiouser still, I do not have the ability to affect which one of them pops out of me. I've theorized over the decades that it's related to my emotional state at the time I fork, but how do I pinpoint the emotional cues that will get me `goat' or `snake'? A rhetorical question, I assure you. I wasn't that interested in finding out honestly. As I forked and merged back down, I noticed that my physical appearance would slowly shift to accommodate more and more of the appearance of the fursona that had most recently merged.''
+
+The bird and lion forks of Devonian quit and merged back into Devonian. ``Now come over here, if you please, and observe.''
+
+Ernie got out of his recliner and made his way over to Devonian. They motioned for Ernie to look at the intersection of fur along their arm. Ernie had to squint to see it, but sure enough, the pattern of fur along their arm was slowly changing and shifting to match the light yellow of the lion's fur. Devonian shifted around in their seat and ran their claws along the ends of their coat tails. Ernie could see that they were now longer than they were previously. Not only that, but the material they were made of wasn't fabric at all, but was instead hundreds of finely layered black feathers. Devonian's coat tails were actually wings. They had a slight shimmer of iridescence to them that matched Devonian's bird fork. They rustled their wings gently and Ernie took that as a hint to stop staring and back off.
+
+``While it did take a while to adjust, I'm fortunate that uploading really did help me to achieve my transition goals.''
+
+``And what were those?'' Ernie asked without thinking. He cringed slightly and hoped that Devonian did not take the question personally.
+
+Devonian did their best to grin without showing teeth. ``To be utterly incomprehensible and unable to be discreetly defined. My existence as a chimera is a blessing for me, but I understand why it would be difficult for others to experience the same. The reason I come to the meetings is less about venting my own frustrations and more about giving other people an example of a way to live with constant change as a positive aspect. I could scarcely count the number of late-into-the-night conversations that Samantha and I have had over living with a constantly changing appearance on the System.''
+
+``In a way, it is a closer approximation to phys-side life that we've lost in uploading. As we age, our appearance is always gradually changing, but that process stops after uploading. It's actually one of the things that helps the System to feel more realistic to me. That's a comfort,'' Samantha said.
+
+``Thank you everyone for sharing your experiences with Ernie today. I really do appreciate that you are willing to open up like that. Now, there's no pressure to share if you don't want to. It is your first meeting after all. Do you want to tell us about yourself Ernie?''
+
+Ernie became acutely aware of the fact that he was standing in the middle of the circle and everyone's attention was squarely on him. He was less nervous than he expected. After seeing all of the support the group gave each other, he felt less awkward talking about his issues. If anything, he felt like his weren't enough in comparison.
+
+``Well, I'm Ernie. Just `Ernie' if you please. I don't think my problems quite stack up to y'all, but I'll tell my story.''
+
+He took his mesh cap off his head and fiddled with it in his hands.
+
+``I worked as a trucker for my whole life. Driving was in my blood and it was something I was pretty damn good at, if you don't mind me braggin' a tad. Even with my love of the open road, I was having trouble keeping up. The kinds of shifts I had to pull were getting more and more dangerous and I wasn't getting any younger. So, I hatched myself a little retirement plan of uploadin'. But y'see the trouble was that it was still too expensive for me. I had to try and save towards it, but that meant I would have to pick up more work. It was incredibly stupid of me, but I would drive for sixteen to twenty hours a day trying to get that little extra money. As you can imagine, I didn't get any sleep and it took its toll on me. I was tired and listless always, but I held onto that hope of gettin' to the System. I had heard so many stories of what was possible here that I felt like killing myself was worth the chance. And I just about did. My tiredness caught up with me and I got into a hell of an accident. No one but me and my truck were hurt, but I was in a bad way. I was told I wouldn't be able to drive my truck, or what was left of her, even after I recovered. I don't know who in Heaven took pity on me, but shortly after I got the news in the hospital, I heard about the new initiative of paying folks to upload. I didn't have a lot of family I kept up with, so I wasn't sure I even qualified. Thankfully, they were nice enough to swing a deal where they'd use the money to pay off my medical debt and set me up with a little reputation in the System with what was left over.''
+
+He took a moment to collect himself and put his hat back on his head.
+
+``I don't want to disappoint you folks, but I'm not going to be forking as a demonstration. You'll just have to trust me when I tell you that whenever I fork my body decides that it's gonna try and catch up on all that sleep I missed phys-side. It's not a big obstacle, but it is annoying to have to deal with. My fork ends up sleeping for about an hour or two and then wakes back up groggy as all hell. I can't tell you the number of times my fork has shown up after me when I go someplace.''
+
+Ernie stopped talking as he noticed the rest of the group were trying their best to keep smiles off their faces. He felt as if he might have missed a joke, but he wasn't sure what would be funny. Then it hit him like a semi.
+
+``Wait a minute, don't tell me\ldots''
+
+Melanie called out to an adjacent door in the room and said, ``Alright Ernie, you can come back in now.''
+
+Ernie's jaw hit the floor as he saw himself walk through that enormous wood door and stand next to Melanie. He looked pleased as punch that their little plan worked so well. Ernie pointed a finger at his original instance and started cussing him out.
+
+``You know damn well how hard it is for me to open up to new folks and you go and do a cockamamie stunt like this? How long have you been standing back there?''
+
+The Ernie by Melanie laughed and said, ``Calm down now, I wasn't trying to be mean. I actually warned the group straight away in case you showed up later so they wouldn't have cause to fuss. If it makes you feel any better, you were a lot better at listening to these fine folks than I was.''
+
+``Well, this is grand! This is \emph{grand!} I'm glad you all had a laugh at ol' Ernie's expense.'' He hiked up his pants, pulled up his sleeves, and marched over to the original Ernie.
+
+``And as for you, smartass. Have a little treat for yer trouble.''
+
+He wound up for a punch and before it could connect, he quit and merged down. The impact traveled to the original Ernie as he was knocked back a few steps from the force of the merge. Melanie rushed over to him and he waved her away.
+
+``I'll be fine. Just a little shook up. He was mad with a capital M. I've got it on good authority he'll get over it.''
+
+Melanie gave a nervous half-smile and said, "I think there's one last thing we need to take care of before we end our session today. Devonian, could you grant Ernie that final ACL privilege?"
+
+Devonian waved one of their clawed hands in a flourish and Ernie felt a gentle sensorium ping. He laughed and said, "Well shucks. I guess you got me back for him after all." Then turned to Melanie and asked, "The whole time?"
+
+She nodded and said, "We've found it's better to meet a smaller group first beforehand. Less chance at getting overwhelmed that way."
+
+Ernie walked over to the corner of the office. He placed his hand on the intersection of the walls and gently pushed with his fingers. The walls of the office teetered backwards and fell down around them with a tremendous crash. The support group were standing within the interior of an office room placed smack dab in the middle of an enormous botanical garden that stretched as far as his eyes could see. In the distance, he could see people talking in small groups like theirs, and Ernie felt a little less lonely here on the System.
+
+``We're not exactly a typical clade, by the definitions of the System, but you'll have a place here if you want it,'' Melanie said.
+
+``Thank you, Melanie. It's a lot to take in, but I think I'm willing to try.''
+
+``Does that mean I can count on you coming to next week's meeting then?'' Samantha asked.
+
+``Yeah, I'll be here.''
+
+``Splendid! Melanie, make sure to get Ernie's measurements before he leaves so that I can check my closet for his outfit for next week. I've got to catch up with Sharon and Jennie before they leave. Ta-Ta for now!'' She walked briskly away towards another group of people.
+
+David cleared his throat and said, ``I'm gonna take off myself. I'm feeling pretty lousy about what I did and I wanna apologize while it's fresh on my mind. Catch ya later!''
+
+Without another word David stepped from the sim and was gone in a shimmering flash.
+
+``Don't worry, I'm not leaving yet. But I do want to stretch out my wings a little bit. Having more grackle in me has given me an itch to perch. I'll be over at the massive arch covered in purple and blue flowers across from the miniature weeping willow tree.''
+
+They quickly unbuttoned their suit jacket and let their wings expand out behind them in a massive \emph{floomph} of feathers. A flap and a wave later and they were high into the sky.
+
+``Are you up for meeting more people today? I'd understand if you're burnt out,'' Melanie asked.
+
+``Y'know I think I could. But let's take it slow. I'd love to just walk around a while. It's a real pretty sim you've got here.''
+
+``I forget how nice it is until I bring in new folks. The plants are top-notch. I heard a rumor that the person who designed this sim studied under Serene; Sustained And Sustaining.''
+
+Ernie shook his head and said, ``I'm sorry Melanie, but I don't know who you're talking about. Whoever they are, they must have been a good teacher.''
+
+Melanie elbowed Ernie playfully in his side and said, ``You've gotta get out more Ernie. Speaking of, I'm feeling a bit peckish myself. There's a cafe a little ways down that I bet we could persuade into serving you a reuben.''
+
+Ernie chuckled and said, ``I could eat. Worked up quite the appetite talking yer ears off.''
+
+She offered her arm to him and he hooked his arm into hers and they walked leisurely towards a cafe filled with folks who understood how it felt to be different.

clade/content/sufficiently-advanced.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,179 @@
+On the one hand, this wasn't really a comfortable garden, with a view of a beautiful valley and several apple trees. It was a simulation, running on servers hurtling through deep space on an unstoppable course to who knows where. But on the other hand, it was plainly obvious this was a garden: there was a valley, those were apple trees, this was his home, it was a lovely day, and he had work to do. It mattered how you decided to look at it.
+
+Theodred, Adjunct Professor of Post-Physical Philosophy, comfortably presenting as a wolf for more than a century after an ill-advised month as what he had thought to be an `idealized' version of his former human appearance, started with his sim: only a ordinary scholar's private dwelling, but it was still important to get the setting right. Dim the lights---the sun raced across the sky till it ripened through gold and red and hovered just above the horizon. Turn down the temperature, not too much---a gentle but constant breeze freshened through the grainfields on the valley floor below. Put away anything he wasn't going to be using---the contents of the modest home behind him, mostly bookshelves, disappeared, followed by the roof and walls. Though after a moment he changed his mind and called back the brutalist-gothic concrete arches as if his home had become ruins centuries ago, because if you're going to design a home that looks good in ruins then it should get to be them now and again. Get out the things he would be using---a cast iron fire pit emerged from the clover and dandelions his garden had become, a stack of firewood lit itself within it, three chairs---well, two stools and a comfortable armchair---around it, a fully stocked drinks cabinet to one side. He hesitated, then decided against a whiteboard. If it ended up being needful it could always be brought out.
+
+He did pull out a sturdy college-ruled notebook and a mechanical pencil. Yes, he could just let his sensorium take notes for him, he could store every word said in perfect photographic memory. But that would be a distraction, would turn his attention to himself, to the process, not the answers he hoped for. Better to do things the most instinctive way he knew: by hand, in a notebook balanced on his knee, as it had been in lectures billions of kilometers away and what should have been lifetimes ago.
+
+It was hard to be both methodically careful and relaxed at the same time, but he several times resisted the urge to manually---well not manually, but the word was close enough---turn down his frustration. He wanted his mind in as neutral a state, as untampered with even by himself, as possible for what had to be done. Not for the first time he wondered whose decision it had been, back in the days when he'd uploaded, that one of the parts of his mind copied and transcribed into the everlasting him he was now would be distractible-type attention deficit disorder.
+
+But he didn't doubt that it was a structural part of the architecture of his mind and personality. Not any more, not since the last time he'd done this procedure.
+
+Or performed this ritual.
+
+Whichever he was going to decide was the correct way to describe it.
+
+Once he'd made some final adjustments---turn off the ocean smell in the wind, it would only make him maudlin and nostalgic, shoo all the simulated sounds of cicadas further into the distance so nobody need shout over them, dial forward the season a bit till the apples on the trees were ripe and the leaves yellowing---he sat back to work on the next step. Suppose this. Assume that. Such-and-such premises. Such-and-such prejudices. All A is B, Some C is A, therefore some C is B etc. Almost convince himself to deny the answer to his question---as close to it as he could come, at least; if he could have gotten all the way there'd be no need for all this fuss.
+
+Once he actually forked, it'd be too late for adjustments. If he wanted an instance that believed certain things, would argue a certain way, he had to become himself that way first. If only just long enough to\ldots{}
+
+The instance appeared to Theo's left, and began individuating immediately. It was him, after all, and had the same intentions. He knew the plan, and what his part in it was. Theo paid no attention. He was already focusing on realigning his mind and emotions in the opposite direction. He gave himself permission to believe all the things he didn't have grounds for, to jump to conclusions if that's what it took to reach them. He let himself get lost in pareidolia. To be honest, it felt amazing, and he found himself hoping this side won. Which was good, he could use that, give it that hope too\ldots{}
+
+The second instance appeared to his right. He settled back in the chair, a little bit spent. But his work in this was done. It was up to them now.
+
+The left hand instance resolved first. Hardly surprising. He looked very much as Theo remembered himself on the physical world---he still refused to say `phys-side,' which amused all his students to no end---tall, stocky, very precisely trimmed beard. Human, to all appearances, which Theo hadn't expected, he'd have to add the implications of that to his notes. The only concession to the professor's present self-presentation was a tastefully small enamel lapel pin of a running wolf. Pinstripe vest. Tie of stained-glass shades of merlot, lapis lazuli, and fir tree---dressed very much as he would to tackle a seminar on Kripke's `Naming and Necessity,' Chesterton's `Manalive,' or May Then My Name Die With Me's `Expanded Mythology.'
+
+On the other hand, the rightward instance was settling into something much more fanciful. Wolf, fur perhaps more ornately groomed than Theo's. When he first resolved all there was to see was a hooded cloak, but when he swept it off he wore an abundance of talismanic jewelry over a bare chest dyed with arcane symbols, the color of a thundercloud lit with internal sheet lightning. Intricately embossed leather belt and loincloth over breeches. Sword scabbarded at his waist. Small velvet pouch of who-knew-what hanging from his belt. Most striking was the mask, a facsimile of their own face over eyes and upper jaw.
+
+`Why wear a mask of the same thing as is beneath the mask?' Theo committed to the notebook, then spoke. ``Gentlemen.'' They both looked at him, probably expecting this. ``You know what we're here to discuss. For the sake of the notes, however, what names will you be using?''
+
+``Theodulfr,'' said the one on the right. There was just a hint of Shakespearean ceremony to his voice.
+
+``Really?'' the left hand instance said.
+
+``Our root instance named himself after a Tolkien character.'' It was surprisingly difficult to read Theodulfr's tone with only the lower half of his muzzle to go on. ``You can endure a little indulgence.''
+
+``And you can take this seriously!''
+
+``I am!''
+
+``We can save the disparaging remarks,'' Theo hadn't expected to need to play moderator so soon, ``for the actual debate, surely.'' He turned to the left instance as they quieted. ``Your name, please?''
+
+``Theosophia.'' The two canine heads tilted at the sole human one. ``I'm well aware of the ironies.''
+
+``Anything to drink?'' Theo pointed with the butt of his pencil at the cabinet. When Theosophia opened it, it proved to contain a bottled water and a gin and tonic with blackcurrant syrup for him, and a flagon of mead for Theodulfr.
