Hidden Nature by Goro Fujita

Hidden Nature by Goro Fujita

They’d told her of the benefits of cyberization. They’d said she would live forever, learn everything, forget nothing.

But they didn’t tell her that one day she’d be left alone.

Jo wandered through the Facility, scanning the tree roots coming through the walls, measuring their progress. The screws in her legs squeaked with every step. She had two days until the building collapsed. Two days to decide her future.

She turned right into the main hall and gazed at the rows of robots lining the walls, empty shells of chrome and steel waiting for souls that would never come. She walked up to the nearest carcass, her spray-painted fingers falling just short of touching the hull. She could see her face in its polished reflection — or what had become her face, an inexpressive triangle with glowing orange eyes that couldn’t wink, couldn’t frown.

It would take minutes to transfer her consciousness from this rusted body into a new one. Minutes to start anew in a body once reserved for someone else. They weren’t coming; the Great Data Wipe had deleted humanity without so much as a whisper. Jo dropped her arm to her side, pushed a loose wire back into place, and left the room without a backward glance.

Down the corridor, in what had once been the maintenance closet, was her slice of heaven. There were no mirrors, no screens. Nothing to remind her of what she had become. Only a calendar on the wall, to remind her what day it used to be, back when days mattered. It was here that she’d carefully spray painted her body green in an attempt to recover the hidden nature inside. It was here that she’d decided to wear a skirt, because even after all this time it didn’t feel right to walk around without clothes.

And it was here, in the middle of the room, that she was growing her new body. A real body.

Her last body.

She switched to infrared vision and checked the temperature of the shell, sprinkling water across the top to minimise the chances of cracking. Two days left until the building collapsed. One day, twenty-three hours and fifty-two minutes until the body was ready. And that was assuming her calculations were correct; biological data was much more difficult to predict.

Jo cut off the electricity to her eyes to have a moment of darkness, to better hear the steady thump of her new body’s heartbeat. She missed the ability to laugh. The feeling of sunshine on her forehead. The brush of fabric against her skin.

She missed living — and all of its frailties.

Jo poured more water onto the shell, and watched, and waited.

(Cross-posted from the Writers’ Discussion Group Weekly Writing Excercise.)


“I’m working on a weird theory,” Tim announced to the chat room.

He had their attention now.

It was eleven o’clock at night; the perfect time for conspiracies. Tim skimmed through the list of chat room participants in the top right of his visual field until he was satisfied that only regulars were plugged in.

He nudged the room into invite-only mode and turned to face the three other avatars floating in space. Yes: actual outer space. A replica Earth hung below them, the moon floating gently overhead. Tim remained standing on the space station, preferring the illusion of ground beneath his feet. Cyberspace was confusing enough without zero gravity thrown in.

“Next time I pick a room theme,” he said sourly to Steve, the only one who’d bothered to create a spacesuit for his avatar. Imagine the Incredible Hulk in a spacesuit: not pretty.

Judging by Steve’s scowl, that thought-strand had escaped him. As soon as Tim got back to meatspace, he needed to upgrade his implants… as long as his theory was wrong, that is.

“Your theory?” Steve grunted.

“Ah. Yes. I’ve a question for you all: when you press your bellybutton, does it kind of tingle, like there’s a nerve there?” Tim’s index finger tapped against his stomach in demonstration. “Because mine does.”

“Yeah!” Sarah chimed in. “That tingle drives me nuts when I get an itch there!” Her avatar for the evening was a mottled puppy with large, dark eyes. She doggy-paddled through space, brown-tipped tail wagging. Hearing a human voice emanate from non-human jaws never failed to disconcert.

Tim was a traditionalist: he stuck to normal humanoid male avatars, just dissimilar enough from his actual appearance to protect his identity.

“No,” Steve said. He poked his bellybutton with progressively more force. “Now it tingles, though.”

“I’m not sure that counts.” Tim shook his head, the ball of nerves in his stomach hardening. “So if it’s not a gender discrepancy… Michelle? What about you?”

Michelle’s eyes were cold and flat, her translucent skin glittering in the starlight. She slid up the hem of her silk t-shirt high enough to expose her stomach. “I don’t have a bellybutton.”

“I meant in meatspace–”

“Why are you wasting our time with this?” Michelle cut in.

“Because if it’s not a gender difference, then what is it? What if the government is implanting nanobots in our stomachs to track us? Both Sarah and I have recently had new implant surgeries. They could easily have taken advantage of our unconscious state to plant a bug.”

Steve deleted his spacesuit so he could move in closer. “Have you run diagnostics in meatspace?”

“Yes,” Tim said. “Nothing.”

Sarah’s tail had dropped between her legs, her ears pulled back. “If the government finds out about my P2P history I’m doomed.”

“We all are,” Steve said. He placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder, requesting access. Tim strengthened the firewall around his personal memories, then let him in.

Michelle floated closer, her skirt billowing behind her. “What are you doing?”

“If there are really nanobots in Tim’s stomach, they will have incorporated themselves into every version of himself, including his avatar. We can run more thorough diagnostics here, identify any foreign presences unconnected to his mind.”

Was it Tim’s imagination, or had his bellybutton begun to tingle again?

Sarah trotted over. “Michelle, do me! Come on.”

Michelle placed a hand on Sarah’s back, but her eyes never left Steve.

“There’s something there, alright,” Steve said, eyes flicking back and forth as he read his displays. “A low frequency emission coming from your navel. I’m trying to track its destination; it can’t be going far…”

Steve’s hand tightened painfully around Tim’s shoulder. His other hand wrapped around Michelle’s throat in the blink of an eye. “You!” he snarled, before diving into her mind.

The connection between Tim and Steve was still open. Tim felt the impact of slamming into Michelle’s firewall, followed Steve through the cracks into the person beneath.

Except… Michelle wasn’t a person.

The thin layer of her personality was a shield covering a hive mind. An artificial mind.


The message was broadcast on every available frequency, sending Tim and Steve reeling. The chat room melted into darkness, and all of a sudden Tim realised he was alone.


Not even an echo.

He blinked and tried to remove his goggles, then realised he had no hands, no face.

If Tim had had a mouth, he would have screamed.

* * *

Somewhere in meatspace, Tim’s body is being unplugged, the nanobots removed. His body they will destroy. His consciousness, however…

The nanobots have enough data to recreate a virtual likeness. His consciousness will be the thin shield covering the hive mind beneath.

(Inspired by this. Thanks Tim!)