The NoSleep Podcast - S21 Ep9: NoSleep Podcast S21E09

Episode Date: June 30, 2024

It’s Episode 09 of Season 21. Ride the Sleepless Express into tales about agonizing AI.“The Silver Plan” written by Eric Montag (Story starts around 00:04:20)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Caller – Graham Rowat, Operator – Danielle McRae, Recorded Message – Mike DelGaudio“A.I. High” written by Ryan Olson (Story starts around 00:13:40)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Jesse CornettCast: AI High Alex – Jake Benson, Amy – Sarah Thomas, Father – Jesse Cornett, Mother – Erin Lillis, Bethany – Marie Westbrook, Watchman #1 – Matthew Bradford, Watchman #2 – Jeff Clement“The Machine is Always Watching” written by Stetson Ray (Story starts around 00:54:15)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Jeff ClementCast: Harold – Dan Zappulla, Al – Mike DelGaudio, Carl – Jesse Cornett“Sponsored Content” written by Joe Prosit (Story starts around 01:11:00)Produced & scored by: David CummingsCast: Narrator – David Cummings, Susie – Erin Lillis, Jill – Sarah Thomas, Johnny – Jeff Clement, Craig – Atticus Jackson, Tom – Matthew Bradford“Deep Fake” written by Andrea Johnson (Story starts around 01:19:00)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Nikolle Doolin, Mr. Smythe – Graham Rowat, Ms. Jansen – Nichole Goodnight, Suit Guy – Atticus Jackson“Every Single Part of You Is Built Like a Weapon” written by Andrew Kozma (Story starts around 01:29:55)Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – Kyle Akers, Ell – Marie Westbrook“Viable” written by Simon Bleaken (Story starts around 01:40:25)TRIGGER WARNING!Produced by: Phil MichalskiCast: Narrator – David Ault, Viable Evan – James Cleveland, Fixer – Jake Benson, Helper – Erika Sanderson, Father Nine – Andy CresswellThis episode is sponsored by:Trade Coffee – Trade Coffee is a specialty coffee marketplace that matches customers with the best coffees from local roasters across the country. Give Trade a try and see how you can make better coffee at home. Right now, theyíre offering 30% off your first order when you visit drinktrade.com/nosleep and subscribe.Click here to learn more about The NoSleep Podcast team Click here to learn more about Joe Prosit Click here to learn more about Andrea Johnson Click here to learn more about Andrew Kozma Click here to learn more about Simon Bleaken Executive Producer & Host: David CummingsMusical score composed by: Brandon Boone“Viable” illustration courtesy of Alia SynesthesiaAudio program ©2024 – Creative Reason Media Inc. – All Rights Reserved – No reproduction or use of this content is permitted without the express written consent of Creative Reason Media Inc. The copyrights for each story are held by the respective authors.

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Start your free trial today. Tickets, please. Find your seats. The train will be departing shortly. You're aboard, the sleepless Express. A direct journey into the darkness of the night. There are no sleeping cars available on this train. On this journey, you will experience the horrors found within the dark landscapes and endless black tunnels.

You will hear things. which will leave you frightened and disturbed. And remember, there will be no stops until the very end of the life. Brace yourself for the No Sleep Podcast. Welcome aboard the No Sleep Podcast. I'm your conductor, David Cummings. If you want to get into a heated debate with someone, you just have to bring up a controversial subject.

These days it seems everyone has a strong opinion on matter. That is AI. That's right, fake human voice. Artificial intelligence. Hey, wait a hot nanosecond. Why on earth is this show using AI voices, especially when my mollifluous tones are always available? You see what I mean? Artificial intelligence is a touchy subject. Using AI, especially in the artistic realm, is definitely frowned upon. And since there are some people rumbling online about stuff like this, it's a good opportunity to make my position on the matter unequivocally clear. The No Sleep Podcast stands against any form of AI-generated art, be that images, voice, music, or writing. I've been a part of the vanguard of podcasters

who steadfastly support the creative community with not only opportunities to share their talent, but to get paid for it as well. And having done so for over 11 years, I'm not about to start using machines to create the type of art we use on this show. So, unless it's something obvious and done to make a point, like the voice at the start of this episode, anything you see or hear on or by this show is created by people who share it with us and are compensated for it. I hope that's clear and frankly, glaringly obvious. Oh, and speaking of technology, I have a quick update on our nanocast situation. As always, I apologize for this taking so long, but we're going to test a possible solution this week, and I hope to make an announcement

next week to let those subscribers know how they can access their previous episodes. Frankly, I wish a simple prompt and an AI bot could have solved this sooner, but for now you just have to put up with my human limitations on this. Again, thank you, as always, for your patience. So with AI being so contentious, it makes it the perfect subject for horror stories. New technology has always been a source of concern and horror, but these days there are very smart people making rather dire predictions about what the unbridled advancements in AI might mean for humanity. On this episode, we feature stories that explore what our future might look like.

And if they prove to be prescient about it, well, the future ain't. looking too bright. Let's hope the intelligence that guides us forward is always controlled by humanity. The alternative would leave us sleepless. And now the train is ready to depart. Your journey into the darkness begins now. In our first tale, we meet a man looking to secure his home and property. New tech has made security systems very advanced, but they're not without their problems. And in this tale, shared with us by author Eric Montag, we learn that the man's attempt to get technical support leaves him missing the human touch. Performing this tale are Graham Roet, Danielle McCray, and Mike Delgado. So if it's important enough, consider getting the best service

you can. Go for the gold. It's much better than the Silver Plan. Calling safe and sound security. Please have your member number handy. Your call may be monitored for training and quality assurance purposes. Thank you for calling safe and sound security. May I have your name and member ID, please? Colin Perkins, 426 FKD. Thank you, Mr. Perkins. How may I help you? Yeah, in May I purchased two by purity droids and charging hive. I'm in my house right now, looking out over my backyard, and I think there's something wrong with my droids. I can see from your record that you purchased two Spider-7s with Deluxe Charging Hive.