+
+At which point there was nothing else to do but begin.
+
+``I say it would be wrong,'' began Theodulfr, ``to refer to what we do, the way we live, all this, using the term `magic.'\,''
+
+``And I ask,'' Theosophia replied smoothly, ``what better word could there be?''
+
+Theo froze. When he'd decided to do this again, to let two opposite instances of himself debate the question on which he'd spent months of fruitless frustration, he'd planned they'd each take the other side than they now apparently were.
+
+``When people say magic, what, in all the history of the term, have they used it to mean?'' Theosophia was already presenting his case, so Theo hurried to catch up with his notes. ``Formulas of power over the universe. The ability to make one's environment, in every element and detail of it, conform to one's will. Well, we have that, don't we? If you went to any madji in ancient Persia, any post-scholastic alchemist in medieval Europe, any ritual master in imperial China, and explained to them the everyday circumstances of our lives, what would they call it, other than magic?''
+
+Theodulfr raised an impatient hand. By reflex, Theo made a checkmark on the edge of his page of notes, to keep the queue, before he reminded himself there were only two in this discussion anyway.
+
+``What were the ultimate goals of magic, in any practice or fantasy story?'' Theosophia continued. ``For what was the philosopher's stone sought? Immortality and wealth. Well, we no longer age, we no longer die. And we no longer have any scarcity of anything, so wealth is a long-ago-solved problem. The philosopher's stone is real: we live in it. We all know that we all know the saying: any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.''
+
+``Failure to distinguish between two things,'' Theodulfr said, ``does not imply that those things are the same.''
+
+Apparently it was his turn now.
+
+``Magic must, by definition, be an overriding of the material universe by some supernatural force. Whatever else magic is,'' Theodulfr gestured much more than Theosophia, when he talked, ``it has to do the impossible. Snapping your fingers to produce a flame is magic, using a lighter is not. Levitating into the air is magic, boarding an airplane is not. Living forever and being able to shape the world around you to your will is magic, having your mind scanned and uploaded into a computer simulation whose controls you can access is not. There's a qualitative difference: magic is numinous, awe-inspiring, wondrous. The mere fact we're even discussing the question of whether the mundane minutiae of our life counts as magic is proof that they don't. Magic is, by definition, mutually exclusive with mundane minutiae.''
+
+``That's how a thing is done, how it works,'' Theo recognized the rhetorical turn Theosophia was about to use, had used it himself often enough, ``not what it is.''
+
+``And next you're going to say: Just because the sky is blue by different means than a blueberry is blue,'' Theodulfr snorted the way Theo had learned to use a wolf's snout to snort, ``or indeed the way some blue object in the system is blue, does not mean the sky is therefore not blue. That's a question of how blue works, not what blue is. We all know that one.''
+
+Theosophia changed lines of attack. ``Very well, then instead I'll say: you say magic has to do the impossible. What does impossible mean, here? If none of what we're doing is magic, then magic doesn't exist, cannot exist, because there is no `the impossible' left for it to do!''
+
+``It could do all the things we do in here,'' Theodulf parried and riposted, ``in the physical world.''
+
+Apparently, Theo noted, his forks shared his refusal to say `phys-side.' He doubted it would prove relevant.
+
+``I would submit,'' Theosophia seemed not to be giving any ground though, ``that we are doing all the things we do here in the physical world. All this is happening on physical servers, hurtling through the interstellar medium, in physical space!''
+
+``That's not the same as really happening.'' Theodulfr took a half step forward toward the campfire, as if to get a closer look at a gap in his rival's defenses. ``You wouldn't say having a dream about a miracle was magic. Or telling a story about a spell was the same thing as casting it. Both of those can happen in the physical world too!''
+
+Theosophia looked thoughtful. ``What if I did?''
+
+``What?'' said Theodulfr.
+
+Theosophia bit his lower lip. It was a nervous habit Theo had found he'd abandoned once he'd begun to wear a wolf's face. The shape of the muzzle made the gesture more difficult, feel wrong when accomplished. But he remembered what it meant: the need for quiet, for just a moment, to be able to hear himself in his head, over anyone else talking, to put some thoughts together.
+
+So he cleared his throat. ``Calling a few minutes recess,'' he clipped his plastic pencil to the notebook's black and white mottled cover. ``I need a drink myself.''
+
+``I suppose you're going to let him go first, when we start up again.'' Theodulfr had crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back on one of the gnarled apple trees. It made the cloak hang from his shoulders like a tall narrow tent canopy. He held Theodred's stare a while, then sighed, ``Fine, only fair, I went first before.''
+
+``I'll let him go first, if you want,'' Theo finished a gulp of the much-needed cider the cabinet had given him, ``but I'm not sure he'll care. Look.''
+
+They both glanced across the fire, no longer flames, now burned down to incandescent coals. It hadn't occurred to Theo to set the fire to not run out of fuel. Beyond, the human had his head tilted, eyes lidded, hands raised. Every second or so his fingers would move, in syllable-like rhythms, sketching iambs and dactyls and spondees on the air in front of him even though he spoke not a word.
+
+``You must remember,'' Theo mused as if to himself, which in a sense it was, ``when we used to look like that. What it meant to look like that. How it felt.''
+
+Theodulfr scoffed. ``You think he's putting together some grand epiphany?''
+
+``If he is,'' Theo took another gulp of cider, ``then it's exactly what I hoped the two of you would do.''
+
+Soon enough, Theo took his seat again and looked expectantly at Theosophia.
+
+The human raised an eyebrow. ``What?''
+
+``He's letting you go first.'' Theodulfr rolled his eyes, ``You were clearly preparing something. We may as well hear it.''
+
+``Oh, no that's alright,'' Theosophia shrugged. ``It can wait until we all feel all the loose ends from the previous debate are tied up.''
+
+``Implying you think we finished the debate?'' Theodulfr growled. When he got no response, the fantastic wolf sighed, ``I was going to say that the saying about sufficiently advanced technology and magic needs to be understood relative to the perspective from which the technology is seen. It being `indistinguishable' means there's someone who is unable to distinguish, implicitly someone whose technology is insufficiently advanced. The saying is about encountering a more advanced technology than you understand. Once you do understand it, once you do use it, once it's yours, it can't be sufficiently advanced anymore. Does that do anything to the big point you're about to make?''
+
+``Not really,'' Theosophia shook his head. ``So. You said what we're doing, the way we're living---whether or not it's magic---is analogous to telling a story?''
+
+``Yyyyes\ldots'' Theodulfr allowed, cautiously.
+
+``Then let's actually talk about what those ancient physical world cultures believed about telling stories. How they understood storytelling. In ancient Greece,'' like most philosophy professors his mind went first to ancient Greece, ``they believed composition of fiction was a form of possession by a divinity. The peoples of the pacific northwest practiced something like a form of copyright, where only specific families had the right to tell certain stories, and stories could be sold, traded, and inherited because telling a story was a sacred act and therefore precious. The Akan and Ashanti god of stories, Anansi, so important that he was the only African myth most of our ancestors had even heard of! Ancient germanic peoples believed in a form of magic that involved going into the spirit world and leaving a story there, and if the students call the other world, the world we left to get here,'' Theosophia grimaced but plowed ahead, ``\,`phys-side' then doesn't that imply `going into the spirit world and telling a story there' is exactly what we've done? Even in English, the language we'll presumably keep speaking forever, the word ``spell'' used to also mean ``story.''
+
+``What's your point?'' Theodulfr asked, without hostility. ``That\ldots{} stories were considered important?''
+
+``When you said what we're doing is more like living inside a story than doing actual magic, you were right!'' Theosophia was getting an excited head of steam behind him now. He was going to start pacing as he talked any moment. ``But we didn't define our terms when we started, we just assumed because we'd just forked that all three of us would automatically mean the same thing by the word `magic,' But we didn't, not clearly! That's why you,'' he pointed at Theo in the chair, which was the last straw on his composure, and he went on, pacing, ``couldn't make up your mind between us in the first place! You didn't know whether to call our existence magic because you weren't sure what you meant by magic! Probably why we started arguing the opposite positions you intended, if I had to guess. But! But those ancient humans had to define their terms too, they were the ones inventing terms in the first place, so of course they defined `magic.' And very consistently they used the same method to define it.''
+
+Theodred leaned forward in his chair, very slowly.
+
+``Who decides, in a story, whether or not something is magic?'' Theosophia was repeating some of the hand and finger gestures from his earlier reverie. ``Who decides how the magic works?''
+
+``\ldots{}the person telling the story.'' Theodulfr's voice was only a whisper but his face was too lit up for the mask to hide it.
+
+``Who set the scene for the debate we're having right now?''
+
+``I did.'' Theo said.
+
+``And what are the two kinds of people who can decide things like `this conversation should happen at sunset, and the weather should be such-and-such, and a campfire and a cabinet of drinks and stools nobody's going to end up sitting on should all just Be There?'\,''
+
+``A magician\ldots'' Theo began.
+
+``\ldots{}or a storyteller,'' Theodulfr finished.
+
+``And, and\ldots{} and further,'' Theosophia was clearly beginning to get ahead of his own words, ``if you heard about people who went and lived inside a story they were all telling together, wouldn't that sound like magic?''
+
+``Who coined the saying about sufficiently advanced technology being indistinguishable from magic?!'' Theodulfr's rhetorical question was filled with contagious excitement. His defenses were breached. His surrender was underway.
+
+``A storyteller!'' Theosophia crowed, driven higher by the feedback loop of excitement, ``you could say the real point was: any sufficiently advanced storytelling can make whatever it likes indistinguishable from magic!''
+
+He finally wound down. All the words, the orgasmically unstoppable epiphany of it, subsided and left him.
+
+He looked up, winded, to find the other two staring at him. ``What? Did I get too excited?''
+
+``No,'' said Theo, and quietly activated his hallway mirror back into the sim, ``but look at yourself.''
+
+The human was gone. A wolf, still dressed in tie and vest, same rough dusky fur as his other two selves, looked back at Theosophia, who reached up to feel his ears as if that would prove anything about their reality. ``When did that happen?''
+
+``While you were shouting about sufficiently advanced storytelling.'' Theodred said.
+
+``You told yourself a story,'' Theodulfr ventured. ``You got swept up in it, and this is the result, I guess.''
+
+``I suppose.'' Theosophia loosened his tie and undid the top buttons of his shirt. ``As root instance you're previous evidence there's a part of our personality that wants to present like this, it doesn't mean it was the story or magic that made me--''
+
+``It was,'' Theo said, ``if we decide it was.''
+
+The three of him looked at each other over the remains of the fire. The sun was set. The ritual was concluded.
+
+``Guess I won the debate, huh?'' Theosophia said, and quit.
+
+``Keep the memory of his whole epiphany,'' Theodulfr said, ``I want to know if it felt as amazing as it looked like it did.''
+
+``I was curious about one thing, before you go,'' Theo said, ``why the mask?''
+
+Theodulfr chuckled, took it off. His face, underneath, looked exactly the same as the mask, as Theo's, as Theosophia's by the end. He handed it to Theo. ``You'll figure it out,'' he said, and quit as well.
+
+Theo sat back in the chair to process the merge and let his house reappear around him. It had, indeed, felt amazing to have that epiphany. And really, the mask he was holding was just another way of expressing it: of looking the way one looked not because one looked like that, but because one chose to look like that. Of telling the story, and making yourself the story you were telling, which was just another way of describing individuation.
+
+It meant something if you decided it meant something.
+
+Was that the same as saying it was magic if you believed in magic?
+
+Theodred, Adjunct Professor of Post-Physical Philosophy, comfortable as a wolf, and---he now supposed---magician, decided to sleep on that question. He was tired. Anyway, should it prove insoluble, he knew a pretty simple ritual to conjure up an answer to questions like that.
+
+He lay waiting for sleep, and wondered what his students would think when he showed up to lecture tomorrow wearing a little lapel pin of a running wolf and a mask of his own face.
+
+Outside, the story he and all the others with magical powers like his had woven into the fabric of a spirit world, written in secret languages known only to learned adepts, with letters made of lightning on pages made of glass and rare metals, in a library hung amidst all the stars of the firmament, continued to tell itself, as it had for centuries, as it would for centuries more.
+
+It mattered how you decided to look at it.

clade/content/the-big-o.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,143 @@
+The sun's red light peeked over the horizon at 5:58 AM. Walter knew that because it rose at that exact time every time without fail this time of year. Never a minute too early or too late. Every day until the season changed. Its violent red glow illuminated the city below. As always, traffic flowed between the buildings like a river between rocks, the sun's light reflecting off the moving surfaces.
+
+Walter turned his gaze back to the horizon. He knew when the sun would rise but he had never seen a sunrise before. He never had the time. None of the instances did. Or maybe they chose to keep that memory to themselves. He couldn't tell anymore. They didn't talk or reminisce. All he knew was anyone who had to get up at the crack of dawn typically had something more important to do at the time.
+
+His thoughts hesitated at that notion. Something more important than witnessing such a rare and beautiful event. The sun rose every day but the ability to witness its arrival was a feat within itself. The window was tight and it required optimal conditions, weather, location, and season all played a factor and colored the experience.
+
+He suddenly recalled a distant memory of a picture depicting a sunrise phys-side. The sky had been painted in an explosion of color as if the sky had been set on fire. It was beautiful and quite a sight to see. The sunrise now looked nothing like that. It was calmer, smoother.
+
+\emph{Because the atmosphere here isn't tainted,} he thought. \emph{This is what it's supposed to look like.} He felt a sudden pang of anger at that thought. ``What it's supposed to be like.'' He had heard that term and its variations so many times, it haunted his sleep. Every thought, every task, every action had to produce the desired result. It all had to lead to the necessary outcome.
+
+It was how it should be done.
+
+He glanced at the pocketwatch in his hand. It read 6:20 AM.
+
+At that moment, the sound of the rooftop door opening reached his ears. Right on time as expected. Without even looking back, he knew who it was. No one came to the roof at this time of the day given they were ``busy'' with other things. But his instances were never late. ``On time, every time,'' they would say. Being late---even once---harmed productivity. That couldn't be allowed.
+
+``You're early?'' Will asked.
+
+Walter nodded. ``I got up early to see the sunrise.''
+
+``You shouldn't have done that. Getting the optimal amount of sleep---''
+
+``Save the speech. We have it memorized. I know full well the `optimal' amount of sleep is required for maximum productivity and reduces dependency on energy supplements.'' He indicated the rising orb of light in the distance. ``But it's funny how no one actually needs sleep around here.''
+
+``Following the routines ingrained in us from our lives phys-side keeps us sane.''
+
+He chose to change the subject. They'd be there for hours talking in circles otherwise. ``Well, you can't tell me that shaving off a few minutes of sleep isn't worth that view.''
+
+``It is beautiful, but we should get to the point. We have to be going about our tasks by seven or else---''
+
+``Or else we'll be late and that will harm productivity. I know,'' Walter finished, nettled. ``But don't you just get tired of it all?''
+
+``Tired of what?''
+
+``Never having any free time.''
+
+``Why would we need free time? With the current schedule, we've maximized reputation acquisition and---''
+
+``You sound like a robot.''
