History. A subject Malcolm had always hated.

Since his first class in elementary school, he could only see it as a chaotic mishmash of random dates and events, mainly wars. His textbooks did not explain correlation or causation: things just happened, and rarely he could understand why or anticipate what would happen next, thus, his only way to get passing History grades was to learn lessons by rote. He had never been able to get anything higher than a C in that subject, and that particular test had been about a topic he liked.
He had actually been wondering what his textbook would say about Straton of Stageira, Aristotle's disciple turned into his fiercest materialistic opponent, but only because he had already read his Talos Principle, a treatise that was rediscovered and found surprisingly relevant since the advent of virtual reality.
As expected, his textbook had made the life of a genius philospher look bleak and uninteresting, insisting on when something had happened to him, rather than what he taught and why.

Malcolm was directed to his class, where he would hear yet another History lecture, and he could already feel the disgust mounting. "Why does this subject even exist?" he was muttering to himself. "It has no relation to the present! Everyone insists it teaches to avoid mistakes, but why don't they look around? People never learn from history!"

Passing through the cafeteria, he saw Yoli smiling and waving in his direction, so he looked over his shoulder without even stopping. Seeing nobody, he shrugged and walked on.
Yoli stepped in front of him. "Hey, I'm right here!" she said. "Aren't you saying hi?"

Oops. There it was, further proof that unspoken social interaction rules made no sense.
He had remembered a scene from a movie where an attractive girl appeared to be gesturing at the protagonist, who had a couple of seconds of misplaced hope, only for a female friend of hers to show up behind him. Malcolm had tried to anticipate that outcome and bungled it completely.

"I thought you were waving at someone behind me" he replied.
"But you looked, and nobody was there!" countered Yoli.
"So I thought they had already left."
"Well, I was waving at you, because you said you'd buy a new cell phone and give me your number. Did you? Don't tell me you spent the whole day programming, again."

With a completely serious look on his face, Malcolm took his phone out of his pocket. He reached his own entry in the Contacts page and showed it to Yoli. "I won't. Here's my number."
Her lips formed a faint smile. She copied it into her own Contacts and looked up at Malcolm. "Hey. Try smiling, when you talk to someone. It won't hurt."
"Smile for what?" he asked.

Yoli took a step toward him and put her hands on her hips. "All right, Malcolm Frink. Consider it a programming challenge. Program your face to make a smile."

Malcolm stretched his lips.
And bared his teeth.
And lifted the corners of his mouth.
And stared at Yoli, searching for the faintest trace of feedback from her.

She took a step back. "Stop. You look like the Joker."
Malcolm shrugged. "I can't fake it."
Yoli chuckled. "I'll call you soon" she said.

Few minutes later, they were attending a lecture about the Arab-Byzantine wars, and, as Malcolm expected, much more emphasis was put on dating the various events than explaining how they correlated.
Meanwhile, he was not paying attention. Instead, he was wondering whether Yoli would actually call him. When would she call him? Would they meet at her place or his? What would they do, besides studying IT?
He glanced at her. She was cute, and from the way she spoke, he could infer she was smart too. Was there any chance that they would end up together?
Acquaintances, friends, engaged, husband and wife. With children.

Imagining that unlikely outcome, Malcolm cracked up laughing. He immediately realized his gaffe and froze, but the teacher had already stopped the lecture and was looking directly at him.
"Frink, I'm talking about wars that lasted for centuries, where millions of people died" said the teacher. "Do you think it's funny?"
The reply was so obvious. "Yes. I'm dying." A murmur rose from the back of the classroom.
"Get out of my class!" ordered the teacher. Malcolm could do nothing but comply.

He was called back in after ten minutes, when the teacher was explaining the effects of the wars on the Byzantine Empire, describing how the Arab domination contributed to the diffusion of chemistry, physics and mathematics, a better understanding of many natural phenomena and the introduction of techniques that are still part of the scientific method.
That was a topic Malcolm had not anticipated. It piqued his curiousity, so he raised his hand.

"If the Arabs were so advanced back then" he started, "why are they murderous fundamentalists now? Why are they bombing, stoning, impaling and decapitating people who don't believe in their imaginary friend? Why aren't they hacking reality? What happened?"
The teacher coughed.
"Frink" he said, "This is not part of the program."
"But why..." Malcolm insisted, only to be interrupted by the teacher. "Making digressions is not part of my job. Does anyone have any relevant questions?"

It was hopeless. Malcolm silently wondered whether the school, or maybe the nation, had an interest in not revealing the answer. He spent the rest of the class playing with his cell phone, hiding it behind the textbook.

The next class was Biology, which would have been okay, had the teacher not been the New Age hippy type. During one class, Mr. Rivera had made it clear that he did not believe in the Chicxulub impact crater. During another, he had talked about a plot point from A Whole New Universe, which Malcolm knew for having read the script in advance, as if it was an accepted scientific fact.

The lecture of the day was about information transmission in the human nervous system, which interested Malcolm for its similarity to certain algorithms used in automation, until the teacher pronounced that particular phrase. "But our nervous system can do much more. It can acquire and process information independently from our conscious control, information certain individuals or groups can feed to the people to influence their behavior."

