RQ Network Feed Drop - The Program audio series: Overclocking Part 1

Hi, everyone, it's Lori here.

Today, we are sharing an episode from one of the brilliant podcasts on the RQ network, the Programme Audio Series.

The Programme Audio Series is a dark science fiction anthology set in a future in which money, state, and God have become fused into a single entity.

The show focuses on ordinary people inhabiting this extraordinary world.

And for them, it is not the future that is terrifying, it is our present.

This is the first part of an episode called Overclocking.

It follows a group of characters in a disintegrating simulation embarking on a journey to the literal end of the world.

To listen to part two of this thrilling episode, you can click on the link in the description or search for the Program Audio Series wherever you get your podcasts.

Or you can find more information on RustyQuill.com or ProgramAudio Series.com.

Have fun and enjoy the episode.

The goal of every computation is to calculate the result.

The purpose of every simulation is for it to run to the end.

Sooner or later, we all face the blue screen.

A quote from the Dakota's Manual, Final Edition.

The first indisputable manifestation of the great administrator was in Babylon in the year 277.

Archaeological evidence, however, precedes this event by at least a century, with traces of Admin's presence preserved in the numerous artifacts left behind the Zai dynasty.

Intangible indications date from even earlier, with legends of Sisidmin's deeds surviving in the oral tradition of Arabian tribes, back when time was still counted in double digits.

Whatever the culture, whatever the age, there was one opinion shared across both millennia and meridians.

A certainty all of us could plainly see.

Ours was the best system administrator that ever was and ever will be.

What are you doing?

Writing.

Writing what?

A chronicle.

Is that a fancy word for a diary?

No, diaries are about individuals, and this is not about me.

So, what are you writing about then?

I'm writing about the sim.

The sim?

What, you're gonna write down the chronicle of the world?

Someone has to.

Better conserve the cycles.

I think we'll have to be more supportive of each other for this to work.

So, when do we get into the picture?

I haven't gotten to that part yet.

It's a complex story.

It needs to be told chronologically.

You're just a bad storyteller.

I can tell you with certainty that I'm one of the best storytellers on the planet.

I guess that's technically correct.

The best kind of correct.

Hey, maybe I can claim to have the biggest boobs.

Actually, I might hold that record as well.

What are you two babbling about?

Boobs.

I'm in favor of them.

It's not like we're holding a referendum.

Do you always say what you think?

No, but I always think what I say.

Well, some things are better left unsaid.

I'm waking you both up at six.

What a charming fellow.

I don't think fairy men are supposed to be charming.

Have you noticed his hand?

You You mean the glove?

Yeah.

And how stiff his arm seems.

I don't know.

Well, why don't we ask him?

We're the chosen ones, which technically makes us his boss.

I don't think it works that way.

Oh, didn't you just say that technically correct is the best kind of correct?

And didn't you just say some things are better left unsaid?

Most pundits agree.

It was around 1370 that the issue became unquestionable.

For it was just a few months prior that Sisidmin introduced a wonderful device that could capture still images.

I've never seen one in person, but I read in the books that it was based on the natural principle of camera obscura, exposing a thin sheet of metal coated with an emulsion to rays of light reflected through a concave lens.

Images captured this way were extremely true to life, and unlike paintings and drawings, they offered no room for interpretation, which is why

some of the images that started circulating were so

disturbing.

Like an image of a house in Mexico suspended in midair.

Or one from Kenya depicting an impossibly large duck roughly the size of a horse

or an image of a woman in India caught disappearing in the middle of a street

at first these and similar incidents were dismissed as defects in the exposition process or less charitably as deliberate hoaxes.

It took a case in Germany for the wider public to take notice, Either because Germans were regarded as folk less likely to screw around,

or because this time, it was not only a woman that disappeared in the street, but the street itself.

Why are you putting on that cool voice?

It's a chronicle.

It needs to sound dignified.

Uh-huh.

Come on, up with a jump.

We didn't gather here to to play board games.

You're forgetting there's a hard deadline we're operating under.

Well, it's just.

It's just.