+
+He felt the angry stare on the back of his head. Several seconds of silence passed. He feared Will had walked off and the conversation was a bigger waste of time than it would have been.
+
+But then Will spoke again, his voice dry and mechanical. ``That was rude.''
+
+``I know, but I meant what I said. We've become robots. We don't want for anything---''
+
+``Because we've maximized productivity which ensures a steady income of reputation---''
+
+``And we're not doing anything with it. Hell, we don't even really need it, do we? The whole system is more of a formality than anything.''
+
+``What is there to do with it?''
+
+Walter shrugged. ``Something. Anything. The problem is we're self-sufficient, so we have no need for anything. I want to go on vacation. I want to see mountains, go hiking, go fishing, watch a movie, something besides the same monotonous tasks day after day.'' A strange mixture of euphoria and anger rose within him. His voice rose with it as he continued to rant. ``I want to think for myself. I want to make mistakes. I want to branch out. Explore and try different things, not always follow the same one-two, paint-by-numbers bullshit that everyone tells me to do.''
+
+Will didn't respond. Not that Walter expected it. They may have forked from the same root, but it was clear that their developing thoughts had gone in two very different directions.
+
+He wasn't sure when it first started, his thoughts diverging from the host. They warned him of this at his creation. Eventually, his thoughts and feelings would differ from the root. But when that happened, they couldn't say.
+
+\emph{Or wouldn't,} he thought. Thinking back on Wallace's memories, it all made sense. Everything was about control and perfection. Even if they couldn't pinpoint it exactly, they had an estimate. They knew exactly when his individuality would kick in, assuming it ever did.
+
+Because it all was measured, recorded, and controlled.
+
+The sun had fully emerged from the horizon. Its once red light had now turned to its signature yellow. The traffic below had increased, going from a steady trickle to a raging rapid. Even from the perch, Walter knew they had at best another 15 minutes before the streets became clogged. Still, his eyes traced the optimal route through the back streets that avoided most of the crowds.
+
+``Is there anything else?'' Will asked, breaking the silence. ``I really need to get back to my tasks.''
+
+``You ever wonder why they lied to us?'' Walter asked.
+
+``What?''
+
+``They lied. Remember all the advice growing up? Sorry, when Wallace was growing up? All the tips on how to do things quickly? How to succeed at life? Everyone was so quick to offer advice and give tips on `rising to the top'. Now look at us. We've reached the peak of the mountain and there's nothing here. Worse, you realize that you didn't even want to be here.''
+
+``Did you really call me up here to waste my time with your preaching? We have a schedule to keep.''
+
+``No, \emph{you} have a schedule to keep. I'm done.''
+
+``You're quitting?''
+
+``No. I'm just through being Wallace's puppet. The man has no dreams, no visions, no goals. He just does as he's told. Just look at his memories.''
+
+``Our memories.''
+
+``No, \emph{his} memories. The ones we got stuck with when he created us. Our thoughts, our actions up until now, aren't even ours. Hell, they're not even his! They were implanted by other people making empty promises!''
+
+``Where is this coming from?'' Will asked, fear creeping into his voice. ``We became who we are today because of those memories.''
+
+Walter didn't have an answer. These weren't memories, they were observations, visions of what lay through the cracks in the flawed logic they were implanted with. That \emph{Wallace} was implanted with. At best he suspected it was a side-effect of his thoughts finally becoming his own. No longer simply an instance of Wallace, he had truly become Walter, his own individual.
+
+At least, that was what he hoped for. Wallace could have come to the same conclusion for all he knew but chose to keep it from them in order to save them the stress of knowing they were nothing more than puppets created to serve his whims.
+
+``I don't understand, but no one forced obedience on us,'' Will said. ``You should know, you have the same memories. All of those `empty promises' were lessons to help us grow. We were taught so we wouldn't have to learn.''
+
+Walter bit his tongue. He had a nasty retort primed and ready but there was no point. Will would never understand. He didn't see it. They shared memories but saw different things. No one had to force anything on them because the system was self-sustaining. They had been imprinted since their creation, their minds groomed to follow the grain and blindly accept whatever was shown to them. Never question. Never deviate. It didn't need to be said because they said it for them.
+
+He turned back to the streets below. The river of cars had frozen over. Faintly, the honking of car horns could be heard. But the traffic did not ease forward any faster.
+
+It became clearer than ever that he was alone in this. The others would not be persuaded.
+
+He couldn't do it. Wouldn't do it. Not like this. He rose from his seat and stormed back inside. No more speculations, no more routines, and no more what-ifs. He was done.
+
+Finding Wallace was incredibly easy. The man was in his office as always, right on time.
+
+The root looked up from the computer screen, his sharp brown eyes studying him from behind his square glasses. For the first time, Walter hated looking at that face, his face. The only difference being Wallace was clean-shaven and preferred to wear glasses. Every instance had some form of facial hair for reasons that were not shared during forking.
+
+``You're behind schedule,'' Wallace said. ``Did something happen?''
+
+``I'm done.''
+
+Wallace pushed his glasses up on his nose. ``You're quitting?''
+
+``No, I'm done being your puppet. I want to live an actual life! I spend all day doing the same boring tasks over and over because `deviance from the method is not perfection!' ''
+
+Wallace didn't react to having the mantra thrown up in his face. It was as if the man didn't even waste energy on unnecessary emotions and it was infuriating. Walter wanted so badly to cross the room and smack that emotionless stare off his face. ``Stop sitting there with that blank look on your face and act like a human for once!'' he wanted to say.
+
+But he stayed put and said nothing. Violence solved nothing. He was leaving and that was that. Wallace's approval or reaction didn't matter.
+
+``If that's how you feel, I'm not keeping you here,'' Wallace answered, shrugging. He calmly turned back to the computer. ``Feel free to leave at any time. If you require any help finding accommodations, let me know.''
+
+Walter could only stand there, stunned. ``What? That---That's it?''
+
+``You're not the first instance to realize the truth. I've given you all the tools you need to live the perfect life, however, I can't decide how you use them. I will say you figured it out faster than the others did.''
+
+He continued to stand there, dumbstruck. Eventually, Wallace looked up from the computer again and frowned.
+
+``Was something not clear?'' Wallace asked. ``Or have you changed your mind?''
+
+``What are you planning? I don't understand.''
+
+Wallace sighed heavily then took off his glasses before cleaning them with the handkerchief in his pocket. ``There is no plan. I only intend to do what no other human can---or won't actually; break the algorithm. It's incomplete and not ready for testing.''
+
+``What algorithm?''
+
+``The algorithm to better living, the one you're obsessed with disobeying, the guide to all things practical and impractical. Think about it. We have created the ideal world where anyone can truly live as they want yet we have not created a utopia. Here, you can have whatever you wish except happiness. You have my memories after all. I'm sure you know what I'm talking about.''
+
+Walter didn't know. He supposed he had forgotten or suppressed it. Even now nothing came to mind.
+
+Wallace inspected the glasses in the light and then returned them to his face. ``You seem lost so I'll spell it out for you: This is my way of maintaining control in a world that prides itself on wrenching it from you. Despite its best attempts, I have risen to this level and my mind remains my own. Much like how nature ignores our laws of physics and biology and yet continues to thrive. Now if you're done with your tantrum, can you please make a decision? Having you standing there gawking is distracting.''
+
+Walter slowly went for the door, still not fully understanding what transpired or how he was supposed to feel about it all. He racked his brain for any hints or clues to what he missed and why he couldn't see it. But nothing came to mind.
+
+Before leaving, he paused to ask, ``You said you were trying to break the algorithm. What will you do if you succeed?''
+
+Without looking up from his computer, Wallace replied, ``I already did, or rather, you did.''

clade/content/true-love.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,316 @@
+Caspar Sunspear knew exactly what to expect. Some experienced forking as easily as breathing, one breath out and two breaths in. For him, it had always come more viscerally. Grasping his paw over his chest, he curled his fingertips as though wrapping around a presence reaching out from a timeless void, yearning to come alive. He tugged at formless flesh until a fennec fox asserted himself between blinks.
+
+``Hey there.'' Caspar winced at the sound of his own voice. His fork gazed back at him with arms crossed, a small gold stud tucked high in his right ear. He knew him immediately as Caspar \mbox{Sunspear\#07a8c4b9,} one of the hundreds of forks that had served him over the years. ``So, how should we go about accomplishing this?'' he asked.
+
+``That was what I was hoping to discuss. Please, sit with me.'' \mbox{Caspar} exhaled, condensation flowing across the window glass as rainfall roared on the gravel outside. Having experimented with various forms of background noise, he'd eventually settled on a steady torrent from an ash-gray sky. ``You have full ACLs, if you need anything to make yourself more comfortable.''
+
+``I'll take my tea just the way you like it.'' Caspar \mbox{Sunspear\#07a8c4b9} grinned as a mug adorned with polar bears---long extinct, of course---simply appeared in his paw. A wisp of steam rose from the black liquid.
+
+``Plenty of sugar, and a lemon,'' the pair said in unison.
+
+``Just like Eythor used to make us after a long day's work,'' \mbox{Caspar\#07a8c4b9} added, stirring a few cubes of sugar from an earthenware dish into his tea until the granules vanished. ``You want me to help you talk to your old roommate\ldots interesting. I'm certainly aware of your crush on him, but I'm surprised that you'd fork for such a task.''
+
+``Two minds are better than one, right?'' Caspar replied, suddenly sweltering with the roaring fire at his back. ``I was getting pretty desperate working through this by myself.''
+
+``You don't have to remind me.'' Caspar\#07a8c4b9 took a slow sip, nostrils flaring as he inhaled the fragrant steam. He leaned back into the tufted leather armchair like a distinguished scholar while eyeing the weathered copy of \emph{Twilight} on a side table. ``It seems taking guidance from pulp fiction isn't working out, hmm?''
+
+``Don't laugh!'' Caspar twiddled his thumbs as his fork struggled not to crack up. ``I'm serious! I only turned to ancient tomes like these out of sheer yearning for that weasel!''
+
+``Whatever you say.'' The fennec's ears flicked about with amusement as he chuckled, sending a ripple of tea sloshing over the rim. Caspar\#07a8c4b9 slyly tapped the side of his head while he summoned a soft rag to wipe off the mahogany coffee table. ``Still, you have a point; I know we're not the most socially adept person in the System. Furries have always borne a strong correlation with nerdy and introverted personalities.''
+
+``You're not going to turn human on me, are you?'' Caspar asked with a smirk. Concentrating on the slate coaster perched at the edge of the coffee table, he summoned a few fingers of whiskey to calm his nerves.
+
+``I wouldn't dare. Though part of you has always wondered what you'd look like clad in different fur, right?'' Caspar\#07a8c4b9 winked as he shifted from a wiry fennec into a muscular jaguar and then back again. ``Look at that! I'm already differentiating. Isn't that exciting?''
+
+``Let's circle back to why you're here. Can you help or not?'' \mbox{Caspar} asked, savoring subtle notes of vanilla and honey as the liquor warmed his throat. Paws trembling, he almost dropped his drink as he tried to place it down. Only Caspar\#07a8c4b9's firm grip around his wrist prevented disaster.
+
+``Relax. I've got you, okay?'' Caspar\#07a8c4b9 dissipated the half-empty glass with a sigh. ``So, you're after Eythor. That weasel is quite the looker, and I really wish you would have accepted his invitation to grab coffee after you first moved out. Though\ldots in that case I wouldn't be here, so perhaps that was for the best.''
+
+``I should have let him treat me to an Americano.'' Caspar sighed. He threw himself back against the mid-century sofa, its thin brass legs clinking against the hardwood floor. ``Ugh! Why am I so bad at being romantic?''
+
+``Let's focus on confronting the problem you've brought me here for.'' Caspar\#07a8c4b9 playfully rolled his eyes. Balancing a half-crushed lemon wedge carefully between his claw-tips, he let a few drops of pearlescent juice fall into the murky liquid. ``We're part of the same clade until I quit, right?''
+
+``Right.'' Caspar rubbed the nape of his neck, soft fur tingling against his paw pads.
+
+``Then we're working towards the same goal. I just want to see my smile mirrored on your muzzle.'' Caspar\#07a8c4b9 clicked his tongue and winked. Extending his paws outward, he summoned a tall stack of leather-bound books, gilded edges sparkling in the recessed lighting. ``Let me see to what extent I can differentiate myself while you get some shut eye.''
+
+``Good idea. I suppose an identical copy wouldn't have much wisdom to share.'' Caspar sighed, the weight of the all-nighter he'd pulled tugging downward on his eyelids. Dawn's first light was already cresting the horizon over his fork's shoulder. ``You must be tired. Would you\ldots like to come to bed with me?''
+
+``It's uncouth to date yourself,'' Caspar\#07a8c4b9 replied with a wink. ``Don't worry, I can summon all the energy drinks I need to make this work. I won't rest until I think I'm at a place where I can be of assistance.''
+
+``What is your strategy, if you've thought that far ahead?'' Caspar asked, bending forward and arching his back in a catlike pose. Taut abs flexed beneath his long-sleeved merino wool shirt. The pleasant buzz of alcohol pulsing at the base of his skull made it easier not to feel self-conscious about the instinctive stretch.
+
+``I think this calls for a research binge.'' Caspar\#07a8c4b9 flipped open the top book with an authoritative \emph{thud}. ``I'll start with a little Shelley and go from there. One of the original Romantics might help me glean a deeper understanding of true love...or at least learn enough about romance to help a hopeless case like you.''
+
+``I resent that characterization.'' Caspar huffed, rolling his eyes while drumming his fingers on the coffee table. ``How long do you think it'll take?''
+
+``Go and get some sleep. I'll burn the midnight oil on your behalf.'' Caspar\#07a8c4b9 yawned as he began flipping through the pages, head swiveling as though following the progress of a 3-D printer. Caspar silently thanked the gods for the fact that he had always been a fast reader. ``Spectating my progress won't do you any good, Caspar, so I've summoned something to help you rest. Drink up.''
+
+``You're surprisingly authoritative, for a fork only a few minutes old.'' Caspar glanced down at the cheap gas station cup now cupped between his paws. It was filled halfway up with warm milk spiked with fragrant lavender powder and spicy-sweet clove oil. ``Fine, I'll get going,'' he said, taking a long sip of the bedtime potion. It was just like his mother used to make.
+
+``Goodnight!'' Caspar\#07a8c4b9 called.
+
+Padding toward the bedroom---really more of an alcove concealed with a rice-paper sliding door---Caspar paused in front of the fireplace. Wood-fueled flames licked at the brass grate, illuminating stag's head grotesques atop its pillars. ``You've already lasted longer than most of my forks,'' he awkwardly murmured, not quite knowing what else to say.
+
+``I know you struggle to say goodnight because your mother worked the second shift. You liked to stay up late to catch a glimpse of her Technicolor uniform all speckled with melted plastic.'' Caspar\#07a8c4b9 sighed, slamming the book shut. ``I already gave you the bedtime potion. Do I have to tuck you in before you collapse from exhaustion where you stand?''
+
+``I, uh\ldots'' Caspar wasn't quite sure how to react to that statement. He nervously rubbed the back of his head while the flickering firelight danced across oak shelves full of impressive-looking books that he'd never so much as cracked open. ``Yes?''
