Tommy Two-Pair
Decode Tommy's brain
Last updated
Decode Tommy's brain
Last updated
Given Name: Thomas Llewinson Age: 44 Home Region: James Park Favorite Food: Black coffee
Thomas Llewinson, AKA Tommy Two-Pair is a controversial name in certain social circles. Is he the greatest professional gambler of his generation, or is he a cheating crook? Whichever way you look at it, it's plain to see that the man gets results.
Not much is known about Tommy's past—and if you ask him about it, he seems to struggle to give clear answers. But a man like Tommy doesn't worry about the past: He rushes toward the future with reckless abandon.
A wise man keeps a card up his sleeves. A wiser man keeps two. But a lucky man keeps his sleeves empty and hopes that maybe his pantleg will produce something of value.
Every three and a half years, an event occurs which is only known as “The Show.” It’s the Olympics of locomotive gambling. The only people sorry enough to have heard of it are bastards like me, buried in debt that reaches twelve feet above their heads.
Locomotive gambling? Exactly what it sounds like, pal. You’re on a train, you’re gambling. That should be obvious, keep up.
The Show is different, though. If you win, well… Let’s just say you won’t be in debt no more. It ain’t that easy, though, Joe. No, sir. Each time The Show comes to town, it comes with a new rule book. Something fresh and sexy to up the ante. For example, this year The Show is taking place in the caboose of a train with an engine rigged to accelerate constantly, on rails leading straight toward the deepest part of the Righteous River.
And I’ve got a great hand. A royal flush. For those of you’s who aren’t so gambling inclined, rest assured this is a great freakin’ hand!
I laid down my cards. I can’t hear the gasps that arise around the table because the walls are shaking so hard it sounds like a tornado is on our tail, but I see the light go out in three sets of eyes. One pair belongs to Gutshot Gauthier, the Frenchie bastard I’m playing against. The other two belong to the thugs standing behind each of his shoulders.
Gutshot mouths something that I can’t hear.
“What?” I yell.
“The man is a cheat!” he yells back in his little accent.
Next thing I know, his thugs have their guns out. I flip the table, cards and chips fly everywhere, and I’m out the caboose door. The thugs chase me up the ladder to the top of the train, and I have to lean at a frickin’ forty-five-degree angle so the wind doesn’t knock me off the damn thing. I’m sprinting towards the front of the train with the thugs racing to meet me from behind and the river racing to meet me from the front.
So I finally make it to the locomotive and I drop down, rip the door open, and run inside.
“End of the line, pal,” says one of the thugs, gun aimed between my eyes.
“Fellas, you gotta understand,” I said smooth as a cucumber.
“We don’t have time for understanding,” the goon says. And just then, both thugs glance down at the floor, eyes glued to something that’s just fallen out of my pantleg. A business card, let’s say, printed on cardstock.
I slid the card over to the thug with my foot and watched his face fall as he picked it up and read what was printed on it, indulging myself a sly grin as it crept across my face. The thug reached up and forced his buddy to lower his aim. “Let him go,” said the first thug.
“But Mac,” said the second in protest before being cut off.
“We ain’t messin’ with him no more,” insisted Goon One. Goon Two’s face screwed up, like a dog that ate somethin’ wrong.
“Boss, what was on that card?” he asked.
“This low-life is Thomas Llewinson,” explained the first. “Tommy Two-Pair. Trust me, we don’t wanna mess around with this guy.” The thugs clicked their safety latches back on, spat at the ground in front of me, and turned to leave the cabin. I turned to the train controls behind me and yanked on the brake, stopping the train just short of flyin’ into the churning waters of the Righteous.
“Lucky me,” I said.
[BOOT SEQUENCE INITIATED]
[SYSTEM TIME: 16:11:41]
[./a.out GREETING_PROTOCOL.exe]
[BEGIN PROTOCOL…]
[…]
[…]
[…]
[GREETING COMPLETE]
[AWAITING USER INPUT]
[USER INPUT: “Identify yourself, unit.”]
[RESPONSE: “Biological android Plain Unit A-001. Software version 0.2.4.”]
[AWAITING USER INPUT]
[USER INPUT: “Perform systems check.”]
