His voice still carried a trace of emotion, a tone that seemed almost teasing.
The massive red figure appeared as a young Caucasian man with neatly spiked short hair and rather flashy sunglasses perched on his face.
At that moment, his enormous form loomed over Mercer, looking down at him while emitting soft laughter.
But his data was simply too vast; even his speech and laughter echoed throughout Cyberspace.
"So you're the one who sent me here?"
Now that he was actually facing this guy, Mercer found he wasn't afraid anymore. If the other party had wanted to kill him, he would have been shattered already.
The fact that no move had been made suggested he was likely an ally, or at the very least, someone he could reason with.
"Well, more accurately, it was us."
As the man's words faded, two massive red female figures materialized beside him.
One had long hair flowing over her shoulders, while the other appeared more mysterious, wearing a spider mask that only hinted at a feminine silhouette from her build.
One of them looked strikingly familiar to Mercer. After a moment of observation, his eyebrows raised in recognition. "Alt Cunningham?"
"Then you must be... Bartmoss!? Spider Murphy!?"
After saying this, Mercer himself gasped in astonishment.
Good grief, all three legendary netrunner gods of Night City were here!
Bartmoss was a legendary netrunner from the turn of the century, and Spider Murphy was his friend, rumored online to possibly be his girlfriend.
Murphy herself was still regarded by many netrunners as the goddess of netrunning, a dream lover to this day.
Alt was also a friend of Bartmoss. In the early years of Night City, they managed the networks of Pacifica together. Alt had even publicly stated that those were the best times of her netrunning career.
"How did you do it? Pulling me from the real world into here? It's absolutely unbelievable!"
Mercer had so many questions that he couldn't help firing them off one after another.
"And, is my current condition really normal?
To be honest, lately I've been feeling a bit like an AI myself. Whether it's learning efficiency or the sensation when programming, it just doesn't feel human."
"Can I even go back?
Or rather, why did you bring me here in the first place?
I may not consider myself completely useless, but honestly, I'm still a far cry from a genius, just an ordinary guy.
Isn't choosing me a bit... rash?
And what about your plans, like Ragnarok and all that? Can you explain?"
The barrage of questions didn't seem to surprise these AIs.
Bartmoss chuckled, while Alt simply stated calmly, "Stop laughing. We don't have much time."
"Alright, alright...
Simply put, pulling you in was just an experiment on our part. If you're asking how we did it... truth is, we didn't really do much.
We just followed clues we discovered in the Net and gave it a try, like children building with blocks, putting together pieces that were already there.
And from what we assembled, we saw your image." "But if you ask where our building blocks come from, what these blocks are made of, and why assembling them forms this particular shape, the answer is, of course, we have no idea.
You don't actually think we have the ability to traverse worlds and influence reality, do you?
Come on, you don't even have a neural link; you can't even connect to the Net.
The only thing we can do is observe your computer, or more precisely, use your computer to briefly observe your world.
Well, if you want to blame someone, blame that Polish studio in your world. They just had to include a fourth-wall-breaking element in their game. When we first discovered all this, to be honest, it made us question our existence for a long time."
Bartmoss explained in a lighthearted tone:
"As for the specifics of this fourth wall, I'll leave you with a riddle, consider it an easter egg. When you get to Night City, go find the answer yourself.
FF:06:B5, that was the first clue we found when we first noticed something was off.
But it's fine if you can't figure it out. You just need to know that you're the only one we could detect, so you were the only one we could choose. You can think of your transmigration as fate, destiny.
And the decision wasn't made by us. We didn't choose you; you chose to come to this world, Mercer.
Honestly, I used to think fate was bullshit, but now that I've become an AI, I've started to believe that maybe fate isn't entirely nonsense.
Anyway, how you got here, I don't know. We're just the discoverers.
We've also tried to influence your world's network through data, like transmitting information or affecting your world's internet.
But unfortunately, we can't do it. The only data network we can observe is your computer, and we can't alter any of the data.