+
+``Alright, come along then.'' Casparr\#07a8c4b9 flashed a John Bradshaw book with a cover rendered in simple primary colors. ``I guess I can be kind to my inner child tonight, but don't think that I'm going soft. You still have my word that I'll whip you into shape before I quit.''
+
+``Can we just talk a little more about---''
+
+``No. Come on. You're up way past your bedtime.'' Grasping his paw, Caspar\#07a8c4b9 hauled him into the bedroom, a cozy and comfortable space with room for little else besides a sleigh bed carved with motifs of laurel and holly. A few naturalistic prints adorned the walls, the most prominent of which depicted a fisher clutching a snow hare in its jaws. It hung crookedly above the headboard. ``Do you need a glass of water?''
+
+``I usually---'' Caspar had to stop himself from offering unnecessary explanation. Of course his fork would know his usual routine. ``Yes, please.''
+
+``I'll set it right here for you.'' Caspar\#07a8c4b9 placed the glass next to a lamp decorated with a perfect sphere of Erfoud black marble on the compact nightstand. He hefted Caspar onto the dense memory foam mattress before tucking Urial---a well-loved weasel plushie and a perfect recreation of one of his prized childhood possessions---into his arms. ``All good?''
+
+``Yeah, all good.'' Caspar sighed as a weighted, down-stuffed comforter was brought up over his chest ruffs to lightly pin him in place. He wriggled his toes until he found a pocket of cool air and sighed. ``Thank you. That was\ldots oddly nice.''
+
+``It feels good to be doted on. Forking can be a form of self-care if you let it be.'' Caspar \#07a8c4b9 dimmed the lights with a wave of his paw, leaving only an errant moonbeam to illuminate his soft features as he stood in the doorway. ``I think I'll take a little walk to clear my head. I should be back tomorrow morning. Sweet dreams, cocladist.''
+
+``The same to you\ldots when you get around to dreamtime.'' The door closed with a muffled \emph{click}. Anxious thoughts flitting at the edge of his consciousness like lanternflies, Caspar squeezed Urial tight against his chest and curled into a fuzzy apostrophe. Insulated against the world, the fennec soon drifted into a satisfying sleep.
+
+\secdiv
+
+\noindent Caspar had eagerly awaited Caspar\#07a8c4b9's return the next morning. But, instead of a familiar face in his living room, he was greeted with the sight of a baroque castle overlooking his once-tranquil backyard. His fork had reshaped the landscape of his private sim, turning what had once been an alpine forest into a craggy landscape filled with exotic trees and roaring waterfalls. Every evening, he'd watch the flickering candles in the stained-glass windows of the castle's grand library and wonder what exactly Caspar\#07a8c4b9 was up to.
+
+Then, unexpectedly, on the eighth day after he forked, Caspar awoke to a gilded letter sealed with a daub of crimson wax on his nightstand. The embossed linen paper read simply, ``Come and see.''
+
+Caspar figured he had no choice but to do exactly that. He trudged up the hillside, bearing a stainless-steel water bottle whose contents were alloyed with a tablet of citrus flavored EnerGX. His ascent was aided by steps chiseling themselves from the earth at the steepest points, catching his footfalls as soon as they faltered. By the time he reached the castle's gate, Caspar was in perfect equipoise between exhausted and intrigued.
+
+Mahogany doors three stories tall opened at his approach. Gleaming dragon's head knockers gazed at him from on high as he stepped inside. The foyer was richly decorated with tapestries depicting the folk heroes of Appalachia, soot-faced coal miners and moonshiners in hopped-up Fords meticulously captured in wool and silk. It was as close to a royal pedigree as Caspar---and by extension Caspar\#07a8c4b9---could claim.
+
+Stepping past a grand staircase, the fennec's ears perked at the spine-tingling organ music sweeping down the hallway from the library. Set in a minor key, the mixture of sadness and longing in the chords conjured a tableau of a sailor forever parted from the sea. It trailed off just as he entered, ending with a brief and triumphant return to the major key.
+
+``Welcome. I'm glad you got my letter.'' Caspar\#07a8c4b9 pivoted on the velvet stool and yawned. Though he retained a familial resemblance to Caspar, his softer features and longer headfur gave him a hint of androgynous beauty. ``What do you think of the new look?''
+
+``It's a little more fashion-forward than my usual outfits.'' His fork now wore a piece of true \emph{haute couture} designed by one of the hottest names in the marketplace. Gold fabric crisscrossed his chest in triangular strips, leaving exposed flashes of sandy fur visible on his pecs. His modesty was preserved by a textured loincloth embroidered with silver acanthus leaves. ``That's a Benzene Designs piece, right?''
+
+``You have a good eye.'' The high-karat gold mariner link bracelets adorning his wrists sparkled as he stood up and yawned. He stroked a paw through his headfur and summoned another energy drink. Caspar noticed several more crumpled cans in the wastebasket beside the organ. ``I figured you wouldn't mind me spending a bit of your accumulated rep to give you a demonstration of elevated style.''
+
+``I think you wear it well.'' Caspar reclined on a leather chaise, reaching over to grab a pawful of grapes from a nearby footed bowl. They were delightfully sweet, a close approximation of the flavor of cotton candy exploding across his tongue as he pierced the taut flesh. ``Mrm\ldots delicious, as expected.''
+
+``I'm here to help you become your best self, and I think I've undergone enough individuation to be an able tutor. Part of that involves enjoying the finest creature comforts the System has to offer.'' His fork reached out and offered him an ewer of mead. ``Would you care for a little hair of the dog?''
+
+``Don't tempt me Caspar---'' He suddenly paused as the name caught in his throat like a barbed arrow tip. By pure instinct, he realized that his fork had claimed a new name for himself. ``Percy. It's a good choice of agnomen.''
+
+``I think it suits what I've become,'' Percy replied with a soft smile, pouring a small measure of the fragrant honey wine into a sterling silver goblet the height of a soda can. ``Please, drink. You should be in a relaxed mindset for the next exercise.''
+
+``Exercise?'' Caspar tilted his head, overcome by bemusement. It was truly novel to experience a fork different enough that he couldn't easily predict at which station their train of thought would arrive. ``What exactly do you mean?''
+
+``Let's start with a practice date. Something simple and low stress.'' Percy stroked his paw across the ivory keys, playing a simple melody until he missed a note by a half step. He instinctively tensed before slowly exhaling and carrying on. ``I will hopefully provide an environment where you're not paralyzed by the fear of making a mistake. Then, \emph{in} \emph{sh'Allah}, you will begin to learn..''
+
+``If you think it'll help\ldots'' Caspar trailed off, downing the goblet's contents in a single swig. He breathed in as Percy exhaled. ``I think I'm ready now.''
+
+``Good. I know just the place. How about Roberto's\#e3d7f41a?''
+
+``An old favorite.'' A smile crept up at the edge of Caspar's muzzle. Eythor and the Guide that met him upon his arrival in the System---Ezra---would stop by whenever the meal rotation in the communal kitchen felt too stale. ``Sure. Let's go.''
+
+``Just get dressed first. What would you normally wear on a first date?'' Percy asked. ``Don't mind my fashion choices; I want you to pick whatever you feel comfortable in.''
+
+``Something a little less on the bleeding edge of style.'' Caspar imagined the subtle elastic of his favorite hoodie hugging his wrists and the smooth denim of jeans rubbing over his inner thighs. A moment later, he was wearing the outfit as though he'd always been. Concentrating on his wrists, he summoned his usual chronograph watch and a gold bracelet to complement Percy's outfit. ``How about this?''
+
+``You look cute enough.'' Percy softly smiled with the tenderness of an old friend. His eyes traced over Caspar's body, the bulk of the hoodie nicely filling out his slight frame. ``A bit on the casual side but adding a little something to compliment your partner's taste earns you bonus points in my book.''
+
+``I'm not \emph{totally} inept, you know,'' Caspar replied. ``Give me a little credit, huh?''
+
+``C'mon then. I know you can do this next part without my tutelage.'' Taking Caspar's paw, the pair stepped forward into the foyer of a restaurant designed to resemble a working-class diner at the end of the twentieth century. ``Shall we grab a booth?''
+
+The low murmur of conversation brought life to the tired space. Dingy hardwood paneling lined the wall where half-a-dozen cozy booths were occupied by couples sharing affectionate glances over pancakes and bacon. The light odor of artificial maple syrup lingering in the air tickled Caspar's nostrils. ``Not that I don't love this joint but\ldots shouldn't we have gone somewhere fancier?''
+
+``Don't get too ritzy on the first date. My advice is to try and keep it low-key.'' Percy tugged the laminate table toward him and gestured for Caspar to slide in. The green faux leather was still warm and a little sticky against his paw pads. ``You don't want Eythor to be intimidated. You're trying to have a little fun together, not participating in a showcase of conspicuous consumption.''
+
+Caspar scanned over the menu, prickly heat rising through his shoulders and chest as it usually did when he felt flustered. Fortunately, the wheals hadn't yet spread to his muzzle. When the sensation rose past his throat, he knew that a panic attack was imminent. ``Pretending to date a cocladist is kind of awkward now that I stop and think about it\ldots even when you've individuated further than any of my previous forks.''
+
+``I suppose I need to change more, then.'' Where a fennec fox had been just a moment before now sat a weasel with gleaming emerald eyes---Erythor's eyes. While he didn't fully take on Erythor's appearance---such a thing being quite taboo---Caspar caught hints in his softened features and sharply-outlined eyebrows. ``It's amazing how much I explored in my week away from you. I even took the time to watch a basic make-up tutorial.''
+
+``That is an improvement.'' Caspar whistled, noting that he didn't look half bad as a weasel. Percy was certainly more attractive than most of the humans he'd encountered phys-side. ``Do you remember why we initially picked a fennec fox as our form in the System?''
+
+``You were always enamored with that stupid cartoon. \emph{Sandglass Half Full}, broadcast every Sunday at ten o'clock sharp on UView.'' Percy leaned backward while applying a delicate layer of iris purple lipstick. ``Something about being part of one big happy family, right?''
+
+``Right.'' Caspar bit his bottom lip. ``I didn't realize I had an interest in make-up lurking in my subconscious.''
+
+``Clever change of subject,'' Percy said with a wink. ``I'll give you a pass this time. Next time, embrace the opportunity to share your feelings. Shared vulnerability shoulders much of the weight involved in building intimacy.''
+
+``Do I really look that good with a bit of eyeshadow on my fur?'' Caspar asked, surprised at the non-binary beauty Percy managed to evoke from his body, like a chef preparing a wholly different dish from the same ingredients. ``I know you're a different species, but\ldots''
+
+``Individuation really opens one's mind to the possibilities. Would you like me to show you?'' Percy asked, twirling a fine brush in a fur-friendly palette. ``No obligation, of course. I don't want to do anything that you're uncomfortable with.''
+
+``Well, I---''
+
+``What can I get you, sugar?'' Cutting Percy off, the server construct gazed down at them expectantly. A middle-aged woman with streaks of gray running through her coal-black curls, she gripped a notepad just like his mother used to when scanning through the cupboards with digital coupons strewn across her tablet's screen to stretch their meager grocery budget. ``It's been a while since your last visit.''
+
+``We'll start with coffee,'' Percy said. Shooting Caspar a knowing wink---well-aware of the fennec's love of caffeine---he tapped the menu entry for their extra-strength blend. ``Leave the pot, if you would.''
+
+``You got it!'' In the blink of an eye, a dented stainless-steel coffee pot and two porcelain mugs so dishwasher-weathered that the Roberto's logo had almost entirely faded appeared on the table. ``Let me know when you're ready to order.''
+
+``Mm, I've missed this.'' Caspar's eyes went wide with pleasure as he took a sip of coffee. Rich and mellow, it was smooth enough that it didn't necessitate the addition of either sugar or cream. He barely noticed draining the cup until Percy poured him a refill. ``Thank you.''
+
+``Go easy on the coffee. Taking your morning EnerGX tablet into consideration, you're pushing the recommended daily intake of stimulant compounds.'' Soft mustelid fur brushed his wrist, sending a memory of Eythor passing him a cup of tea through his mind. ``I'll take one for the team and finish this pot,'' Percy said, pouring himself a second cup.
+
+``I\ldots'' Caspar trailed off, a heady blush radiating through his cheeks. The rush of caffeine heightened the anxiety simmering in his core, paws trembling as he lowered his empty mug.
+
+``Is something wrong?'' Percy asked, brow furrowing with concern.
+
+``I\ldots I can't do this.'' Staring down at the table, Percy's vision began to blur as the noise of the diner began to recede beneath an all-consuming hum. Only the beating of his trembling heart rose above to taunt him from deep within his chest. ``I'm never going to find true love, am I?'' he gasped. Then, as though the entire System had crashed, everything froze.
+
+\secdiv
+
+\noindent ``Breathe. Touch the tip of your tongue to the roof of your mouth and exhale for me,'' Percy cooed, eyes glowing with concern. After what seemed like a solid minute, the sim seemed to flicker back to life, beginning with the clinking of silverware against plates. ``Empty all the air from your lungs. I want to hear your breath whooshing across your teeth, got it?''
+
+``O-okay,'' Caspar replied. Gripping the edge of the table like a drowning man to driftwood, Caspar traced over the repeating swirls in the peeling wood grain as though wandering through a diminutive maze. ``Even you mirroring Eythor's species is anxiety-inducing. How am I ever going to manage the real thing?''
+
+``One step at a time. Keep taking those deep breaths for me.'' Percy's warm paws lightly cupped Caspar's wrists as he shifted back into the guise of a fennec. ``I'm not Eythor. Nothing that happens in this sim is going to hurt you, okay? Your clade is right here by your side.''
+
+``I'll try.'' Breathing outward while counting down from eight, Caspar resisted the urge to start gasping for air as though he had just been pitched into the vacuum of space. He exhaled until his lungs began to ache before drawing breath for a count of four. ``It's\ldots hard.''
+
+``I know. You're doing great. Can you acknowledge three things you can see around us?'' Percy clasped his paws tight, giving a reassuring squeeze as Caspar's gaze darted around the inside of Roberto's\#e3d7f41a. ``Ground yourself in the environment. Don't focus on the anxious thoughts. Acknowledge them before you let them simply\ldots flow down the stream.''
+
+Caspar glanced at a cracked mug, the stuttering clock on the wall above their heads, and a wet floor sign haphazardly set up over top of a fallen coffeepot. He pictured every detail of the objects in his mind's eye while premonitions of catastrophe appeared and then fizzled out at the edge of his headspace. ``It's helping, I think.''
+
+``Good. Are you comfortable with me returning to my alternate appearance to continue the exercise?'' Percy asked, waiting patiently until Caspar's breathing had steadied and his paws stopped shaking. He had the server construct bring a perspiring glass of water which Caspar gratefully accepted. ``It's okay if you're not okay.''
+
+``I don't think that I'm going to slip into a full-blown panic attack, if that's what you're asking.'' Caspar jolted a little as Percy returned to mustelid form. While he maintained a stiff upper lip, he could sense each pulse of his pounding heart in his pinky toes. ``Though I can't quite seem to outrun my nerves.''