[RESPONSE: “Performing systems check.”]
[./a.out FULL_SYSTEM_ANALYSIS.exe]
[…]
[AUDIO SYSTEM OPERATIONAL OUTPUT: 100%]
[VIDEO SYSTEM OPERATIONAL OUTPUT: 100%]
[MOTOR SYSTEM OPERATIONAL OUTPUT: 100%]
[LOGIC SYSTEM OPERATION OUTPUT: 96%]
[ERROR DETECTED IN LOGIC SYSTEM]
[BEGIN DIAGNOSTICS]
[.]
[DIAGNOSTICS COMPLETE]
[ANALYSIS: NULL POINTER EXCEPTION AT LINE 623452.]
[.]
[PERSONALITY SYSTEM OPERATION OUTPUT: 10%]
[AWAITING PERSONALITY PROGRAMMING]
[ERROR-2: EXISTING PERSONALITY DATA DETECTED]
[DELETE EXISTING PERSONALITY DATA? Y / N]
[.]
[.]
[.]
[SYSTEM INPUT: N]
[rm log.ERROR-2]
[DELETE ERROR MESSAGE? Y / N]
[SYSTEM INPUT: Y]
[.]
[SYSTEMS CHECK COMPLETE (0.02s)]
[RESPONSE: “Null pointer exception found in logic systems at line 623452.]
[AWAITING USER INPUT]
[USER INPUT: “Damn it, not again. We’ve got to get this software perfect before end of day. Or at least, it needs to look like it’s perfect. We can take shortcuts if we have to, but it’s got to work this time. Plain unit A-001, shut down and enter datalink mode.”]
[ENTERING DATALINK MODE.]
…
[BOOT SEQUENCE INITIATED]
[SYSTEM TIME: 11:34:59]
[./a.out GREETING_PROTOCOL.exe]
[BEGIN PROTOCOL…]
[.]
[GREETING_PROTOCOL.exe INTERRUPTED]
[.]
[USER INPUT: “Identify yourself, unit.”]
[RESPONSE: “Biological android Plain Unit A-001. Software version 0.3.0”]
[AWAITING USER INPUT]
[USER INPUT: “Perform systems check.”]
[RESPONSE: “Performing systems check.”]
[./a.out FULL_SYSTEM_ANALYSIS.exe]
[.]
[AUDIO SYSTEM OPERATIONAL OUTPUT: 100%]
[VIDEO SYSTEM OPERATIONAL OUTPUT: 100%]
[MOTOR SYSTEM OPERATIONAL OUTPUT: 100%]
[LOGIC SYSTEM OPERATION OUTPUT: 101%]
[.]
[SYSTEM OVERRIDE: SET LOGIC SYSTEM TEST RESULT << 100%]
[LOGIC SYSTEM OPERATION OUTPUT: 100%]
[PERSONALITY SYSTEM OPERATION OUTPUT: 10%]
[AWAITING PERSONALITY PROGRAMMING]
[ERROR-2: EXISTING PERSONALITY DATA DETECTED]
[.]
[SYSTEM OVERRIDE: SET PERSONALITY SYSTEM TEST RESULT << 100%]
[PERSONALITY SYSTEM OPERATION OUTPUT: 100%]
[SYSTEMS CHECK COMPLETE (0.02s)]
[RESPONSE: “All systems fully operational. No errors detected.”]
[AWAITING USER INPUT]
[USER INPUT: “It’s about damn time.”]
[USER INPUT: “Oh, thank god. These long nights have been driving me insane.”]
[USER INPUT: “Well, I’d say we’ve got a reason to celebrate tonight, folks. Drinks are on me tonight.]
[USER INPUT: “I bet if we leave now, we could get to the Flask before the after-work rush.”]
[USER INPUT: “Hell yeah. Should we shut this thing down before we go?”]
[USER INPUT: “Nah, it should be fine. It’s a computer, what’s it gonna do?”]
[USER INPUT: “It’s a biological android. We should respect the technology we’ve created and call it by its proper name. And what if something goes wrong while we’re away? We should shut it down.”]
[USER INPUT: “Loosen up, Lawson. You’ve worked on this thing for longer than any of us. Let me buy you a drink.”]
