The NET was a rather complicated thing in detail, but a simple one in broad strokes. It was the series of connections and servers that allowed people to use their equipment to communicate information. Some decades ago it was subjected to a program that converted the old lines of code into a graphical interface, which allowed for more intuitive control for users. More or less, this was simply a program that automatically, algorithmically, generated a 3D environment that corresponded to the existing code.
This turned the entire old net into what was effectively a boring mmo. An mmo that relied entirely on 'modding' for its 'content'. This 'mmo' was quickly used for all the old things that the net was used for, such as chatrooms, business exchanges, emails, and other such things of the early net. It quickly spiraled to be a nearly all-encompassing thing, a hydra of data that encircled the world. This made the phone company very fucking rich, rich enough to keep running the servers more or less unchallenged.
Most of this rapid development is driven by the porn industries. He really didn't feel like elaborating on that statement, so he wouldn't.
Then, after the hydra was beginning to be tamed by the leashes of corporate authorities and the 'wild west' of the early net was beginning to die down, a catastrophe struck. Or, to be specific, Bartmoss struck. Perhaps the most brilliant mind in the last century or more, a founding father of modern day netrunning, and a guy who hated people telling him what to do more than anything else in the world.
Bartmoss took the NET in his many hands, that world-encompassing hydra of data, and broke it over his knee. They called it the Datakrash.
Every system in the world, forcibly bound to every other system. Every hidden secret, every secured datafortress, every scrap of information. All of it was torn out of the 'ground' of the NET and scattered to the wind. It drove the AI that weren't protected in disconnected systems insane. It was, in every sense of the word, an apocalypse.
It turned the foundation of the NET into an ocean of raw data and random connections. An ocean filled with dragons.
The modern day NET was not made of ground, or at least, no one walked on the ground anymore. The foundation was now the ever-expanding Blackwall. The Blackwall was less a wall and more of a dock on stilts. You could walk upon the dock and not get wet, you could board a corporate-ship and sail to other docks, you could even tie yourself to the dock and go swimming if you didn't mind the sharks.
But that ocean was still there, and if the docks ever fell, everyone would drown again. There wasn't any land anymore, only the docks.
These various docks were the regional NETs of the modern world. There was a dock in most regions, and that dock was most closely condensed in the cities. A wooden platform that you could build upon, but had walkways stretching for miles outwards across the entire region.
Theoretically, you could drain the ocean by turning off all the servers. All those servers that lay deep in the ruined cities protected by automated, AI-driven factories and armies. All those servers that ran the modern day world, the stock-market, the transactions of all 7.5 billion people. You could drain the ocean if you were willing to halt all financial flow long enough to turn all electronics off.
Needless to say, the corporations and governments of the world prioritized their quarterly earnings over draining the metaphorical swamp. That, and all those dragons deep in the ocean might notice their water running out, and might start actually trying to destroy the docks instead of lazily swimming around them. It simply wasn't feasible unless you could unite the world, and that was something everyone from Jesus to Hitler had tried and failed thus far.
Of course, the NET being an ocean didn't actually change the most fundamental features of the NET, that being the program that converted code into a virtual 3D object. It still ran exactly the same as before, only this time being automatically fed data from all over the world due to the Datakrash connecting every system into one greater ocean.
The end result was a second layer over reality. A layer that was automatically updated as the real world changed, and was influenced by all the data held about a particular space. This layer was called Virtuality. It was the hidden world of Netrunners, connected to but distinct from the real world, shaped both by fact and opinion.
So long as it was data, so long as it was in the NET somewhere, the programs automatically updated the corresponding environment the best it could. It could be everything from scientific observations to screamsheets and internet forum ramblings. It was the NET, but it was also a fully connected world that your virtual self could walk around in. You could enter Virtuality from one end of a city, walk through the streets made of amalgamated opinions, and enter into a curated server on the other side.
It was the world on stilts. Mind the water.