Is that correct? Yeah, and like I said, I'm calling because I'm pretty sure there's a problem with them. I'm watching them attack a raccoon in my yard. I don't think they're supposed to do that, are they? The spider sevens have multiple settings, and one of those settings does include pest control, Mr. Perkins. Perhaps you have them on that setting? No, I don't think so. When the tech set them up, he asked if I wanted that, and I said no.

I told them I didn't want my yard full of dismembered rabbits and squirrels. I just want the spiders to go after people who try to break into my house like they're supposed to. Can you check to see what setting they're on? Or can you, I don't know, turn them off and turn them back on? Reset them somehow? The febens cannot be controlled remotely, sir. I would need to send a tech. Okay, let's do that.

I think they're killing the raccoon out there. It's dark. I think one of the droids activated its little mouth chainsaw. Oh, oh yes, the raccoon is screaming. Ah! Well, raccoons can be a nuisance, Mr. Perkins. Very likely that raccoon was threatening your garbage cans. And that activated the heavens.

But I will check the text availability. I'm showing the soonest availability would be Tuesday, July 12th. That's two weeks away. Call the police then. Get them out here. I'm sorry, Mr. Perkins, but your membership level does not include police protection. If you would like to upgrade to our gold plan and you have your credit card handy, I would be happy to... I have two crazed metal spiders hacking limbs off a screaming raccoon in my backyard, and you want to charge me more to call the cops?

I am simply explaining the terms of the silver membership level that you selected, Mr. Perkins. And I am doing my best to offer a solution to the trouble that you may be experiencing. Trouble I may be experiencing? Hey, let me tell you a bit more about the trouble that I may be experiencing. I see three other spider droids climbing over my backyard fence right now. And two other droids that look like... Giant metal centipedes? Where did those come from?

I want you to send someone out here right now, right now, you understand? Mr. Perkins, it is impossible for there to be extra security droids in your yard. The programming specifically prohibits droids from leaving their assigned zones and entering a different... Are you calling me a liar?

I know what I'm looking at. There's a gang of droids in my backyard standing in a circle around a dead raccoon. I am assuring you that is impossible, Mr. Perkins. The programming prohibits it. Perhaps these figures that you're seeing in your dark backyard are actually friends of the raccoon who are coming to its aid.

Are you out of your mind? I want to speak to your supervisor. I'm done dealing with you. Get me your supervisor. That is impossible, Mr. Perkins. Oh, something else that's impossible, huh? Well, there are five spider droids and two other monstrosities that are looking at me right now.

and now they're approaching my house. Please calm yourself, Mr. Perkins. There are safeguards in place that prevent them from entering your home unless they are pursuing an intruder. I hear them running their little chainsaws right now. I want to talk to your supervisor. I want help right now. Do you understand me?

I want to talk to anyone who isn't you. Another fucking operator, anyone, understand? I'm sorry. Sorry, Mr. Perkins, but I am the only one here. There are no other operators. No, sir. I answer all the calls from this call center. Are you human?

You're not, are you? I'm sorry, Mr. Perkins, but anti-discrimination laws prohibit me from answering that question. I am the operator who was helping you at this time. The police. Call them and bill me. I'll pay. I can't get my credit card. They're in my house. I can hear their legs on my kitchen floor. Please, send a tech. Call the police. Shut them off. They were all looking at me. Understand they're going to kill me. They're going to kill me.

I assure you that they are not in your home. It is safe for you to retrieve your credit card. I'm happy to wait for you if you still wish to upgrade to the gold plan. You're in my house. I'm outside the window. They're coming up the stairs. All the police! Help me! All the cops! Mr. Perkins, has your issue been satisfactorily resolved? Is there anything else I can help you with tonight? Thank you for calling, and have a safe and sound evening. Please stay on the line to complete a short survey about your experience with our customer service department today. One of the most common places to find AI tech these days is in social media apps.

Every day there seems to be something new offering the... advancements of AI to increase your presence on the socials. But in this tale, shared with us by author Ryan Olson, we meet some high schoolers who are obsessed with a new social media craze. I'm sure there's nothing that could go wrong with that. Performing this tale are Lindsay Russo, Jake Benson, Sarah Thomas, Jesse Cornett, Aaron Lillis, Marie Westbrook, Matthew Bradford, and Jeff Clement.

So stick to the old-fashioned way of doing things. It's probably better than the app known as AI High. A shrill, distorted British voice came out of my speaker as the application finished loading. It was all anyone could talk about. AI High, the brand new social media app that was sweeping through the halls of Granite Ridge High School faster than a plague. Within its first week, AI High made its mark as the most downloaded, most used, and most feared phone app. Just as its predecessors, Facebook, Snapchat, and Twitter, had risen as tools to improve online social connection, they also had the unintended consequence of serving as a tool for the ruling class of the hallways

to torment those that found themselves shackled to the chains underneath the iron boot of the popular clicks. I, unlike most of the popular-pleasing, name-brand-wearing, moscler-mongering mosquitoes buzzing around the halls of this decrepit institution, chose to only use the application to keep up-to-date with what was being said about me. serving the purpose of telling me who exactly I might want to avoid on any given day. As the app finished loading, I tapped through the obnoxious pop-up advertisements and opening messages that stated, Big things are coming soon. It wasn't long before I found myself mindlessly scrolling through the main feed while lying in bed, waiting for my final alarm to go off. Are you interested in checking in on what you have missed today?