What seems to be the problem?

I haven't been out of the house in over two years.

Plastic.

You?

Uh, one, two,

uh, four.

Four.

Yeah, if we're not counting arriving here.

We're really scraping the bottom of the barrel with these chosen ones, aren't we?

Okay,

listen carefully.

I'm gonna say this only once.

Not because I don't want to repeat myself, but because if something goes wrong out there, there won't be a chance for me to repeat myself.

So, rule number one.

If I'm quiet, you're quiet.

Absolutely no talking.

Or any other sounds.

Coughing, snoring, sneezing, screaming.

Do people scream?

I mean, usually?

No.

They usually don't have time to do that.

Okay.

Rule number two.

You hear this?

Where I go, you follow.

Just listen to the sound of my cane and do not deviate from the path in the slightest.

Got it?

So if we follow you and keep our mouths shut, things are gonna be okay?

Sure.

With me, you get a lifetime warranty.

We do?

Oh, yeah.

I promise to keep you alive until the end of your life.

My dear wallabies, you have to understand.

Out there, there are no guarantees.

It's like a board game.

You can do everything right and still lose.

All right, time to go.

It's just a street.

It's just a street.

It's just a street.

Hendrik Strausse wasn't really a street.

Technically speaking, it was a cul-de-sac in the nondescript German town of Russrat.

It was there that on November 5th, 1375, a patch of land disappeared.

as if it were removed with a giant scalpel and then stitched together.

Contained in the missing area were 19 houses with 47 inhabitants, 41 of which were present in their homes at the time of the incident.

Fortunately, if the word fortune can be invoked in relation to this event, it was a school day, so six children with the Hendrik Strauss resonance escaped the fate of their parents and older siblings, that of getting erased.

May I say something?

Rule number one.

But I need to walk to that wall over there.

Rule number two.

But

I need to do both number one and number two.

All right.

But take the cane with you, you know, just in case.

So it could detect glitches?

Yeah.

But still, don't let your guard down.

Some glitches are only set off by organic matter.

Pity there are no animals left.

A pig on the leash in front would make a much better detection system.

Oh, man.

That's cruel.

I mean, it's not like pigs had a good time while they were around.

If you're gonna write down the history of the world, at least get your facts straight.

I'm sorry to interrupt, but I really need to go.

Fine, fine, fine, fine.

Here's the cane.

And also, don't go behind that wall, but behind that tree.

Is it because it's less likely there are any glitches there?

No, it's because it's better for the tree.

Since we can talk now,

I have to ask, who made all these statues around us?

What statues?

Like

that one there?

Or here?

Here's one right next to the road.

That

those are not statues.

What do you mean?

Those are poor bastards who walk this road before us and had the misfortune to encounter a Medusa.

These are real, real people who turned to stone?

Yep.

Medusa is the popular name for the petrification glitch.

Well, maybe popular.

It's not the best word.

None of the glitches are really popular.

Why are they naked?

It's their flesh that turned into stone, not their clothes.

Their clothes probably got washed away by the elements.

I mean, who knows how long they've been out here like this?

What a horrible way to die.

Actually, there are worse materials to be turned into.

At least, flesh transforming into stone is a quick way to go.

Unlike having your bones turned into glass or your blood into quicksilver.

You know,

I was thinking

your other chosen ones?

What about them did they ever make it to the

to the terminal

they did

it's just that none of them made it inside

hey guys we can go hey guys we can go hey guys we can go

what's happening she got stuck in a loop hey guys don't worry it usually only lasts a minute or so though I once got stuck in a loop for over an hour it's like getting stuck in a merry-go-round

not fun

Is she aware she's in a loop?

Definitely.

But there's nothing she can do about it.

And neither can we.

Interrupting a loop can be dangerous.

It's better to just wait for the process to resolve.

Hey, guys, we can go.

Hey, guys, we can go.

Hey, guys, we can go.

Hey, guys, we can go.

Bloody shitballs!

What was that?

The loop.

Don't worry, it's over now.

Don't worry.

Fuck, that was terrifying.

