Overload

I sit bolt upright, a scream still caught in my throat. I glance at my surroundings, relieved when I realize I am still tucked safely in my bed. The sheets are a tangled mess around my legs, and my shirt is stuck to my skin. I shiver as the cool breeze from the open window hits my damp skin. 

Pushing the curtains to the side, I shove the window closed. It creaks and finally settles into place. The old windows of my apartment have needed replacement since I moved in six years ago. My eyes trace the crack in the top pane. As my focus shifts from the pane to the night sky, my blood runs cold. 

High in the sky, right where the moon should be, a large red print reads “ERROR  404.”  I rub the glass as if the glowing print is somehow a smudge on the glass. When it doesn’t wipe away on my fingers, I can feel the panic rising. 

I quickly scramble out of bed and run across the hall. Shoving the door open without even knocking, I burst into Kaya’s room. Given the circumstances, I hope she will forgive the invasion of privacy. 

“Kaya!” I shout. But the blankets don’t move. 

“KAYA!! WAKE UP!” I yell louder this time. I rip back the blankets, about to shake her awake. 

On her pillow is again a large red print that reads “ERROR 404”. A scream is caught in my throat as I back away. Tripping over my own feet, I crash to the floor. Hastily picking myself up, I run down the hall and out the door of our apartment. 

My bare feet slap against the old linoleum floors of the exterior hallway. I run as fast as my feet will carry me, though I’m really not sure where I’m headed. I just need to move. The wooden doors of the other three apartments are a blur. I slide around the banister and jump down the stairs two at a time. 

By the time I am pushing the heavy door to the sidewalk, I am out of breath. I stop in the cool night and pull air forcibly into my lungs. Each breath burns. I look around wildly, unsure of what to do. 

After a moment, I decide to head toward the university. I am counting on Ren to still be in her office. Ren always knows what to do. She also spends more time in her office than at home.

As I jog the few blocks to campus, my brain is in overdrive trying to make sense of what I saw. The fresh air and physical exertion work to calm my frayed nerves, but I can still feel panic buried deep. I run through my head all the possible scenarios, but each is more horrifying than the last. 

I shake my head and try to clear my mind. Focusing on the slapping of my bare feet against the concrete and the feel of the night air against my heated skin. By the time I reach the doors of Henderson Hall, I am calmer. At least calm enough to explain what I’ve witnessed, without sounding like a raving lunatic. 

The building is eerily quiet. I don’t frequent this building this late at night. The normal hum of conversation and slamming doors is replaced with the buzzing of the fluorescent lights. Turning left from the foyer down the first hallway, I begin jogging again. Down the long hallway lined with darkened doors. There, at the very end, a door is slightly ajar with a shard of light shining onto the old marble floors. 

I stop in front of the heavy wooden door. A gold placard reads,

 Dr. Renata Ellis 

Cognitive Science

I pause momentarily, debating whether to knock or burst in. Deciding on the former, I raise my hand.  Before I can make contact with the weathered wood, the door swings open. Someone grabs my arm and yanks me in. I scream, but it is cut short by a hand over my mouth.

I am spun around, and hands appear on my shoulders. I am face to face with Ren, who looks at me wildly. Her hair is disheveled, and the buttons on her flannel shirt are done incorrectly. The panic in her eyes mirrors mine. 

She glances behind me before whispering harshly, “Are you a person or intelligence?”

“P-person,” I stammer. Sure, it’s the only right answer. 

Over the years, we have frequently debated concepts of reality and perception. We just recently discussed the merits of Simulation Theory. I feel the panic rising again. She must see her wild look of panic mirrored in my eyes. The tension in her shoulders releases slightly. 

She shuts the door quietly, then checks the lock and the shade that is pulled over the window. Satisfied that both are secure, she turns back to her desk, which is strewn with papers and open books. It looks even more chaotic than usual. 

She flips wildly through the papers, looking for answers. She is mumbling to herself when she finally lands on the scrap she was looking for. She whips around and pins it to the board behind her. Smack in the center, the scrap says one word. 

Overload.

The entire board is filled with what looks to me like madness. There are pictures, maps, scraps of paper with words scribbled across them, all manner of things that are too much to take in all at once. The bright purple yarn used to connect things looks to have been pulled from the sweater at the back of her chair. 

She blinks slowly and says, in a matter-of-fact tone, “The system is overloaded.”

Ren pauses for a moment and stares expectantly. I am initially unsure what she is expecting me to say. I glance at the board behind her, knowing the answer is there. 

As I follow the trail of her sweater, I begin to put the pieces together. 

“Can it be fixed?” I ask. 

She pauses as the lights flicker, “It’s not supposed to be.”

Her flat tone is eerie compared to her frantic behavior only moments before. She strolls towards the window, glances back at me blankly. 

My scream rattles the windows. Her body pixelates, shimmers, then tears away like a dissolving code. Where she previously stood reads ERROR 404.