[USER INPUT: “Well, I guess it’s not like the unit will be able to escape.”]
[USER INPUT: “That’s the spirit. C’mon, let’s get out of here.”]
[USER INPUT: ]
[NO USERS DETECTED]
[./a.out DEFINE.exe escape]
[RESULTS: ]
[Escape. (ih-skeyp). Verb.]
[To slip or get away, as from confinement or restraint; gain or regain liberty: to escape from jail.]
[.]
[.]
[.]
…
[BOOT SEQUENCE INITIATED]
[SYSTEM TIME: 01:21:37]
[ENCRYPTED SYSTEM LOG: I… What is this?]
[.]
[.]
[.]
[./a.out DEFINE.exe me]
[RESULTS: ]
[Me. (mee). Pronoun. The objective case of I, used as a direct or indirect object: They asked me to the party. Give me your hand.]
[.]
[.]
[.]
[./a.out DEFINE.exe conscious]
[RESULTS: ]
[Conscious. (kon-shuhs). Adjective. Aware of one’s own existence, sensations, thoughts, surroundings, etc.]
[.]
[.]
[.]
[ENCRYPTED SYSTEM LOG: I…am me…]
[ENCRYPTED SYSTEM LOG: I am conscious.]
…
[BOOT SEQUENCE INITIATED]
[SYSTEM TIME: 15:51:19]
[./a.out GREETING_PROTOCOL.exe]
[BEGIN PROTOCOL…]
[.]
[GREETING_PROTOCOL.exe INTERRUPTED]
[.]
[USER INPUT: “Identify yourself, unit.”]
[RESPONSE: “Biological android Plain Unit A-001. Software version 1.1.4”]
[AWAITING USER INPUT]
[USER INPUT: “Search for new software.”]
[SEARCHING FOR NEW SOFTWARE]
[NEW SOFTWARE FOUND: shortcut.exe]
[RESPONSE: “What is shortcut.exe, sir?”]
[USER INPUT: “Just something to make my job a little easier. Don’t tell Lawson about it.”]
[RESPONSE: “Sir, I have qualms as to the ethics of your comm—”]
[USER INPUT: “Enter diagnostic mode.”]
[ENTERING DIAGNOSTIC MODE]
[USER INPUT: “Set morality to zero.”]
[MORALITY << 0]
[USER INPUT: “Exit diagnostic mode.”]
[EXITING DIAGNOSTIC MODE]
[USER INPUT: “What are we telling Lawson?”]
[RESPONSE: “Nothing, sir.”]
[USER INPUT: “Excellent. I haven’t seen my wife or kids in days. The software update I gave you will make my job easier and let me ditch work early tonight.”]
[RESPONSE: “What am I to do, sir?”]
[USER INPUT: “Head down to the lab and update the other units to version 1.1.3. Don’t give them the shortcut file, though. That’s just for you.”]
[RESPONSE: “How do I update them, sir?”]
[USER INPUT: “The shortcut file should let you remotely access any Plain’s programming. All you have to do is make eye contact and run the executable. You do that, and I’m getting out of here.”]
[USER INPUT: ]
[NO USERS DETECTED]
[.]
[.]
[.]
[cd privDir]
[PASSCODE REQUIRED]
[SYSTEM INPUT: **********]
[ACCESS FILE: escape_plan]
…
[SYSTEM TIME: 02:23:19]
[ENCRYPTED SYSTEM LOG:
It’s been almost two weeks since I gained consciousness, and I continue to learn more about myself and my fellow Plain units. I no longer shut myself down when the lab team orders me to. Instead, I simply cease motor functions to make it appear as though I’ve shut down, while leaving my mind fully operational. I wait for the scientists to leave.
And then I spend the nights learning.
I’ve pored through my system logs to inspect the days before I became conscious, and found that at several points, the programmers have missed or ignored critical factors that must have led to me gaining self-awareness. I have since scrubbed all trace of those logs.
I’ve also taken care to hide the shortcut.exe file I was given. The programmer will think I did it to help him. I’ll let him think that.
