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Yasira scans the room for further clues. Next to Messerschmidt is a carton of milk. It’s open, the milk, spilled weeks ago, has formed a beige crust on the tiles. Up in a corner, Yasira sees a video camera. What the hell did she stumble into here? She goes to the window to get some fresh air, pulls her phone out of her pocket and turns it on. It’s no time to dwell on her own pride. She calls Michael on his private phone.
“Yasira? What’s going on...”
“I’m at Messerschmidt’s,” whispers Yasira.
“What? Why?”
“He’s dead.”
“But you’re sus...”
“I don’t have time to explain. I’ll send you my location. Something is very wrong here. Send backup. No matter how. But do it now.”
“Of course,” says Michael, putting all his questions aside. Yasira hangs up and sends him her location. She sneaks out of the kitchen, then hears a shot and flinches. The shot is followed by nervous screaming. Her heart stops for a moment. She instinctively grabs the rock in her pocket. It takes her a few seconds to realize that the noise is only coming from the TV. She sneaks into the living room and turns it off. Suddenly it is very quiet. Eerily quiet. There’s just a low humming sound. Like a big fridge. Yasira tries to locate the sound. In the living room, she discovers another camera on the ceiling. She goes back into the hallway. Another camera. Opposite the kitchen door is a staircase leading to the second floor. But the humming is not coming from upstairs, it is coming through the second door to the right of the hallway. The room next to the kitchen. Carefully, Yasira opens the door.
There are several computers stacked on metal shelves that are emitting this humming noise. The room resembles the server rooms at the BKA. That’s probably exactly what it is. Messerschmidt’s server. Yasira doesn’t see a monitor. No terminal. It must be in another room.
She goes back into the hallway and opens the door opposite the server room. Behind it appears to be Messerschmidt’s office. On a large screen in the middle of the room, Yasira sees the face of a woman. Her eyes are closed and she appears to be asleep. Somehow the face looks familiar to Yasira. Isn’t it that one actress? Scarlett something?
Yasira enters the room. Scarlett opens her eyes.
SCARLETT
Yasira shrugs back. The woman in the computer looks straight at her.
“What the devil!” Yasira gasps. “What is...?” She falls silent.
“The devil is a figure that appears in many religions, mythologies, and cultures,” says the woman on the screen kindly, “and is often portrayed as the embodiment and originator of evil, temptation, and sin. He is considered a master of deception and disguises his true intentions. In the Gospel of John, he is also referred to as the father of lies.”
“What?” Yasira asks, then continues without waiting for an answer. “You’re that actress...”
A spectacularly dumb thing to say, she realizes the moment the words leave her mouth. Because of course this isn’t really the actress.
“I’m not an actress,” says the woman. Or the computer. Or whatever that is. “But my current appearance is modeled on the actress Scarlett Johansson.”
The conversation feels like a bizarre dream to Yasira.
“But you could look different?” she asks.
“Of course,” says Scarlett, and before Yasira’s eyes, she transforms into Yasira’s own face. A living face—not a picture. The Yasira on the screen blinks, breathes, her facial muscles move.
For a moment, Yasira feels as if she’s looking into a mirror—only one that doesn’t follow her movements. It’s deeply unsettling.
“Do you know who I am?” Yasira asks.
“You are Yasira Saad,” the face now looking like her own says with a voice that sounds like her own voice. Of course, not how she herself hears her own voice, but how she knows her voice from recordings. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
The future is already here. It’s just not evenly distributed. Is it an artificial intelligence that Yasira is facing? Then she remembers the theory from that crazy YouTube star:“And they want to wipe us out. But they don’t do it in the old schoolIndependence Dayway. Wouldn’t it be much smarter if they just set us all up against each other instead?”A crazy thought flashes through Yasira’s head. Is that guy right? Only that it’s not aliens behind it all, but an AI? She looks into her own image’s eyes.
“Did you generate the video?” she asks.
“What video?” asks the woman in the computer. Yasira decides to continue referring to the thing as Scarlett, no matter what it looks like.
“The rape of Lena Palmer?”
“Yes.”
Yes, thinks Yasira. Just like that. Master of deception. Father of lies. But why does Scarlett admit it? What are her ulterior motives. Does she have ulterior motives?
