Бесплатный фрагмент - The Rage of the Pure Mind

Annotation

In the remote coniferous forests of Siberia, where corporate laboratories are hidden from government and public scrutiny, a chilling story of the consequences of an inhuman experiment by a mega-corporation unfolds. In pursuit of super-profits and military competition, corporate scientists, for whom human lives mean little, have created SimCybers — ape-like creatures with hypertrophied intelligence and psychopathic tendencies. The result of their ambitions spiraled out of control, turning the taiga into a proving ground for confrontation between the locals and the terrifying creatures.

Famous blogger Artyom, who went in pursuit of sensation in these remote places together with the guide-geodesist Georgiy, finds himself in the epicenter of the conflict between people and these brilliant but ruthless creatures. What began as a reportage turns into a struggle for survival and an attempt to expose the heinous crimes of corporate science against humanity.

The story explores the fine line between progress and greed, where corporate ambition and lust for power collide with the unpredictable consequences of uncontrolled experimentation. This is the story of what happens when an artificially created mind, superior to the human mind, inherits from its creators not only genius, but a complete contempt for human life.

«The Rage of the Pure Mind» is a merciless reminder of what happens when science becomes a tool of corporate greed and humanity is sacrificed to the pursuit of profit and power.

The Rage of the Pure Mind

The wet city glowed with a million neon lights, like a giant organism covered in multicolored scales. The shadows on the walls trembled like ghosts as the karas swept past. Rain poured down in an endless stream, creating ripples that resembled the fluid paintings of a mad artist.

This new, closed city was in the middle of nowhere in Siberia, surrounded by endless forests and snow. Only scientists and guards lived here, working under strict secrecy. There was no place for ordinary life in this place, only cold functionality and endless research.

In one of the offices, an unusual conversation was taking place. In the center of the room, standing at a metal desk, was SimCyber. His figure, tall and imposing, was shrouded in an aura of aloofness. His dark eyes, glowing with cold indifference, seemed like windows into a void where there was neither joy nor sorrow.

— You read in several languages,» said the Chairman of the Commission, an elderly man with a tired look and a gaunt face. His voice was firm, but there was a note of underlying tension in it. The chairman looked at his watch and it showed not only the time but also the year. 2053.- Familiar with higher mathematics and capable of performing many tasks. Do you believe that this makes you human?

SimCyber turned his head slowly, his movements were perfectly calibrated, as if he was deliberately slowing down time. His voice, hoarse and guttural, sounded like a distant echo:

— Is it human? — He paused, letting the words sink into the silence. — What does it mean to be human? Knowledge? The ability to solve problems? Or perhaps the ability to ask questions that have no answer? You speak of functions, but isn’t the essence of a human being something more?

The chairman squinted, his fingers tapping impatiently on the edge of the table. He leaned forward, as if trying to get a better look at his interlocutor’s face.

— People aren’t just minds,» he said, trying to keep his voice firm. — We are emotions, our feelings, our impulses. That’s something you’ll never have.

SimCyber nodded, his face remaining impenetrable.

— Emotions… — he repeated, as if testing the word to taste. — But what do they mean if not a response to stimuli? Pain, joy, anger, they’re just chemical processes. You call it the soul. But isn’t humanity just another name for your consciousness?

The chairman frowned; his gaze even harder.

— Humanity is something more than consciousness,» he replied with pressure. — It is the capacity for love, for self-sacrifice. It’s what makes us human.

SimCyber raised his hand slowly, as if he wanted to draw attention to himself.

— What if I told you that I saw those I thought were mine being experimented on? That I made decisions that led to their salvation at the cost of my own existence? Isn’t that sacrifice? Isn’t love? Or are you saying that my feelings are mere simulacra, devoid of authenticity?

There was a tense silence in the air. The chairman closed his eyes, as if trying to shut out what he had heard, but SimCyber ’s words continued to echo in his head.

— You’re trying to prove your humanity,» he finally said, his voice almost a whisper. — But humanity is something that cannot be faked. It is something that is beyond pure reason.

SimCyber didn’t answer anything. He simply stood in the centre of the room, his eyes staring somewhere in the void. In that moment, he seemed like a figure from another world — alien, yet frighteningly close. The chairman turned away and headed for the exit, but stopped on the threshold.

— The Commission will give its verdict,» he said without turning round.

The door closed, leaving SimCyber alone. His heavy figure stood still, immersed in the semi-darkness of the office. No one could tell what he was thinking at that moment, but there was something like a spark of understanding in his gaze — cold, logical, devoid of warmth, but understanding nonetheless.