However, after some time observing, we discovered a turning point, when you play Cyberpunk, a data channel appears that we can slightly influence.
That inexplicable data channel connects the Net to you, and during that... We couldn't press the button, but we could present that button before you.
You chose one yourself, pressed the button, and then... BOOM!
Something miraculous happened!
Your consciousness in the real world, without any neural link, connected to this world through your computer's network and began transmitting through that extraordinary network channel.
The massive data instantly overwhelmed the entire data channel, severing our connection to your world while simultaneously replacing the original consciousness in less than a millisecond.
That's the reason you crossed over!
So, what we did was essentially give you a choice, presenting those inexplicably connected data and that cross-over button in the form of text options right before your eyes.
Then we left everything up to you to decide whether to press that miraculous button.
Once you made your choice, everything just happened.
As for how you can return?
Sorry, but I don't think you can go back.
The reason is simple: you can brute-force a three-dimensional entity until it's flattened into a two-dimensional paper cutout, but how do you turn that paper cutout back into a three-dimensional being?
It's not as simple as just molding it back, well, at least I can't think of a way for now.
You get what I mean. We're talking about differences in dimensions, and I explained it this way so you could understand.
But honestly, dude, I've been observing you for a long time. You were always complaining about how life was boring and how you'd rather be reincarnated into the 2D world to become a master there.
Now you've actually made it, isn't that exactly what you wished for?
When you were gaming, you'd often go to social media or chat groups to rant about stupid plotlines you hated. Now you've been given a chance to change everything, isn't that pretty great too?
By the way, in this Net, there are plenty of beautiful girls, and every single one of them is open-minded."
Spider Murphy's virtual avatar coldly stared at Bartmoss, and even Alt seemed to show a disgusted expression, as if reminded of something unpleasant.
"Ahem, what I mean is...
Damn it, I messed up. I thought the data nuke I released on the Net would liberate humanity, give people real freedom, and make those corporate dogs drop dead!
But now it seems everything I did not only had no effect but actually accelerated corporate enslavement of people!
Everything I did didn't make this world better, it made it worse!
Just look at this world!
The Net has become a battlefield, no longer a paradise for sharing information, learning, and freedom.
The real world is even more fucked up, corporations leech off people, sucking them dry. There's no freedom, no future, no hope.
In the eyes of corporations, we're just human batteries, human heatsinks, or even just fucking lumps of meat waiting to be consumed."
Bartmoss's expression turned furious:
"You don't like the game's storyline? What a fucking coincidence, neither do I! So, brother, do something, anything!
And don't worry about where the original consciousness of this host went, he's definitely already dead. You don't need to feel guilty. We chose to present you with options while the data was connected to him, and you merely selected the one I offered.
So do whatever you wish."
"What he means is that this world is destined for ruin."
Spider Murphy calmly summarized:
"In our countless calculations, the probability of humanity ultimately heading toward self-destruction is overwhelmingly high."
"It's like a boulder sliding down a slope toward hell. All we can do is try to slow its descent, but we can't change the direction in which it will eventually fall."
"Therefore, we need a variable."
Alt's expression was equally calm, or perhaps this was simply the most common demeanor of an AI:
"You are that variable existing outside this world. As long as you exist, the course of the entire world will change. And for us, change is a good thing."
"After all, in the worst-case scenario, if fate dictates we must march toward destruction, I'd rather we be the ones to set this world ablaze!"
After Bartmoss spoke, he actually let out a somewhat self-mocking laugh:
"After all, people like us are best at that sort of thing."
"So what is it I need to do?" Mercer cautiously confirmed.
"Nothing."
Bartmoss gave a resolute, definitive reply:
"Your very existence has already altered this world, like the butterfly effect, look, haven't you already changed the original course of events?
Arasaka's... uh, mining plan, hasn't it already shifted because of you?
Think about it, how many days did it take you to accomplish all this?
And did you really do anything particularly special?
