“Ren and I are going to disable AfterLight—do you agree?”
“I don’t care. Do whatever.” Then he says, “Actually, turn the whole thing off. Obit.ly too.”
I turn off Obit.ly and Afterlight. No one is hearing from dead people anymore.
On the television, there is a grainy image of Stephen on the roof of Utopia. A small figure with his arms outstretched, as if he expects to take flight.
I ask Jules to keep calling Cyrus until he answers. Li Ann tells us that the fire brigade has arrived and that someone is trying to get Stephen to put down his lighter.
I remember whose fault this is. “Where the fuck is Marco?”
“I tried. His phone is off.”
“Fuck that. Fuck him.”
“Asha,” Jules says, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“We don’t have time to do this now. Let’s just try to fix it—you need to figure out what you’re going to say to the team.” Ren and I are going through all the chatter on the platform. As the news breaks, people start messaging one another about Stephen. I think maybe we need to get Cyrus online to calm everyone down. Where the hell is Cyrus?
There is a knock on the door. It’s Tina. She’s impeccably coiffed and wearing a white suit as if it’s a decent hour. She introduces herself, sits down beside me, and starts taking notes. “Asha, right? Tell me what’s going on.”
I start to tell her. “We have this service—it uses AI to send messages from people even after they’re dead. This guy Stephen—he was talking—thought he was talking—to his wife.”
She’s looking at me like What kind of fucked-up Internet Frankenstein did you make, sister?
“Then I guess somehow he got the message—not from us, I mean, not directly—that she wanted him to join her.” I show her the conversation between Stephen and his wife.
How could you leave me?
I never left you. I’m right here.
“And now he’s up on the roof?”
“He’s going to set himself on fire.” I explain sati to Tina: “It’s an ancient Hindu ritual. Women sit on the funeral pyres of their husbands so they can be together in their next life. It’s the ultimate sacrifice.”
She inhales sharply. “I deal in worst-case scenarios. So, just for the sake of argument, we have to assume he’s going to do it, and I need you all to be prepared. Can you reach out to your members now, maybe post a message on the site? Something along the lines of We are deeply concerned with the well-being of a member of our community, we have representatives on standby for anyone who is feeling vulnerable, et cetera, et cetera?”
Ren is taking notes. He suggests we ask the team members in Hong Kong, who are already awake, to get a help line together.
“I’m assuming you’ve dealt with all the technical issues,” Tina says.
“We’ve shut down the relevant parts of the platform.”
“You need to tell them why. You need to explain without taking responsibility for the whole thing.”
We are responsible, I want to say. My phone rings; it’s Mira. I don’t answer, but I text: I am safe, don’t worry. Tell Ammoo.
The image on the TV screen is static. SOCIAL MEDIA PROMPTED YOUNG MAN TO ATTEMPT SUICIDE, the headline reads. “Just a minute,” the correspondent says, “I think Cyrus Jones, CEO of WAI, is here to talk to Stephen. He’s being led through the police barrier by an officer.”
Cyrus is here? The camera shows him being led to the entrance of Utopia. Then a few minutes later it cuts to the scene on the roof, and I see him in a corner of the frame. Stephen raises his arms up and down. The camera tries to zoom in, but he’s too small and grainy to make out much beyond an outline.
The image changes, and now we’re in the studio with the newscasters. “We have a social psychologist and expert on social media here to comment on the situation. Dr. Sharma, you’ve spoken publicly before about the dangers of these types of websites. Is this the result of being overly dependent on the internet for the kinds of social connections we used to enjoy in person?”
“This platform claimed to be more responsible,” Dr. Sharma says. “They were quick to ban people who went against their values or shared content that was harmful. They were overtly progressive—the Woodstock of the internet, we were told. But at the end of the day, they’re all the same—the whole sector needs to be regulated.”
The presenter nods, citing all the ways we had sold people a fantasy. I don’t know what bothers me more, the suggestion that we’re like everyone else, or that we tried to be different but failed.