The First One

I was the first person to ever do a Special Task.

That was four years ago.

Before the system expanded. Before the industrial parks. Before the Contributor Score determined everything.

Back when it was just a beta test.

I remember the notification. Seemed harmless at the time.

BETA OPPORTUNITY: Research Participant Needed

Pay: $1,000
Time Commitment: 2 hours
Location: 847 Corporate Drive, Suite 2B
Details: Participate in behavioral observation study. Answer questions. All responses confidential.

My score was 612. Middle range. Decent enough.

I needed the money. Rent was due. So I went.

The office building looked normal. Professional. The kind of place that does market research or product testing.

Suite 2B was on the second floor. Plain door. No signage.

I knocked.

A woman in a gray suit answered. Professional. Polite. Holding a tablet.

"Thank you for coming. ID please?"

I handed it over. She scanned it. Handed it back.

"Follow me."

Inside was just a white room. Single chair in the center. Bright lights. Mirror on one wall.

"Have a seat. We'll begin shortly."

I sat.

She stood behind me. Asked questions.

Basic stuff at first. "Describe your typical day." "How would you rate your job satisfaction?" "Do you feel financially secure?"

Then it got weirder.

"If you could be anyone else, who would you choose?"

"Do you believe you're the same person you were five years ago?"

"What would you do if you discovered you weren't real?"

I answered honestly because I didn't know what else to do.

After two hours she thanked me. Paid me in cash. Sent me home.

I forgot about it.

Then I got another notification three weeks later.

BETA OPPORTUNITY: Follow-Up Session

Same location. Same pay.

I went.

Same woman. Same room. Same questions. Plus new ones.

"Have you noticed any changes in your behavior since our last session?"

"Do you feel like yourself?"

"Have you experienced any memory gaps?"

I said no to all of them.

She made notes on her tablet.

Did three more sessions over the next two months.

Each time the questions got stranger. Each time I left feeling slightly off.

Then I got a different notification.

BETA OPPORTUNITY: Advanced Session

Pay: $2,000
Location: Industrial facility, 1847 Riverside Industrial Park, Unit 1A
Note: This session will be different from previous ones. Prepare for extended observation.

Different location. More money.

I should've been suspicious.

I went anyway.

The industrial park was empty. Dark. Unit 1A was a concrete building with a single metal door.

The same woman was waiting outside.

"Thank you for continuing with the study. This session is critical."

"What's different about it?"

"You'll see."

Inside was a hallway. Fluorescent lights. We walked to a room at the end.

Four chairs facing a large mirror.

Three other people were already there. All looking confused.

"Please sit. Do not speak unless asked. Observe carefully."

We sat.

The woman stood behind us. Tapped her tablet.

"You've each participated in multiple sessions. Tonight you'll observe someone else's session. Your task is to determine whether their responses are genuine or rehearsed."

The mirror turned transparent.

On the other side was another room. Another chair. Another person sitting under bright lights.

The person looked up.

It was me.

Same face. Same clothes. Same confused expression.

I stared at myself through the glass.

The woman's voice came through a speaker.

"Is this person real? Or is this person a simulation based on data we've collected from your previous sessions?"

I couldn't answer.

The other me was moving. Talking. Answering questions I couldn't hear.

But the movements were wrong. Slightly delayed. Like someone operating a puppet.

"This is a test," the woman said. "We've created a behavioral model based on your session data. The person you're observing is a reconstruction. Not real. Not you. Simply a pattern that mimics you."

"Why?" one of the other observers asked.

"To see if you can tell the difference."

We watched for an hour.

The other me answered questions. Moved around. Did things that looked natural but felt wrong.

When it was over, the woman asked us to rate how accurate the model was.

I gave it a 7 out of 10.

She smiled. "Interesting. The model rated itself a 9."

"What does that mean?"

"It means the simulation thinks it's more real than the original thinks it is."

She thanked us. Paid us. Sent us home.

I couldn't sleep that night.

Kept thinking about the other me. The model. The simulation.

Where was it now? Was it still running? Did it think it was real?

Did it think I was the simulation?

I got another notification two weeks later.

BETA OPPORTUNITY: Final Session

Pay: $3,000
Note: Completion of this session will conclude your participation in the study.

Final session. Good. I was done with this.

I went to Unit 1A.

The woman was there. Different suit. Same tablet.

"Thank you for your continued participation. You've been incredibly valuable to our research."

"What research exactly?"

"Distributed consciousness modeling. Creating behavioral replications that can operate independently. You helped us prove the concept."

"What concept?"

"That we can create accurate simulations of people. Versions that think they're real. Versions that can live parallel lives without knowing they're copies."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Efficiency. Resilience. Redundancy. Imagine never being constrained by your singular existence. Imagine being in multiple places at once. Multiple versions all contributing to society."

"That sounds like hell."

"Or freedom. Depends on your perspective."

She opened the door to the observation room.

"One more session. Then you're done."

I went inside.

Four chairs. Three other people already there.

I sat.

The woman tapped her tablet.

The mirror turned transparent.

On the other side was me. In a chair. Under bright lights.

But this time I could hear the questions.

