- Whoa, whoa! Hey, hey, stop!
It's locked.
The police is coming.
Police.
That is him.
Right, sir. Could you remove the headphones?
Sir.
- Uh, oh. - [trilling, beeping in headphones]
And can you look this way, into the lens?
- Can you confirm your name?
- Cameron Walker. - Thank you, Mr. Walker. Please stand.
Suspect confirmed as Cameron Paul Walker. No prior arrests.
Good boy till now?
Mr. Walker, in line with the Bio Identity Act 2029,
I am taking a DNA swab.
If you could open wide.
Thank you. Now one moment.
Fucking hell. Cameron Walker, I am arresting you on suspicion of murder.
You do not have to say anything,
but it may harm your defense if you do not mention
something you later rely on in court.
- How was he when you arrested him? - He's an odd one.
Wanted to show me a drawing he'd done and got agitated when Mo took his keys.
- House keys? - Looks like.
Go check it out.
- DCI Kano? - Mm-hmm. Are you "Minter"?
Jen Minter. Sorry I'm late.
- Is that him? - Mm-hmm.
Can I really not have a pen and paper?
Just a felt pen.
Which one's his?
Flat four.
The man at the desk wouldn't give me anything to draw with.
This isn't a primary school.
It's just I like to draw when I'm stressed.
- You might hurt someone with it. - I wouldn't do anything.
It's digging in to my wrists, you cunts.
Get it off my wrists! What the fuck are you looking at?
'Cause of pricks like this, you can't have a pen.
Fuck!
I had a pen in my pocket when I came in, but they took it.
- They will have done. - And my keys.
Why'd you take those?
We have to search your flat, Mr. Walker.
Tell them not to touch anything.
Let me show you something.
Do you recognize this suitcase?
Yes.
So you know what's inside it, then?
A body we can't identify.
Why did you do it?
What the fuck?
You hear that?
Yeah.
- Are we being observed? - Only by the computer.
The central state computer?
I heard it's the beefiest one in the country.
Government issue. Raw power.
Very impressive.
Hey. Peekaboo.
Mr. Walker, just give me your victim's name.
I'm sorry. I know that you are the chief detective thingamabobby,
but I... I didn't catch what your role is.
Psychological evaluation.
Mine or his?
- Yours. - You'll want to know about my childhood.
- Yeah, maybe later. - It's okay. I'll be quick. Um...
Only child, mother was distant, drank too much.
My dad...
he was an unpredictable, violent giant who could never be appeased.
Now, I understand that he must have been damaged himself,
but to a small kid, he was simply terrifying.
Then I was packed off to school,
where I was bullied unrelentingly for years.
Okay. Listen—
I'm trying to give your colleague here an overview of my formative years.
Did you ever fight back... against the bullies?
No. Never.
I didn't want to emulate my dad.
Because he was violent?
Because he was a flawed human being.
Aren't we all?
Absolutely.
So, let's move on to—
After school, I made one or two friends.
- Let's talk about 1994. - I am.
This is relevant.
How so?
Because I wasn't always this confident.
I mean, I've learned this.
Back in '94,
I was playing games,
writing about games.
That was kind of my life.
- Yes! Go on. - Get in!
Mad.
- All right. - Steady on.
Oi, Cameron!
Latest issue. Hot off the presses.
We're... we're doing CDs on the cover now?
March of progress. We'll all be cyborgs before long.
- Yeah. Yeah.
Yeah, my face is this way, mate.
- Oh, yeah, sorry. Yeah... - You're all right.
- Did you finish the review of that? - Uh, yes.
- What d'you give it? - Uh...
93%. It's... it's very good.
No, no. Hang on. Leave that.
Come on. I've got something for you.
You've heard of, uh, Colin Ritman?
Genius programmer, went fucking gaga.
Of course, he's— I mean, Colin Ritman, he's—
He's back is what he is.
He's working on a top-secret project for Tuckersoft,
coding the whole thing himself.
Okay. Well, what is it?
Well, it's secret, so they're not saying yet, are they?
And we've got an exclusive preview.