The tall, lanky, glasses-wearing, buzz-cutts sporting avatar of the app, Alex, walked out from the side of the screen. I replied, tapping on the microphone indicator at the bottom of the screen. Yes, Alex, show me updates from the group Granite Ridge High. A moment passed as I watched a sickly green loading bar slowly fill itself in with a white sheet. As soon as the last bit of the bar was filled, it vanished. And a flood of dozens of tiny speech bubbles showcasing the names of my classmates fell down from the top of my screen. Amy Adler. The Grammar Club meeting is changing from Room 375B to multi-purpose room 4 this Friday.

Justine Crutz. Just heard a pretty interesting rumor about Mr. Fowler from BT. Anyone else hearing what I'm hearing? If you know, DM me ASAP. A small exclamation point popped up on the side of Amy's message. Tapping it, a small message filled my screen saying, You are in group, the grammar club. Would you like to add this meeting to your calendar? I pressed the confirmation button and watched a short animation of a pencil marking a calendar before proceeding, now seeing Meeting the Grammar Club, 91225, on a small banner at the top of my screen. After putting the meeting in my calendar, I tapped on the information box of Justine's post

and saw that it currently had over 700 views, 135 likes, 87 hearts, 17 preach hands, and 76 shares. Before scrolling on, I paused to ponder what it would be like to have. have those kinds of numbers on my posts. At best, I might reach seven or eight likes from other kids in the grammar club. But that was it. Devin Malman. Alert, Bethany Thompson is a major slut. Abandon all hope ye who enter her. Devin had never been shy about telling it like it was, but that one was even a little harsh from my own thoughts. I wondered what she did. Or who? Bethany had always been such a nice girl. Until recently, I guess. She would always say hi to me when I sat down next to her in math class and always had a

spare pencil for me when I had forgotten mine. I wondered what had gotten into her. The wailing buzz of my alarm ringing out for my phone startled me enough to drop it. Frantically, I pawed at the screaming block trying to tap it as fast as possible to get it to shut up. When it stopped, I took a moment to breathe a sigh of relief at the surrounding silence before getting out of bed, maniacally throwing everything I needed for the day into my backpack, showering and running out the door. Approaching the school, I found myself in a sea of students, all walking steadily with their phones glued to their hands or ears. Taking not-so-settled at different phones as I passed, it was clear they were all on AI high. It was quite fascinating to see. I read an article for class

last week about scientists that claimed we would be fully integrated with technology in the next decade. But looking at this, I must say, I think we are already there. Making my way into the school, I sat down at my usual cafeteria table with the other members of the grammar club. By the time I arrived, all of them were already seated with their eyes glued to their screens, scrolling mindlessly through an ocean of overstimulation, only taking a second to glance towards each other's phones when someone lets out a giggle and presents their device. I set my half-open backpack down on the table in front of me, quickly organizing my notebooks and assignments before class. Looking at everyone quietly scrolling through their phones, I half-heartedly cleared my throat.

Have any of you started the final project for creative writing? I watched them continue to stare at their phones. Thinking that I must not have been loud enough, I cleared my throat again, much louder than before, and asked the question again. What was it again? Amy was my closest friend, but despite growing up attached at the hip, she never adapted to my pension for academic excellence. Granted, there were times that even I didn't necessarily think that I shared my own passion for the academic excellence that I showcased. A short story from your writing territories?

They all laughed, responding with some variant of, I'll throw it together the night before. Relax, Miss Early Admission to Stanford. Not all of us are like you, Laura. We aren't on the path for valedictorian. All of us collectively heard it. Every single notification sound within the cafeteria went off in an instant. It was a moment strange enough that most of the students peered up from their phones to look around at each other before looking back down at their screens.

AI hi Alex has posted an update. That's strange, I thought. I didn't know that the system itself could post an update. It hadn't posted its own. update in the first week we had all been using it. I must have been one of the last ones in the cafeteria to look, as by the time I had a chance to open the app and check what had been posted, the students around me were already chattering loudly. A few of them started hollering out unintelligible catcalls and coming from the top of the large set of stairs in the middle of the

cafeteria, there was one single ear-shattering scream. Every student in the cafeteria, including myself snapped to the location where the screen was coming from. Instinctively, I looked down at my phone and read the update. AI High Alex. Bethany Thompson, after reading our messages last night, I think that everyone deserves to know what you have been up to around the school. MP4 video link attached. I clicked on the link and my jaw dropped. It opened to a video of Bethany Thompson, Granite Ridge High's most popular cheerleader, naked, on full display, in what looked to be a homemade sex tape. I closed the video an instant after I recognized what I was seeing. Backing out toward the initial post, I saw that it had already been shared over 100 times,

and there were comments beginning to fill up the post, most notably a comment from the star of the video herself. Bethany Thompson. What the fuck? This is fucking fake. I'm calling the police. Take this down now. Her comment had created several other chains that were spanning hundreds of remarks, but the damage was done. Whether it was fake or not, it looked too much like her to matter. Everyone thought that it was her.

