Arman was just fourteen when he first became interested in mind uploading.
The year was 2060, and up until this point, the idea had mostly been exclusive to science-fiction
and futurist speculation. But now, entering the second half of the twenty-first century, with
quantum computing becoming commonplace, scanning technology becoming high enough resolution,
and with massive progress being made in humanity’s understanding of the brain’s entire system
of interactions and influences, the prospect of mapping a person’s brain, digitizing a replica,
and uploading it to the cloud was seemingly, at least in theory, on the horizon.
If achieved, this technology would potentially allow human minds to live on indefinitely.
Arman spent much of his free time in early adolescence reading and learning about this
technology. Without even really being conscious of it, around this same time,
he also started developing a deep-seated anxiety about time itself—how for him and
everyone he knew, it would sooner than later come to an end. The more this reality set in,
the more it unsettled him, the more he resisted it, the more he lived in a fear-fueled denial
of it. His consciousness, capable of thinking and creating and loving with grand gesture,
only aware of what it meant to exist and wired to cling to it, could not conceive of the prospect of
it eventually not existing forever. And so, Arman embarked on his immortality project.
In early adulthood, Arman would go to school and begin a career as a computer scientist
and engineer, his primary interest being in streamlining quantum computing and quantum
optimization algorithms. During this time, Arman would begin living completely differently.
Realizing more and more that in order to achieve his desire of living forever, he would need to
survive long enough for the possibility of the technology to become a reality. At the time,
it was believed that mind uploading technology could potentially become testable on human brains
in somewhere around thirty to forty years, and likely available as an option to the
general public in around forty to sixty. And so, Arman would begin leaving his youthful
haphazardness behind and move more into a strategic, careful, conservative lifestyle.
Initially, this was made manifest mostly through a hyperawareness of perfect health habits—exercising
twice a day, curating a supplement regiment, and eating a perfectly clean, optimally balanced diet.
However, as Arman aged further into his later twenties, in an attempt to reduce as much risk
as he could, he began isolating himself more and more from the world. He began turning down
invitations and opportunities to go places and do things—concerts, parties, events, vacations, and
so on. If he wanted to live forever, he realized he would have to be disciplined, he would have to
make sacrifices. Throughout this time, Arman made sure to keep a close eye on the companies leading
path in the mind uploading space, doing plenty of research and analysis based on his growing
understanding. Although these companies were, of course, completely secretive about their progress,
Arman consistently heard promising things from within the industry and from industry experts,
and a large number of people around the world were living like Arman for the same reason. And so,
his desire and efforts continued to burn. As more time would pass, Arman saw his friends
and family less and less, only really seeing them on rare circumstances or in occasional VR chats.
By his thirties, he lost contact with most of them after moving into a bunker-shelter property
in a small, isolated community several thousand miles away in the countryside.
He loved the city, but he realized he had to live somewhere safer and more conservative.
He would essentially remain here, contained inside his shelter, for the rest of his life,
only really keeping in contact with his parents, who would in a short time, pass away of old age.
Arman would primarily focus on his work, which was now almost exclusively done remotely. He
would have everything he needed delivered to him and only go out on rare occasions when necessary.
As he continued to follow and become more entrenched in the quantum computing,
AI, and mind uploading industry, the tech appeared to only be getting better and better, closer and
closer. By this point, more and more people were living in careful preservation of themselves,
awaiting the technologies almost certain release. It appeared to be just a matter of a time before
mind uploading was a real option, and Arman believed with all his conviction and knowledge
that it was inevitable. Fueled by this, Arman would essentially sacrifice his social life, his
love life, his family life, and arguably his life in general. He continued to defer his happiness
and experience to later. He believed he would live forever, and so, he lived as if he would.
In the year 2133, when Arman was eighty-seven years old, his lifelong desire finally came
into view. For the first time, one the companies pursuing the mind uploading space,
known as Samsara, revealed the release date of the first ever publicly available, government
sanctioned mind-uploading technology. Very little information had been shared up until this point,
as all companies kept the specifics of their technology under strict NDAs,
but now, the technology was set to be introduced and released just following a product introduction
event, scheduled on January 1st, 2134. Upon hearing the news, Arman was overwhelmed with
anticipation and excitement. On January 1st, he attended the event virtually along with
a crowd of hundreds of thousands of people. The CEO of Samsara stood on the stage and said:
“Tombstones, ashes in urns, diamonds, pictures, videos, belongings, and memories. For centuries
these things have been entrenched into human society as ways of remembering and keeping our
loved ones with us after they’re gone. But what if I told you, you could actually keep a version
of them with you? What if I told you that friends and family members can still feel like their loved
ones are here with them after they’re gone? With Samsara mind uploading technology, this is now a
reality. With absolute precision and accuracy, we can scan, map, and upload hyper-realistic copies
of any human brain and then place it into any avatar, which can then be engaged and interacted
with through all major VR and AR applications just as if it were a real person still here.
Of course, like with all new revolutionary technologies, there are some unexpected
limitations. All testing indicated that all test participants did not recognize the continuation of
a consistent selfhood. Upon upload, the same sense of self appears to be lost. And so, the user will
not recognize themselves as themselves anymore, because they won’t be. It is not obvious why.
There appears to be something missing, and it appears impossible to compute or find.
However, the avatar will still be reminiscent with utmost accuracy of the original versions of
their human. A true miracle of computer science.” As the CEO continued to speak, Arman realized what
was happening. The CEO’s voice and everything around him fell out of focus as he became numb.
His hope, what he had waited and sacrificed his whole life for, wasn’t what he believed it would
be. He had held out in hopes that once he uploaded his mind, life would finally be worth living,
and now that he was going to be able to do so, he wasn’t even going to be there to enjoy it.
Arman felt his entire life drop out of him. He felt like a carcass of could have been.
Years would go by. Arman was ninety-four years old. He found himself lying on his death bed in
a hospice care facility. As the completionist he was, and for no other reasons than why not,
he preemptively opted in and qualified for the Samsara mind uploading service,
which ended up being the best any company of the time. Arman was asked what he would like his
avatar to look like and other questions pertaining to its customization. He signed and filled out all
the necessary consent and waiver forms, and when the time was right, his brain was scanned, mapped,
modeled, digitized, and it began uploading into the cloud. An upload bar initiated on a computer
screen that sat next to him in his room. Over the span of the following weeks, the upload
bar filled more and more. Throughout which, Arman became more and more ill, sleeping most
of the days and becoming increasingly delirious. On one of the days, a young, male hospice nurse
was in Arman’s room with him, doing a regular checkup. While carrying out
standard checkup protocol, Arman began making small helpless puffs of air with his mouth.
“Arman, everything ok?” the nurse said. Arman looked the nurse in the eyes.
“Grandson?” The nurse paused, realizing what was happening.
“No, Arman. I’m the nurse. You don’t have a grandson, remember?”
“Oh.” A pause filled the room.
“Grandson,” Arman continued to the nurse, “Don’t live like me. Ok? I spent my whole life avoiding
death, but I have been dead for a long time. To live is to risk. What you do…what you do
in response to that risk is what separates the living from the dead. I see that now.”
In a huff, Arman returned to a delirious silence. A few moments later,
these would become his last words. Four days later, the upload bar on
the computer screen completed. The Samsara software application screen opened, and an
avatar of Arman appeared. It looked just like him, confused and somewhat scared, naïve and desiring.