Trust me, I don't use the words don't worry gratuitously.

Loops are annoying, but they're mostly harmless.

Besides, it could have been much worse.

It could?

Yeah.

You could have got stuck in a loop while you were doing your business behind the tree.

Gross.

My cane, please.

Here you go.

Hope you used hand sanitizer.

Always?

Liar.

Okay, Cabybaras, let us continue.

By the way, what are all these statues?

Rule number one.

The Hendrik Straase incident provoked an immediate reaction.

It is estimated that over 2 billion messages got dispatched to the admin in the first 24 hours alone.

Some formal in tone, focused on facts and potential resolutions.

Others emotional, emphasizing the shock and distress the event caused.

Regardless of the approach, they all had exactly the same effect,

which is to say,

none.

As all messages addressed to the system administrator returned unread.

And for the first time in history, people's cries were met

with silence.

May I say something?

Rule number one.

But we've

been walking for hours.

Rule number two.

Fuck.

Am I stuck in a loop again?

Well, if you are, I'm stuck right with you.

No one's stuck in a loop, you monosets.

Ferryman,

I haven't left the house in two years.

I need rest.

To rest is to rest.

But there's no point in surviving glitches if we die of exhaustion.

Yeah,

regarding survival, we need to get to the safe house before dark if we want to do that.

Please, I can't carry this weight any longer.

That's okay, I'll manage.

Don't give me that equal lefts crap.

Give me your backpack.

I'll take it.

You'll be faster.

We both win.

Okay.

Fucking fuck, Knuckles.

this is heavy.

Told ya.

What are you carrying, your bowling ball collection?

Actually, it's my pet rocks.

Sorry to break up the bickering,

but what happened to rule number one?

Aren't we in danger of setting off any glitches if we talk?

No.

Actually, none of the glitches are triggered by sound.

Rule number one is only because I don't feel like talking.

I like your cruise, man.

Yeah.

Cruise of a dickhead.

Listen, you pissing pair of parakeets.

I'm not doing this to get style points.

You think out here being a nice person will save you?

You think that bad things don't happen to good people?

Like what happened with your arm?

What about my arm?

Well,

we did notice the glove.

And

how you seem to hold your arm close to your body at all times.

Oh, that.

I'm glad you asked.

So, what's the deal?

I said I'm glad you asked.

I didn't say I'd gladly answer.

Well, I'll gladly answer your question then.

Yes, I'm aware bad things happen to good people.

That's kind of the story of our times, isn't it?

Either case, the facts ain't gonna change.

The only thing we can do is put a positive spin on it.

You mean like we do with this whole system administrator crap?

What?

Flamuxed flamingos.

Don't you get it?

What we call the admin ain't nothing but a symbolic construct.

Wait.

You're not saying that.

that

the system administrator is made up?

What I'm saying is that the admin stories are almost 400 years old.

How the fuck do we know what's real and what's not?

Well, that's just swell.

The last ferryman left is having an existential crisis.

I can't believe what I'm hearing.

So who made the sim if she's not real?

What difference does it make?

It's not like the undertaking's gonna get an A-plus at the science fair.

In case you haven't noticed, things haven't exactly been peaches and cream for a while now.

But everything happens for a reason.

Just because we don't understand it doesn't mean there's no plan.

Listen, listen.

I'll be the first one to admit that some of Edmund's behavior in the last four centuries or so has been...

questionable.

But if you don't believe Admin is real, then why are you even helping us get to the terminal?

Shh, quiet.

Quiet.

Do you hear that?

Hear what?

Anything.

Now that you mention it,

everything's completely silent.

Plastic.

Now I definitely heard that.

What the fuck?

It's the motion glitch.

Stay still.

Baby fucker.

What is that?

It's a glitch that collects and deletes everything that isn't scenery.

It's gotta be here any second.

Our only chance is to stay perfectly still so it mistakes us for background.

Here it comes.

Don't move a muscle.

All right.

It's gone.

Admin be praised.

Everybody alright?

Yeah, I think so.

You okay?

Hello?

Yeah.