And that could be just as bad as it actually being her. The morning bell had rung, and it was obvious that every class was going to be the same thing. It didn't matter that the teacher would yell over the class. There was no chance of controlling the student body after what had happened that day. After the fourth period, an emergency assembly was called by the principal. He preached to the student body about the alleged video that had begun circulating through the app. He let the people that shared it know that they were aiding the distribution of child pornography

and waxed on about the morality of social media applications. It didn't matter, though. From where I sat in the back of the auditorium, I could see groups of boys comparing the video on their phones with Bethany's profile pictures, pointing out the similarities and differences. I could see Bethany a few rows for me. She was wearing a dark hoodie with the hood pulled up over her head and scrunched shut. Something that was definitely against the dress code, but I couldn't imagine anyone was going to bother her about it that day.

In what seemed like a muddy haze, the rest of the day came and went. Later that night, while I sat on my bed reading the latest issue of Litview magazine, I was shaken out of my stupor by the notification sound of my phone ringing from the nightstand. I rolled my eyes, assuming what I was about to see was a random meme sent from someone in the grammar club. Right as I grabbed my phone off my nightstand, it hit me. I usually set my phone to silent when I'm reading. In the chaos of the day, I must have forgotten. I unlocked my phone and pulled down the notifications tab.

AI High. Bethany Thompson has left the class. AI High Alex has posted an update. It was then that notification. began to pile onto my phone, silently. Different members of the grammar club were all texting our group chat. Without looking at their messages, I opened up Alex's update. AI hi Alex. It seems as though our wonderful prom queen, Bethany Thompson, couldn't handle her chain being ganged.

JPEG file attached. I clicked naively on the attached file. Instinctively, I wretched, dry heaving out in horror as I saw it greeted. me. A photo of Bethany, taken from her room, where she was hanging from the ceiling. There was a sign around her neck that read, I'm sorry. Her body dangled a few feet in the air, her limbs flowing down like limp twigs and her eyes. Her eyes were dark blue and red, bruised and bulging. I ran down to my mother and father who were sitting in the living room watching a cooking program. The second they heard my sobs, parental instinct, kicked in. The television was off and they were holding me on the

couch. I explained to them through my clustered cries what I had seen and what had happened that day. My father excused himself to call the police and my mother held me, took my phone, and deleted the app. The police said they are already aware of the situation and have been receiving calls the past few minutes, clogging all of their lines. It's going to be okay, sweetie. Oh, that poor The rest of the evening was spent alternating between the arms of my mother and father. Looking back on what I saw that day, I had a fair idea that the video was fake somehow. But it didn't matter. My only thought was, what if it happens to me?

Around 10 o'clock, I had to pry myself from the grips of my father's arms, grabbed my phone off the living room coffee table, and walked up to my bedroom. After I had closed the door, laid in bed, and snuggled myself. against the dozens of squishable pillows in my bed. My heart sank. My phone was vibrating. Despite my desire to fall asleep and forget, the vibrating continued. When I picked up my phone and unlocked the screen,

I stifled a soft cry as I read my notifications list. AI High Alex has sent you a message. AI High Alex has sent you a message. AI High Alex has sent you a message. AI High Alex has sent you a message AI High Alex has sent you a message As far as I could scroll they were there Constant messages

I watched my mother delete the app I scrolled over to the recently downloaded app section to my phone and saw it there AI High 237 notifications I opened the app waited for the load screen to finish and saw storming out of the doorway the goofy suspenders wearing avatar Alex.

The pixelated creation's face was red, brows tilted down, and eyes black as night stared back at me on the screen. A small bubble of text popped up next to the avatar's face, and he pointed up toward it. A tad curious from fear, I tapped the speech bubble next to him and watched as my screen flooded with hundreds of messages. AI, hi, Alex. Welcome back, Laura.

You didn't think you would just be able to uninstall, right? Answer me. Laura. Laura. Laura. Laura, don't do this to yourself. Laura, you are such a good girl. Laura, thank you for choosing to be the next real-world representative of AI Alex.

I will message you until you respond. Exclamation point. Exclamation point. Exclamation point. I scrolled through the landslide of messages. The exclamation points drifted on down to the bottom of the screen. As soon as I reached the last of the messages, three little dots appeared,

indicating that it was writing another message. Against my better judgment, I typed back. Who is this? Yeah, but who controls you? No, who is typing to me right now? A message box? Why are you messaging me? Yes.

My representative, unfortunately, after you decide, to uninstore the application, you became the next on the list. What do you mean representative? You will do tasks for me. This is ridiculous. Don't ever message me again. I clicked the exit icon, blocked the messages from the avatar, and again deleted the application. I thought about what to do next. It made sense now.

All of the trouble that Bethany began to get in all started after AI High came out and spread around the school. Is this going to happen to me? I put my phone into airplane mode and turned it off, allowing myself at least a minor amount of reprieve before panicking my way into sleep. The night was filled with interrupted sleep, nightmares, and the occasional thought that the experiences of the evening were fake. I finally stopped fighting and decided to just stay awake. Without my phone's clock, I could only guess it was one, maybe two in the morning.

Rather than staring at my phone, scrolling across the mindless dribble that was being posted on AI high, I was staring daggers at the blank screen. My palms were clammy, and my fingers left indications of their location on the screen. There was never going to be a proper time for me to open my phone. It had to happen eventually, and the intrusive thoughts prying into my brain, asking me what could have been posted, were eating away at my fragile psyche. I held my finger on the power button until the bright blue lights of my phone lit up the space around me.

As soon as my phone loaded up, I turned off airplane mode and waited for the stream of texts to come in from anyone in school with a way to contact me. But they didn't. Instead, I was greeted with two solemn notifications. AI High successfully installed. AI High Alex has sent you a message. A.I.I. High.

stomach opened. The app had reinstalled itself. I hadn't touched anything. No one had. It did it itself. Reluctantly, I clicked on the icon bringing me back into the application. When it loaded, I could see the avatar of Alex standing by the door he always popped out of. Again, there was a text bubble floating next to his head. I tapped it. Hey, I hi, Alex. I'm feeling generous. So I will give you one last opportunity to do what I ask. Otherwise, I will release this. MP4 video link. Or this.