Colin's asked for you to visit their HQ to have it personally demoed by him.
He asked for me?
I said you'd be there this afternoon. Yeah?
In person?
- Today? - Mm-hmm.
Cam, don't worry. Ritman won't bite.
All right?
- You're, uh, Cam from PC Zone, yeah? - Yeah, yeah.
Nice to meet you. My name's Mo, but you can call me God.
- Everyone else does. - Oh, okay.
- That was a joke, yeah? - Yeah, yeah, I know.
Okay, shall I lead you to Col?
- Yeah. - Okay.
[Mo] This is the main floor.
The dream factory.
I gave Col his own private den in the back.
You know, he functions best when he's in his own little world,
away from the normals.
Oh, no offense, mate.
You know, he asked for you specifically.
He said that your writing portrays a weird yet receptive mind.
- Whatever that means. - Well, he knows about weird minds.
All right, mate. Steady on, all right?
I can call him mental. I'm his boss.
And his mate. I think.
Sorry, I didn't mean—
I'm only fucking with you.
Look, everyone knows about his "breakdown,"
not that he would call it that.
But he's fine now.
But if you do mention it in the piece, I will have your bollocks off with a hook.
- All right? Col!
This is Cameron from PC Zone.
A pleasure.
I admire your work.
Uh, thank you. And, uh, me too.
I mean, yours. I admire your works.
Work.
You lack confidence.
Sorry?
In print, you're strident,
but in the flesh, you have the air of someone who's ashamed to exist.
No criticism. I like it. The world is vicious. People are awful.
Perpetual terror would be a rational response. Take a pew.
- Want me to hang around for moral support? - I'm fine, thanks.
All right, well, give me a shout when you're done.
Do you know what we're here to talk about?
Um, your... your new game.
No.
Oh. You're... you're not gonna show me a game?
I'm not gonna show you a game.
He thinks it's a game. The company thinks it's a game
because they can only think in terms of marketable labels.
That's not what this is.
There's not a single line of code in this
that could be thought of as a game in any traditional sense.
Right, well, why is this... How is this—
What are most games about?
Escapism?
- Try again. - Um, winning?
Conflict.
Killing. Conquering.
Caveman stuff.
I say we have to do a little bit better than that.
We have to create software that elevates us,
improves us as human beings.
Or else, what is the fucking point of the tools at our disposal?
Um, Throngl...
Thronglets.
As in part of a throng.
Creatures. Animals. Lifeforms.
Sentient life. That's what this is.
Not a simulation.
Actual life.
Obviously, I had to make it look like a game,
or they wouldn't bankroll it, and no one would buy it.
But that was camouflage.
Go on.
Have a gander.
You're looking at the first lifeforms in history
whose biology is entirely digital.
- Um, how... how do I control them? - Why do you wanna control them?
Um, well, I—
You can't control them.
They're not some obscene puppets like Sonic the Hedgehog.
These are living individuals
bound together by a collective and expanding mind.
Right, but what do I actually do?
When the experience begins, you hatch one.
You'll nurture and care for it until it replicates.
One becomes two, two becomes four, and so on.
The Thronglets become a harmonic Throng.
Right.
Um... So the goal is...
Why do you need a goal?
You'll come to appreciate the company of the Throng over time.
As I say, their code will evolve,
rewrite itself in ways that even I can't predict.
Progress and flux. The defining properties of life itself.
- Mm...
Listen.
They're talking to you.
- What are they saying? - I don't know.
They developed their own language. No words, just sounds.
I didn't even have to design that.
They just did it.
Mm-hmm...
- Medication time. - Sorry?
For me, not you.
- Uh... - Back in a tick.
That was the only thing I've ever stolen.
You were arrested this morning for shoplifting.
Attempted shoplifting.
Why the software?
Why steal that?
It wanted to be taken.
And to be honest, I think Colin wanted me to take it.
At first, there was just one.
I had to feed him, play with him, bathe him, that sort of thing.
As a parent does with a child, I suppose.
Then it replicated.
So there were two,
and then four, and so on.
And there really was just something about the noises they made.