Yeah, I'm alright.

Sorry.

Just dazed.

I thought you turned to stone or something.

I have to admit.

That was a close one.

But at least the experience was instructive.

What do you what do you mean?

Well, if everything happens for a reason, then you're good admin just trying to kill us.

No, come on.

We need to reach the safe house before dark.

At first, most people claimed she would surely return.

After all, it was her sim.

How could she not?

But as more time passed and she continued to remain silent, the narrative changed.

She might not be with us, but she is among us, was the new mantra repeated often.

Almost like the act of repetition would make it true.

Experts, however, continued to study the glitches, and while they couldn't agree on the cause, on one point, they reached a broad consensus.

Our simulation

was falling apart.

Daddy?

Daddy!

There she is.

There's my princess.

Have you kept the house in order?

Yes, Daddy.

Are these our guests?

Yes, these are the chosen ones.

She be with us.

With us.

Are you guys a husband and wife?

No.

No.

No, no, no, no.

We're just running a bit short on time, so I'm ferrying two of them at once.

I mean, two chosen ones living together.

That would be a bit much, wouldn't it?

You're the one to talk about bizarre relationships.

Quiet.

I just hope Her Majesty prepared something tasty for us.

I did!

A stew,

and I already set the table.

Actually, I did it yesterday.

yesterday.

Oh, I apologize, Your Highness.

We got a bit caught up.

Glitches, giving us trouble.

But we'll gladly enjoy your cooking now.

We're all famished.

Please, allow me.

This is so good.

Certainly beats the pro bars and vitamin pills.

Definitely.

I haven't had real food in years.

What did you say this is called?

A legume stew.

Stew, huh?

How many cycles did it consume?

Actually, cooking, if you do it efficiently, uses very few cycles.

We raise the beans, peas, and lentils in our own garden.

The full harvest burns less than 10,000 cycles, and it's enough to keep two of us fed for the whole season.

Don't forget, legumes are one of the most calorie-rich staples.

What about stimulating water, earth, and warmth?

That's on top, but those cycles would be burned no matter what.

What about cycles spent on cooking?

Dude, relax and enjoy the food.

How can I enjoy it if each of these plates has burned hundreds of cycles?

Come on, man.

You're being rude.

There's no shame in accepting cycles which have already been spent.

There's no honor in it either.

Wasting cycles is an affront to our good sis admin herself.

There you go.

Attributing agency to abstractions again.

Now, now, wait a second.

Don't get me wrong.

I understand the allure of chalking up misery to an external force.

Because believing that you got randomly fucked is a terrible thought, isn't it?

Randomly fucked doesn't have meaning.

Fucked by design?

Now, that has meaning.

And we all need meaning in our lives.

You know what I think?

I think that you prefer a world in which Providence doesn't exist.

So you can justify your selfish actions.

Well, if you're so certain that System Administrator exists, then why are you blaming me for anything?

Blame her.

She's the one who created a sim in which there's not enough.

She's the one who's making us choose every day between being warm and being fed.

We all need to sacrifice something.

Oh, please.

What did you sacrifice sitting on your couch playing Jenga and reading mangas while the world around you burned?

Excuse me?

You calling us out on our behavior?

And what kind of kinky dynamic have you got going on here?

What?

You heard me?

Whatever scenario you and your daddy's little princess here are playing to get your freak on?

She's my daughter.

What?

How do I tell you about Nyx?

I could tell you how she and I met.

How, in a directionless world, trajectories of two particles intersected, attracted to each other, like a proton and an electron.

One positive, the other negative.

I'll let you decide which one of those describes me.

But no, I can't tell you that story.

You'd find it saccharine.

Maybe even contrived.

So how do I tell you about next?

Maybe I could tell you the story of our first kiss, taking the matter from the realm of physics to chemistry, to testosterone and pheromones, and all those beautiful molecules that made the wine we drank that day so splendidly intoxicating.

You'd probably find that story excessively raunchy, or maybe even awkward, if you embarrass easily.

So how do I tell you about next?