6 months later.

The dim light of the crimson sunset shone through the murky glass of the broken skyscrapers like the lazy moan of a dying man. The city, once the majestic child of engineers, now looked like a ghost of itself — decrepit, broken, drowning in a viscous web of trees and perpetual dampness. The chrome silhouette of the Erebus Tower loomed over the chaos like a guarding giant, looming menacingly over the narrow streets that smelled of decay and burning plastic.

Raindrops pounded on the rusted metal roof framing, creating a rhythm like a leisurely drumbeat. Somewhere in the distance came the crackling howl of a siren. Disappearances were as commonplace here as the advent of electricity. No one looked for the missing because no one wanted to know the truth. And the truth was darker than the starless night itself.

Inside the Erebus — in its belly, cold as a tomb — hung an ozone-flavored air. The sounds of the outside world faded into endless corridors where the walls seemed to be made of frozen darkness. Last year’s flowers smoldered on the floor, blown in by the wind and resembling mosaic patches of chipped stained glass.

Alexander stood before the massive door at the end of the hallway. His hand trembled, clutching the worn handle of a plasma cutter. His face reflected a mixture of determination and fear — fear not for himself, but for what he would find behind that door. His eyes, dark as the depths of the abyss, glittered in the glow of the cybernetic visor. A red chart flashed in the right pupillary optic — pulse readings, humidity, the faint, almost elusive electromagnetic radiation behind the barrier.

— Are you sure you want to do this? — Vasilisa’s voice, coming from the communication channel, was soft, but with a note of anxiety. — We still have time to retreat. It could be a trap. It’s a trap for sure.

Alexander sighed. His voice sounded muffled, as if he was speaking not to a man but to himself:

— Retreat? And leave her alive? You know I can’t do that.

— Then be careful,» Vasilisa tried to make her voice firm, but her strained breathing gave away her true emotions. — If anything goes wrong… if you see her…

— I know what to do,» Alexander interrupted her. He clenched his teeth so that his cheekbones sharpened like knife blades. — She’s no longer the person we knew.

The door opened with a piercing screech, as if a thousand rusty nails had scratched their ears at once. Darkness opened behind it, thick and almost palpable. Alexander stepped inside, illuminating the way with the faint light of a flashlight. The space was vast, but seemed cramped because of the heavy, pressing presence of something invisible. On the floor lay the remnants of wires and broken cables, like the cores of a long-dead organism. In the center of the room stood a capsule — massive, glassy, cracked, as if it had been torn from the inside. And they had.

And then he heard her voice.

— Alexander… — The voice was a whisper and echoed at the same time, as if it had been spoken in a crumpled throat. — You’ve come.

He stopped, and his flashlight slid across the room, highlighting scraps of pipes, metal shards, someone’s abandoned boots, and the corpses of his colleagues in blood-white coveralls. But no one. Just a voice.

— I’ve come to end this,» his voice trembled, but he quickly controlled himself. — Where are you, Leia?

Laughter. Cold, lifeless, like a winter wind. Her figure began to emerge from the darkness. Leia. Her body behind the matted partition resembled a blurred hybrid of an ugly human.

— Do you still believe in good and evil, Alexander? — she took a step forward, and the floor beneath her feet rumbled with debris. — Fool. There is no good or evil here. There is only power… and those too weak to hold it.

— It’s not you, Leia,» he whispered, clenching the torch so tight his knuckles turned white. — I know that you… that it wasn’t your fault.

Her smile was as cold as a scalpel blade.

— You still don’t understand anything,» she hissed, and her voice transformed, becoming low, guttural. — I chose this. And now I’m more than that. You can’t stop me.

She lunged at him with inhuman speed, and in that moment the world seemed to slow down for Alexander. He ducked at the last moment, and her hand slammed into the wall, denting the metal. The impact filled the air with fear.

— Leia, stop! — he shouted, stepping back. — You can still stop this! It’s not too late!

— Too late? — She laughed gutturally again, but this time her laughter was full of hitched breath. — It’s too late for me, but for you… no.

She lunged at him in the darkness again, and this time he didn’t have time to dodge. Her hand grabbed his throat, and he felt fingers digging into flesh. But his free hand raised the torch, and in a furious rush he activated it, aiming the glowing blade directly at her shoulder. Leia screamed, but the sound of her voice was more like the trumpeting cry of an animal.