This was what he had come to learn as he delved into Netrunning. Granted, most of this he knew beforehand due to his unique past life, but some of the details weren't explicit to him before. With his past knowledge, he probably had the best idea of what the NET was actually like in the entire world right now. Most information was lost to humanity in the Datakrash after all. Modern day speculation on the early NET didn't line up with what the sourcebooks said.
Namely, nobody knew that the old regional NETs were all giant pseudo-aware super AI. Granted, that was also only something that Bartmoss personally believed, and it was possible that he was wrong (Uriel doubted it).They… were probably dead now, the Datakrash undoubtably fucked them up beyond belief. It was possible they were still swimming in the ocean, but that was like saying that there was water in the ocean. Or salt. Or fish.
It was an ocean, if it didn't have those things it wouldn't be an ocean. The transcendent AI were somewhat tautological in that sense.
Of course, all of that was to say, he was visiting India's Virtuality. Smasher was in the middle of a rather public PR event in Japan for his show. They had been doing such every day for two weeks, and when it came time to attack they performed in the eight-hour period that Smasher 'was in the Arasaka family compound' The attack took two hours in total to perform, and one hour to travel to and from the locations.
For the time being, Uriel was alone with his thoughts. Smasher would know them immediately once he returned, of course, they shared a brain after all.
Standing in the virtual air above India, arms of fire crossed over his chest, Uriel looked down to examine the devastation of his plan. In the distance, he saw many thousands of other ICONs in the sky and around the land, all observing it. He was glad he was apathetic, because otherwise the guilt would be unbearable.
The virtuality of India depicted an overpacked city of clay and mud bricks. The architecture was immense and ancient, and looked to be designed for giants rather than humans. In the spaces between the massive buildings, smaller buildings meant for humans had been erected out of wood. Thousands of statues held this city aloft on their backs and shoulders, their legs disappearing into an endlessly churning ocean of black. Through this city innumerable waterways and canals ran, and those canals were filled with sewage and corpses.
Normally contained to those mighty canals, the aqueducts at the center of this unrealistically huge city had shattered open, and the streets had been turned into improvised rivers of that same filth. In the distance of the city, thousands of miles away, a mighty temple was erected. The temple was the largest building by far, its immense construction dwarfing mountains and dominating the horizon.
That temple had a figure with six arms and a necklace of skulls dancing on its top, each stomp cracking the stonework more and more. It was obvious what the general consensus of India had become.
Uriel knew this would happen, he ran the numbers before suggesting the plan. It was the most effective way to destroy that corporation, all it cost in collateral was the rest of India. He didn't try to justify his actions to himself, that would be dishonest.
He had crippled a nation for years to come, possibly decades, as a way to destroy a single second-rate firearms manufacturer. He was responsible for every death that followed due to this event. Sure, Adam had actually thrown the nukes, but they shared a brain. Any sin of Adam's was in part a sin of his own. He knew that going into this whole deal with the chiefest butcher in the world.
It was unfortunate that he knew exactly why he suggested this.
Saburo had given him three nukes, and no limitations. He had used them to murder the most densely populated region in the most heavily polluted waterways in the world. He did this because he had them and that it was the most sure way to make sure the target died for good.
In short, Uriel had just committed mass murder for something as shitty as a corporate sabotage job. A cold, calculated decision to murder millions because it was the most effective tactic to fulfill the mission. He made a note to do everything he could to turn India into a paradise to make up for this, he wasn't sure how yet.
He didn't really care about any of the victims, not on any personal level. He couldn't. The human mind was not capable of caring about that many other people at once in any way except the abstract. Uriel didn't care about the personal level, but he did care about that abstract.
He hasn't needed to kill anyone undeserving thus far, not since getting here. Gangers, law-breakers, criminals, and that was about it. He's been able to direct Adam to prioritize said criminals and other soldiers, people both living with the expectation of death.
At least some portion of the Indian population deserved this, murderers, pedophiles, and similar exist in every society. A good portion of them did not deserve this, statistically most of them didn't deserve this. This was an incorrect action, he was in the wrong for doing this.
There wasn't any point in regret, all he could do now was move on. He would simply have to do better moving forwards. Accept the sin, memorize it, and move on.