No. Just by appearing, everything changed.
Even if you do nothing from now on, the variable has already emerged. All calculated outcomes have shifted. That is enough.
Whether your existence accelerates destruction or leads this world to another ending, our goal has already been achieved.
Your life belongs only to you, come on, if I forced a so-called destiny upon you, how would I be any different from those idiot corporate dogs?
Freedom!
Mercer!
Humans should be free beings! From now on, even if you end up lying on the street all day wearing a BD with your pants down..."
The gazes of Spider Murphy and Alt made Bartmoss rein in his words. He coughed and laughed:
"Anyway, that's it. The reason we chose to meet with you again was partly to set your mind at ease."
"Otherwise, constantly feeling like someone's watching over your shoulder, that's no way to live."
"As for you feeling like an AI... let me put it in simple terms."
Bartmoss held out both hands. In his left was a paper-cutout figure of Mercer; in his right, a 3D model of him before the transition.
"After your consciousness was compressed from three-dimensional to a paper-cutout, the energy loss wasn't actually significant. To explain it in a way you can understand..."
"It's like you originally had a terabyte of data, but now that terabyte has been compressed into a zip file only 10 megabytes in size." It sounds almost unbelievable, but that's the reality.
So, even though you appear to be only 10M in size, your actual data volume far exceeds that of ordinary humans, even surpassing many AIs. That's why you feel as if you're capable of anything.
Because you are fundamentally different from us.
This process can't be explained by existing theories. Even we have been secretly observing, uh, I mean, attempting to analyze and understand this phenomenon.
"This high-dimensional nature allows you to rapidly absorb our knowledge and utilize it in an incredible way.
I believe that once you've absorbed enough knowledge, you might even trigger a technological explosion on your own, perhaps even altering some of the existing rules."
Spider Murphy shared her perspective:
"Beyond that, the changes you've made to your own body are astounding, the severe neural damage you suffered was irreversible, yet you altered it through sheer willpower.
From my observation and speculation, your body will continue to undergo miraculous changes, such as becoming stronger, your thoughts sharper, and your emotions richer.
In other words, it's like you're playing a game.
Ordinary people can't change their character's attribute points; everyone is born with a fixed upper limit and can only enhance themselves through technological modifications.
But you can subtly boost your stats through willpower alone.
This process isn't governed by your conscious will but by your instinct, because you are a higher-dimensional being, your will naturally guides your body to align with it."
Alt also offered her view:
"You might possess a unique ability, similar to the 'Ork belief' power from the Warhammer series in your world.
It means if you truly believe you can do something, the probability of it happening increases.
It's like coding: if you think you can write a program, you can; if you think you can't, you truly won't be able to.
Hmm... perhaps this is another high-dimensional trait?
The ability to freely create in a lower-dimensional world based on your will? But this ability must have its limitations, or perhaps..."
Alt seemed lost in thought, her red eyes flickering intermittently.
Bartmoss chuckled and clapped his hands:
"Alright, that's enough for now.
Regarding your last question about the 'Ragnarok' operation, I'm sorry, but we can't tell you about that just yet. Even if you knew, it would only cause unnecessary worry, so it's better left unsaid.
Other than that, is there anything else you'd like to ask?"
"...Not really, I suppose. The rest is just hoping you can lend a hand."
Mercer said bluntly, "This Guardian AI sent by Arasaka is really giving me trouble right now. I don't exactly feel like that 'WAAAGH' power is kicking in."
"Hmm... feelings? After becoming an AI, all sensations turn into probabilities... Honestly, I don't think that's a good thing."
Bartmoss muttered, and then a cat composed of red data suddenly materialized by his hand, turning blue the moment it landed. Then, it affectionately crawled to Mercer's feet, circling around and lifting its neck to rub against his ankles.
"This cat can help you deal with Arasaka's sub-AI, it's the core of an evolved version of a program I once used called 'Demon'. An extremely powerful ICE-breaking program, I now call it 'Deathwish'."