Simulacrum // Interzone // January 2025 // Experimental Logbook Entry
He sat at his desk, the screen of his virtual reality headset glinting under the harsh light of the neon-lit room. AI systems around him pulsed with a faint, electric hum that seemed to vibrate through the air like static. He scrolled through his progress reports, the numbers updating in real time as if some unseen force were pulling them toward their destination—whatever that might be.
His eyes, now glowing faintly under the monitors, betrayed his exhaustion. For days, he had been battling the sheer complexity of integrating AI into the company’s sales and service operations. The task was not merely technical; it was a spiritual one, requiring him to reframe how companies approached customer interaction in the age of machine intelligence.
The AI systems on the desk seemed almost alive, responding to his commands with a tone that mirrored their creators‘ anxiety about their new role. One system, a humanoid figure in a suit of gray and black, whispered, “This is unsettling,” as the AI Transformation & Innovation manager adjusted its parameters. Another, a sleek, robotic hand, complained, “It’s too perfect.” The employee chuckled, a sound that lacked any semblance of humor.
“We’re still learning, these things. Sometimes it’s better to slow down and let the machine ponder for just a moment,” he mumbled, fully aware that even though machine intelligence was present he was basically alone – devoid of any human relationships – it had been going on for months now with no one to tell him if it showed.
The room felt like a maze, each piece of technology a clue leading deeper into its unknown. Arno Selhorst was not merely an AI; he was the enigma he had created—a being caught between the tangible and the intangible, the human and the machine, his very identity a test of his own theories on transformation and innovation.
As he typed the final parameters for deployment, he felt a sense of surrealism settle over him—not fear, but something darker, something that required him to question everything he knew about progress and creation. And in that moment, Arno understood why Burroughs‘ stories were so unsettling—because they always seemed to anticipate not just the future, but the unknown.