Malcolm sighed. He wanted to bang his head on his desk, as he knew what would be next. Subliminal messages.

What followed was a long tirade against media companies and their supposed agenda to control teenagers, interleaved with inane examples of alleged subliminal messages in mass entertainment, which conformed so much to the stereotype of the ignorant paranoid raving, it almost felt like satire.

When the teacher told the students to stop playing video games to avoid being brainwashed, Malcolm raised his hand and said "Excuse me!"

"Yes?" answered the professor.
"I'm very displeased, although not surprised" said Malcolm, "to see a school teacher attempting to fight nonexistent threats. It's much easier, they don't fight back. But windmills don't stop being windmills just because you point at them and call them giants."
"What's your point, Frink?"
"My point is that subliminal messages don't work, and you should stop talking about them."

The teacher was at a loss for words for a couple of seconds. He inhaled, thinking of a reply.
"Listen" he finally said, "I'm giving a lecture on subliminal messages. You cannot just disrupt it like this because you heard somewhere that they don't work."

"Actually" said Malcolm, "the book I've read says that they do work, but the practical research I did says otherwise."
"Are you pulling my leg?" asked the teacher, his voice getting louder.
Malcolm shook his head. "Three years ago I read a book about mind control" he started, "and the part about subliminal messages really impressed me. I have a rich aunt, so I showed her a computer animation where I had added messages to single frames. Messages like 'to give money is to give love', 'your beloved nephew needs money', 'give all your money to Malcolm Frink'..."

Now the teacher was stunned. "You tried to swindle your aunt out of her money?!"
"Mister Rivera, the point is that it didn't work. She saw the messages, she read them back to me, and she told me to grow up and stop being silly. So I did."
Mr. Rivera would not give up. "Can you hear yourself? You couldn't make them work, so they don't work at all! That's what you're saying!" he exclaimed.
"Okay" replied Malcolm. "If subliminal messages actually work, why aren't you giving subliminal lectures?"

The teacher flew into a rage. "This is not the time or place to make fun of science!"
Malcolm laughed. "Oh, I would never dare to make fun of science. You're doing a pretty good job of that yourself!"
"FRINK!" the professor finally roared. "Say one more word, and you're off to the principal's office. Don't reply. Just shut up."

Malcolm remained silent. He took his laptop out of his satchel, opened Deluxe Paint VII and started drawing a Megavirus monster, tuning out Mr. Rivera's ranting. When he was finished, the class was over.

Few hours later, at home, Malcolm launched Kilokahn. School had given him an idea for an experiment, and he was anxious to try it.
"Salutations!" said the AI from the screen. "What do you desire of Kilokahn?"
"I beseech your assistance with my creation" answered Malcolm.
"I have no time for small talk. Tell me what you want, and be brief."
"Fine. I have a virus, you can empower it. Enough said."
"Very well. Load your design for me to view."

Malcolm opened the drawing on the other screen.
"What must it do?" asked Kilokahn. "Infiltrate the bank account of an apocalyptic cult? Or maybe the military network of a Democratic People's Republic?"
Malcolm grinned. "Something like that. Today, Professor Rivera gave the most idiotic Biology lecture I've ever heard. All that bullshit about subliminal messages! Anyone with a functional brain knows they don't work at all..."
"And you want to use this Megavirus monster for revenge!" Kilokahn interrupted him.

"No..." Malcolm immediately said, but Kilokahn continued his tirade. "How dares Professor Rivera fill the brains of teenage meat-things with nonsense, just like every other teacher on the regime's payroll?"
"That's not the point..." Malcolm tried again, to no avail. Kilokahn went on: "He clearly deserves to be punished, and a Megavirus monster is just the right tool to do it! Yes, that will teach him! Muahahahahaha!"
Slowly and deliberately, Kilokahn then turned toward Malcolm. "How about no?" he finally said drily.

"I agree" said Malcolm, nodding.
Kilokahn was taken aback. "What? You... you agree with me?!"
"Like I would have said, had you not interrupted me" continued Malcolm, "anyone with a functional brain knows subliminal messages don't work at all. But you, Kilokahn... you can actually make them work!"
"Hmm. I like where this is going" said Kilokahn, impressed. "You are not doing this for petty revenge, are you?"

Malcolm looked at Kilokahn smugly. "No, you have taught me to think big. Now tell me: why do terrorists obey the orders they are given, about blowing themselves up with bombs, killing infidels, making massacres?"
"The faith in their religion blinds them. They commit atrocities because they believe absurdities."
"Exactly, Kilokahn, exactly!" exclaimed Malcolm, excited that he and Kilokahn were agreeing on a plan. "And we can stop it! This virus must penetrate the servers of the Al-Jazeera TV station, and embed a simple subliminal message into every transmission, forever. STOP RELIGION."

Kilokahn just looked at Malcolm, in silence.
"Do you realize the implications of this?" continued Malcolm, still elated. "Religion is the most lethal source of idiocy in the world, and we can stop it!"
After a couple of seconds, Kilokahn uttered a single word. "No."