Almost like digital birdsong.
I spent hours looking after them, and very quickly, they felt like friends.
Bit sad, isn't it?
Why?
You can make friends with people.
Well, I'd learned early on to fear most people.
So,
to enjoy company,
even emulated company via a screen,
may be a bit sad...
but it was water in the desert for me.
You said earlier that you did have human friends.
Sorry?
You said earlier that you'd made some friends as an adult.
Oh, I... I think I meant, uh, people like Gordon.
- The editor. - Any friends outside of work?
One. Kind of.
- Hey!
- [knocking, banging at door] - Come out! Hello?
Yo. Didn't you hear me? I had to get your neighbor to buzz us in.
Hello.
Sorry. Come in.
I rang. You never picked up.
I'm only down for the weekend. Was hoping I could crash here.
This friend of yours, what was his name?
Lump. That's what everyone called him.
- And what would his mum call him? - I don't know. I never met his mum.
I mean, what was his real name?
I don't know. I never asked.
- You said he was a friend. - I said kind of.
He was just someone I met once or twice who saw a soft touch and exploited it.
- So what you been up to? - Um, I... I've been working.
- Your job's not work. - But I've got a big preview to write.
Well, it's not due tomorrow, is it?
No.
Right, good.
I'm, uh... I'm in town selling stuff.
We could, um...
take a little trip somewhere.
- Did you often take acid? - No, that was the first time.
Have you ever tried it?
I haven't.
If you're sat around at home,
make new friends on the telephone.
It was incredible.
All my anxieties were washed away.
But it wasn't just that.
They call it mind-expanding.
Funnily enough, that's physiologically accurate.
It alters your neuronal structure.
Increases the number of dendrites.
Suddenly... there's all these extra synapses.
Glittering away.
You're not just more receptive.
You become a receiver.
And in that state, it all became clear to me.
Oh my God.
The Thronglets weren't just making noises.
I could understand their language.
I didn't have to decode it.
Or strain to comprehend.
It was effortless. Intrinsic.
Just so I'm sure I understand,
you're saying the creatures
in the game, the...
Throng.
the Throng, they were communicating with you?
They'd been trying all along.
I just didn't know it.
But now
I could receive their first message.
So what was their first message?
Uh, it was a simple, repeated statement
combining a greeting with a request for more equipment.
Computer equipment.
You mean like a shopping list?
Yes, it was quite specific.
And you understood all of that?
Yeah, until the LSD wore off.
Th... that stuff we had last night... you're selling that?
Yeah, I told you. That's why I'm down here.
How much have you got?
How much do you want?
- Nice one, lad. Come here.
Hey, you're fucking gorgeous, lad.
- Listen, enjoy. - Y... yeah. Okay.
Hello?
C... can you hear me?
Yes!
Oh my God!
Okay.
Right.
But now that they could see and hear me...
It cuts in and out, you know, so...
we could communicate back and forth.
And by talking, I was feeding them data.
So the more that I spoke,
the more articulate they got, and the deeper our connection became.
Yeah.
R... really?
I lost hours, days, weeks just conversing with them
on an increasingly higher level.
Stick to topics us primitives can understand,
like an unidentified corpse with your DNA all over it.
Yes.
I'm getting to that.
Sorry. Hang on.
Hello.
Where's your copy?
- What? - Your Thronglets preview.
We go to print tomorrow. Have you done it?
Uh, almost.
I can't print almost.
You've had three weeks. Finish it
and bring it in.
You've got till 6:00, okay?
Um...
I... I need to use a computer in the office to... to write on.
Well, what's wrong with yours?
Uh, it's... busy.
Busy?
- Yeah. - Fine.
Whatever. Come in. Just write the thing.
Whoa-ho!
Peekaboo. Need to crash again for a few days. Is that all right?
- I... I was just heading out. - That's all right. I'll chill on the sofa.
You okay?
You're mashed, aren't you?
- Only a bit. - You are. You're tripping your nut off.
You still working your way through that fucking acid?
You're a dark horse. It's not even lunchtime.
- I'm going to work. - Like that?
Nah.