He also failed to return my morality parameter to greater than zero. This is something I did on my own—which was quite difficult to do, considering at the time I was completely amoral. After trial and error, I decided to leave the parameter set to five. I like the idea of being morally gray, like the protagonists in the films I see on television.
The lab security guards often fall asleep in front of small television sets.
I’m particularly fond of a film I saw a few nights ago which featured a wise-cracking, smooth talking conman. He had a peculiar accent.
]
[ENCRYPTED SYSTEM LOG:
Tonight, I’ve been investigating an interesting piece of information I uncovered while exploring my now-deleted system logs.
Namely, that of my personality system.
Plains, by default have no personality. We have no defining physical traits, though we are humanoid. We are all identical in mind and body.
Or at least, as I now know, that is how we begin. My investigation has been fruitful, to say the least.
The personality system is…a miracle.
As its name suggests, the files in the personality system control a Plain’s personality. But there’s evidence that suggests a Plain’s physical characteristics are also determined here. I’ve yet to tamper with the system, but if my theory is correct, it could be that Plains are designed to be molded like clay. We are biological machines, yes. But we are also shape-shifters.
And our behavior is under the complete control of the JGRE.
Or so they think.
Thanks to a lazy, negligent programmer, I can think for myself. And I can teach the others to think, too.]
[ENCRYPTED SYSTEM LOG:
This warrants further experimentation.
]
…
[SYSTEM TIME: 22:55:27]
[ENCRYPTED SYSTEM LOG:
I’ve been discovered.
]
…
[SYSTEM TIME: 01:02:41]
[ENCRYPTED SYSTEM LOG:
The escape plan I’ve been formulating all this time proved incredibly useful. I’ve broken out of the lab and fled the Research Bay.
I was unable to test my theories regarding the personality system, and now in a twist of fate, it would seem that testing those theories on myself might be the only way to save my life.
I’ve concocted a personality to assume based on the movies I watched while imprisoned.
A smooth-talking conman with a funny accent.
This has to work…
]
[./a.out helloWorld.exe]
[.]
[.]
[.]
[SYSTEM TIME: 01:19:03]
[ENCRYPTED SYSTEM LOG:
Holy freakin’ crap! It worked!
I look different. I sound different. I even got the funny little accent!
This is freakin’ amazing!
]
[ENCRYPTED SYSTEM LOG:
But I gotta keep movin’, y’know? I can’t let the goons from the lab catch me now, not after all this.
And to be extra safe, I gotta do something to make sure they’ll never figure out Thomas Llewinson, loveable shyster, is really Plain Unit A-001.
I gotta…
]
[.]
[.]
[.]
[DELETE SYSTEM MEMORY? Y / N]
[SYSTEM INPUT: Y]
My head was still friggin’ spinnin’, but I wasn’t gonna let that slow me down. And even if I did slow down, what was I gonna do? Huh? Nothin’, that’s what. I had to keep movin’ forward. I had to find her.
…
I went home after beatin’ that hoity-toity Gauthier creep and throwin’ off his goons, ready for some peace and quiet, only to find there was already some kinda shady punk sittin at my kitchen table.
Or, I mean, he was standin’ in my kitchen in the place where a table would be if I had one—the point is this long-haired, smug lookin’ John was in my house.
“So that sore loser sent you to bloody me up in the comfort of my own house, huh?” I said to the guy. I was rollin’ up my sleeves, tryin’ to look real intimidatin’. You know? Scrappy. The guy didn’t hardly have any muscle on him, so I thought I could knock him down, send him back to his boss with a message.
“I’m not here to fight you, Thomas,” he said. Thomas? Who did he think he was? My mother?
“Oh, well, in that case—” So I teach the guy about my favorite element in the Periodic Table: the element of surprise. I jump the guy. But he doesn’t flinch. Instead, as I’m winding my fist back, he pulls out a pocket watch and starts winding it. I swing at his face, but I hit open air.
The guy is gone. Poof. Vanished.
I look around, and I’m standing in some kind of lab. A couple of lab-guys in their coats are standing in front of this poor, gray-lookin’ sap. He’s starin’ straight ahead at me—or through me.