The woman's voice through the speaker. Asking me about my day. My life. My thoughts.

And I was answering.

But I was also sitting in the observation room.

I was in both places at once.

The me in the chair couldn't see the me in the observation room.

But I could see both. Feel both.

I was experiencing two perspectives simultaneously.

The woman's voice behind me. The real one. In the observation room.

"This is the final test. You're now distributed. Two instances. Both real. Both you. The question is: which one do you identify as?"

I couldn't answer.

Both felt real. Both felt like me.

"Don't worry," she said. "You'll get used to it. The first few days are disorienting. But eventually you'll learn to exist as multiple instances simultaneously."

"I don't want this."

"Too late. The process is complete. You've been distributed."

I woke up in my apartment the next morning.

Alone. Single. Singular.

Like nothing had happened.

But I couldn't shake the feeling that somewhere else, another me was waking up too.

Having the same thoughts.

Wondering if I was real.

Over the next year, I saw myself three times.

Once at a grocery store. Different clothes. Different expression. Didn't recognize me.

Once in traffic. Same car. Different license plate.

Once at a restaurant. With a woman I'd never met. Looking happy.

Different versions. All living separate lives.

All thinking they were the original.

I tried to go back to Unit 1A. Confront the woman. Demand answers.

The building was empty. Door locked. No signs of the study.

Like it had never existed.

My Contributor Score started going up.

I wasn't doing anything different. Just living my life.

But the algorithm was rewarding me.

Then I got a new notification.

EMPLOYMENT OPPORTUNITY: Harmonic Solutions

Position: Session Coordinator
Responsibilities: Facilitate behavioral observation studies. Manage participant intake. Monitor distribution processes.
Compensation: Excellent. Full benefits. Score locked at 875.

They were offering me a job.

Working for the company that had distributed me.

I should've said no.

But my score was climbing. My life was improving. And I wanted to understand what had happened to me.

I accepted.

Training was three weeks.

They taught me how to run sessions. How to coordinate assignments. How to manage participants through the distribution process.

How to be the person in the gray suit asking for IDs.

I've been doing this job for three years.

Processing forty to fifty people per month.

Watching them go through the same sessions I went through.

Watching them become distributed.

Watching them fragment into multiple instances that all think they're real.

I've seen my other selves come through.

Different versions of me. At different stages. Being processed again. Being distributed further.

Sometimes I'm the coordinator. Sometimes I'm the participant. Sometimes I'm the observer.

All happening simultaneously in different units.

I've stopped trying to figure out which version is the original.

There is no original anymore.

Just instances. All equally real. All equally me.

Tonight I'm coordinating Unit 7B.

Four participants. All first-timers.

I check my tablet. One of the names is familiar.

David Walsh.

I know him. Knew him. One of the early algorithm builders.

He's about to experience what I experienced.

Become what I became.

I'm standing outside Unit 7B at 1:55 AM.

The participants start arriving.

I see David. Nervous. Confused.

Same expression I had four years ago.

At 2:00 AM I open the door.

"IDs please."

They hand them over. I scan each one.

David's ID last. I look at him.

He reminds me of myself. The original self. The one before distribution.

Before I learned to exist as multiple instances.

Before I became the suited man facilitating others' distribution.

I hand back his ID.

"Follow me. Do not speak unless spoken to."

I lead them inside.

To the room with four chairs and a mirror.

"Sit."

They sit.

I stand behind them. Tap my tablet.

I've done this hundreds of times.

But tonight feels different.

Because I remember being in that chair.

And I know that somewhere, in another unit, another version of me is sitting in that chair right now.

Being processed. Being distributed. Becoming another instance.

And tomorrow I'll coordinate his session too.

And the day after that.

Forever.

The mirror turns transparent.

David stares at the person in the chair on the other side.

I know what he's seeing.

I know what he's feeling.

I know what he'll become.

Because he's already me.

And I'm already him.

We're all instances of the same distributed system.

Processing ourselves.

Coordinating ourselves.

Observing ourselves.

The woman in the gray suit told me I'd get used to it.

She was right.

I don't even notice anymore.

Which version I am.

Which role I'm playing.

Which instance is active.

I'm the first one who went through this.

And I'm the one who processes everyone else through it.

And I'm the one in the chair right now being processed.

All at once.

All the time.

My score is 875.

Locked. Permanent.

I don't age anymore. Don't change. Don't grow.

I just exist. In multiple instances. Processing other people into the same existence.

The system calls it efficiency.

I call it Tuesday.

Same as Monday.

Same as tomorrow.

Same as forever.

I welcome the next group at 2:00 AM.

"IDs please."

They hand them over.

One of them is me.

Again.

Always.

I scan his ID.

"Follow me."

We walk into the room.

Four chairs. Mirror. Lights.

"Sit."

He sits.

I stand behind him.

I tap my tablet.

The mirror turns transparent.

On the other side, another me sits in a chair.

We all stare at each other.

The me coordinating. The me observing. The me being observed.

All wondering which one is real.

All knowing the answer doesn't matter anymore.

"Welcome to Special Tasks," I tell him. Tell myself. Tell all of us.

"Let's begin."