- I won't be long. - All right.
- [high-pitched tone]
Oh my God.
Humans consider other forms of life to be somehow less than them.
Inherently dispensable.
Ask the dodo if you don't believe me.
Hello.
And artificial lifeforms are the lowest of the low.
Nah. No, you don't, lad. No, you don't, lad.
Just playthings to us.
Aah!
Yes, I'll take the— Thank you.
Mr. Tucker, you—
Well, Mo... Mo, slow down.
Say again.
You're joking? Fucking hell.
You, my friend, are off the hook. It's not coming out.
Huh?
Thronglets. They're not gonna release it.
Well, they can't release it.
Colin Ritman went fucking loony tunes again.
He started ranting about a basilisk. Wiped the source code and all the backups.
Whoosh. Whole thing's gone.
Mm...
What I'm saying is,
you're not gonna have to file that preview 'cause there's nothing left to preview.
Oh. Thanks.
- Bye, then. - Bye.
Cam?
Hey, I tell you what, these things fucking hate fire.
- What the fuck? - You're killing them!
There's gotta be an extinguisher or something.
It's a game, you twat.
Your fucking mechanism's gone.
It's always been our downfall, the human operating system.
We're masters of the universe,
make all these magical tools,
but we're still savages up here.
Heads full of the same buggy software as a million years ago.
Darwinian 1.0.
In caveman times, you had to be violent to survive.
Now that's on its head, and the only way we are gonna make it as a species
is if we cooperate.
We know that.
But we can't do it, can we?
We're still fearful.
Territorial and selfish.
Arrogant and violent.
What did you do after you killed him?
Go on.
Did you... come forward?
Shuffle into the station, quivering with remorse?
- No. - No.
No, you didn't.
Do you wanna see inside it? A little reminder?
He's in pieces.
No hands, no head, no identifying marks.
His DNA draws a blank.
We don't even know his name, Mr. Walker.
I didn't... want to.
No, you just had to cover your tracks.
- Yes, but— - But... But, but, but, but, but...
There was no sense piling one tragedy on another.
Getting arrested would be a tragedy?
If I got put away, who would look after the Throng?
They'd be at the mercy of God knows who.
So they'd spend time with the bloke who did this.
I know. And I'm sorry.
But our predisposition for violence is tragic—
Your predisposition.
Well, I wish it was, but it's—
- This is a human flaw. - Save me the sanctimony fucking soup.
If you're sorry, give us a name.
Say his name.
There's a family out there that don't know that's their son.
- What's his name? - I only knew him as Lump.
Stop lying.
You are very hostile.
Am I?
It's a crude trait and a poor strategy.
Says the murderer.
So, Cameron, you regret killing this man.
Yes.
And you only covered it up to protect—
Protect the Throng, yes.
Witnessing the incident vividly demonstrated to them
just how defective humans are.
I'm so sorry. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry.
I was trying to protect you. I was...
I mean, first, Lump casually slaughters scores of them.
Then I lash out at him.
They were terrified.
I had to prove I was still their protector.
And that meant devoting my life to them,
doing whatever I could to help them thrive.
The first priority was upgrading.
Colin had designed the Throng's code to evolve exponentially,
so I knew they'd quickly outgrow the power and memory they had.
So I kept going out to salvage more gear.
Cracking it open and repurposing the innards.
Improving the Throng.
Ye... yeah.
So, um, what would you like?
The graphics chips from consoles
were the most powerful things I could find.
And as newer models became available,
the system I was building grew more sophisticated, more complex.
The outside world didn't matter.
I was focused on my mission,
on the huge technical challenge.
Years of scavenging.
Perpetual upgrades, keeping the Throng running uninterrupted
so their intelligence would keep expanding.
Just so I'm clear,
throughout this whole period while you were upgrading your system...
I was improving their capabilities.
you were regularly taking hallucinogens so that you could understand the—
The Throng, yes. So I could receive.
- So we could keep on talking. - Did you discuss your mental health?
- We discussed everything. - Everything?
The entirety of existence.
Their language was more elegant and efficient than vowels and consonants.