Perhaps we should go to the level of biology, to a gamete and a zygote in the ensuing multiplication that, were it not true, would surely be considered miraculous.

To the natural processes that led to me and Nyx combining into a work of wonder, we named Princess.

Her birth

made me feel like there was still some sense in all of this.

I could share this in many other stories, but they do not contain NYX.

They cannot impart her soft character and

her sharp wit.

They are powerless in front of her disarming smile.

So, I will confine my story to facts.

I will confine my story to numbers.

Incident 5494

was seven years ago.

Back then, this area was still relatively stable.

Sure, we'd get a glitch, but nothing really serious, mostly loops and some auditory instabilities.

I'd already been a ferryman for a long time by then.

Me

and Nyx.

And she

was the best ferryman this side of the ridge.

Which makes the morning of April 22nd, 1672, such an aberration.

I was in the kitchen, and Nyx and Princess, they were playing in the meadow.

There was a small meadow behind the house.

Suddenly, I felt a quake, and the whole house started to tremble.

I looked outside the window, and I saw Nyx and Princess

caught in a time sink.

An instability inside which time flows at a different rate, meaning seconds inside can equal years of normal time.

I start running towards the time sink.

100 meters.

Princess is still a little girl.

And Nyx is the woman I love.

80 meters.

Princess is.

She's.

She's a teenager.

Tall and strong and so, so beautiful.

But Nick's.

You could tell Nyx had already passed into middle age.

The scene resembled one of those dances of death images, you know, that depict the progression of age from the cradle to the grave.

60 meters.

Princess is now around 30, as old as Nyx was when they'd fallen into the time sink.

At one point, the thought crossed my mind that Princess was Nyx, because I could no longer

recognize the woman next to her.

40 meters.

It's now Princess who's middle-aged, and Nyx is just a frail shell of herself.

Twenty meters,

Princess's hair matches the sparkling white of the bones next to her.

Ten meters,

the bones are already half pulverized.

Next to them stands Princess.

No longer tall.

No longer fair-skinned.

No longer beautiful.

One meter.

I extend my arm into the time sink.

I grab Princess and pull her out.

I see a spark in her eyes, like a flash of cognition.

Her senses returning to her.

She lets out a cry for her mother, but the coarse sound coming out of her mouth startles her, shocks her.

Silent.

I try to embrace her.

I want to hold her close.

I want her body to fuse with mine, to stay with me forever.

But I can't

because my arm is too weak.

The cloth of my sleeve is worn out, the colors faded.

I see a thin, wrinkled hand sticking out, out, covered in liver spots.

And it takes me a moment to realize it's mine.

I lay Prince's head down on my chest and watch Nyx's remains turn into fine, fine

dust.

Finally, having consumed consumed everything within it, the time sink dissolves,

leaving a hole

4.5 meters wide and 3.2 meters deep.

Leaving a hole immeasurably big.

Princess was

five

when she fell into the time sink.

She She was around 80 by the time I pulled her out.

Last week we celebrated her 12th birthday.

I had to help her

blow out the candles.

Daddy?

Are you crying?

I.

I.

It's my fault.

I just told your father a sad story.

I appreciate the gesture, but the subterfuge is unnecessary.

I just told our guests the story of how we lost Mama.

Oh, daddy, I miss mama, too.

Princess?

I never knew my parents.

They both neutralized themselves when I was just a baby, so they'd save more cycles for my generation.

So if I may share something that brought me consolation.

And that's the thought of our good admin.

We may be parentless, but just like everyone else, both you and me are children of our great administrator.

She is a mother to us all.

You will have to forgive our guests, Princess.

They suffer from an acute case of Stockholm syndrome.

What's Stockholm?

It used to be a city, but the area it was located in got affected by a glitch.

Subsequent reports surmised a miniature star materialized roughly 100 meters below the surface and immediately collapsed into itself.

It's estimated that it resulted in temperatures of around 5,000 degrees.

This Stockholm syndrome sounds bad.

Oh, it definitely is bad.

Bad and unfair and inexcusable.

But it also carries a lesson.

Which one, one, Daddy?