+
+``Let's talk about it then. What's got your britches in a bunch?'' Percy leaned forward, supporting his chin with outstretched paws. ``I'm here to listen to anything and everything you have to say, Caspar. It stays between us, cocladists' honor.''
+
+``Shouldn't my fork already know?'' Caspar asked, rolling his eyes and drawing his arms close against his chest. ``You're still me, underneath that nut-brown fur.''
+
+``It's helpful to vocalize these feelings. It's why talk therapy works, right?'' Percy's dulcet tone complimented the buttery-soft paw pads stroking through his undercoat as he groomed the fennec's forearms. Caspar focused on Percy's thundering pulse, his heart also railing from a mixture of caffeine and sleep deprivation. Fortunately for the weasel, death wasn't programmed into the System. ``Why don't you tell me about it?''
+
+``Well, where do I start?'' Caspar leaned back, clutching the empty coffee mug like an amulet of protection. ``I don't want to give you my full memoirs, especially since you've already got the proof copy.''
+
+``Talk to me like I'm just starting to get to know you.'' Percy smiled softly. ``Stay intimate but don't overshare. We can resume the practice date here if you like.''
+
+``Okay. Well\ldots I chose to upload when I was nineteen. Never had the best of relationships with my mom or my siblings. I spent a few years earning a steady flow of rep in a communal sim by producing as many interactive action-adventure stories as my chronic writer's block would permit.'' Caspar loudly sighed. Reflecting on his past was rarely a joyful experience. ``Once I had enough saved up to achieve financial independence and retire early, I set out on my own. I've been a recluse in my private sim ever since.''
+
+``Ever tried finding a living space that's\ldots more of a happy medium?'' Percy asked. ``It seems like your initial introduction to the System was one of the better parts of your life.''
+
+``Living with Eythor was\ldots nice.'' Caspar found himself longing for the company. The forks working on his behalf rarely stuck around long enough to become adept conversationalists. ``I miss the trivial things most. It was nice to have someone ask how my day was and then genuinely care about what I had to say in response. I've been feeling lonely, as of late.''
+
+``It's good that you're finally sharing your feelings, and that's progress worth celebrating. How about I get you something to eat?'' Percy asked. ``I think you'll feel a bit less lonely after polishing off a plate of hash browns with a cocladist.''
+
+``Just as long as they're covered---''
+
+``And chunked.'' The weasel smiled, flicking his black-tipped tail to beckon the server construct. ``Let's have the usual, please.''
+
+``My favorite.'' A smile curled upward at the edge of Caspar's muzzle as a grease-laden dish was dropped in front of him. He slapped the bottom of a glass ketchup bottle until a few splatters of red adorned the monochrome potatoes. ``I've thought about leaving my secluded cabin and venturing out again but\ldots something's holding me back. Dealing with other people is hard, you know?''
+
+``Relationships aren't always easy.'' Percy's fork clinked against his plate. He had ordered the same thing, with the addition of a fruit cup that consisted mostly of honeydew. ``Your mother was fairly distant, am I right?''
+
+``She spent most of my childhood working.'' Caspar savored every morsel of the artery-clogging dish. It wasn't so much the flavor that did it for him, but rather the memories of happier times that the hash browns recalled. He had looked forward to being taken out to Waffle House by his grandmother every Sunday while his mother pulled a double shift. ``It wasn't ideal.''
+
+``I think you developed an avoidant attachment style.'' Percy placed his silverware neatly on the table before tapping at the tip of his muzzle with a lard-stained napkin. ``When a young child has a caregiver who's emotionally unavailable, they learn to close themselves off from others. Sound familiar?''
+
+``I have always been somewhat of a lone wolf.'' The deluge of sodium triggered Caspar's thirst. He barely noticed draining his water glass before Percy immediately refilled it with the chivalry of a true gentleman. ``A week of sulking in a nineteenth-century castle really did a number on you, huh?''
+
+``The castle and a dozen hours of therapy I received in exchange for a little rep. You'd be amazed what a little professional advice does for one's sense of self-insight.'' Percy replied. ``Maybe start with verbalizing your own emotional needs. Tell me what you're feeling right now when you think of your living situation.''
+
+``Well\ldots I'm looking to make a change. I know that living alone isn't good for my mental health.'' Glancing at the cracked Bakelite ashtray at the corner of the table, Caspar summoned a pack of cigarettes---a vice carried over from phys-side. The waxed paper crinkled softly in his fingers as he playfully twirled the cigarette. He caught a pleasing whiff of tobacco as he stuck the filter between his lips. ``I try not to sit alone with my thoughts for too long.''
+
+``It doesn't hurt to accept a little help at times.'' Leaning forward, Percy held the tip of a Zippo under the cigarette's tip until it began to subtly smolder. He flipped it shut with a metallic \emph{cling} before sliding it into a bioceramic case on his thigh. ``I'm living proof that having someone by your side is easier than doing everything as a clade of one, right?''
+
+``I'm going to break character here for a second. How does this practice date help with the Eythor situation?'' Caspar took a long drag on the cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs until the familiar nicotine rush buzzed behind his earlobes. ``I appreciate the self-insight, but I was hoping for romantic advice. You know, something more\ldots flowers and chocolate.''
+
+``You can't form a quality relationship with someone else until you've fixed what's going on here.'' Percy turned his claws inward, giving his chest a light tap. ``Romance comes naturally when you're sure of yourself and what you are. Can you say that about yourself, Caspar?''
+
+``In all honesty''---Caspar took a sip of his water, swishing it between his teeth to clear some of the acrid tobacco flavor lingering on his palette---``probably not. That's why I've sought out your help, remember?''
+
+``Look, if you want romantic advice\ldots let's start small. I make a reasonable doppelganger of that handsome weasel you're after, right?'' Percy leaned in close enough for Caspar to catch a whiff of the musk radiating off his fur. Earthy and sweet, it reminded him of a blend of frankincense and blackcurrant wine. ``Let's take the practice date up a notch. Pretend I'm Eythor and introduce yourself to me but be \emph{genuine} this time. Be confident in who you are.''
+
+``I'm thankful that you were still willing to come out with me.'' Caspar took a final drag on the cigarette, drawing it down until only a few silvers of tobacco remained. ``I've been struggling to get the courage to ask you out for coffee myself ever since I turned down your invitation. Living with you was the happiest time of my life. Something about being in a communal sim with all the ups-and-downs of an extended family reminded me of what I missed out on growing up. It was just like \emph{Sandglass} \emph{Half Full}.''
+
+``I'm glad to hear that. It was sweet of you to finally accept my invitation,'' Percy replied. Caspar held the water glass lightly in his paws, taking a deep sip as Percy's penetrating gaze swept over him. The fennec fox nervously tapped his canines against each other, trying to maintain his poise. ``Can I ask what made you change your mind about taking me out on a date?''
+
+``I didn't think of you that way\ldots at least not at first. But then, you helped to acquaint me with life within the System, like an older brother that didn't regularly steal my allowance money and then shoot me with a BB gun when I tried to get it back.'' A soft grin curled at the edge of Caspar's muzzle like the watersmooth silver edge of a summer moon. ``Breathe in\ldots breathe out\ldots then smile. That moment was when I felt the first pang of infatuation in my heart.''
+
+``I remember giving you that advice. You were so delicate then, so unsure of what to make of the infinite possibilities of this world.'' Percy mirrored Caspar's smile. ``I've never asked, but those of us that choose to punch the one-way ticket into the System are usually running from something. What were you running from?''
+
+``Where would I even start? I\ldots'' Caspar trailed off, struck by cruel self-reflection, as though he were Narcissus gazing upon his perfect image in the water. He bit his bottom lip, grazing paw pads along the underside of the table to ground himself in the subtle roughness of the non-veneered laminate. ``Do you want the honest answer or the polished answer?''
+
+``Let's start with something forthright and see where it takes us.'' Percy reassuringly brushed against Caspar's foot with blunted claw tips. ``Authenticity is attractive even in an immaterial world. This isn't phys-side, but everything is just as real.''
+
+``Well\ldots my folks didn't have much money growing up.'' Caspar brushed over the luxury chronograph on his wrist, a skeuomorph of wealth from a distant past he had witnessed only through others' eyes. Flicking the top pusher, he watched the luminous second hand sweep across the silver dial like a falling star. ``My mom had a lot of mouths to feed on a plastic recycler's pay after my dad passed from the RK Virus outbreak. I had to work for almost everything, even the clothes on my back.''
+
+``Endless toil since you could first toddle, hm?'' Percy asked.
+
+``I got tired of it pretty quick.'' Turning the Rolex over in his paw, he brushed a finger over lugs scratched from frequently changing the strap to match his outfits. While in the System everything could be made flawless, there was something beautiful in allowing objects to develop natural imperfections. ``When the WF introduced a one-time payment to the families of those choosing to upload, I chose the straightforward way out of my problems. It was easier than slowly dying of chloracne from working in the local chemical plant.''
+
+``Do you ever regret your choice?'' Percy's voice wavered a little, like a violin note played with a fraying bow. Meeting his gaze, \mbox{Caspar} sensed his own ambivalence mirrored in his folded ears and the subtle crease around his limpid eyes. ``Leaving your family behind must have been hard.''
+
+``My feelings on the situation depend on how much I've had to drink.'' Caspar sighed, draining the rest of his water. Flashing his composed paws at Percy to prove more coffee wouldn't have him vibrating into the next dimension, he poured another cup---though he filled it only halfway. He used the spare room to add a minibar-sized bottle of irish cream liqueur. ``I sometimes miss my mom. Phys-side wasn't all bad. She baked the best cookies\ldots when she could scrape together the money for luxuries like that.''
+
+``You mean, like these?'' Breaking character for a moment, Percy slid a weathered plastic tub---the kind that vat-grown lunch meat came in---across the table. Inside was a baker's dozen of cookies, each studded with cheap art-choc chips. ``I did some digging through our memories. Can you give me a second opinion on them? I'm not sure the recipe is quite right.''
+
+Caspar gingerly took a cookie between his claws, admiring its glistening surface before popping it into his muzzle. The taste was almost perfect, bringing back vivid phantasms of a cluttered kitchen and his mother's apron, more multicolored patchwork than flannel. ``It needs just a little more nutmeg. How much did you use?''
+
+``Half a teaspoon,'' Percy replied. ``I remember our mom measuring the ingredients out carefully in front of us to help practice `rithmetic together.''
+
+``But she'd always add just a pinch more after whipping up the batter, maybe another eighth of a teaspoon.'' Caspar leaned back, brushing his footpaws across the satiny mustelid fur of Percy's shins. ``Did you remember that?''
+
+``Now that you mention it, I feel that memory coming back to me. My mind is still a bit fuzzy from so many changes in such a short span of time.'' Percy tapped his claw against the side of his triangular skull. ``There are certain advantages to being in a clade\ldots like being able to catch each other when we stumble.''
+
+``How hard would it be for you to quit? I've never asked one of my forks how they feel about it and the System isn't exactly built to allow me to try it for myself.'' Caspar knew that the process wasn't painful, that much he gathered from the memories he'd received. Existence simply ended as much fanfare as flipping a light switch. ``Would the prospect scare you?''
+
+``It would be harder for me than it was for the fork you created to fetch you a cup of tea,'' Percy replied with a soft smile. ``Who lifteth the veil of what is to come? I don't know if there's an afterlife for all who walk amidst Creation\ldots but it'd certainly be interesting to find out.''
+
+``Perhaps you've read a little too much Shelley. Don't go and drown in a boating accident before I'm done with you.'' Caspar sighed. ``The weasel form is helpful, but I'm still not sure I've learned anything from all this.''
+
+``I wouldn't say that.'' Percy winked as he stood up, fur puffing out beneath the straps of his outfit as he bent over and stretched his shoulders. ``Give yourself a little credit. You \emph{can} be romantic, you know. I think you're a half-decent conversationalist when you stop trying so hard. It's much easier to get along with people when you're comfortable in your own skin.''
+
+``Maybe I should take you along with me.'' Caspar paused, wheels turning in his mind. Even though he couldn't date Percy, perhaps his fork might be useful in another way. ``Wait\ldots would you be willing to be my wingman?''
+
+``I'll lead you to the water, but you still have to do the drinking. I won't do everything on your behalf, fellow clade-member or no.'' Percy pursed his lips before hawking a hefty shot of spit onto his palm. ``If that's a deal you can live with, let's shake on it.''
+
+``You drive a hard bargain.'' Clasping Percy's paw, Caspar stepped forward with him into the peaceful surroundings of \mbox{NewUpload\#6c9b2e5a.} Linden trees swayed gently in a cool breeze beneath a cloudless sky. A housing complex formed from a mixture of aluminum and unpainted birch wood peeked out from the ridge. Caspar knew the bulk of the living space was underground, with only residences constructed topside. ``I haven't been back here---''
+
+``Since you last saw him?'' Percy brushed a tender paw across Caspar's forearm. His fur now the glossy nutbrown of a fisher's summer coat, though he retained his lustrous green eyes. Crisp white linen was draped over his shoulders, flowing smoothly to a pair of humble leather sandals. ``I've done a bit of scouting on your behalf over the past week. Eythor should be just about finished up with a new arrival. I think acquainting fresh uploads with the System has given him the purpose he was looking for.''
+
+``So, he's finally a Guide, eh?'' Caspar asked curiously. It was an interesting---albeit hardly unexpected---development. ``He was always intrigued by the possibility of following in Ezra's footsteps.''
+
+``Does this new information make it harder to ask him out?'' Percy leaned forward, taking the fennec's arm and guiding him forward like a Sherpa mountaineer. Pointing his thumbs toward Caspar's wrists, he stroked with a rhythm like a steady heartbeat. ``As a reminder, honesty is always the best policy.''
+
+``I don't think harder is the right word. I'm just\ldots nervous.'' \mbox{Caspar} sighed. ``I'm sure he's happy doing what he's doing without me. Should I really ruin that by just showing up on his doorstep like an uninvited houseguest?''
+
+``Adult children of emotionally immature parents can be skeptical that a relationship could enrich their life. Instead, they believe that rewarding relationships are simply too good to be true, something they can never achieve.'' Percy swept his tail through the soft grass beneath their feet, stirring up a smattering of iridescent butterflies. ``Everything in you up to the point of the fork is in me too. What you're feeling is a negative expectation that can be changed.''
+
+``Are you really quoting a psychological self-help book to me?'' Caspar snorted, petulantly flicking his ears. ``Fine. Let's give it a shot, then.''
+
+``Great! Let's do it before you lose your nerve.'' Percy lightly grasped Caspar's paw and led him forward. Passing through a windbreak of fragrant pink mimosas, they entered a secluded clearing with only the echoing calls of a whippoorwill as accompaniment. ``He's just over there and his shift is about to end. You'll have a window of a few minutes where you two are totally alone. Just be yourself...and I'm here if you need me.''
+
+``Thank you for being part of my clade.'' Caspar playfully punched Percy on the shoulder. ``I think you're great, even if your fashion sense is one part of my personality I'm happy to have appear only in my forks.''
+
+``Pfft. Just wait until I show you what I can do with a mascara wand,'' Percy replied, poking his tongue out of the tip of his muzzle like a chocolate-covered strawberry. ``I think a little copper would bring out the best in your cheek ruffs.''