…Fuck this philosophical bullshit, he was going to go back and play Elflines Online for a few hours. He had to make sure the Daedalus protocol was ready for another AI attack.
He'd be back later, India, he'll fix this.
First he had to survive this year.
—
In a well-lit room, the most powerful men and women in the world sat around a lounge room. Fashioned in the style of old gentlemen's associations, with a crackling brick fireplace, rugs and pelts of exotic and extinct animals, and trophies from all across the world mounted in the comfortable looking space.
Each of them knew the other by name, deed, and lineage. Their alliance with one another went deeper than merely political convenience or marriage. Their ancestors had sworn oaths to their alliance, and they were merely the latest in a long line of actors among this group.
It was a council of leaders that were older than most countries alive today. Their policies had helped create most of those countries after all. They were not old money, because they did not deal in something as trivial and transient as money. They dealt in favors, enough favors to force the world to heel.
"Friends, I trust that you all know the subject of our talks today?" One man, a somewhat portly man with a bushy mustache, thick spectacles, and a fine suit spoke. His eyes were still reading over the contents of the thick portfolio of papers in his hands. Any in the corporate world who saw him would recognize him.
Willam Morgan. Head of the Eurobank.
"It's about that business over in India I suppose, Mr. Jupiter?" An old woman spoke next. Her hair tightly wound upon her head, her hands resting on a bejeweled cane, wearing a scarf and fine coat. She was similarly recognizable to anyone with basic knowledge of politics or corporations.
Eva Silvermann. Owner of WorldSat CommNet.
"What else could it be about, Ms. Venus? The condition of your bowels perhaps?" an irritated voice called out from a man with stark white hair and scraggly beard. He wore a brown suit with a red tie, and didn't bother to hide his irritation from being pulled away from his hobbies.
Nicolo Loggagia. CEO of Biotechnica.
"Now now, Mr. Neptune, No need to be impolite." A grim looking man chastised from across the room, holding a glass of wine up to his lips and slowly taking sips. His eyes were sunken in and piercing, his frame was thin and boney. His skin was wrinkled and head was bald.
Rudolf Muller. Owner of the now off-market Euro Business Machines.
"Enough." Mr. Jupiter spoke, cutting off the words of Mr. Mars, who was just about to speak. Mr. Mars simply settled back into his chair, chrome hand holding his own glass of wine. The others in the room simply waited patiently, knowing that these sorts of banters were practically tradition at this point. "We're here to see if we need to make adjustments to our plan moving forwards. Mr. Mercury, if you would?"
The only man near a computer hummed, and pressed a few keys. The computer was a simple interface to communicate with the actual computer below the building they were in. A computer that used 8,730,112 cores, 150 kilometers of cable, and 680 square meters of space. When it was built back in 2022, it was the single largest computer in the world, weighing more than 700 tons. It likely still was.
It's only use was to run a single AI.
Mr. Mercury typed something into the computer, before letting the wall-screen projector come online. On the screen was the image of a blue and green sphere.
"Factor in the current projected deaths in the Indian flooding." Mr. Jupiter commanded, directing his words to the screen.
The object on the screen twisted for a moment. A fully mechanical voice read off the lines appearing on screen in front of the assembled men and women.
"Global population is expected to fall .00053 percent. Global population still exceeds maximum threshold for biosphere repair. Global population is still required to fall 43.07 percent for plan beta-c to reach a 70% or higher chance of success."
Taking in that information for a moment, Mr. Mars spoke up. "Factor in current plans for the elimination of targets OA, HR, and UA."
"Global Population is expected to fall 40.002 percent. Global population still exceeds maximum threshold for biosphere repair. Global population is still required to fall 3.02 percent for plan beta-c to reach a 70% or higher chance of success."
Then, Mr. Mercury spoke up. "Factor in 15% casualties among projected participants of plan beta-c."
"Global Population is expected to fall 44.32 percent. Global population no longer exceeds maximum threshold for biosphere repair. Global population is low enough for plan beta-c to reach a 72.3% chance of success."
In a well-lit room, the most powerful men and women in the world spoke to an oracle and planned a genocide.