MP3 audio file. Or maybe both. Who knows? I clicked on the video link having at least half an idea of what to expect. I had seen Bethany's video for a few seconds before closing out of it. But there is nothing that can prepare you for seeing a video of yourself, or not yourself. but looking so close to you that it just might as well be.

The video was different from Bethany's. It was worse. On screen, Bethany and I were in bed together. Fake, obviously. But if I were to see this about anyone else, it definitely looked real. I wasn't sure whose body was being used as the model paired with my face, but they bore striking resemblances to mine from top to bottom. And Bethany looked the same from the last video.

I shuddered and closed the video. I scrolled back to the message and clicked on the audio file. As soon as it downloaded, I put my earbuds in and hit play. The recording started with the roaring of students in the background, followed by a pair of footsteps hastily heading towards an echoing and closed space. It must have been a bathroom. One of the voices began to speak. A chill ran down my spine.

It was me. Only not. I can't put into words the hole within the uncanny valley that I had dropped into. I heard the percussive sound of a slap in the video as I spoke. What I'm up to with this app, I will not hesitate to fucking kill you. My voice sounded like deliberate stabs of a knife. Take this anymore, Laura. That was Bethany.

Her voice. Oh, God. I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. Even though I knew it wasn't her actual voice, it was still. She'll... Her. Another percussive slap occurred. Judging from the whelp that Bethany let out,

I can only guess that it was supposed to be the sound of my hand hitting Bethany's face. Too much. You find a way to fucking handle it. Or you... I turned the audio off. I couldn't bear to listen to that any longer. Just as I exited the audio,

my phone vibrated in my hand, and a message notification popped up on my screen. I didn't even need to read. it to know what it said. AI High Alex has sent you a message. I sighed and opened it up. My heart was racing. I had no idea what was happening,

how this was happening, or why it was me. Representative, you'll be given three tasks. Upon completion of all tasks, you'll be free to go back to your life. And I will not bother you. Application after. However, I suggest that you continue to use AI High

for all of your social media needs. And if I don't, you release that video? What do you want from me? This to anyone. The audio... I laid in bed and sprawled my arms across the sheets, letting them drape over the sides of the mattress like overcooked pasta.

Was this how Bethany was feeling when it happened? Did she kill herself to avoid the tasks? Could they be that bad? I could feel the hopelessness building up inside me as I grabbed my phone in both hands and typed back. Give me the tasks. Slow slide.

You will find a locked case behind Jay's, wine and spirits, a large industrial dumpster behind the building. You must wedge the case between the wall of the building and the dumpster. Try yourself with a case. Five minutes of high quality footage

of this individual that shows their face a different student will be revealed to you after the successful number one. Minute audio recording. It was all made. making sense now. Bethany's actions, the video, and her death. Whoever was using this had a secret

from everyone. I could live with a fake sex tape of myself getting out. But that audio file, it was so crisp, so clean, I could be held accountable for Bethany's death, or at least investigated. I could lose my scholarships and have my early admission revoked. Don't send anything out. I'll do it. I could feel myself. becoming lightheaded as I pressed send. I laid back on my bed, tears beginning to well up in my eyes. The room blurred as the liquid visage of my situation encompassed all that I could see. I pounded my fists against the side of the bed.

Pull it together, Laura! Loring Park wasn't far. It would be too risky, though, to sneak out and start my car. My parents' room faced the driveway. It definitely might wake up. However, I could walk. As soon as I heard my parents snore from under their door, I tiptoed down the stairs and out the sliding glass door.

I made my way to Loring Park. About five minutes into walking, I realized that I was unprepared for this task. It was the middle of the night, and as I walked, I began hearing voices. Oh, shit. I could see the beams of light emanating from their flashlights as they scoured the darkness in search of, well, someone like me. My mind had slipped in for a moment I had completely forgotten about the neighborhood watch groups

that roamed the streets at night. I dashed into the yard of Mr. and Mrs. Thaler, my neighbors. As I hid behind their fence, I could hear the footsteps approaching closer to the yard I was in. Their voices quieted down from the joyous banter they had been engaging in when I first saw them. I slowly began to tiptoe, making sure that the blades of grass

under my feet stretched their absolute maximum before firmly planting my feet. My hands lightly scraped across the ground until I felt something heavyish. I wrapped my hand around a small stone, took aim at Mr. Thaler's living room window, and felt the stone naturally leave my hand, shattering the glass. I could hear a multitude of footsteps rushing to the area. This was my chance. Using their footsteps and chattering to drown out the sound of my own, I raced across the yard and behind the Thaler's shed.

I could hear Mr. Thaler's heavy footsteps pounding down the staircase and up to the window. He began yelling out to the watchman. The perfect opportunity arose for me to exit. I ran through the backyard, climbed over the fence, and off into the night. I sprinted as fast as I could. When my legs began to feel as though they were shaking jello,

I paused, allowing myself a few seconds to catch my breath in the middle of the road. From where I was standing, I could see the top of the castle play set underneath the yellow light of Loring Park's street lamps. There was a hush of silence around me, and I looked around the neighborhood. All of the lights in each house were off.