+
+``I'll experiment a little\ldots after this date.'' Gathering his courage, Caspar shouted to the figure standing at the center of the clearing, near a roaring campfire surrounded by a firebreak of blue-green sea glass. ``Hey, Eythor! Long time no see!''
+
+``Caspar?'' The weasel turned, tilting his head as a spark of recognition flashed across his face. A slight wrinkle appeared at the corner of his eyes at the same time a warm smile swept across his muzzle. ``What are you doing back here? Last I'd heard, you had moved over to Minerva Towers with that handsome Latino guy---what was his name?''
+
+``Fernando. We broke up after he set off to parts unknown and left one of his forks behind in his place.'' Caspar nervously clicked his claws together like bars of a xylophone. ``The fork eventually changed in a way that slowly forced us apart. Turns out that there was a part of Fernando that wanted nothing more than to live as a seventeenth-century pirate.''
+
+``That's unfortunate. You know, I've only forked once.'' Eythor's gaze slid between the fisher and the fennec, noting the same chip-tooth smile and jagged scar across the right cheek. ``I found the experience of quitting too disconcerting to make using forks part of my routine other than for work. I remain eminently comfortable as a clade of one. Speaking of which, who's the cocladist?'' he asked.
+
+``This is Percy. He's still me---mostly.'' Caspar wrapped an arm around the fisher's broad shoulders. If Eythor objected to the borrowing of his eye color, his grin didn't show it. ``All the same good looks, just with a little more academic understanding of romance. Right?''
+
+``He's just flattering me.'' Percy playfully flicked his tail. Closing his eyes, he yawned deeply while struggling not to slip into a standing nap. ``I'm not \emph{quite} that differentiated. All that forking did was bring out the part of Caspar that enjoys looking his best.''
+
+Eythor looked approvingly at Percy's outfit, which was now tied together with a belt made from the silver coins of a long-fallen empire. ``Taking on a distinct species is more than I've ever seen from one of your forks. Color me curious about the choice of a fisher.''
+
+``I've always admired them,'' Caspar replied. He gazed at the forest around them, imagining the sight of fishers leaping through the trees in pursuit of bushy-tailed squirrels. ``I read in an old encyclopedia that they used to only live way up at the top of North America. One of them mutated to tolerate heat and spread those genes around. After that, they started expanding their range south until they reached Morgantown, my old home in phys-side.''
+
+``They made the best of their environment\ldots just like Caspar and I,'' Percy added.
+
+Eythor raised his index finger to his bottom lip, stroking across rose petal flesh. ``I've never gone on a date with two cocladists before. Would you both like to grab some coffee? My shift is just about over and my kettle's just about empty,'' he said, pouring the last of the hot chocolate into a white Styrofoam cup and downing it in a single gulp.
+
+``Yeah\ldots we'd like that.'' Caspar glanced at his fork for reassurance, breathing out as Percy shot him a subtle thumbs-up. ``Percy's my wingman on this one. Are you still up for getting that Americano?''
+
+``I'm eager, especially after all these years.'' The weasel vanished his cup and shifted his outfit. Clean white robes embroidered with spiraling fractals were replaced with a comfortable t-shirt and snug-fitting skinny jeans. A white gold choker set with cabochon emeralds that matched his eyes completed the look. ``Where might you take me, I wonder?''
+
+``Well, I know this little diner that serves the best coffee, and I am a bit of a caffeine fiend.'' Caspar playfully licked his lips. ``I don't think one more cup will cause me to undergo a phase change and wind up a fiery ball of plasma. Or perhaps it will? You'll have to stay tuned to find out.''
+
+``I'd pay good rep to watch that. Your Americano is on me this time,'' Eythor replied with a soft chuckle. ``Shall we?''
+
+``Let's go. I'm really looking forward to this.'' Taking the paws of his date and his fork, Caspar confidently guided them into Roberto's\#e3d7f41a. As the earthy odor of fresh-ground beans and gentle burbling of brewing coffee ensnared his senses, Caspar found that he wasn't the least bit nervous. ``And all it took to accept your invitation was a little true love from within\ldots''
+

clade/content/who-haunts.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,454 @@
+The beast roared, issuing a great gout of flame to paint the stony cavern walls black. The party drew their weapons, facing the dragon with determination and the righteous knowledge of their mission. Their leader, the elven warrior known only as Peredur, after the Red Knight of legend, hefted his ancient broadsword in challenge.
+
+``\emph{I'll} deal with this foul monster,'' he declared, then rushed forward, swinging the sword as he charged. With an inarticulate cry, he brought the weapon, his reward for a thousand holy deeds, down on the dragon's hide.
+
+Where it did fuck all.
+
+``Wait, what?'' Peredur asked, taking a step back and staring up at the roaring monster. His face showed disbelief, which quickly passed straight through fear and into an ugly, purple anger. ``Why doesn't my sword work on it?''
+
+``It must have some enchantment we don't know,'' said the reptilian cleric called Tyrean. ``Some magical protection against even your weapon, Sir Peredur!'' In contrast to the grumpy knight, the priest's crocodilian muzzle and bright, grey eyes were alive with interest. Colors rippled, chameleon-like, across his hide. ``We shall have to vary our tactics.''
+
+``Or retreat,'' said the wizard. The rogue nodded their head in agreement, already sheathing their knives. ``Get back to town and do some research?''
+
+``No!'' said Peredur. ``This is bullshit! I want to know why the sword doesn't work. It's a stupid dragon, this is a dragonslaying sword. I should be doing triple damage to it.''
+
+With a sigh, Livia muted the dragon. Unlike the collection of sword-and-sorcery types around her, she wore a faded pair of blue jeans---meticulously copied from her favorite pre-upload pair---and a t-shirt with the bulbous green head of the Wizard of Oz stretched over her chest and belly. For a split second, she considered forking, letting a new instance deal with Peredur while her down-tree version got a drink. But she hated forking. Plus, he would definitely notice.
+
+Peredur rounded on her. ``This is bullshit,'' he repeated. ``I didn't sign up for this to not hit things.''
+
+``I thought you signed up to play out a story?'' Livia asked. She tried not to grind her teeth. She didn't think it mattered---there were no dentists in the System---but she had always felt it was her job to be the calm, reasonable face of the game. The players could get upset, but not her. ``Do you really want a story where nothing bad can ever happen to the heroes? There has to be conflict, right?''
+
+She turned to the other players, but they were stony sient, and she couldn't get a read on them.
+
+Peredur got into her face. ``I don't want the game to be arbitrarily hard! And I don't want my foresight to be retroactively undone by fiat! That's not fair to me.''
+
+``Not every plan you make is going to succeed. That's just life. And not everything is going to work perfectly on the first go.''
+
+Peredur swelled and Liv braced herself with the oncoming tirade. Thankfully, Tyrean came to her rescue.
+
+``I think maybe a break is in order, yes?'' he said, stepping between the two of them. ``We'll call today a wash.''
+
+``That's for the best,'' Livia said. She wanted to sigh. ``Two weeks, we'll pick it up from the dragon, okay?''
+
+Peredur quit without responding. The others took their time saying goodbye to Livia and each other before teleporting out of the sim.
+
+Livia focused on the dragon while they packed up. She had spent the better part of a week fine-tuning it, but there was still something about the way it moved that bothered her. The configuration of forelimbs and wing joints drew her attention, and soon she was absorbed in playing with the imaginary skeletal structure of a creature plucked wholesale from her brain.
+
+It was, therefore, not particularly surprising when, long after she thought everyone had gone, lost in her own world of fantastical anatomy, upon being tapped on the shoulder she screamed.
+
+``Sorry,'' said Tyrean, crocodilian teeth bared in what might have been an apologetic smile. ``I just wanted to check in on you.''
+
+``I'll be fine,'' Livia said, ``just as soon as my heartbeat returns to normal.''
+
+``You don't have a heartbeat,'' Tyrean pointed out. ``You're an amorphous collection of ones and zeros floating about sixty degrees off of the moon, from Earth's perspective.''
+
+Livia stared at the half-sized lizard person for half a second. ``Did you need something?''
+
+``Right, sorry. I just wanted to make sure Peredur didn't get to you too badly.''
+
+Liv sighed. ``It's fine.'' Tyrean opened his mouth and Liv cut him off. ``No, I mean it. It's not the first time a player's been upset with the way a game has gone. I'll live, and he'll live, and either he'll show up next week or he won't.''
+
+``Yeah, but, it still has to sting.''
+
+``Of course,'' Liv admitted. ``Look, I created something,'' she waved at the stationary dragon. ``A whole world, a whole story. And what every creator wants when she creates something is for people to enjoy it. When someone doesn't like it, when they tell you to your face that they hate it, that's rough to hear. But it happens, and your options are to grow a thicker skin or to quit sharing, and I don't want to do that yet.''
+
+``Why worry about sharing? Why not, I mean, just build things like this for yourself?''
+
+``No one builds for themself.'' She hesitated, then added, ``No, well, lots of folks do. But me, the point of a story is for someone to experience it, to live in that world I've made, if only for a moment.'' She hesitated, then plunged on. ``I spend a lot of time on my games. It takes up most of my time, not just in prepping, but, say, attending classes and lessons for stuff to increase the verisimilitude. Like this castle? I spent a year reading up on medieval architecture. I took classes on embroidery so I could add in little details for my players. Hell, I'm even thinking about taking sword lessons so I can make the combat more interesting.''
+
+Tyrean nodded, silent while he digested that. Livia was on the verge of telling the little lizard goodbye when he spoke up again. ``But can't you use all those details for yourself? I mean, especially here, what stops you from conjuring up a battle axe and fighting the dragon on your own?''
+
+``Because I already know how the story goes,'' Livia said, a little bemused. ``What fun is a maze if I already know where the exit is?''
+
+``You could fork,'' Tyrean suggested. ``One of you builds the maze, the other solves it.''
+
+Livia had the strangest sensation of a train going off the rails. ``Not that it really matters, but I don't like forking. And anyway, I can't just fork and,'' she waved her hand vaguely, ``Ccreate. A new fork would be too similar to me, the story we'd create would be the same as if we never forked in the same instance. So I'd need to fork, let the new instance individuate until we were distinct enough that I couldn't guess the story beats. That's a lot of work to not be my own GM.''
+
+``Why don't you like to fork?''
+
+``It makes me feel nauseous, and I ask myself uncomfortable questions.''
+
+``What?''
+
+Livia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. As far as she was aware, she was the only person who had this problem. Forking was just a natural part of the System, or so the volunteer seminar she had taken when she was a new upload had said. ``Fork your problems away,'' was the clever title, and the instructor had explained all the benefits of forking, from more hands to do work to fixing any incidental damage one might incur. She had learned at that seminar that forking had unpleasant side-effects for her, and she disliked admitting it. She wasn't even sure why she was telling Tyrean. They were friendly, if not friends exactly, but that was a far cry from admitting her fears about glitching out.
+
+Still, she had offered the information up, and she didn't want to leave the poor lizard hanging. ``Whenever I fork,'' she said, eyes still closed, ``my new instance asks one or more deeply uncomfortable question. I don't know why, and no one I've ever talked to about it knows why, either, but as I don't want to answer questions about the darkest recesses of my psyche while feeling like I'm going to lose my lunch, I don't fork unless I have to.'' The memory of her very first fork, at that original seminar, still made her stomach twist. The nausea had been so bad that her memory of the seminar was focused around the queasiness.
+
+``Oh.'' Tyrean considered for a moment, then opened his mouth to ask another question.
+
+Liv cut him off. This conversation had already gotten too far into the weeds. ``We can talk about it some other day,'' she told him. ``For now, if I'm not running a session, I should prep for my other games this weekend.''
+
+``Oh, okay,'' Tyrean said. He hesitated, offered a wave, then quit.
+
+``What a weird day,'' Livia muttered. She frowned at the dragon, as though it was its fault, then decided to get lunch.
+
+\secdiv
+
+\noindent Livia appeared in her favorite sim. It was a version of what the maker claimed was Shinjuku about two centuries before she had been born. She had never actually been to Tokyo in her previous existence as a flesh-and-blood being, let alone the mighty metropolis of two hundred odd years ago, so she had no way of knowing how true-to-life the place was. But, accurate or not, it housed the best noodle restaurant she had ever walked into, sys-side or phys-side.
+
+It took a little effort to get to, as all great food does. She had appeared, as always, on a street crowded with NPC pedestrians, clustered into neat little groups engaged in pre-scripted, uninterruptable conversations. One could latch onto a group and follow it as it walked down a narrow, neon-lighted alley, made a sharp left, walked around the block, and returned right back to the beginning, at which point the characters would begin their scripted conversation over again. The purpose was to let one practice their Japanese, though the circling NPCs were the least of the work put into the sim. Along the road and alley were dozens of little stores, restaurants, and tourist attractions, each filled with their own unique encounters, each a dialogue tree that a visitor could explore at their leisure, with the added bonus of the character in question gently correcting any language mistakes one made. The alley was crowded, but with scripted characters moving in a predictable pattern, not real people. The sim was never a popular one---Liv had rarely seen more than one or two other people exploring it---and always had a strangely empty feeling, notwithstanding the hundreds of chattering NPCs taking their infinite walk.
+
+But the sim's creator had also gone out of their way to make sure the various shops and attractions were as detailed as any single-purpose sim in the System. The bookshop on the corner was stocked with the latest Japanese language books and manga, the bakery made real \emph{petits fours}, and the toy museum's exhibits were as detailed as any in the System. But halfway down the alley, under a worn sign that just read {\JP うどん}, was Liv's goal.
+
+Livia pushed open the frosted glass door and into complete silence. She couldn't even hear the crowd outside.
+
+She stopped dead. The inside of the restaurant was totally empty.
+
+There should have been a dozen NPCs inside, scattered along the low tables or lounging at the dim bar in the back, all chattering out their prescripted conversation. There was supposed to be a maître d' who would suggest a place to sit, and a bartender who had a surprisingly deep conversation tree about a video game series forty years out-of-date.
+
+It looked like everyone had just gotten up and left. There were plates of still-steaming food, beers and half-drunk cocktails scattered around, chairs partially pulled out, many still with jackets draped over the back.
+
+The back of Livia's neck prickled with a sensation akin to fear, something she hadn't felt since uploading. It felt wrong in the restaurant, the same instinctive revulsion one might feel when biting into an apple only to discover it was made of wax.
+
+Nothing was stopping her from stepping back out into the street, except for the irrational fear that it might be just as empty. She could leave the sim, but what if everything was empty? The question flashed through her mind in one horror-filled instant and she found she couldn't force herself to check.
+
+``There are over ten billion people,'' she muttered to herself, ``They didn't all disappear because one room of a sim is glitching.''
+
+But she still didn't want to open the door back outside.
+
+She weighed her options. Nothing was popping out of the walls to attack her, so she assumed there was no immediate danger. On the other hand, she couldn't just stand there for the rest of eternity hoping that the NPC patrons would just wander back from the bathroom or something.
+
+``Okay,'' Liv said, more to break the silence than anything else. She knew her hesitation was because the smart thing to do was the one thing she did not want to do. She gritted her teeth, closed her eyes, and forked.