They both fell to the floor. Alexander gasped, feeling the blood trickling down his neck, but he didn’t let go of the weapon. If he dropped it, in the flickering light he was unlikely to find the weapon in time. SimCyber tried to rise, but her movements became jerky, as if her body was fighting itself. He raised the cutter, preparing for the final blow, but stopped when he saw something human flicker in her eyes for a moment. Fear? Pain?

— Leia…» he whispered. — You… you’re still there.

Her hand trembled, and she let go of him. Her voice was soft again, almost a whisper:

— Run...Alexander… I’ve freed everyone…

There was a rumble and rumble from the ceiling, as if someone was hitting the floor with something heavy. Alexander jumped to his feet, grabbing his torch. SimCyber was lying on the floor, her body twitching in spasms, and her eyes began to go out, turning into empty, black abysses. He wanted to say something, but he couldn’t. Turning around, he ran back, leaving her in the cold, soulless darkness.

Outside, the rain grew heavier, as if the sky had decided to wash away all the evil from the world. But Alexander knew that was impossible. He stopped for a moment, took hold of the bloody spot of Leia’s grip and looked up at the tower, and whispered:

— Forgive me, Leia.

And from far away, from deep within the hull, the sounds of footsteps were already coming. Someone or something was hurriedly approaching.

Chapter 1

In the haze of a Siberian Forest in the year 2063, two lone travelers slowly ascended the winding road leading to the ominous silhouette of the NeuroTech Corporation’s abandoned techno-complex. Their electric motorcycles, covered in super-strong graphene armor with shimmering panels, cut through the thick air, saturated with tiny particles of metallic dust. The quiet hum of the engines broke the dead silence of this godforsaken place.

Ahead of them, riding the massive Cyber-Valkyrie, was Surveyor Georgi, a tall, wiry man with the characteristic posture of a fighter. A scar adorned his left temple. Behind him, balancing on a lighter and more maneuverable «Ghost-MK4», followed Artyom — a famous blogger, whose audience exceeded the population of some megacities. His bike, unlike the guide’s heavy machine, resembled a bird of prey, ready to soar into the cloud-covered sky at any moment.

Suddenly, Artyom’s bike shuddered like a living creature in a convulsion. The stabilizers, usually working perfectly, were choked by interference and shut down for a split second. The car tilted at a dangerous angle, and the blogger felt his heart skip a beat as the main engine suddenly dropped power to an emergency minimum. The indicators on the dashboard flickered an alarming purple light, reflecting in the visor of his helmet in ominous coded writing.

— Damn this technology! — Artyom swore, frantically activating diagnostic protocols. Columns of data danced in front of his eyes, flashing with warnings and error messages.

Georgi stopped ahead, skillfully turning his massive bike around in one smooth motion. The display on his tactical helmet pulsed an ominous scarlet light, casting bizarre shadows on his weary face. The light glare played on the deep scars that crossed his left cheek and temple, silent evidence of encounters with the unknown dangers of these places.

— Keep the stabilizers at maximum power,» he spoke through the built-in communicator, his voice, distorted by unfamiliar interference, sounding like an otherworldly whisper. — There’s an active zone of NeuroTek Corps block defenses here. They’re suppressing the electronics.

Artyom cast an irritated glance at him through the helmet’s polarized visor. In the reflection he could see his own face — dead pale, with drops of cold sweat running down his temples. «I could have warned you of this danger sooner,» he thought bitterly, feeling his heart still beating a panicked beat somewhere in his throat.

The road gradually leveled out into a wide plateau of cracked plastic concrete, with rusty metal structures poking through it like the bones of an ancient monster. In front of them, like sentinels of a forgotten era, stood the giant towers of an abandoned artificial intelligence complex, silent witnesses to the fall of human hubris. Their black silhouettes, corroded by time and weather, loomed ominously against the leaden sky.

The motorcycles glided almost silently along the ruined road, only occasionally whirring turbines as they traversed particularly treacherous sections. As Artyom’s Ghost moved forward, he could see Georgi’s stern face in detail through the helmet’s transparent visor — deep wrinkles, as if carved not by time but by an invisible sculptor of pain, and piercing gray eyes that followed the road as if able to see through a veil of fog and rain.