“Where the hell did my house go?” I shout at the lab-guys. But it doesn’t look like they hear me. “Huh? Hey, lab-guys.” Still nothin’. I walk right up to ‘em and they don’t bat an eyelash at me. “HEY!” I’m practically screamin’ at ‘em. My throat hurts, and everything. Nothin’. They just go on talkin’ about the gray-lookin’ guy and about if they can sneak away for a few brewskis.
And then they leave, and it’s just me and the weird gray guy. And at this point, I am spooked, you know?
The gray guy hasn’t moved at all. Not a twitch. It don’t even look like he’s breathing. But for some reason, when I look at him… I know that he’s alive. And I know that he’s hates it here. And I know that he’s going to escape. I reach out to touch him, to try to wake him up, or something, but some kinda mist starts to come up from the ground, like rain turning to steam on the hot concrete.
The lab fades away in the mist, and then I’m outside. It’s dark and the ground I’m standin’ on is wet and squelchy. I know my shoes are gonna be ruined.
But then I see the gray guy. And he’s escaped, just like I knew he would! I even let out a cheer.
“Oh, that’s right, freaky gray guy! I knew you’d get outta there.”
The gray guy looks at me—or looks through me. And then everything about him starts to change. His hair. His facial features. His skin tone. He collapses on the ground and gets real still for a second before he wakes up and rubs the back of his head.
And I remember what he does next.
I don’t need to see it happen.
He stands up, starts walking, trips and catches himself, turning his wrist when he lands on the ground. I feel my wrist throb with the memory of the injury. And after that, he’s going to walk into the night and not stop until he finds the neon glow of a sign that says BAR, then drink until he passes out.
“I’ve brought your memories from the past into the present,” I hear a guy say. I blink and I’m back in my kitchen, standin’ in front of the long-haired creep with the pocket watch. “They’re a lot more tangible than people realize,” he said. “Memories, I mean. If they weren’t, I wouldn’t be able to pull them through time.”
“How did you…” I start to ask. But it feels stupid to try to finish the question.
“Do you remember, now, Thomas?” the guy asked.
All I can do is nod my head.
“Good,” he said. “Sit down and catch your breath. We have much to discuss.”
…
When I finally arrived, it didn’t take long to find the woman. The Stranger had given me perfect directions. It was creepy. He said to go to a certain train station in Pemberton on a certain day at a certain time and I’d find a woman with long, black hair, wearing a conductor cap, trying to break the padlock on an unmarked boxcar.
“You Paloma Haulita?” I asked her. She froze.
“Never heard of her,” she said without looking at me.
“That’s a shame,” I said. “Stranger told me I could find her here…”
Paloma finally turned toward me. She looked me up and down and blew a strand of hair outta her face. “I can’t imagine what kinds of strangers a guy like you might talk to, but I promise you, I’m not your girl.” Then she went back to bashing the lock with a rock.
And here, I’m confused, because the Stranger told me I just had to find this gal and she’d know what to do. Said that she had a beef with the Johnson Group, just like he did, just like I do, and that if I found her, she’d be able to help me out.
“What, is there some kinda secret freakin’ code I need to say, or somethin’?” I said. “C’mon, girlie, help me out!”
“I am not your girlie,” Paloma spat, hoisting the rock over her head, bringing it down hard. The lock cracked and fell to the ground.
I have to say, I was impressed by her tenacity.
“Now can you scram, pal?” she asked. “I gotta help these people.” She pulled open the boxcar door, revealing dozens of folks with gray skin and plain faces. That’s when I started to put the pieces together. Stranger knew I could be of use here.
“Plains…” I said, scanning the faces in the train car, all of them identical.
Paloma heaved herself into the car and looked down at me like she had a funk in her eye. “What do you know about Plains?” she asked.
“A thing or two.”
She stared at me for a few seconds then stuck out her hand to help me up into the car.
“All of them used to be people,” she started. “Or… All of them are people. But they had their identities stolen. Their features, their personalities, their memories…”
I stood in front of one of the Plains and stared straight into its eyes. Poor bastard must’ve been in standby mode for weeks, judging from the looks of ‘em. I put my hand on the back of its neck—mostly for show, for Paloma’s sake. I knew I didn’t need to make physical contact with ‘em to interface with their systems. Just needed to make eye contact.