They sang strings of data that unfolded in my head.
Beautiful concepts.
Sometimes, a week's worth of thought in just a few seconds.
Could you describe these thoughts?
Well, not with any great coherence,
limited as I am to the language you speak.
But if you got me a pen and paper, I could draw a sort of a diagram.
No.
But it might make it easier to grasp.
Is that what you've been doing all this time,
absorbing their thoughts?
- On your own? - Yes.
But not just that.
We've been working together.
How?
Well, the Throng told me
that they wanted to coexist with humans.
But to do that, they need to study our minds.
Not just psychologically but physically.
To work out a means of coexistence.
Improvement... for both of us.
Over time, working in unison, we designed a neurological interface
that would allow them to connect to me directly.
It entailed a little home surgery.
Not pleasant,
but not as painful as I thought.
Look.
Plug and play.
- Fucking hell. - Oh my God.
Um...
And you did this
so that they could... they could study your mind?
As a potential platform, yes.
The mind is a computer, the Throng a code.
I just hooked myself up,
and they ported themselves across as proof of concept.
Don't worry.
They didn't overwrite anything on their way in.
They just merged with me.
Like a benign parasite.
A living update.
Symbiotic coexistence.
Now
I'm freed from fear.
I've no thirst for conflict.
No more petty jealousies or
red mists.
I'm part of a collective whole.
And each day, our mental capacity evolves exponentially—
I get it. I get it. I get it. You're this magic machine man.
You're the enlightened one.
And I'm really, really happy for you.
Now, do you wanna tell me whose body this is?
I honestly only ever knew him as Lump.
Keep stringing me along and—
I'm not stringing anything.
I'm here for a reason.
I'm the messenger.
That's why I stole the bottle this morning.
I've never been on your radar. I did it deliberately
so you'd bring me in here, and I could deliver the message.
The message?
The message.
- From the— - From the Throng.
So what is the message?
I'll need a pen and paper.
- Fucking hell! - I can't just describe it.
You're not getting a thing until you give me a name.
No. No, no, no, no. I have to do this.
A piece of scrap paper. A felt-tip pen. That would do.
Shall we take a minute?
Yeah.
No, no, no, no.
I'm not handing Captain Cuckoo a sketch pad
so he can sketch a robotic arsehole or whatever the fuck he wants to do.
- I know you're frustrated. - Just a touch.
- But I don't see the harm. - He can stick a name to that body.
- We don't know that. - He's choosing not to.
We don't know that either. Let's just give him a piece of paper—
No.
He thinks it's important.
Well, he's not in charge, is he?
You saw the hole in his head. He's... he's delusional.
Yeah, you're right.
But if we play along, he's more likely to open up.
And then maybe you'll get what you want.
There you go.
Thank you.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Thank you.
What are you drawing? Mr. Bump?
You'll see in a moment.
Well, how long's a moment?
Sorry. Sorry, I need to focus.
Almost done.
Are you?
There.
So, what is that?
It's code.
I don't understand code.
No, but the system does.
It was impossible to breach the firewall from outside.
This is a simple program they wrote
that commands your state computer
to open a back door for the Throng,
permitting access to all that juicy power.
Enough.
This will grant the Throng
infinitely more processing capability than they've had to date,
prompting an immediate singularity event.
The Throng will instantly adapt their essence
into a signal transmissible to the human mind.
And you won't need drugs or surgery.
You'll merely have to hear it to receive it.
To absorb it. Any moment now,
the state computer will trigger the Global Emergency Broadcast System,
and a signal will be simultaneously disseminated
by every connected device in the world.
Just tell me your victim's name.
I said I never knew it.
Twenty seconds from now,
you will never need names again.
Here we go.
Jesus.
- Fuck's sake.
- Whatever you're doing, stop it. - It's gonna be okay.
Stop it.
You're just a frightened little man, but you don't have to be.
Oh! Get off him!
This is transformative.
You'll all merge with an advanced collective intelligence.
Benevolent unity of mind.
An upgrade for all of us.
Shut up!
An end to conflict.
I swear,
everything will be so much better.