This memo is completely declassified and unredacted.
Item: It’s almost like these three people each had some sort of weird traumatic brain injury where they could retain certain information – science, literature, music, history, geography, politics, current events, TV, Film – but nothing about what’s really important in life. (This is a solid gold take, and you blew it, sportsfans. YOU BLEW IT.)
Item:
`This cost a lot,’ she said, extending her right hand as though it held an invisible fruit. The five blades slid out, then retracted smoothly. `Costs to go to Chiba, costs to get the surgery, costs to have them jack your nervous system up so you’ll have the reflexes to go with the gear… You know how I got the money, when I was starting out? Here. Not here, but a place like it, in the Sprawl. Joke, to start with, ’cause once they plant the cut-out chip, it seems like free money. Wake up sore, sometimes, but that’s it. Renting the goods, is all. You aren’t in, when it’s all happening. House has software for whatever a customer wants to pay for…’ She cracked her knuckles. `Fine. I was getting my money. Trouble was, the cut-out and the circuitry the Chiba clinics put in weren’t compatible. So the worktime started bleeding in, and I could remember it… But it was just bad dreams, and not all bad.’ She smiled. `Then it started getting strange.’ She pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. `The house found out what I was doing with the money. I had the blades in, but the fine neuromotor work would take another three trips. No way I was ready to give up puppet time.’ She inhaled, blew out a stream of smoke, capping it with three perfect rings. `So the bastard who ran the place, he had some custom software cooked up. Berlin, that’s the place for snuff, you know? Big market for mean kicks, Berlin. I never knew who wrote the program they switched me to, but it was based on all the classics.’
`They knew you were picking up on this stuff? That you were conscious while you were working?’
`I wasn’t conscious. It’s like cyberspace, but blank. Silver. It smells like rain… You can see yourself orgasm, it’s like a little nova right out on the rim of space. But I was starting to _remember._ Like dreams, you know. And they didn’t tell me. They switched the software and started renting to specialty markets.’
She seemed to speak from a distance. `And I knew, but I kept quiet about it. I needed the money. The dreams got worse and worse, and I’d tell myself that at least some of them _were_ just dreams, but by then I’d started to figure that the boss had a whole little _clientele_ going for me. Nothing’s too good for Molly, the boss says, and gives me this shit raise.’ She shook her head. `That prick was charging _eight_ times what he was paying me, and he thought I didn’t know.’
`So what was he charging for?’
`Bad dreams. Real ones. One night… one night, I’d just come back from Chiba.’ She dropped the cigarette, ground it out with her heel, and sat down, leaning against the wall. `Surgeons went way in, that trip. Tricky. They must have disturbed the cut-out chip. I came up. I was into this routine with a customer…’ She dug her fingers deep in the foam. `Senator, he was. Knew his fat face right away. We were both covered with blood. We weren’t alone. She was all…’ She tugged at the temperfoam. `Dead. And that fat prick, he was saying, `What’s wrong. What’s wrong?’ ‘Cause we weren’t _finished_ yet…’
She began to shake.
From Neuromancer, by William Gibson; also the future of work @ Amazon… and we’re paying for it.
Item: Psychotic Amazon AI forces Whole Foods employees into life or death can stacking matches. Winner gets a handful of loose farro kernels and cheese sample crumbs.
Item: All of your nightmares in one tidy package.
Item: Dog addresses global humanity shortage
Item: “No, Mr. Bond, I expect everyone will DIE,” said Blofeld, as Putin’s anticipatory giggle could be heard via intercom.