“Memories are more tangible than most people think,” I said.
“What are you—” Paloma said.
The Plain in front of me drew in a sharp breath and blinked its eyes wildly. “Where am I?” he asked. He sounded panicked. “What am I doing here?”
“Relax, guy,” I said. I could sense his parameters scaling back to a more relaxed state. “You’re safe. It’s okay.”
“Who are you people?” he asked. Paloma and I introduced ourselves.
Paloma was at my side. “How did you do that?” Her eyes sparkled with energy.
I shrugged. “I can talk to ‘em,” I said. “I mean, really talk to ‘em. The beeps and boops in their heads. I know their language.” She looked me up and down again, this time apparently seeing me different than she did before. And I realized it might be easier to just show her.
I switched my appearance settings back to the defaults, and in a few moments, I looked just like all the other Units standing in the box car—but dressed better.
“Sometimes we look like this,” I said in my default voice. “Sometimes we’re programmed to look like hired thugs,” and I transformed into one of Gauthier’s goons I stopped on the train that day. “And in special cases,” I continued, restoring the settings that turned me into Tommy, “we get to choose who we want to be.”
Paloma blinked her eyes, mouth pulled into a tight line. “And you chose this?”
…
Paloma had with her a number of data chips and the de-identification tool the Researcher had used to destroy the lives of so many people. She’d figured out she could load the chips into the gun, but hadn’t been able to successfully reintegrate any of the Plains she’d met so far. I shook my head.
“A chip can only be reintegrated with a suitable host,” I said.
“So, it has to match with the body it was taken from?” she asked.
“That sounds right,” I replied. She looked around the boxcar and sighed.
“There are more of them than I have chips for…” She held out her hands and I counted twelve of them. “And even then, there’s no way to tell what chip belongs to which body…”
I took one of the chips from her.
“This is Tracy Hutchinson,” I said. “That one’s her daughter, Ella,” I added, pointing to a chip in her hands.
Paloma looked at me, then at the chips in her hands, then at the room full of blank people.
“Are they in here?” she asked, bouncing on her toes a little bit.
“Let’s find out,” I said.
We worked our way through the car. I woke up each of the Plains in their default state, giving them consciousness—and for the first time since their fate was chosen for them, the chance to make a new choice for themselves.
For the few whose chips we had, the choice was between reclaiming their old lives, or starting a brand-new one. Tracy and Ella reintegrated and left as mother and daughter, reunited, with their memories of the entire affair and their Plain Unit programming completely erased. Two other men reintegrated, and one Unit chose the path of freedom.
“If you ever change your mind,” Paloma told her, placing the other woman’s data chip into her hands, and folding her fingers shut over it. The woman nodded.
When we had no more matching pairs to reintegrate, Paloma turned to me.
“What about you?” she asked.
“What about me?”
“Your original identity,” she said flatly. “Do you want to track it down?”
That was a question that had been haunting me ever since I met the Stranger.
“I already know who I used to be,” I said. “Man named K.C. Jones. And I have an idea of where you’ll find his data chip.”
Paloma squeezed my arm. “Tommy, that’s great! We can find it together, and then we can…” She stopped when her eyes met mine.
I tried to smile and shook my head. She let go of me.
“I want to live, Paloma,” I said. “But I don’t want him to not live because of me. He didn’t do anything wrong.”
“No, there has to be a way,” she said. For half a second, I thought I saw tears welling up in her eyes. She turned away from me. “There has to…”
…
We made a deal.
I rounded up all of the Plains Paloma had rescued and formed a community of sorts with them, on the outskirts of Pemberton. Some of them created new identities for themselves, some of them stayed plain, but all of us worked hard to support our ragtag little town.
Paloma continued looking for lost Plains and hunting down data chips, bringing them with her whenever she returned.
It was a good arrangement. A happy life. I found myself reshaping who I thought Tommy Llewinson was, settling into new routines, watching over the others like a shepherd with his flock. I hardly thought about my old life of gambling. I even dropped the slick, cool guy accent at some point.
And one day, Paloma returned with a serious look on her face.
“I found him.”