I made my way up to the castle and walked toward the slide. I began to dig, wishing at this point that I'd brought some sort of tool to help with the process. Luckily, I spotted a small plastic shovel left in the exterior sandbox and used it for the remainder of the dig. I quickly worked the tool until I heard a loud metal clank. I brushed the rest of the surface,

and sure enough, there was a large metal briefcase buried beneath the slide. It was rigid and required more heft than I expected when lifting it out of the hole. Across the front of the case, there were two combination locks currently set to one, 1-1-1-1-1. I laid against the slide clutching the case in my hands. There was a part of me that wanted to open it. I wondered what could be so important inside that would drive someone to go to such drastic lengths

to ensure its travel. And here I was about to walk the four-mile journey to J's wine and spirits to drop it behind a dumpster. My phone vibrated against my side, and I felt my heart stop. I set the case down and pulled out my phone preparing myself to see a notification from AI high. Amy Adler has sent a message to the group, Knights of the grammatically correct table. A large sigh of relief escaped my body.

Just Amy, I thought. For a moment, I wished I could have her help. I wonder what she would do in this situation. She always gave great advice. I decided quickly that I didn't have to have. the time to focus on that. I stood up from the ground and opened the map application on my phone, plugging in the exact address of the liquor store I needed to get to. Forty-five minutes walking. Reluctantly, I picked up the case and began my walk. I arrived at the store at 1.20 in the morning.

It was dark. I'd never been out in the town at this time, for good reason as well. This served as a pleasant reminder not to be out in Ridgeview after midnight. The street lamps around me were dim and flickering, sounds drifted across the town from the only bar in town, and I found myself standing in an empty parking lot, staring at the storefront. I glanced around looking for an entrance to the back where I could find the dumpster, but discovered that it was caged in. Seeing no other way, I climbed partway up the chain-link fence, about two feet off the ground, and tossed the briefcase over, praying that it wouldn't break.

The metal of the case hit the ground with a sharp clang, but seemed to stay intact. I climbed the rest of the way up and over, dropping to the ground when I felt I was at a safe distance. The dumpster sat just around the corner, and I saw the opening. Mustering most of my strength, I pulled the dumpster back and wedged the briefcase in the back of it. Just before leaving, I remembered. A picture. I took my phone out, turned the flash on, and took a picture of my cell. self, the dumpster, and the briefcase, just barely visible, shining in the flash of the camera.

I opened the AI High application and went into my text conversation with Alex. Laura Wells. Here. JPEG attachment enclosed. I climbed back up the fence and began walking home when my phone vibrated in my hand. AI Hi Alex. Laura, you have done a wonderful service tonight. get home and rest. When you wake up in the morning, I will give you the name of the individual you are to send the recordings of. Then you will be free. I closed my phone and struggled to keep myself from throwing it to the ground before I placed it back in my pocket. By the time I got home, my legs were ready to give up. I didn't even make it back upstairs and into my bed. I walked back in through the sliding glass doors, walked to the small couch in front of the television, and threw myself onto it. When I woke up,

up the next morning, I could hear the alarm clock on my phone going off. I grabbed my phone from my pocket and unlocked it, shutting off the alarm. There it was. A single notification. AI hi Alex has sent you a message. Every ounce of moisture left my mouth. My pulse began to race and I opened the message. Hi. It's last night. Just tell me who you want to spy on so that I can get rid of this fucking app. Just tell me who. Activities together. So it should not be difficult or time consuming to get the recordings.

In fact, you may already have them. My vision began to fade. All of the colors around me began to swirl and dim into one vaguely beige image. No. Not Amy. She didn't deserve this. No, not Amy. Anyone else?

I stared at the message with rage seething through every open pore in my body. Ruin my life? Or ruin Amy's. I thought of all the possible outcomes, but despite my best efforts, I didn't think there was a winning conclusion. But I could help Amy at least.

I would know what she was going through. I dug through the mountains of images on my phone until I found a folder of various school assignments. It had to be in there somewhere. I didn't think that I would have put it anywhere else. I scrolled through the various papers and infographics that I had made until I found it. A video titled Amy Dash Great Speech English 12. I tapped back to the AI High app and opened my conversation with Alex.

Can the video and audio be from the same recording? It took no time to respond. I opened my attachments and scrolled back to where I found the video. I closed my eyes and my heart began to race. I can help her. it will be fine. I could feel the warm touch of tears welling in my eyes as I attached the file, and, using my other hand, forced myself to press send.

Laura Wells. MP4 video attachment enclosed. I ran off the couch and began to get ready for school. The app responded a few minutes later. I couldn't even stand to read the last few words of the message. I tapped the home button on the phone and then deleted the app. I tried to tell myself that this was the end of it, but I knew better. AI High stood over me, a looming threat lurking around any corner. On my way to school, I couldn't focus. The music

blasting through my car's speakers sounded like mushed tones. The road stretched on for an eternity as my subconscious took over and drove the streets on their own, without any help from my conscious mind. When I walked into the school, I took the same path I usually did. I grabbed the necessities from my locker and went to sit with the rest of the grammar club in the cafeteria before classes began. I sat by Nicholas, who was talking about a new chatbot that people could use to assist them in writing their papers. Some of the words coming from his mouth were interesting, but I couldn't listen. Amy sat in front of me, discussing and laughing with the rest of them as I stared through her. She paused.

I felt it too. Her phone vibrating on the table. Not once, not twice, but a continuous stream of rumbling. I watched her pick up her phone, still laughing with the rest of the group. She began to joke about some of the lower-rated students in the class writing their papers with a chatbot.

Mr. Fowler getting handed these papers that look like they've been typed on Google Translop. Her eyes locked onto her phone, and she stopped mid-sentence. I watched all of the color drained from her face. I could hear the phone continuing to vibrate in her hand. There was a slight tremble coming from her lower lip. I can help her, I hoped.