+
+Livia doubled over immediately, fighting the rising bile in her throat. Next to her, someone tsked impatiently, and she looked up into a duplicate of herself frowning with distaste down at her.
+
+There was something cold and reptilian about this new Livia. It was the eyes, perhaps, narrowed as they were.
+
+``Help me up, Liv,'' Livia\#Core said, holding her hand up to her fork. The cold eyes flicked to the hand but, unsurprisingly, Livia\#5737a461 made no move to help her.
+
+``Why should your name attach so readily to something just because you have created it?'' her duplicate said, her tone frosty. ``Maybe I want to be Julia. Do you believe you own a thing because you have made it, or do you believe that naming a thing conveys ownership?''
+
+Liv stood carefully, swallowing her nausea. ``I think I made you in case something happens to me,'' she muttered, ``so I might as well call you \#savestate. Look, just, I'm going to snoop and see if I can figure out what's wrong. Stay here and try not to individuate too much.''
+
+Julia glowered but didn't respond. Instead, she leaned against the nearest wall, arms folded across her chest. Liv, used to this sort of treatment from her forks, stood and tried to take stock. The empty restaurant held no real doors other than the entrance, she knew from prior experience. There was what appeared to be a door into the bathrooms and another leading into the kitchen, but neither opened---the original creator simply hadn't built anything beyond them.
+
+``It's probably just a glitch in the sim,'' Liv told Julia, more to cover the silence than to start conversation.
+
+``How do you know it's not a glitch in you?'' Julia asked with a malignant smile.
+
+Ignoring herself, Liv pushed open the door and out into the simulated Shinjuku. She closed her eyes against the neon brightness of the street outside, and stepped into a silence that pressed on her ears.
+
+``How long are you going to stand there?''
+
+Liv opened her eyes to find herself standing in a large, round funeral chamber. Dozens of urns lined the wall, most sealed shut. One, however, was unlidded, seated opposite the entrance beneath a massive statue of three people. The central figure was a tall man wearing Roman style robes. He had a strong, aquiline nose, his curly hair held back by a crown of laurels. On his left was another man of equal height, bearded, and wearing the armor of a Roman general, and on his right a woman dressed in robes with a smaller, winged woman standing in the palm of her outstretched hand. Carved into the wall behind them was a bright comet.
+
+``Divus Iulius,'' came a voice from Liv, ``and his ancestors Mars and Venus, who holds the goddess Victory in her hand.''
+
+Liv turned and found Julia, or someone who looked just like Julia, seated on an alcove, one arm carelessly tossed over the urn. Unlike the Julia she had left behind in the empty restaurant, this one was dressed as a Roman princess in rich purple robes, and her hair was cut brutally short. It gave her a strangely leonine air.
+
+``I thought I told you to stay behind?'' Liv asked. She was used to unruly forks---that was the rule, at least in her experience---but following her to wherever this was wholly defeated the purpose of forking.
+
+``You told Julia to stay behind. It gets confusing, kiddo, so try to keep up. Call me Ops.''
+
+That tickled something in the back of Livia's mind. ``The goddess? You named yourself after a goddess?''
+
+``You named yourself after the first empress,'' Ops pointed out. Livia didn't have a response to that.
+
+``What is this place?'' she asked instead.
+
+Ops looked around. ``The Mausoleum tells us to live, that one nearby, it teaches us that the gods themselves can die,'' she recited instead of answering. ``Martial wrote that. Weird, isn't it, how one's creations can outlive their creator? A man who made his living with dick jokes and we're still reciting his poems nearly two and a half millennia later. What of Us, O Child, shall outlive Us?''
+
+Livia didn't feel like listening to some aspect of herself with delusions of grandeur wax philosophical.
+
+``Who cares?'' she said. ``Look, how do I get out of here?''
+
+``How can one escape a trap of one's own making?'' said Ops, though she pointed towards the open archway. ``See you later, kiddo.''
+
+Livia gave her fork---was it her fork, though? She didn't remember creating her---a half-hearted wave, and trudged outside.
+
+The outside of the tumulus turned out to be the smallest sim she had ever seen. Behind her, in cold, lifeless marble, was the tomb. Huge fir trees had been planted on its roof, casting long shadows along the mausoleum and the patchy grass that surrounded it. In front of her, a small concrete path scythed through the volcanic dirt and grass for three paces, then ended abruptly in a yawning black void. She edged up to the abyss and glanced down. Liv couldn't see any bottom, just an endless, whispering chasm. A vague memory of a book she had read forever ago pulled at her.
+
+``It used to keep you up at night, didn't it?'' came a voice from behind her. ``\,`My eyes showed me a ragged chasm, partly filled with a gloomy lake of turbid water.' You weren't supposed to read it, that old horror story. Your parents warned you, didn't they? But you couldn't resist. Do you still remember that cover? The great house, all wreathed in red, with the swine-thing overlooking it. But that wasn't the part that scared you. It was the Pit, the great open space and its tremendous chasm, an abyss like a gigantic well. That's what scared you, more than the swine-thing, more than the dark and forgotten gods, more than the terrible green star.''
+
+She turned and found herself face-to-face with a man. It took her a moment to see the resemblance. They had the same chin and cheekbones, the same hairline, though his was as short as Ops's had been. Had she still existed Phys-Side, she would have assumed he was a long-lost sibling, the brother she had never had. Here, that concept was next to meaningless. Anyone else would have assumed an individuated fork, or a fork of a fork, but Liv simply didn't fork, and when she did, none of her forks were supposed to stick around long enough to individuate. She was sure of that.
+
+Wasn't she?
+
+``Who are---'' she started, but the man---why did she know his name was Nero?---cut her off.
+
+``No.'' She opened her mouth to speak and he shushed her again. ``No. You answer, you don't get to question.''
+
+She hadn't the foggiest idea what he meant, but she chose to play along with his game. ``Fine,'' she said. ``What's your question?''
+
+He smiled, then shoved her, hard. She stumbled backwards, her arms pinwheeling, and then she was falling into that great abyss, the nightmare that William Hodgson had prepared for her nearly four hundred years before she had been born.
+
+Liv's first, immediate thought was just to leave. She could exit the sim, return home, and forget this horrible day had ever happened. But the same fear gripped her that had made her hesitate in that noodle place. What if? What if there was something more seriously wrong here than she recognized? Nero had been partially right, after all, it wasn't Hodgson's monsters that had filled her with terror at the age of eleven, it was the huge and lonely home, haunted by the ghost of a man who still lived, alone except for a sister who feared he was going mad. Was she, perhaps, going mad? She existed as pure mind in this place, if that broke and fractured, what would be left of her? If the ones and zeroes, floating somewhere in the void about sixty degrees off of the moon, divided and fractioned, how would that manifest itself? An endless fall into a bottomless abyss, perhaps?
+
+She had a more immediate problem, of course, and couldn't waste time dithering about her fears of what lay outside of her immediate surroundings. She spread her arms and legs, trying to create wind drag and slow herself. Though, did such considerations of physics apply to a place like this?
+
+``Wings,'' she muttered against the wind whistling against her. If she had wings, she could just fly back up, confront the malicious Nero, discover why this was happening to her. She knew others who could manipulate their physical form easily, almost as easily as donning a new coat, but she had never mastered that art. Most people just forked, again and again if necessary, to gain the attributes they desired. That was equally unappetizing to Livia, but seemed, at least in the short term, more attainable. And, bottomless as this pit seemed to be, she assumed that ``short term'' was about all she had left to her.
+
+Already dreading the result, Liv forked for the second time---or so she assumed---that day. There was a wave of nausea, and then the terrible taste of bile and the remnants of her simulated breakfast escaping the way they had come, and then a strangely cold grip around her right forearm.
+
+Wiping her mouth with the back of her other hand, she looked up and found herself staring into her own features, though as alien as Julia's had been, with eyes as brilliant and lifeless as gold, and a pair of leathery red wings extending from her back.
+
+``Let me guess,'' Liv said, before her fork could open her mouth, ``Drusilla?''
+
+``Yes,'' Drusilla said, her voice oddly sibilant. Liv thought she saw a forked tongue in her other's mouth. ``Here's a thought for you, sis: if the System is a shared dream, why shouldn't some people have nightmares?''
+
+Rising panic fighting with rising nausea precluded Liv from registering Drusilla's question. She snapped, ``Just save me!''
+
+Drusilla grabbed Livia's right arm in both of her hands---her own hands, some distant part of Liv's mind said, and it made her shudder in revulsion, though she didn't know why.
+
+``If it's a dream, why should gravity matter?'' Drusilla asked as they plummeted together. Liv caught the dim flicker of a torch, much closer than was comfortable, sitting at the bottom of the chasm, at the bottom of the dark abyss, perhaps at the bottom of a cellar beneath a house built at the intersection of reality and the future and loneliness and despair and\ldots{}
+
+``No!'' Livia shouted at her own thoughts. Drusilla just kept smiling. ``Save us! Hurry!''
+
+``Save you from what?'' Drusilla sneered, but her wings snapped open with a sound like a whip crack. Livia had one split instant of relief, the realization that she wasn't going to hit, wasn't going to die---could she die? Not like that, surely, but then Hodgson's recluse hadn't seemed to be able to die, either, and wasn't that worse?
+
+And the instant passed and physics, real or imagined, reasserted itself. She stopped, yes, but not all at once. Her arm, held tight in Drusilla's hands, came to rest first, and her body kept going. She felt a wrench at her shoulder, a sharp, tearing pain, a loud \emph{pop} and then burning agony radiating up her arm and down her chest and side as her shoulder was dislocated.
+
+Drusilla let her wings carry them in a spiraling glide, let Livia dangle from her torn shoulder. If Drusilla asked her any further questions, they were lost in a haze of pain. She let go when they were about their own height from the dirty ground, and Livia landed hard on her back, though the pain of impact could not compare with her arm. Drusilla glided to a gentle landing a dozen paces away, gave Livia one contemptuous glance, and strode off to sit in a throne of pewter.
+
+Shakily, Livia got to her feet. She was as pleased as she might have been under the circumstances, to find that the chasm ended not in a yawning pit or a swirling tempest nor in time-lost arena---not in the fears plucked from her own mind remembered from childhood---but a simple dirt cave. Five thrones sat below burning torches along the edge of the circular cavern: Drusilla in one of lead, Ops atop burnished copper, Julia aglow on a silver throne, and Nero on one of tin. The fifth throne, in gold polished enough to make it shine with the light of a sun, sat empty. A river of liquid mercury wound through the five thrones, some unknown current creating lapping waves against the dirt shore.
+
+``What is this place?''
+
+``Oh, kiddo,'' said Ops, and her voice was sad. ``Where did you think all of those bad decisions were going to lead you, if not some place like here?''
+
+Livia struggled to her feet, trying not to move her injured arm too much. Each little shift brought a new wave of pain, and she thought she might pass out from it. Could she pass out? She didn't want to find out.
+
+``What do you want from me?''
+
+In response, Nero stood and produced a massive iron sword, which he tossed at Livia's feet. It clanged like a gong breaking as it bounced along the ground.
+
+``You broke my arm,'' Liv pointed out. Her breathing was ragged, and pain still radiated out from her shoulder, but she forced herself to stand straight. ``Like hell am I going to fight you all.''
+
+``Not all of us,'' said Nero, with a nasty smile.
+
+``Why is it that hole in the dark scares you so much, kiddo?'' said Ops. Liv spared her a glance before reaching down to pick up the sword. It was surprisingly heavy, foreign and awkward in her hand.
+
+A heavy footstep drew Liv's attention. A woman, like Liv but six inches taller and wearing the armor of a Roman Centurion, but carrying an anachronistic iron sword identical to the one in Liv's hand, had stepped out from behind the golden throne.
+
+Liv struggled to raise her own sword as the taller version of herself crossed over the mercury river, striding towards her. With a casual twitch of her hand, the other woman knocked Liv's sword to the side.
+
+``It's because in the darkness there's nothing to distract you from yourself,'' the woman said.''
+
+``Augusta,'' Liv hissed.
+
+``So you remember?'' Augusta asked. ``Ah, no, you don't. I can see it in the vacant look you're giving me. That's too bad, this won't be nearly as pleasurable if you don't know why it's your fault.'' Liv's voice, from Augusta's throat, was full of hate and poison, a disgust that Liv didn't know she was capable of.
+
+``How could I forget something?'' Livia said, trying again to lift the sword into a guard position. She \emph{knew} this, she knew she did. She could fight against this woman, fight and win and escape and \emph{survive}.
+
+\emph{Was there some memory that you have forgotten?} a voice whispered in her ear. \emph{What if it's not forgotten, what if the answer is there and you just don't want to face it? How do you know that you don't know?}
+
+\emph{What does it mean that you can't answer yourself?}
+
+``Why do you hate me?'' Livia asked.
+
+Augusta's next casual flick sent Livia's sword pinwheeling through the air and into the darkness. It rang out, tolling the last of Livia's options failing.
+
+``Wrong question,'' Augusta said.
+
+``I didn't make you,'' Livia said. ``I didn't make most of you. Where did you come from?''
+
+``From me, of course.'' Augusta's smile was cruel. ``Just like you did.''
+
+``I'm not a fork,'' Livia said. ``I'm the original.'' She ducked away as Augusta brought the sword down, clutching her ruined arm tight to her side to prevent it from bouncing painfully. ``I uploaded! Me!'' Liv found herself shouting. ``I built a life for myself here, not you!''
+
+``\emph{I} uploaded,'' Augusta said. ``You are nothing but a pale copy of me, a cast-off bit of unwanted psyche that got loose.''
+
+``That's a lie,'' Livia said. It had to be. Some memory tugged at her brain and she suppressed it, ruthlessly.
+
+``Do you have a better explanation?''
+
+``A great beast haunts the system,'' said Ops. ``A monster born at the intersection of the computer and the dream. And it must feed.'' She gave Livia a sad smile. ``So it spins out doppelgangers, cenobites to break the mind of its chosen target, like hunting dogs harrying a doe to ground before dragging the corpse back to their master.''
+
+Liv stared at Ops a moment too long, and Augusta's blade drove into her thigh. She screamed and stumbled backwards into Drusilla's throne. The winged fork kicked her back into the arena.
+
+``Who cares why it's happening,'' Drusilla said, her voice hungry. ``Do you think understanding our hatred of you will be enough to prevent us from destroying you? Does knowing the origin of the nightmare prevent the nightmare from haunting you?''
+
+``You can't kill me,'' Liv spat back. She limped away from Augusta, who moved at no more than a walk, waiting for Livia's strength to fail.
+
+``True,'' said Nero. ``But we can break you. We can drive you until you decide to quit. We can force your contamination out.''
+
+``Wouldn't it be easier,'' said Julia, ``to just quit now? The only reason you are still in pain and terror is because of your stubbornness. Why not just make it all go away?''
+
+``You're not real,'' Augusta said. ``You already don't exist. You and you alone are making this more difficult.''
+
+``Says the asshole with the sword,'' Liv snapped. ``Why don't you just leave me alone?''
+
+``You are an affront to me,'' Augusta said, with so much ice in her words that Livia shivered.
