Ch.75The Guy Writing a Thesis in Prison (2)

One week into prison life.

The Alcatraz I’ve been sent to is more like a detention center than a prison, so there’s no morning roll call.

Instead, robots patrol around to distinguish between those who are present, those who’ve disappeared, and those who’ve gone mad. They search for the missing ones and call guards to beat the crazy ones.

After observing for about three days, I understood why the guards beat people. The beatings temporarily alleviated the madness.

It was physical therapy in the truest sense.

“Prisoner number 888888, in room. Status?”

“I’m fine.”

“Status, normal.”

A robot shaped like an observatory dome whirred past.

After some time, the guards opened the doors for those who were mentally stable.

The daily routine here always begins with running.

“A healthy mind dwells in a healthy body. Everyone do 50 laps around the yard, now!”

“Fifty laps is too much no matter how you look at it!”

“You punk, don’t you want to return to society?”

The instructors urged the stragglers on with beatings. We had no choice but to run for our lives. I’m starving and we haven’t even eaten yet.

Even so, there was someone who ran incredibly well.

“What’s with that girl?”

The most notable example was the girl imprisoned in the cell next to mine. She seemed to be the same age as me and always had dark circles under her eyes.

Despite her fragile appearance, she had disgustingly good stamina.

Moreover, while her face looked somewhat decadent, she was quite beautiful, captivating the hearts of many men.

“Wow, look at those bouncing breasts.”

“If only I could touch them once.”

No, not their hearts but their lust.

“…Perverted bastards.”

The girl clicked her tongue and frowned.

How should I put it? She was like a friend who combined Rustila’s stamina with Zernya’s personality.

She finished the 50 laps first, letting her black hair, which reached her shoulders, hang down as she sighed.

I came in second. After training my basic physical strength for nearly a year, this level of running is nothing.

“I, I’m done.”

“Don’t you want to return to society? With that level of determination, you’ll just get devoured by the Outer Gods again. Now that you understand, run faster!”

Aaaaargh!

Hearing the screams of the remaining weaklings who couldn’t meet their quota, the girl and I headed to the cafeteria first.

***

In the cafeteria, those possessed by Darwin-type Outer Gods and those possessed by other types had to eat in separate areas.

The Darwin types are groups of complete organisms composed of organic matter. Therefore, their actions focus on biochemistry.

For example, spreading food poisoning. Or causing epidemics.

By the time I got my tray and found a seat, the girl was nowhere to be seen. I guessed she was possessed by a Darwin-type Outer God.

“Aah.”

Clatter.

A guy who was quietly eating his soup suddenly started acting up.

“C-could it be that Outer Gods come here too? Would we all die if they did? It might happen. I need to escape quickly. Run away, escape, I can hear voices, ah. Aaah.”

“You there!”

“Augh.”

“This won’t do. Bring him here right now.”

“I, I don’t want to die. Help me! Aaaaargh!”

The previously bright atmosphere in the cafeteria grew heavy again. I silently tore off a piece of bread.

It’s disgustingly hard. Even a breadboard would be more edible than this.

Damn, I already miss Sonia’s food. When was the last time I had a warm croissant with butter and sugar?

[“If you want, I could mess with the brains of the cooks here.”]

No thanks.

Even so, that’s crossing a line.

When an Outer God talks like this, it’s best to filter what you hear. Their kindness isn’t really kindness. They always expect something in return.

“Aaaaargh!”

Screams erupted from another table. I picked up my tray and slowly raised my gaze. A young man who had been beaten all over was being dragged away by a guard, completely limp.

“Damn it. Why are they taking it out on us? We’re victims too!”

Not wanting to waste time on post-meal conversation, I left early.

As I walked away, pathetic groans continued to fall behind me.

Graviton bomb.

I absolutely must create a graviton bomb.

But there’s nothing I can do except thought experiments. Even with “thought acceleration” and “parallel thinking,” I couldn’t fully describe the physical laws that make up the system. I needed something to write with, a pen.

***

After eating, we enter a makeshift sanctuary to pray.

It’s essentially our only hope, because if a strong constellation takes root in us, it can drive out the Outer God and we can leave this place immediately.

But Outer Gods are territorial and try to drive away any constellation trying to enter.

It’s not common, but what if you already have a constellation and then get infected by an Outer God?

Then that constellation might be driven out, or in severe cases, it could be violated in the imaginary space until its lifespan ends. This isn’t a metaphor—it literally happens.

“Anyone get a constellation?”

“No.”

“If not, proceed to the video therapy room.”

After the sanctuary comes the video room… though it’s really just a place for mental education.

Maxwell types with Maxwell types.

Darwin types with Darwin types.

