That lingering film on the eyes will keep someone connected to the NeuroLink, even when they take the lenses out.
I’d understood Zero’s plans all wrong. He had wanted to destroy this with the virus in those rigged Artifacts. He had wanted to assassinate Hideo to stop him from moving forward. He had bombed our dorms in an attempt to keep me out of the games and from carrying out Hideo’s final goal. And maybe this is why Hideo had not stopped the final game when he saw that things were going wrong. He’d wanted me to stop Zero so that I could trigger his plans.
He’s doing this because of Sasuke. He created all of this so that no one would ever have to suffer the same fate as his brother, that no family would ever go through what his did. Our conversation comes back to me in a flash. You created Warcross for him, I’d said. And he’d responded, Everything I do is for him.
Does Kenn know about this plan? Was everyone always in on it?
“You can’t,” I finally say, hoarse.
My question doesn’t stir him. “Why not?” Hideo asks.
“You can’t be serious.” I let out a single, desperate, humorless laugh. “You want to be a . . . dictator? You want to control everyone in the world?”
“Not me.” Hideo gives me the same piercing stare that I remember from our first meeting. “What if the dictator is an algorithm? A code? What if that code can force the world to be a better place, can stop wars with a single breath of text, can save lives with an automated system? The algorithm doesn’t have an ego. It doesn’t lust after power. It is programmed solely to do right, to be fair. It is the same as the laws that govern our society—except it can also enforce that law immediately, everywhere, all the time.”
“But you control the algorithm.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “I do.”
“No one chose you,” I snap.
“And have people been so great at choosing their leaders?” he snaps back.
“But you can’t do that! You’re taking away something that makes us fundamentally human!”
Hideo steps closer. “And what is it that makes us human, exactly? The choice to kill and rape? To war and bomb and destroy? To kidnap children? To gun down the innocent? Is that the part of humanity that shouldn’t be taken away? Has democracy been able to stop any of this? We already try to fight back with laws—but law enforcers cannot be everywhere at once. They cannot see everything. What if I can? I could have stopped the person who stole Sasuke—the NeuroLink can stop anyone who might do the same now to another child. I can make ninety percent of the population crime-free, allowing our law enforcement to focus only on the remaining ten percent.”
“You mean you’ll control ninety percent of the population.”
“People can still live their lives, pursue their dreams, enjoy their fantasy worlds, do everything they’ve ever wished to do. I’m not standing in the way of any of that. They can do anything they want, as long as it is not a crime. Nothing in their lives changes except for this. So why not?”
Everything about Hideo’s words seems contradictory, and I find myself standing in the middle, not sure what to believe. I think of my own city, how I have a job as a bounty hunter because the police can no longer keep up with the rising crime in New York. I think of how the same has been happening everywhere. They can do anything they want, as long as it is not a crime. Nothing in their lives changes except for this.
Except for giving up their freedom. Except the thing that changes everything.
“It’s an essential part of everyday life, the NeuroLink,” Hideo says. “People work inside it and build businesses on top of it and are engulfed in the entertainment it offers. They want to use it.”
And I realize that, of course, he’s right. Why would anyone give up the perfect fantasy reality just because they have to give up their freedom? What’s the point of freedom if you’re just living in a miserable reality? It would be like telling everyone to quit using the internet. And even as my skin crawls at the knowledge that I’ve worn the NeuroLink lenses—am still wearing them—I still feel a sharp pang at the thought of never logging back into the Link, a reluctance to abandon them.
Even without the film against the eyes, people would never stop using it. They probably won’t even believe that it’s doing this to them. And even if they did start arguing with each other about the implications of the NeuroLink’s manipulation, their lives now revolve around it. Anyone not logged in to the NeuroLink right now will use it before long, triggering this new algorithm the instant they do. Eventually, everyone will have this installed in their minds. And that will give Hideo control over each of them.
Maybe no one would even care.
“What about protestors?” I press. “What about fighting for what’s right or making mistakes or even just respecting people who disagree with you? Is it going to stop people from passing laws that are unjust? What laws is it going to enforce, exactly?” I clench my fists. “How is your artificial intelligence capable of judging everyone in the world, or understanding why they do what they do? How do you know you won’t go too far? You aren’t going to bring about world peace all by yourself.”
“Everyone pays lip service to world peace,” Hideo says. “They use it as a pretty answer to pointless questions, to make themselves sound good.” His eyes sear me to the core. “I’m tired of the horror in the world. So I will force it to end.”
I think of the times, after my father’s death, when I’d picked fights in school or shouted things I later regretted. I think of what I’d done to defend Annie Pattridge. Hideo’s code would have stopped me. Would that have been good? Why does it feel like a knife twisting in my chest, to know that this is the reason why he flew me to Tokyo? All those warnings from him for me to leave.
“You lied to me,” I say in a firm voice.
“I was not the one who attacked you.” Hideo’s eyes are soft and steady. “I was not the one who destroyed what was precious to you. There is real evil in the world, and I am not it.”
Zero had destroyed the things that mattered most to me—my pieces of the past, my ornament and my father’s painting. My memories. Hideo is the one who gave me a way to even store those memories, who saved me from being thrown into the streets, who mourns his brother and loves his family and creates beautiful things.
Zero uses violence to further his cause. Hideo furthers his by preventing violence. Some part of me, some crazy, calm part, sees sense in his plan, even as I recoil in disgust.
Hideo sighs and looks away. “When I first hired you, all I wanted to do was stop a hacker whom I knew was trying to stop me. I didn’t know that . . .” He hesitates, then abandons the sentence. “I didn’t want you to continue working for me without truly understanding the weight of what you were doing.”