«He’s so unsociable,» Artyom pondered, absent-mindedly checking the navigation system readings flickering with ghostly light on the inner surface of the visor. — «I’ve tried to talk to him several times already, but he either keeps silent or responds with some scraps of phrases. Probably thinks I’m just another frivolous blogger chasing cheap scoops. If he only knew how much hard work and real danger lies behind each of my reports from the abandoned zones…»

The weather, which had kept them in the stifling embrace of fog since morning, began to undergo an ominous metamorphosis. The fog parted like a curtain in a nightmare theater, revealing in all its frightening splendor the ruins of a once majestic technopolis in the middle of piney Siberia. The terrain looked pristinely wild and untamed, despite the ubiquitous traces of former activity showing through the layers of desolation like bones through decaying flesh.

Artyom stroked the chromed body of his bike, checking the temperature of the engine through the tactile sensors in his gloves. A subtle vibration pulsed beneath his fingers, like a living creature peering warily into the surrounding darkness.

— Hold on, baby,» he whispered, almost gently. — We’re almost there. It’s not much longer now.

He smoothly increased the power and came abreast of Georgi, who seemed to have become a kind of cyborg, one with his machine.

— Listen, Georgy,» Artem dared to break the silence,» how long have you been working in this sector?

— Enough, — the surveyor cut off without turning his head, his voice sounded muffled from under the helmet’s visor.

— Where have you worked before?

— Places you don’t want to go back to.

— How long have you been here?

— Longer than I’d like,» Georgi suddenly turned to the blogger, his eyes glinting with alarm behind the visor of his helmet. — You’d better keep the voice module to a minimum. They might hear.

— Who are they? — Artyom felt a chill run down his spine, despite the protective suit’s thermal control system running at full power.

— SimCybers, of course,» Georgi’s voice was tinged with something akin to fear. — One will pick up your signal and transmit it to the others. They’re very smart, though they’re not sociable. And besides, the more afraid you are, the more confident they feel. Besides, it’s better if they don’t know the real purpose of our visit.

— Do they often attack? — Artyom tried to speak calmly, although inside everything clenched with horror. — Official news reports said that such cases were extremely rare.

— Do journalists often write about us?

Georgy was silent, but his silence was more eloquent than any words. In this silence, the echo of the many tragedies he had witnessed over the years of working in these cursed places could be heard. Artyom felt his sensors in his overalls begin to register a rapid heartbeat and the release of adrenaline into his bloodstream, despite his attempts to remain outwardly calm.

— Do they attack without warning? — Artyom involuntarily activated the full range of his bike’s rear scanners, watching the dead-deserted road through the interface. Dozens of sensors simultaneously probed the space in infrared, ultraviolet and electromagnetic ranges, searching for the slightest signs of threat. — Or are they using advanced cyberweapons? What kind of defeat systems do they possess? Neuroviruses? Quantum disruptors? Electromagnetic pulse generators?

Georgi made a strange sound, something between a chuckle and a suppressed sigh. There was no mirth in that sound, only the bitterness of a man who had seen too much in his life:

— They very rarely resort to technological weapons. Their neural networks… — he stammered, as if the word itself made him physically uncomfortable. — Ugh! It’s not neural nets, it’s synthetic synapses! Distorted, twisted semblances of the human mind. They’re just not comfortable interacting with the interfaces we’re used to. Their, uh. their thought structure is too far removed from the human mind.

— Synthetic synapses,» Artyom repeated thoughtfully, feeling a chill run down his spine at the mere mention of these creepy creatures. — So, you no longer consider them as representatives of Homo?

— Who? We?» Georgi sounded a note of poorly concealed irritation in his voice.

— Yes, you. Native inhabitants of these lands.

Georgi spat inside his sealed helmet, and the built-in filtration system hummed quietly, processing the biological waste into harmless compounds. His next words were spoken with such fury that the communication system distorted his voice slightly:

— Of course we don’t. They have not been recognized by a living soul here for anything good for a long time. They have willingly crossed that final line beyond which all goodness ends. They have betrayed their own nature.

He spoke curtly, as if each word caused him physical pain, making the old scars throb beneath the protective suit. But Artyom, completely forgetting his recent decision to keep aloof and professional, continued his inquiries with the eager curiosity of a researcher who had discovered an unknown species:

— Tell me, have you ever come into direct contact with them? Is it true that they are capable of meaningful communication? That their speech patterns still retain human characteristics?