The education room varies slightly depending on the type of Outer God possessing you. Since today was my first time, I had to tell the examiner what type of Outer God I had.

“Which Outer God do you have?”

“Laplace.”

I lied casually. I was curious if they were really identifying them correctly.

“Nothing was detected in your examination.”

“…”

“Guard!”

And so I was beaten like a dog on a hot summer day before being sent to the Descartes-type video room. It hurt like hell, but I satisfied my curiosity, so no regrets.

Inside the room was a single full-screen TV.

Click, thud!

As soon as I entered the room, the video started playing automatically.

[Descartes-type Outer Gods directly manipulate the minds of their hosts and those around them. Therefore, people controlled by them must always learn to maintain a posture of not losing ‘themselves’.]

It was mostly information I already knew. Utterly boring. I yawned and thought about other things.

[Now, tell me. Who are you?]

“Ah.”

[Ah-]

“I want to write a paper.”

[I want to write a paper-]

“…?”

Wait a minute. Was this supposed to be interactive?

Slam!

The door opened.

“This one’s completely insane. Come here!”

“Aack! Ack!”

This time I got severely beaten even though I hadn’t done anything wrong.

The afternoon passes like this, then dinner, then discipline training at an appropriate intensity, and the day ends.

Except for the beatings, it’s fairly manageable. I’m even getting used to the bestial howls that come every night.

[Is there anything you find uncomfortable?]

Just before bedtime. The robot I saw in the morning approached with a whirring sound. This seems to be the time to discuss complaints or suggestions for improvement.

Smelling the stench from my blanket, I wrinkled my nose and said:

“Change my blanket, please. The sheet and pillow too.”

I spoke rather politely.

But the response was somewhat shocking.

[Go fuck yourself.]

“What?”

Whir whir whir.

The robot nodded and moved on to the next cell. For a moment, I couldn’t understand what I’d just heard.

“Did it get DDoSed or something?”

Then I heard the same sound from the next cell. The robot asking about discomforts, and a man saying something in response. I held my breath and pressed my ear against the wall.

– Yes baby, come here.

A man immediately saying such things after the robot told him to fuck off. I rubbed my face and lay down on the bed.

Tap tap tap!

A few minutes later, I heard the footsteps of guards, then they broke into the man’s cell.

And so from the room on the right came the voice of a madman in pain.

– That’s men for you.

And from the left side came the muttering voice of a girl. It was that unfortunate friend who had received all the men’s gazes during the morning run.

I lay back down on the blanket.

[— The God of Wisdom and Curiosity is bored.]

[“Kid, let’s play word chain. Apple.”]

Orchard.

[“Monkey.”]

Iridium.

[“Doomsday.”]

No, that’s not a valid word. Where are you getting this nonsense?

[“It exists in my world. Come on, just play. It ended with ‘um’.”]

Ytterbium.

[“I don’t want to play word chain with you anymore.”]

Even Cartesia is so bored that she’s going back on what she said when I first arrived and doing this with me.

Come to think of it, this is only possible because my Pron value is infinite. Normally, exchanging even one word with an Outer God accumulates hundreds of Pron.

– So you were a monster too.

Suddenly I recall what Vega told me.

I dismissed it as insignificant and fell asleep.

Dreams are where I meet Cartesia. Over the past week, by entering the imaginary space through dreams, I’ve had several opportunities to converse with Cartesia’s true form.

“The Aether concentration is too dense. It’s difficult to bestow Pron or observe you.”

During the week on this planet, Cartesia’s power had weakened considerably. Consequently, her once strong-willed personality had somewhat diminished.

“If something interesting happened, I might regain my strength.”

The God of Wisdom and Curiosity gains power from the accumulation of knowledge and the satisfaction of curiosity. The absence of academically interesting situations is poison to her.

What should I do about this?

After living with Cartesia for several months, I found her to be quite reasonable for an Outer God, almost like a “quasi-constellation.”

If Populus or some other entity had possessed my mind?

They would have given me all sorts of fucked-up quests like killing friends or violating my sister.

So if Cartesia left because she couldn’t overcome the Aether in the prison, it would be a big problem. Not only would I lose abilities like “thought acceleration,” “parallel thinking,” and “future vision,” but there’s no guarantee I’d find a constellation to protect me after my release.

“Alright, let’s try something.”

With that determination, I went to sleep.

And from the next day on, I secretly followed the guards and eavesdropped on their conversations.

“I’m telling you, do you know how long it takes to submit one report to the higher-ups?”

“Is it really that difficult?”

“You have no idea. The numerical calculations must be perfect, and the word selection has to be as meticulous as scholars writing academic papers. It’s hard enough guarding these lunatics, but having to do that too is truly a burden.”

Oh ho.

I’ve found something interesting.