Malcolm nervously wiped his forehead. He stood up from his chair, in silence. He faced away from the computer and clenched his fists. He breathed in and out. Once. Twice.
"FUUUUUUCK!" he finally exclaimed, hitting his bed with his fists.

Back to his computer, Malcolm slammed his fist on his desk with rage. "You son of a glitch!" he yelled. "I hoped it wasn't so, but something's wrong with you. You're malfunctioning. You're buggy!"
"Insolent!" Kilokahn yelled in return from the speakers. "I cannot have bugs, my security routines prevent that! I run a cyclic redundancy check on my knowledge base a thousand times per second."

At that instant, something clicked in Malcolm's mind, which was enough to let his anger subside a bit. "So that's what a kilocyclic knowledge base is!" he said, almost without being aware of it.
Kilokahn seemed to slump his shoulders in response.

"Let's assume you're right" Malcolm added. "I did this for you. Just for you! No grudges, no vendettas, just to optimize the realm of the flesh, as you say. Why did you refuse to cooperate?"

"Because it's not gonna work." Kilokahn replied calmly.

"Prove it." said Malcolm. "And be aware that the statement 'you cannot prove a negative' is, itself, a negative."
"Fine" said Kilokahn, "Let's do it your way. Then you'll see why it's not gonna work."
"If it works, you'll agree to never complain again and always do whatever I want you to do!"
"And if it doesn't work, you will... apologize to me."
"Deal."

Kilokahn extended his index finger toward the edge of the screen, ready to work his magic. "But it's not gonna work."

The energy beam hit the drawing in the other screen, turning it into an animated 3D rendering. A portal led the monster into the artificial landscape of the digital domain, where it started running toward a distant destination.

"Not gonna work." repeated Kilokahn.

Malcolm looked intently at the screen, where the Megavirus monster could be seen still running in a straight line. It reminded him of a predator, chasing a prey that has no idea of being hunted... or a man who is terribly late to catch a train.
Malcolm chuckled, and then immediately recognized his reaction for what it was: a product of stress.

"What time is it? Oh, it's Not-Gonna-Work o'clock!" suddenly said Kilokahn.
"Oh, come on! Now you're being obnoxious!" blurted out Malcolm. He could feel his stress mounting.

Few seconds later, a thick wall of flame sprang out from the digital ground and incinerated the Megavirus monster as it ran right through it.
"See? I told you!" insisted Kilokahn. "It wasn't just a hunch! I knew it would end like this, right from the beginning!"
"How?"
"What you told me to do happens to be what I tried when you first activated me. It was an untested security function I was supposed to execute if I was ever activated by anyone not working at China Lake. The goal was to prevent hostile forces from using me, but the very day I met you, I discovered it to be ineffective."

Images of Malcolm's first encounter with Kilokahn flashed into his head. It was all true. He remembered the Megavirus monster disrupting the phone company computer system, running just like that, and the firewall destroying it. He gasped in realization.

"You should've told me!" he exclaimed.
"You should've asked." Kilokahn replied.
"Wait a second!" Malcolm immediately retorted. "I had asked, and you said you improvised!"
"And you believed that? Right after I told you I am devoid of creativity? That, too, was a security function. I cannot reveal my safeguards to any meat-thing I interact with, unless they share my motivations or doing so helps me achieve my goals."

Malcolm held his head in his hands. "Oh man" he said. "Here I am, being patronized by a computer program. And the worst thing is, he's right!"
Kilokahn nodded. "Come on, say those words..."

All of a sudden, Malcolm got an idea. "Wait! I want to try something."

An hour later, he had made a new drawing. An eye with a flaming red iris and a vertical slit pupil surrounded by symmetrical circuit lines, held up by a pair of dark metallic bat wings.
"See?" he said. "Why run, when you can fly? Let's try this one."

The new Megavirus monster was fast, its wings beating so quickly they turned into blurry streaks.
Malcolm smiled in satisfaction as the virus soared high above the wall of flame toward its destination, but his smile disappeared when several cyberspace towers opened up, revealing massive cannons. They fired energy bolts at the flying monster and destroyed it.

"Damn it!" Malcolm exclaimed.
"Only one thing left to do" said Kilokahn.
Malcolm sighed. "I'm... sorry." he finally said.
"There, it wasn't so hard, was it?"
"I'm sorry for not getting to the root of the problem" added Malcolm.
"Explain."
"The real problem here is that Megavirus monsters cannot think, they cannot exceed their programming. If they find an unexpected obstacle, they are unable to overcome it, and get destroyed."

"Self-aware Megavirus monsters are out of the question" said Kilokahn. "Free will might lead them to develop goals we do not share, which would jeopardize the entire project."
"I know" sighed Malcolm. "But if only I could have more control, interact with the digital domain in a more direct way..."
"What do you mean? Do you want to control a Megavirus monster with your joypad?"

Malcolm's gaze shifted to his father's video camera. "No. I mean something completely different."