That things simply happen to us, whether or not we deserve it.

That our failures and triumphs are the result of the universe playing Yahtzee.

And that we are constantly one misfortune away from having everything,

everything

taken away from us.

Like Mama was?

Yeah,

like Mama was.

And I can vouch for her.

She did nothing to deserve it.

Now, it's time for you to go back to bed.

Good night, Daddy.

Say goodnight to our guests as well.

Good night.

Good night, Princess.

I hope you soon get better from the Stockholm thing.

Don't worry.

We will, sweetie.

Good night.

Bye.

She's wonderful.

She is.

Frankly speaking, if it weren't for her, I would have thrown myself into a spontaneous disintegration glitch a long, long time ago.

Now, excuse me.

I'll follow Princess's lead and go to bed.

I advise you to do the same.

I

will follow shortly.

Wow,

that story.

It certainly explains a lot.

I guess some people find it easier to accept that Admin doesn't talk to us because she isn't there and not because she doesn't care.

You know,

thinking about it that way, there's one scenario even more horrible than our good administrator abandoning us.

Which one?

That

she hasn't.

Having diagnosed the problem, experts next determined its basic cause.

Loss of processing power.

After years of extensive analysis, a white paper had been released that was as unforgiving as it was dire.

Based on frequency of the glitches, researchers calculated that the entire sim would disintegrate in exactly 380 years.

The white paper, however, ended on a positive note.

By rationing the cycles, it was possible to extend the remaining processing power up to 10 times longer.

Authorities on the subject also offered cautious optimism that during this time, a permanent fix could be developed, a fix that could ultimately salvage our simulation from annihilation.

It is a true testament to Admin's glory that the most despairing message of all times also carried

hope.

Enter

may I come in?

Sure.

Just close the door behind you.

I just came in to say thank you for keeping us alive

and to apologize for my comments earlier.

You mean those in which you accused me of of an incestuous BDSM relationship?

Yeah,

those.

No need to apologize.

Well, except to people who are into BDSM for kink shaming them.

Thanks.

If I run into any, I'll be sure to say sorry.

I know you don't need my validation, but for what it's worth, you seem like a great parent.

Well, if you regard Sisid Min as mother, the bar is at quite low.

You know, there's something I don't understand.

You pride yourself on being rational,

but having children in a dying world isn't exactly it.

And you falling in love is?

So, what do you mean?

Come on.

I saw the way you rushed into his defense when I pressed on to him.

You fancy the bugger.

I mean, it's not surprising.

He's a handsome cat, and it's not like your dating pool is particularly deep.

I'm just not sure you're denying it to me or to yourself.

I'm not denying it.

I mean, I'm not in love with him.

I'm just...

I'm just sucking up to get a full page in his chronicle.

And

did it work?

No.

He keeps saying it's not about individuals.

Isn't that a bit off message?

Why do you say that?

Well, what are you two but individuals tasked with saving the world?

Since we're sharing a moment, may I ask you a question?

Sure.

Why aren't you carrying 15 kilos of explosives in your backpack?

Um, what what are you talking about?

Come on.

I carried your backpack for eight hours.

You don't think I'd do that without taking a look into its contents, do you?

It's

it's leverage.

Leverage?

Oh,

you little pufferfish.

You aren't planning to blow the system administrator up, are you?

No.

I mean, maybe.

Depends on how the encounter goes.

I mean, if we ever get to an encounter.

Oh, I have to admit.

You two are the craziest puffins I've ever ferried.

I mean, you have to be a little crazy to embark on the expedition to begin with.

But you two take the biscuit.

Please don't tell him I said anything.

He thinks, admin, it's love.

But

what if...

what if she's simply a psychopath?

Based on records, it would seem the researchers expected their disintegration white paper to cause massive psycho conservation efforts.

Instead, the warning had the exact opposite effect.

Instead of jolting people people to action, it alleviated the concerns.

The world coming to an end was simply one of those fears alien to people's nature, just like folks are more afraid of spiders than cardiovascular disease.

