It's a cloudy day downtown. The cafe is full of customers yet quiet. The predominant sound is the occasional clattering of coffee mugs breaking the consistent hum of worried murmurs. The customers were sitting in fear. They have come to the conclusion that hiding would be as sufficient as sitting in plain sight.
Rick sits by the window at his favorite booth, drinking a cup of black coffee. He scribbles symbols and doodles in his pocket-sized notepad with a very fine pen. It is incredible how technology has advanced to the point of making pens that consistently draw the thinnest trails of ink.
Marcus enters the cafe. Seeing Rick, an old acquaintance, and no more convenient seats, he takes a seat at Rick's booth after exchanging quick formalities.
"So," Marcus searches for something, anything, to talk about, "The weather is very… gray out today." His face reacts in the same way it would if he took a bite out of a lemon. The weather? Really?
"Yeah," Rick replies.
Marcus still looks for something to talk about. Rick's notepad. Marcus asks, "What'cha workin' on there?"
"Oh, this? I thought no one would ever ask," Rick responds, "I guess I'm trying to keep track where my train of thought travels. This notepad is for this month. Isn't it cool? If I want to know what I was thinking at a specific time, I just draw it here."
"The drawing looks really calm," Marcus comments, looking at the notepad, "That's how you're feeling right now?"
"Oh no, believe me, I'm as petrified as everyone else," Rick says, "Say, it's been a while since I've seen you. How about a walk to the park?"
Marcus hesitates. He remembers what's outside. Then he remembers he's as good as dead. "Sure," he responds.
Rick puts the notepad and pen in his pocket. He gets up, then Marcus gets up. The two walk out of the cafe, and start for the park. Walking down the street, the town is desolate.
"What's on your mind?" Rick asks.
"I'm not sure you'll believe me, but I was one of the closest people to stop that thing before it got," Marcus is acknowledging the sheer absurdity of his comment, "created."
"How so?"
"The place I work at? I worked with the same guy that made the thing."
"Really?"
"Really. I dunno. I could've thrown a chair at him. Flatten his car's tires. Anything to stop that weird plan of his. But I didn't do anything. He's sure dead now. But this whole thing transcends revenge. I don't care about that maniac anymore."
Rick thinks about asking who the maniac is, but it occurred to him that this wouldn't matter much. Marcus continues.
"And y'know what? He was about to tell me what his scheme was. He never told me what is was entirely, but that evening I began to get an idea of what he had in mind," Marcus says, "And now the whole world's gonna end, and it's my fault."
"You worked at Larabee?"
"Yeah."
"What'ya do there?"
"It's confid–" Marcus cuts himself off, information has no value now, "My team and I were studying how evolution progresses over time."
"Ah."
Rick and Marcus continue down the street, thinking, reflecting.
"Wait a minute," Marcus starts, "You were the top of the class back when we were studying computer science. Why– how did you not end up at Larabee but I did? Hell, you could'a held a position at Google."
"I never really cared."
"Don't you think things could've been better?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well you're a hell of a ton smarter than me, don't you think if you got my position at Larabee, there would be, I dunno, a greater net positive progress to humanity or something?"
"Would that be a good thing?"
"Huh? What the hell do–" Marcus pauses. He never asked himself this question before. Nobody had ever asked themselves that question before at Larabee Data Centers.
Marcus pulls out his phone. He opens his photo reel and shows Rick a graph. The horizontal axis is labeled "time" while the vertical axis is labeled "advancement." The line of the graph starts off relatively shallow, then steepens a little, before plateauing nearly at the end, before a massive vertical spike.
"This is what we were studying. How fast does evolution work."
Rick stares at it while they both continue walking. He lets out an interested "huh."
"So now one of your co-researchers let this 'thing' loose onto the world," Rick says, "I'd say that's pretty good progress."
"What are you getting at?"
"That thing? The one coming for us all? It's just evolution."
Marcus and Rick walk into the park. Behind them, far into the city, they hear screams. The cafe.
Rick continues, "Yeah, evolution made us all. It made the life in this park, whatever. I think it's pretty nice, right? The smell of the pine trees gives of an unquantifiable, pleasant smell."
Marcus nods.
"So why would you want to 'progress' it?" Rick asks.
"I dunno, ask the maniac."
"Don't get me wrong. I love science and all. Hell, I basically live for computer science, but things are nice the way they are."
Marcus responds, "But what's the point of sitting around as a species? We might as well 'progress.'"
"What's the point of anything? Why progress? Why remain? Explain all you want about progression. It's wonderful that we're harnessing the previously untapped power of uranium, but there's no intrinsic meaning to progress."
There are more screams in the distance. They don't sound any closer than last time. Good.
Rick continues his lecture, "I used to believe in things that extreme atheists believed in. Ironic for a Catholic like myself. I thought just like you– we might as well 'progress,' we might as well 'play God.'"
"Yeah."
"But look at what it leads to. We can cure diseases with gene therapy. I don't know why some religious folks are against that. But when we lose our sense of self, our sense of existence, we have a maniac that creates… that thing."
Conveniently, more screams. It sounds closer. Or not. No one can really tell.
Marcus responds, "Dr. Phthaeliossusen, the maniac, I guess he forgot about humanity."
"See, there's not much of a point for us to be here. The maniac must've reasoned that the intrinsic meaning of life is progress. I say that axiom is a flawed one. I say the intrinsic meaning of life is humanity. It doesn't make much sense, but it's a lot nicer."
Marcus and Rick reach a fork in the park's walkway. There are still the sounds of distant screams.
"What do we do now?" Marcus asks.
"I'm going to church. I haven't confessed in a while, now'd be a pretty good time to."
"But what's the point?"
"Nothing really, I just say there is."
Rick walks away. Marcus sits in the grass. He remembers religion. He remembers how it doesn't make sense. But now he's remembering Dr. Phthaeliossusen. In hindsight, his twisted idea of progress, which was really just speeding up evolution, makes just as much sense as going to church to kneel, stand up, kneel, stand up, sit, stand, sing, shake hands, etc. In a maniac's quest for ever-advancing progress, Marcus had lost everything.
The screams emanate from the city. They are getting closer.