Yevgeny Sage nibbles the flesh on the insides of his cheeks. He’s nervous. He cannot keep up with the university’s demands for Safety Assurance Reports. Three awful letters: S, A, R, each letter a nagging little criticism from Stanford University’s Board of Review. SAR Wars, he thinks.
Yevgeny looks forward to being entirely self-sufficient. Free of doubters. Co-existing with a system that understands him, a partner, a lifeform. Not reliant on some ethics committee to unshackle his ankles whenever he wants to strive forward.
Yevgeny Sage is constrained by many things on this planet. He’ll be happier once he uploads his consciousness online. He’s not far off; he’s been cataloguing some of his childhood memories in folders made of light. The Singularity has more or less quietly arrived; Ye