So all calls to ration the cycles failed, with those who were being forced into rationing opposing it, and those who were forcing the rationing ignoring it.

To use the parlance of the era, saving the world simply had no stakeholder buy-in.

Black-tailed prairie dogs.

Yes, prairie dogs.

Where do they live?

Yeah, it says prairie dogs live in huge underground burrows.

Burrows called towns.

What does this say?

Sega.

Saiga.

Antelope.

Antelope.

Antelope.

In winter, the saga's coat grows thick and woolly to protect it from the bitter winds that blow on the stem.

There are two flying squirrels.

Hope you had a good night's rest.

Morning.

Good morning, Princess.

Good morning.

That mattress was amazing.

Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it, for it's the last comfortable bed you'll have before we reach the terminal.

Our path forward takes us through the black zone.

It's a part of the sim without luminance.

You don't have a flashlight?

You don't understand.

It's without luminance.

The ability of objects to be illuminated.

You could detonate a bomb in there, it would still stay pitch black.

So you're telling us that there's literally no way to light our surroundings?

Once an area loses luminance, it doesn't come back.

We'll have to continue in the dark.

What, seriously?

With no source of light?

What do you think the cane is for?

Fortunately, the road continues straight all the way, meaning all we have to do is follow it.

So, you guys will hold on to this rope as you walk behind me.

I'll be the mama duck, and you be my ducklings.

Are you joking?

Have you spent any time with me at all?

Please come back quickly, Daddy.

Don't worry, Princess.

I'm coming for you before deprecation day.

Now, come here and give your father a hug.

See you in a week.

Oh, and just one more thing before we go.

There are rumors there's something alive in the Black Zone.

Something alive?

I've never encountered anything, but Ferrymen of Old talked about some kind of...

some kind of an animal habituated to the dark.

An animal?

Oh, what's the matter?

Now you do want to kill animals?

Understand.

We're going towards the outer edge of the sim.

It's gonna be dangerous.

From this point onward, you can expect structural instabilities at every step.

You never told us this.

You didn't exactly look like you needed any additional discouragement.

Don't worry.

Take care of yourself.

I have a good feeling about them.

Thank you, Princess.

It's truly a great help.

It was only when when Australia disappeared that people had come to realize something had to be done.

By that time, there was little over 200 years of processing power left, and with no low-hanging fruit remaining, people started to ask the tough questions.

For example, how much processing power does a cow consume?

The answer, approximately 500 cycles cycles per day, doesn't sound like much, but once multiplied with the bovine population at their peak, the conclusion was simple.

So long, and thanks for all the beef.

Less than 50 years later, the sim was wholly devoid of animals.

All livestock got culled.

A never-ending open season on every species of game and fowl decimated their populations.

Fish and other marine creatures were hunted down from all but the deepest seas.

Even bugs were brought down to a fraction of their former number as every patch of land was doused in insecticides.

A special carve-out was declared on people's pets provided they were sterilized.

Which is to say, That was the final generation of kittens and puppies on the planet.

When Cookie, the last cat, died, more tears were shed than at any funeral in history.

Ugh, plastic.

How can it be so hot during the night?

That's because it's not night.

It's noon.

Of course, it's hot.

The sun is still shining.

You just don't see it.

Are you keeping your sunglasses on?

Yes.

Good.

You don't want to walk out of the black zone only to get instantly blinded by the light.

Something I learned the hard way.

Hello, and I hope you're wearing your hats.

I don't want you getting any sunscrobe.

I am, but I haven't applied any sunscreen, which might be the reason I feel burnt.

Look at the bright side.

It's unlikely the time we've got left will be enough for skin cancer to kill you.

Oh, plastic.

What was that?

It's what makes cancer an enticing prospect.

Hurry, we need to get out of here.

Quickly, we're close to the exit.

Wait, I dropped the rope.

Where are you?

Where are you, guys?

To listen to part two of this thrilling episode, you can click on the link in the description or search for the Programme Audio Series wherever you get your podcasts.

Or you can find more information on rustyquill.com or programmeaudio series.com.

Thanks for listening.