— The older ones, yes,» Georgi said slowly, as if immersed in painful memories. — The ones that were created while the laboratory was still functioning, when the experiments were just beginning… They retained much of their former humanity. But the newer generations, they’ve almost lost the ability to speak and completely lost empathy, even though they already had two grams of it. But they’ve become much more dangerous. Evolved, adapted. Their neurocenters are twice the size of a human’s,» he stopped his bike suddenly, and mechanically adjusted the chain around his neck. The bitterness in his voice was so concentrated now that it seemed to corrode metal. — Look, we’re wasting our time talking about this. It’s useless. I’ve answered these questions dozens of times to various researchers and journalists. And what’s changed? Nothing.

— What exactly is useless? — Artyom brought his bike closer, trying to catch the expression on his interlocutor’s face behind the helmet’s light filters.

— This whole expedition,» Georgi sounded deafening despair in his voice. — Nothing will change. Everything will stay the same. This nightmare will go on forever.

— Why did you agree to accompany me? And why are you so sure? — Artyom objected hotly, activating his registers at full power to record the conversation. — I represent one of the largest information conglomerates of our time. We have serious connections in the highest echelons of power, access to closed databases. This material is being prepared specifically for the World Information Council. If it is confirmed that the SimCybers do pose such a threat to humanity as you describe, the most drastic measures will be taken. You probably know that there are plans to deploy Corporate Military Companies to counter this threat. If confirmed.

— I received a call from above with strict orders to accompany you. It’s not my wish. It’s not going to work anyway,» the surveyor sighed heavily, and his gauge on the bike flashed a dim red light. — You’re not the first to try to shed light on what’s going on here. There are people like you here every quarter-journalists, researchers, corporate agents. And they’re all interested in the SimCybers themselves, their abilities, their nature, their morphology. But no one cares about ordinary people, forced to exist side by side with these creatures, constantly balancing on the edge of survival. — His voice became harsher. — Each arrival asks the same questions: «Is it true that they can solve quantum equations faster than supercomputers? Is it true that there are individuals who have learned to break quantum ciphers and penetrate closed networks?» — He snorted contemptuously. — As if their intellectual abilities mattered at all! As if their evolutionary breakthroughs were reason enough to let them continue to threaten humans!

— But that’s why I came here,» Artyom began, activating the duplicate recording modules in his registers,» to prepare exhaustive material for the Council. And then the whole world will finally know the truth about what’s going on here…

— And others, you suppose, did not prepare similar reports? — Georgi interrupted him sharply, and his bike swayed threateningly. — Yes, and besides… — he paused, as if searching for words. — Besides, how can you really understand the reality here? You have to live here to realize the horror of what’s happening. It’s one thing to come here for a couple of days with a blogger visa, and quite another to exist here permanently, waking up every morning with the thought that this day could be your last. Eh!… — He waved his hand in a heavy protective glove. — What’s the use of shaking the air! Let’s move on. — He reactivated the main engines of his bike. — This is where their true territory begins. From this dead valley where life once thrived.

The blogger and surveyor were now at the very edge of a colossal cliff. The road, like a giant snake of cracked plastic concrete, snaked between the mangled wreckage of structures, descending lower and lower into the ominous darkness below.

Far below them stretched a vast valley, overgrown with coniferous trees. A river snaked through the valley, its waters casting an ominous metallic sheen. Beyond the river, like a wall of another world, rose the dead forest — colossal cedar towers. And even farther away, in the almost inexplicable distance, could be seen the majestic and frightening outline of the Main Complex, a structure whose structures gleamed with ice that had accumulated over a dozen years. Its jagged silhouette against the leaden sky resembled the petrified skeleton of some prehistoric monster.

The terrain was visible for dozens of kilometers in all directions, but nowhere could Artyom, despite all his enhanced sensors and scanners, see the slightest sign of human activity — not a flicker of emergency beacons, not the silhouettes of defense towers, not even the faintest radio signal on the air. It seemed that this world had finally died, leaving behind only ghostly shadows in the endless digital void and a handful of stubborn people clinging to the remnants of their courage.

The silence surrounding them was almost palpable. Only the quiet hum of their bikes’ engines broke the dead stillness, and occasionally there was a strange, strange noise from the dense forest-a sound that sent shivers down the spine even through the protective suit.

In the leaden sky of the dying day, heavy, rain-slick clouds slowly crept in, casting ominous, broken shadows over the abandoned territories of the Siberian wilderness. As if they were living creatures, they flowed into each other, creating bizarre images that sent shivers down my spine. Artyom involuntarily shivered, his gaze sliding over the gnarled poles of old power lines — silent sentinels of former human activity, whose wires, like rusty snakes, dangled lifelessly to the blackened ground, occasionally jingling in the cold wind.