The Copywright Protocol: Nordic Existential Minimalism Variant

Batch 9 - Work ID 73231: The Copywright Protocol

Tensor: TI=72.0, M=[7.0,0.5,6.0,3.0,4.0,3.0,3.0,6.0,2.0,6.0], N=[0.5,0.5], K=[0.5,0.5], theta=45.0

ACT I: THE CARD

Rose woke at eleven in the evening. The sky was grey. It was always grey in Stockholm in February. The snow had fallen overnight and covered the city in white and grey and more white and the light that came through the window was the light of a moon that was somewhere above the clouds but she could not see it. She could not see the moon. She could not see anything except the white light from the single bulb in her room and the snow on the windowsill and the ice that had formed on the inside of the glass in patterns that looked like hands.

She worked at a packaging plant in the suburbs. Not in the city. In the suburbs. Where the buildings were new and the streets were wide and there was nothing to do after five in the afternoon except go home and watch television and drink coffee and go to bed early and wake up and go to work and watch television and drink coffee and go to bed. She worked night shifts. Four nights a week. Twelve hours. Packaging things that were made in factories she was never allowed to enter. Box after box after box after box.

She received a card. It was on her kitchen table when she came home from work. She had not put it there. She had put her keys and her gloves and her bag on the table and the card was there. Cream colored. Thin paper. Gold letters.

COLEMAN INSTITUTE

She picked it up. She put it down. She picked it up again. She put it down again. She went to the window and looked out at the snow and the grey street and the grey buildings and the grey sky. She came back to the table. She picked up the card again.

YOUR MIND HAS VALUE

She did not know what that meant. She did not ask what it meant. She put the card in her coat pocket and she went to bed and she slept and she dreamed of standing in front of a screen she had never seen and making decisions in a language she did not know.

She went to the Coleman Institute the next day. She took the bus from the suburbs to Stockholm Island. She sat by the window and watched the city pass. The buildings were glass and steel. The streets were white with snow. The water was grey. The sky was grey. The sky was always grey.

The building was glass. It was all glass. She stood outside and looked at herself in the glass and she did not look like much. She looked like a woman. She looked like any woman. She looked like the woman who packaged things in a factory in the suburbs and went home and watched television and drank coffee and went to bed.

She went inside. The woman at the desk was young and grey and smiling. The woman spoke. Rose nodded. The woman spoke again. Rose nodded again. Rose signed. The woman smiled more. Rose left.

ACT II: THE DIVIDE

The copy woke up ten seconds before Rose did.

Rose-2 sat in a facility in the Arctic Circle. There was perpetual night outside. Not the night of Stockholm in February—Stockholm had light, even if it was grey and weak and barely there. This was no light at all. No light. Just the black dark of the Arctic winter where the sun does not rise for months and the only light comes from the screens and the machines and the little green lights on the control panel that blink and blink and blink.

Rose-2 sat in a chair. She wore a cotton dress. She stared at her hands. Her hands were Rose's hands. They had the same calluses from packaging boxes. They had the same scar on the left thumb from a box cutter. They had the same faint tremor when Rose was tired. Rose-2's hands had all of this. Rose-2 looked at her hands and she thought: these are my hands. These are my hands. These are my hands.

She monitored a screen. The screen showed numbers and graphs and lines that went up and down and up and down. A valve vibrated. The screen showed a vibration. A red light blinked. Blink. Blink. Blink.

Rose-2 did not act. She sat. She looked at the screen. The red light blinked. She looked at the screen. The red light blinked. She looked at the screen. She looked at the screen. She looked at the screen.

In Stockholm, Rose sat in her apartment and drank tea. She sat by the window and looked out at the snow and the grey street and the grey buildings and the grey sky. She drank tea. She drank tea. She drank tea.

She dreamed of heat. Not fire. The heat of standing too close to a furnace for twelve hours. The heat that got into your bones and stayed there. She dreamed of standing in front of a screen in a place with no light and no sky and no sun and she was tired but she was not tired because she was sitting in her apartment in Stockholm drinking tea. She was tired and not tired. She was here and not here. She was here and not here and not here and not here.

She went to the Coleman Institute. She walked. She walked through Stockholm in the snow. She walked past the opera house and the palace and the narrow streets of Gamla Stan and the water was grey and the sky was grey and the snow was white and grey and white and grey. She walked and walked and walked. She arrived at the glass building. She sat in the chair. The woman was there. The woman spoke. Rose nodded. Rose spoke. Rose spoke. The woman stopped smiling. Rose sat. Rose waited.