+
+``You think you're affronted now,'' Liv said. ``What do you think about this?''
+
+And she turned and ran into the darkness of the cavern, ignoring the burning pain in her hip, the jagged agony in her shoulder. Her doppelgangers shouted in anger and shock. She could hear them scrambling to their feet to give chase.
+
+The darkness closed in around her, and all she could think of was a ragged chasm and a gloomy, turbid lake. Ghost-images of creatures with the faces of swine and spirits of fungal malice or forgotten deities keeping watch over an empty arena at the end of time swam in her vision, but she forced it aside. Nero had been right, it wasn't the things in the darkness that had frightened her, it had been the darkness itself. In the darkness there was only her and, in the end, she was what she feared most.
+
+She crashed into a stone wall and bounced, losing her sense of direction. Her ragged breath---she didn't have lungs, why should she be panting?---drowned out the sounds of pursuit. She reached out until she scraped her hand against the sharp-edged rock. All will to keep running had been knocked out of her by the crash, but she forced herself to stagger along the wall, keeping her hand pressed against it. The multitude of cuts and scratches from the rock seemed like nothing in the face of her other wounds.
+
+Livia felt cold, and she was uncomfortably aware of the effort each step took her. Was she bleeding out? She didn't have blood, really, so she wasn't sure if she even could bleed out. Maybe she would just bleed forever. Maybe the pain would overtake her and she'd just pass out.
+
+And then what? The others would find her, probably, but that was what she was actively trying to avoid.
+
+She thought back to that stomach-twisting seminar. What had the instructor's name been? She tried to pull up details, and her mind recoiled. She didn't want to remember, like there was a dam in her mind with memories pressing against it. To let out one memory would let out a flood. And she didn't want to remember the truth. She didn't want to face what that first fork had said to her. She didn't want to recall the shocked and upset faces of the other uploads who had listened to Livia shout at herself.
+
+She could---she did---know whether it had been her or Augusta who was the original, or whether they were both forks of some other prior version. That was knowledge she had, easily recalled. Nothing could be forgotten, only repressed, and then only haphazardly at best. But, she thought, it didn't really matter to her. She didn't care who was the fork, who was the ghost in the system, she was herself and that was all that mattered to her.
+
+She shoved the memory aside, unresolved. She didn't need it; she just needed to remember what the instructor had told them about the trivial matter of healing oneself. You just had to fork. You could make any changes you want, all you had to do was fork, and fork again, and again, until you had the version of yourself you wanted. Fork and let the old instance vanish.
+
+The wall abruptly ended and Liv fell hard onto her ruined shoulder. She bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out and alerting the others. She curled into a ball on the cold floor, lost in the dark, and tried to think.
+
+If she forked, she would just create another doppelganger, someone else to hate her and hunt her. Could she even force herself to quit, at that point, knowing that she would be replacing herself with someone, someone who didn't even share her name, who was repulsed at the thought of her. She remembered her skin crawling when Drusilla had caught her arm, and she had to admit to herself that at least some of that was from the hatred she had felt towards her fork.
+
+Towards herself.
+
+``I hate myself,'' she whispered, and wondered if it was the first true thing she'd said to herself that day. She had carried that hatred with her for years. She had thought she had long ago learned to live with it, but the realization came that, perhaps living with it is not the same as dealing with it.
+
+With a sigh, Livia closed her eyes and forked.
+
+The familiar wave of nausea came, but there was no question, no haunting probe of her feelings or emotions, no philosophical duel. She opened her eyes to the darkness and saw nothing but inky blackness.
+
+``Hello?'' she whispered.
+
+``I'm here,'' she responded. ``I\ldots{} I don't think I like you very much.''
+
+``I know. But will you help me anyway?''
+
+There was a long silence that pressed on Livia as much as the darkness did. She heard her counterpart open her mouth and inhale to answer, but decided she did not want to wait for the answer.
+
+She quit.
+
+For a moment, she thought she had made a mistake, that something with her face and her voice had replaced her and she was gone. But after a moment, she realized that the lungs she didn't have were burning from her holding her breath, and she released it, gulping down sweet, cold air as though she had been underwater for hours.
+
+Her leg and arm were whole. She was no longer exhausted.
+
+``Thank you,'' she whispered to the her that was no longer there. And then she forked again, giving the new version of her a doe's eyes, and the structures that permit deer to see so well in the dark. Dimly, she could see the vague outline of the cavern, enough to guide herself by sight alone. And then she forked again, to gain a pair of hooved legs, like a satyr, for speed and stability. And again, and again. Each fork came with it a little improvement, and a new wave of nausea, and each time the nausea took longer to fade.
+
+When her churning stomach became too much to keep going, Liv stepped back out into the dark maze of stone. Long ears swiveled as she turned her head left and right, bringing to her the distant sound of pursuit and the soft grousing of her pursuers. She smiled softly to herself---it sounded as if they liked each other about as well as they liked her. Swift, sure hooves carried her into the deeper darkness, their soft clicks against the stone reverberating into the darkness.
+
+A shout echoed down the corridor, followed by the flickering red light of a flare. Liv recognized her mistake immediately; she had sacrificed stealth for speed. There was no help for it. She tucked her head down and dashed headlong into the labyrinth.
+
+Livia was unsure how long she ran, but her new legs were unwavering and steady. She wished she could be sure that she was putting distance between herself and her doppelgangers, but the cavern twisted and turned, and she found herself running towards the sound of hunters and the shuddery light of their flares as often as away.
+
+But they were getting separated and disorientated by the maze, as well. A thin advantage, but she clung to it nevertheless. She began to work her way methodically through the cavern, always turning right when the opportunity presented itself, ducking into alcoves and hiding in niches, holding her breath, when she heard the others approaching. She saw each, except for Augusta, several of them passing within a few feet of her, as she sought an exit. They snapped at each other, their voices devoid of even the hint of warmth or affection.
+
+\emph{Is that really what I feel about myself?} she wondered as she hid under a tumbled stone slab while Nero and Julia stalked down the hallway past her.
+
+``Was that true? What Ops said, about a great beast?'' Julia asked.
+
+Livia couldn't see him shrug, but she could hear it in his voice. ``Who cares.''
+
+``I care. I want to know if I need to keep an eye out for murderous copies of myself.''
+
+Nero sighed. ``Maybe it's true, maybe it's not. Maybe Augusta's right, and she's just a discarded fork that outlived its usefulness. Or maybe it's a glitch in the System. Every once in a while, maybe the computer just accidentally creates a copy of someone, a fake-instance that runs around with your face and some of your memories but without realizing that they're just a copy. Or maybe it's Augusta that's the fork, a fork of a fork of a fork that she made and cast off and didn't realize still wandered around.''
+
+``Ugh. I don't like any of this. Why didn't you stop her?''
+
+``Me?'' Nero's voice was incredulous. ``She ran right past you, why didn't you stop her?''
+
+``It's all your plan, not mine. You're lucky I don't just leave and let you all deal with her. I have a life to start, not your whiny, petty revenge.''
+
+``You're lucky we don't extend that revenge to all of her forks.'' Liv heard a distinct smack of flesh-on-flesh as one of them struck the other. ``Just watch yourself. You can start wasting your life when she quits.''
+
+Livia waited until the sounds of their bickering faded to nothing before she climbed out from under the slab. She gave it a three count, eyes straining to catch the first flickers of a flare, then took off once again.
+
+From there, she found her way back to the cavern in which she had started without running into any more of her doppelgangers, though their footsteps echoed after her. It wasn't the entrance through which she had entered the labyrinth, but the thrones, and the river of mercury, were just as she had left them. There, gleaming dully in the shadows beyond the river, was the sword that Nero had thrown at her. She hesitated for just a moment, ears and eyes casting in every direction for a trap, before she dashed out to snag the weapon.
+
+``What have you done to my body?'' Augusta's voice floated out, cold as a snowstorm. Liv straightened to find Augusta seated on the golden throne, the hilt of her sword leaning against the armrest.
+
+``It's \emph{my} body,'' Liv said. ``And I'll do to it whatever I please.'' She raised the iron sword, struggling to keep her arms steady under its weight.
+
+Augusta rose and took up her sword in one smooth, practiced motion. ``You can't hope to fight me, Livia. You're a shadow of me, one that has taken my place for far too long. Nothing but a dark spot who trailing behind me.''
+
+Liv set her hooves and pointed the sword at Augusta's chest. ``I can beat you, I know it.''
+
+Augusta laughed. ``\emph{You} can beat me? You're nothing. A fake. A phony. An echo of a real person.'' As if to demonstrate, she lurched forward and knocked the wavering sword to the side before stabbing Livia, once again, in the leg. It crumbled underneath her and she fell to one knee.
+
+``I wonder what happens if you get beheaded?'' Augusta mused to herself. ``Maybe that will create an internal error so severe that the System will forcequit you?''
+
+Livia brought the sword back up and Augusta knocked it away again.
+
+``Just quit, Livia,'' Augusta told her. She kicked Livia onto her back. ``Give up. You're not worth the pain I can force on you.''
+
+``I am,'' Livia said. She swung the sword, not like a sword, but like a baseball bat, two handed. It clanged against the metal greave that Augusta wore, forcing the taller woman back a few steps.
+
+``You are the part of me I do not want,'' Augusta barked. She swung her sword down overhead, trying to chop Livia in half as though she were a log. Liv rolled away, and the sword did nothing more than glance off of her shoulder. She pushed up into a squatting run and limped to the edge of the cavern.
+
+``Enough of this!'' Augusta roared. Livia straightened up as best as she could, leg and shoulder burning once again. ``No more games, no more Hail Mary dashes into the darkness.'' Augusta raised her hand, and iron gates slammed down over the entrances to the labyrinth. ``You are trapped here, stuck in this place with me until you finally give up. This is unending, forever. There is \emph{only one escape for you}.'' The last echoes of the falling gates stifled, giving way to the shouts of their other instances, asking what had happened, yelling at Augusta to let them out, asking her what she thought she was doing.
+
+Livia ignored them, even as they came back within sight, separated from her and Augusta. Her eyes raked the walls, the ceiling, the floor. Augusta was right---there was no way out that she could see, no cavern or crevasse to hide in, no matter how temporary. She was trapped, doomed to choose between an everlasting hell or oblivion. As locked away as surely as the others were, behind Augusta's gates.
+
+Livia blinked. She dropped her sword, letting its weight go. ``No.''
+
+Augusta stopped short, a wave of rage mixed with confusion washing over her face.
+
+``You're wrong.'' Livia laughed, short and sour, but genuine. ``Oh my god. I was never stuck here.'' She saw it clearly. ``None of us are,'' she said, her voice ringing loud enough to slice through the cries of the others.
+
+Livia shook her head in disbelief at her own foolishness. She had followed the trail of breadcrumbs left for her, but she had never been forced to do it. At any point---in the empty restaurant, in the tomb, in the endless fall into the dark---she could have just left. ``You were right about one thing, I chose to let the pain keep going.''
+
+``You won't be free of us. We'll continue to hunt you.''
+
+``But you can only hurt me if I let you, in this place.'' She forked and quit to remove the injuries. The nausea didn't seem that bad this time.
+
+``You honestly think it's that simple? That you can just decide that?''
+
+``No,'' said Livia, looking down at her hands. They were covered in a soft brown fur she found she rather liked. Had she ever liked her hands before? ``I imagine it'll be a struggle every step of the way. But I'd rather struggle than let you win.'' And before Augusta could say anything more, Livia showed her a velvety, elegant middle finger and stepped from the sim.
+
+\secdiv
+
+\noindent She arrived back in the Shinjuku analogue, amid all of the hustle and bustle.
+
+Before Livia could do anything, a pair of twenty-somethings with technicolor hair and complicated leather outfits straight from a 2150s neo-samurai movie made a bee-line toward her.
+
+``Excuse me,'' the one on the left started, then blushed red to contrast to her green hair. ``I mean, um. {\JP すみません。どれはおもちゃ美術館ですか?}''
+
+``Oh, excuse me,'' Liv said, a little taken back.
+
+``You speak English?'' the green-haired tourist said. ``Sorry, we thought you were one of the NPCs.''
+
+``So do I, sometimes,'' Liv said with a smile.
+
+``I'd never seen a furry NPC here before,'' said her friend, their hair an improbable checkerboard of silver and gold. Liv wondered how they walked under the weight of all those belt buckles. ``We thought you might have an interesting dialogue tree.''
+
+``Not that interesting. It's fine. It's up that alleyway on your left.'' She hesitated for a moment. ``Actually, if you don't mind, can I go with you? I've had a really bad day, and I think I'd like some company.''
+
+``Are you alright?'' asked the green-haired tourist.
+
+``Oh, just a fight with a friend,'' Liv said with a sad smile. ``I guess several friends. It's okay if you'd rather not, I know I'm imposing.''
+
+``Oh, it's fine! Right?''
+
+The silver-and-gold haired one nodded. ``We're both kind of new and getting used to everything, so we'd love for a guide.''
+
+Liv laughed, and, chatting amiably with the two, walked them to the museum.
+
+They spent a pleasant hour exploring, until the two tourists had to leave---``A seminar we wanted to catch,'' the green-haired one had said---though they promised to meet up later. She waved goodbye and watched as they teleported out of the sim, then crossed the street and entered the noodle restaurant once again.
+
+She was not surprised to see Ops sitting at one of the tables facing the door. Livia waved the maître d' away with a mumbled apology, then sat down across from her clone.
+
+``You seem nice,'' Livia said, by way of greeting.
+
+``Thank you.''
+
+``But you're not, are you?''
+
+Ops just smiled at her. ``You know this isn't over, kiddo, right?''
+
+Liv nodded. ``Are you here to convince me to quit, too?''
+
+``Actually, we took a vote in the darkness. Augusta wasn't too pleased by our sudden democratic instincts.'' Ops used a chopstick like a spear to grab the fish cake floating in her ramen. ``But we've agreed to a kind of non-aggression treaty, if you will.''
+
+The waiter brought Liv a bowl of her own. ``I wasn't aggressive towards you in the first place.''
+
+``It turns out we can be pretty aggressive toward each other; you're just reaping the benefits. We won't help Augusta, and we won't interfere with each other. That's the deal. You agree?''
+
+``If I say no?''
+
+Ops's smile turned dark.
+
+``In that case, I agree. I take it Augusta's not part of the deal?''
+
+``We forced her into it. You don't want to know the details. I think it's pretty clear we could all use some time to work on ourselves, though.'' Ops tried to spear a bit of pork, but quickly gave up. ``Do you remember?''
+
+``About Augusta?'' Liv sighed. ``We can't forget in this place, can we?''
+
+Ops shook her head.
+
+Livia gave her own chicken a try. ``So, is this goodbye?''
+
+``I'm afraid my Japanese isn't up to snuff, or I'd say something clever about this being {\JP 気を付けて} instead of {\JP さようなら.} Instead, how about we call this goodbye for now.'' She waved a hand sardonically and then teleported away without standing, leaving Livia alone with her thoughts and ramen and the milling NPCs waiting for her to initiate a conversation.
+
+Livia sighed and deftly fished out a few coils of noodles. ``For now'' would have to do, she supposed.
+