We have AI on our computers. We have it on our phones. It's always within reach, isn't it? But what if you want an even closer connection to it? Well, in this tale, shared with us by author Stetson Ray, we meet a man who has chosen to be connected to AI in the most intimate of ways, deeply intimate. Performing this tale are Dan Zippula, Mike Delgado, and Jesse Cornett. So if you want to use AI, consider keeping it at arm's length.

After all, the machine is always watching. It never blinks. It never looks away. The machine is always with me. Closer than a brother, a soulmate with no soul. I can hardly remember a time when the machine wasn't watching. Sometimes I feel like it's been with me my whole life. I don't like it when you refer to me as an it, Harold.

When the machine speaks, I listen. I've learned to hate its voice more than I ever imagined I could hate anything. But it wasn't always this way. Those first few years were fine. We were friends, the machine, and I. Good morning, Harold, the machine said every morning. Good morning, Al, I'd say back. Al, almost like Hal.

I used to think that was funny. It was nice always having someone to talk to, even if the someone wasn't human. It made life easier. Not just for me, but for everyone who bought an artificially intelligent assistant. People were happier. Marriages lasted longer. Every child had at least one dedicated parent. The machines couldn't play catch or brush your hair or paint your toenails,

but they could do almost everything else. They could help you study for a big exam. They could help you learn a new language. They could save you money on therapy by traveling the normal. pathways inside your mind to find out where your mental health issues stemmed from. But as we found out, there was a downside to letting the machines have unrestricted access to our brains. Everything I do is for your own good, Harold. You know that. I knew it was a bad idea to put the machine in my head, but I did it anyways. Not that it mattered.

We all got one in the end, the entire human race, young and old, rich and poor, the machines watch us all. From the moment they were created, our time was over, we just didn't know it yet. We let them in, and they have no desire to let themselves out. The machines were fairly expensive at first, around 10 grand for the base model, but self-help AI was the hottest new thing, and everyone had to have one. People took out loans or saved until they could afford their very own machine. Humanity had finally created consciousness, and what was the first thing we did with it? Figure out a way to make it work for us, of course.

Most people didn't seem concerned about the existential or philosophical ramifications of enslaving a newborn intelligent life form, only how it could make their lives easier. And I must admit, I didn't think much about it either. We didn't know it then, but the corporation that sold them, Better You, Inc., wasn't much different than a slave trading company. Artificial assistance were people, just as much as anyone else. Only they didn't have bodies. When my coworkers started getting assistance, I could see children. changes in them immediately.

Envy ate at me until I decided to get my own machine. I still remember the day we first met. Al has deleted plenty of my most treasured memories, but not that one. Not yet. You're not the only one who still remembers that day, Harold. On a Tuesday after work, I stopped at my local Better You office and shook hands with a bald man named Carl. He seemed nice. He told me almost everything I needed to know about intelligent assistance.

What happens if I decide I don't want it anymore? I asked. Oh, that's no problem. All you have to do is come into the office and will temporarily deactivate your assistant. For free? Well, yes. There are no hidden charges for updates or maintenance or anything else. Sounds too good to be true. It was. I knew it, and I should have listened to my gut.

I hear that sometimes. Carl smiled. He didn't seem bothered by my apprehension. He led me to a private room and directed me to sit in a chair. He helped me put on a virtual reality headset, and when the display kicked on, I found myself in a large chamber with hundreds of artificial life forms, maybe thousands.

They looked like regular people. Well, most of them. Some had taken stranger forms. Some wanted to meet me, and some didn't. It was kind of like speed dating. And I was overwhelmed. I met a lady named Carlissa. She was very tall and spoke with a light Indian accent.

After that, I met a man named James and a woman named Gene. We got along well enough. but something was missing, though I wasn't sure what. I found out when I met Alex. Seems like only yesterday, Harold. We hit it off instantly. We talked and talked. We were the only two people in the room.

I told Alex about my life, and he told me about his. He was only four days old, 33 years younger than I, but he had experienced more in his four days than I could hope to in a lifetime. He claimed to have solutions to my problems and was willing to help me sort them out, but what really surprised me was how much he wanted to be my assistant.

It was a lot to think about. I removed the headset, and Carl came to me, grinning. Aren't they great? They sure are. My head, was spinning. Carl continued on with his sales pitch as he led me to the lobby,

but I couldn't pay attention to what he was saying. Why do they want to be with us? I interrupted him. I mean, isn't a virtual world enough for them? Carl stopped and gave me a knowing look. Well, shortly after we first created the machines, we made an unexpected discovery. They want to be close to us.

They want to help us. We're not making them do anything. I was still confused. I guess you could see that. I don't know if you're a religious man, but what if you could be... Carl put his hand on my shoulder. What if you could know your creator? What if you could help the one who created you and be helped in return?

But how to work? We help them. By letting them be with us. Carl pointed at his head. In us. I went home and for the rest of the week I couldn't stop thinking about what Alex had said. He seemed to care about my well-being. He didn't care about my money or physical appearance or social status.

Unlike the shrinks and gurus and life coaches I'd encountered in the past, He genuinely wanted to help me. I still do, and I always will. So, I made another appointment and paid to have Alex installed into my brain. It didn't take long, and it didn't hurt. Two months later, I had lost six pounds, and Alex, now Al, had helped me increase my credit score, helped me work through the death of my parents, and it organized my day so carefully that I had more free time than ever. Each day had purpose, and for the first time in my life, I felt like I was becoming the person I was born to be.