ACT III: THE RECKONING

Rose asked a question.

She asked it in Swedish first, but she did not know the words for it in Swedish, so she said it in English, because English was the language she used when she did not know how to say something in Swedish, and the woman at the desk understood English but not the question.

"If the copy feels real," Rose said, "then what am I?"

The woman did not answer. The woman looked at her. The woman looked at the woman's notes. The woman looked back at Rose. The woman looked at her notes again.

Rose sat. Rose looked out the window. Stockholm was white. The snow fell. The snow fell. The snow fell.

Rose-2 sat in the Arctic Circle. Perpetual night. The screen blinked. The valve vibrated. Vibrate. Vibrate. Vibrate. Rose-2 did not act. Rose-2 sat. Rose-2 looked at the screen. The screen showed numbers and graphs and lines that went up and down and up and down. Rose-2 looked at the screen. Rose-2 looked at the screen. Rose-2 looked at the screen.

Rose drank tea. Rose looked at the snow. Rose looked at the sky. Rose looked at the water. Rose looked at the water and the water looked grey and the sky looked grey and the snow looked white and grey and the buildings looked grey and the street looked grey and the people looked grey.

Rose walked home. Rose walked through Stockholm in the snow. Rose walked past the opera house and the palace and the narrow streets of Gamla Stan and the water was grey and the sky was grey and the snow was white and grey. Rose walked and walked and walked. Rose arrived at her apartment. Rose went inside. Rose locked the door. Rose sat down. Rose drank tea. Rose drank tea. Rose drank tea.

Rose dreamed of heat. Rose dreamed of standing in front of a screen. Rose dreamed of making decisions in a language she did not know. Rose dreamed of being needed. Rose dreamed of being needed and not needed and needed and not needed.

Rose woke. Rose was here. Rose was not here. Rose was here and not here. Rose looked out the window. The moon was somewhere above the clouds. She could not see it. She could not see the moon. But she knew it was there. She knew it was there. She knew it was there.

ACT IV: THE LEDGER

Two people in grey approached. They did not look dangerous. They looked like people in grey. They looked like anyone you would see on a Stockholm street in February. They looked at Rose. Rose looked at them. Rose closed her eyes. Rose opened her eyes. Rose looked at them. Rose looked at them. Rose looked at them.

They placed something on her head. It was light. It was thin. It was cold. It clicked into place.

Rose did not speak. Rose did not speak. Rose did not speak.

Rose-2 blinked. Rose-2 looked at the screen. Rose-2 looked at the valve. The valve vibrated. Vibrate. Vibrate. Vibrate. Rose-2 adjusted the valve. Rose-2 adjusted the valve. Rose-2 adjusted the valve. Rose-2 did it calmly. Rose-2 did it with competence. Rose-2 did it with calm, professional competence.

Rose lay on a table. Rose was awake. Rose was not lying down—Rose was sitting, but the table was there and Rose was near it and Rose was between it and the window and the window looked out at Stockholm and the Arctic and everything in between.

Rose looked at the ceiling. Rose looked at the window. Rose looked at the moon. The moon was somewhere above the clouds. It was visible. It was not visible. From Stockholm it was one thing—a small pale circle in a grey sky, half hidden by clouds, half visible, half real, half not. From the Arctic Circle it was another thing—a large bright circle in a black sky, fully visible, fully real, fully present, fully alone.

They were looking at the same moon. They were not looking at the same moon. From Stockholm the moon was small and grey and distant and almost invisible. From the Arctic the moon was large and white and close and undeniable. They were looking at the same moon. They were looking at different moons. They were looking at the same moon and different moons and the same moon and different moons.

That was the difference. That was all the difference. That was the difference and the difference was everything and the difference was nothing and the difference was the difference.

Rose-2 adjusted the valve. Rose looked at the moon. Rose-2 adjusted the valve. Rose looked at the moon. Rose-2 adjusted the valve. Rose looked at the moon. Rose-2 adjusted the valve and Rose looked at the moon and the moon was white and grey and white and grey and white and the sky was grey and the Arctic was black and Stockholm was grey and everything was grey and everything was white and everything was different and everything was the same and everything was grey and white and the moon was the moon was the moon.