Search for the One
I was fifteen when I woke up into the world. The real world I mean. They usually get us out of the program sooner, when we're still malleable little kids, playing with the rules as if they were nothing more than suggestions. But me, I guess, they didn't find soon enough. Normally, they would have left me there. They wouldn't have bothered with a girl like me, an arrogant, cheerful, inquisitive teen, if they didn't have to. The problem is, they truly thought they had to.
They thought I was the One. They were wrong.
I was told that, for the same reason, they've woken up people older than me; not often, but it happened. I can't even begin to imagine how devastating it must be, at thirty years-old or so, to realize the life you've worked so hard to build is simply a lie. A program developed to trick your whole being into thinking—knowing—you're a part of this world, when you're nothing more than a mediocre battery.
Thankfully, I hadn't started my life when they pulled me out of it. I was only a dumb cheerleader then. I showed great promised though. A straight 'A's student, with a passion for philosophy, cognitive science and fascinated by artificial intelligences. I didn't even know that much about programming yet. That, I learned on my second day of training—but I'm jumping ahead. What I meant to say is: I wasn't your typical "Potential". I had a family that mostly loved me. I was socially well-adjusted. I didn't spend my nights up wondering about the fabric of reality. Don't get me wrong, I already held for a very concrete possibility that our senses were lying to us, that our experience of the world could be completely skewed. But it didn't bother me that much; it was just another fact to me. I never cared about stuff over which I had no control; it seemed like a waste of my time. What was important to me, at the time, was, in fact, love. Well of course, what did you expect? I just said I was fifteen years-old.
My last summer inside was also the best of all. It didn't start that great, to be honest, it started very boringly. I didn't live in a big city, you see, so there was very little to do during those long hot months, except reading by the public pool and watching TV. My best friend was living the perfect romance with her scrawny-looking neighbor and she had mercilessly abandoned me to hang with his own forsaken best friend, for lack of a better option. This guy was the absolute opposite of what I considered my type. I usually went out with brainless good-looking jocks because they would do as they're told. Who would want a guy with a big mouth, an attitude problem and a probable weed addiction? I don't think I had ever had a conversation with that guy that hadn't ended in an argument. He would always believe in the craziest conspiracies but would never accept the actual ones. He wouldn't trust anyone to the point of paranoia. I would so love to go to him now. Tell him he wasn't that far from the truth. I tried to once. I tried to convince them to wake him up too. So we could be reunited in the real world, out of the program. But to no amount. They never agreed. They told me he wouldn't take it, that it would kill him. I can't believe they had so little faith in him. Though, that time I went to see him, after I had been extracted, after I had found out about my true destiny, I didn't say a word to him either. I just looked at him from afar. Like the coward I am. But I'm jumping ahead.
That kind of nostalgia has been hitting me more and more lately. I don't cry anymore though. What would be the point? It's all behind me. I won't cry about something over which I have no control. A waste of my time. Time is a scarcity for me right now. Especially right now. That summer is not something over which to cry. It was something from which I could draw strength. Because unlike most—or maybe every one—of the people around me now, I know what happiness is. I knew what to hope for. To work towards. To strive for. Because what had started as a fling out of boredom. As a dare, out of pride. As a dirty little secret. What we started that summer was real. It wasn't part of the program. It wasn't intended for us. I know that. Deeply. I know it was ours alone. It was meant to happen. I know that, especially since I know that oracles exist and destinies can be predicted.
When they persuaded me to follow them that autumn, despite their scary gothic appearances, and they gave me a choice between the blue and red pills, I didn't hesitate much. I believe that, also, was meant to be. How can you not choose the truth? At any cost. I do not consider it a choice; it was a simple foregone conclusion. I left my whole life, my whole future, and this beginning love, in a heartbeat. They told me I would save the world. They looked at me with so much hope. So many expectations. I actually believed I would be the one to free the human race. And when the day came, I would find him again. That's what was supposed to happen.
It seemed like a given. When I woke up and they explained to me that the world I had always known wasn't real, that the real world was in ruins and that our species was exploited by machines and kept as worse than cattle, as supplies, I had chuckled. Nothing more. I had accepted the truth as if I had always known. I understand why they chose me. Without realizing it, I was already treating my—false—reality like nothing more than a possibility among others. Changing reality wasn't a struggle for me, just a small adjustment. Same for the training. When they told me that I could bend or break the rules, I did. I didn't even understand what all the fuss was about. But for everyone who witnessed my progress, no doubt existed, I was It. The end of the search. How carefree was I then.
When they brought me to see the Oracle, they all considered it more like a formal introduction than a confirmation of their belief. They didn't need confirmation, they knew. That little girl that looked like nothing more than a cheery kid would save them all. Then She said no. She didn't say it in private or as a confidence. She just entered the room where I sat with these weird trippy kids, took one look at me and said, "She's not the One." I understood afterwards that it was very out of character, but maybe she had been caught up despite herself in the hype around me. She had seemed so disappointed. The others didn't believe her right away. We all remained silent. I remained completely blank. Then she realized what she had just said and came to hug me. And it was a warm, hearty embrace. And she kissed me on the forehead. And when she broke the hug, I could see tears in her peaceful eyes. "I'm so sorry," she said, "I am so sorry." And I didn't answer anything. I looked at those who had brought me there and simply said I was ready to leave. The ride back to the phone line and then to the Nebuchadnezzar was completely, utterly silent. Only when I was finally alone in my cabin did I realize for the first time that people were certainly looking for me. Those I left behind. Inside. I would be a missing person for them. They would never know what had happened to me. They would forever be in the dark, letting their imagination wander in the most dreadful of places. Fearing for me. Weeping for me. All for nothing. Part of me wanted to come back to them. Come back to him. But I knew I could never go back to the lie. All this for nothing.
After that, the days of resistance and fight have been bleak at best. It has been a while, but I am not cheerful anymore. I don't think I could have ever been cheerful again. Who knows? When the squiddy came, I was the only one awake, sitting behind the monitors, watching the green lines of code indefinitely fall on the black screens. I didn't sleep much anymore. I rang the alarm and everyone woke up in seconds. Dozer's hand was on the EMT button faster than Sentinel's laser. I don't know why one of them fascinated me. I just crept a little closer to the windshield to get a better look. It seemed so alive, like a very clever beast. I couldn't manage to see the machine anymore, only the intelligence, the purpose, the perfect determinism. It was beautiful. For a second. Before it looked back at me.
Only now do I know why she said, "I'm sorry." At the time, I thought she had apologized for the life I had left, for the hope I had borne. Only now do I realize she had apologized about why I wasn't the One. Only now do I realize I could have been the One. If I had been attacked inside, nothing could have hurt me; I would have brushed away the pain; I would have deflected the beam with half a thought. I had all the aptitudes. I had the right mindset and the ability to surpass any mental limitation. I would have been the perfect savior. I would have been able to see him again. To free him from this despicable world and show him that he was right about the lies, the duplicity and the falseness of it all. If only I wasn't dying. I would have saved them all.
I have only one hope left as I close my eyes for the last time. I hope the One comes before it's too late. I hope the One gets him out of the lie, so that he can see the real world as I am sure he would have wanted. And when that happens, I hope someone will remember to tell him about me.