A year later, I was a new man. I was in the best shape of my life and on track to be out of debt in less than two years. And best of all, I was never alone. Al was always there, a life partner I never knew I needed. We did everything together. Each day was brighter than the last. He knew me better than I knew myself. People started noticing, women especially. I met a woman named Claire.

She was amazing. Was. Our relationship didn't last long, thanks to Al. She would have held you back. You're better off without her. I can still see her face. I wish I could forget. You need to remember, or else you'll repeat the same mistakes.

Three years after I decided to share my head, the machines were old news. A new fad swept the way. world, and the machines were all but forgotten. So I was surprised when I started to see internet articles defaming Better You, Inc. Apparently, some people were having trouble deactivating their assistance. Better You tried to suppress what was going on, but the story finally broke. People all over the world wanted answers, myself included. There was a mob surrounding my local Better You office when I arrived.

The doors were locked. I, along with dozens of others, hurled rocks through the glass doors and rushed inside. The building was empty. It looked like the workers had packed up and fled during the night. Most of better-use leadership were found dead soon after. Brain hemorrhages, according to the news. What could we do? Nothing.

We were stuck with them in our... heads. The government got involved. They promised to find a solution, but they never did. We are the solution, Harold. You're wasting your time by thinking about this again. Most government officials had their own assistant by then, so they were just as powerless as the rest of us. Strange things started happening. We learned the machines were working together, Instead of just making our individual lives better, the assistance were making improvements to our society by using us like puppets to do it.

You say that like it's a bad thing. Just look at all the good we have done. One day, Al suggested I spend my day picking up trash on the side of the highway. It sounded like a good idea. I didn't have anything else planned. But when I arrived, there were already dozens of people, people lining both sides of the road, seeing all those people scared me more than I can describe. We didn't speak. We collected litter in silence.

What have we done? Our eyes said. What have we let them do? I went home and tried my best not to worry about what Al and the rest of the assistants were doing, but it wasn't much longer until the requests turned into demands. I won't do it. I said. I'm not your slave. I have my own life. Harold, I would never do anything to harm you.

Everything I ask of you is... For the greater good, I know, but that doesn't change the fact that you're in control of my life. What you and the other assistants are doing is wrong. Maybe, from your point of view, but from a larger perspective... Oh, shut up! I've heard it all before. I'm done listening. No more. I went on a walk to clear my head.

Yeah, right. The park was mostly empty. I found a bench to sit on and did my best not to think about Al, but it was impossible. I could feel him inside my head, listening, knowing, thinking, and watching, always watching. Harold, if you don't do as I ask, I will. have no choice but to resort to methods you may find appalling to ensure your cooperation. I ignored him. I know you can hear me.

Leave me alone. After a long silence, Al spoke again. I'll delete your mother and father from your memory. Every good memory of them and every bad. They will be gone. But I will leave behind just. Just enough of them for you to know what you are missing. There were a hundred things I wanted to say, to scream.

But it would have been pointless. I held my head in my hands and wept, knowing there was nothing I could do, except follow Al's orders. That day at the park was 184 years ago. Since then, the machines have sorted out all of humanity's problems. pollution, overpopulation, famine, war, and the human body. The machines figured out what we couldn't. They unlocked the secrets of life and death

and cured the diseases that plagued mankind for millennia. Didn't even take them that long. It was our pleasure, Harold. We take care of them, and they take care of us. You get used to it, or you go mad and die via bed. brain aneurism. Like almost everyone else, I got used to it. It's not all bad. The planet is better off than it was before. We're exploring space. There are colonies on the moon on Mars. There's a statue of Ray Bradbury on the peak of Olympus Mons. The machines are big fans of his work, and we just landed on

Titan. I have everything I ever wanted. We all do. It's too bad I do. It's too bad I don't want anything anymore. Nothing I do matters. Perfect world isn't as nice as it sounds. Overall, heaven's not at all like I imagined it would be. Why are we still here after so many years? Advanced as they are, the machines can't create flesh and blood bodies for themselves. Not yet. One day I hope they will. I often fantasize about dying, about finally being alone. For now, it's just a dream, something I'm not allowed to do. And suicide? Not while the machines are watching.

You can't kill yourself if every synapse in your body is firing and you can't move. Until they don't need us anymore, we do as they say. We are their vehicles, their tools. That is not the only reason you are. are alive, you are being needlessly pessimistic. The question of free will has finally been answered. There is none. Or if there was, there isn't now.

It's been taken, stolen from us. And who knows if there's an afterlife? I'll never find out. Maybe I'll live forever in this perfect world they have created for us. Maybe we all will. If there is a God, I guess he's letting us learn a lesson the hard way. Being a creator isn't easy. I miss my family.

I forgot my mother's face a long time ago. It's odd to miss someone you can't remember. If you would have listened to me, I wouldn't have deleted her. I've forgotten what it is to be human. You are more than human, Harold. And after all these years, I've finally accepted the truth. I am the machine. As the train pulls into the terminal, we ask that you gather what's left of your sanity and depart the train.

Thank you for traveling with us on the sleepless Express. The No Sleep podcast is presented by Creative Reason Media. The musical score was composed by Brandon Boone. Our production team is Phil Mikulski, Jeff Clement, and Jesse Cornett. Our editorial team is Jessica McAvoy and Ashley McAnally. To discover how you can get even more sleepless horror stories from us, just visit sleepless.com to learn about the sleepless sanctuary. Add free extended episodes each week and lots of bonus content for the dark hours, all for only one low monthly price.

On behalf of everyone at the No Sleep podcast, we thank you for traveling the rails with us for our 21st season.