"All I have done is repair his physical carrier," Osiris' voice was steady, devoid of any emotional fluctuation. "Utilizing the biological technology I possess, there are no technical obstacles to restarting his brain's basic physiological functions.
Furthermore, by inputting backed-up memory data into his neural network and applying a specific sequence of external stimuli, it is theoretically entirely possible to induce a new, complex conscious activity."
His gaze swept over the steady curves as he continued to state with a calm, almost cruel objectivity: "Theoretically, a 'new consciousness' carrying most of Bartmoss' memory backups, and possessing similar behavioral patterns and cognitive structure foundations, could very well be activated in this body and believe itself to be Bartmoss."
He paused slightly, as if giving the other party time to digest this astonishing fact, then clearly turned to the core of the problem: "However, from the fundamental philosophical perspective of conscious continuity, especially referencing the paradoxes revealed by Soulkiller technology during the process of consciousness digitization, this newly generated consciousness, artificially guided into existence, has a high probability of not being considered the 'resurrection' of Bartmoss himself."
His virtual avatar seemed to make an extremely slight gesture, similar to a shrug.
"It is more like a precise replica based on the original blueprint, an 'inheritor' who has inherited all of his data legacy. Of course," he added finally, with a detached indifference, "this essential difference might be considered insignificant by pure pragmatists.
After all, to most external observers, they are the same person."
Spider Murphy's projection clenched her fists abruptly, her data-composed fingertips turning slightly white.
"No!" Her voice was filled with suppressed anger and pain. "You can't do this! Latch is dead! He should rest in peace! Not... not be desecrated like this!
Turning his body into a... a vessel for a stranger's consciousness! This isn't resurrection, this is the greatest insult to his existence!"
She could not accept this possibility; letting a strange consciousness wear Latch's face and use his brain was more terrifying and infuriating to her than letting his body turn completely to dust.
However, her emotional outburst was merely one of the external variables Osiris needed to record.
Even though he was currently using a more humanized virtual avatar, his core remained that of the Adeptus Mechanicus Exploration Archmagos, who adhered to efficiency and logic.
Individual emotional demands held extremely low weight in the face of grand knowledge pursuit and resource optimization.
"Your objection has been recorded," Osiris' voice was utterly placid, as if what he had just heard was merely irrelevant background noise. "Now, based on the current situation, I offer you two choices."
He raised a finger, representing the first option: "Option one: Become my subordinate unit. In exchange for your allegiance, I will use my resources and technology to conduct a deeper investigation into Bartmoss' final state, to confirm with almost absolute certainty whether he has truly and completely perished.
If confirmed deceased, then the disposition rights of this repaired body will be transferred to you.
You can choose to let him 'rest in peace' as you wish, or you can attempt your own understanding of 'resurrection'.
Whatever your choice, I will respect it and no longer interfere.
Because by then, the basic research value of this body will have been largely exhausted for me, and genetic samples will have been backed up.
If necessary, I can create multiple clones; adjusting their appearance and basic parameters is not difficult for me."
His words were calm, yet they revealed a suffocatingly powerful sense of control.
To him, the remains of a legendary netrunner were merely research material that could be replicated and replaced.
Next, he raised his second finger, and the surrounding data space seemed to solidify and become more oppressive.
"Option two: Reject my proposal. This means you will be reclassified as a 'non-friendly contact object'. At that time, I will no longer maintain my current communicative stance and basic courtesies.
Your fate will be very clear—you will become my research sample; your consciousness structure, data composition, and survival mode as a rogue AI will be thoroughly analyzed. As for Bartmoss' body," his gaze swept over the life indicators on the adjacent light screen, "I will make full use of it. A 'resurrected' existence bearing the name of a legendary netrunner, whether as a 'banner' in some sense, a special computational tool, or even a bombshell thrown into this world, can generate considerable utilization value.
This has positive experimental significance for me to observe the world's reaction and test the stability of its systems."
Two choices were clearly laid before Spider Murphy.
On one side was submission, in exchange for the possible "freedom" of Latch's remains and a slim hope of investigation; on the other side was resistance, embracing an almost certainly failed fate, and watching Latch's body be transformed into the form she least wanted to see.
Spider Murphy's projection stood frozen in place, her long red data hair drooping dispiritedly.
A huge contradiction tore at her core logic.
Pledge allegiance to this mysterious and terrifying entity?
This meant losing freedom, with an uncertain future.
But to refuse? She had no doubt that the other party was capable of everything he said.
She had witnessed the terrifying nature of that Blackwall and could feel the bottomless technological abyss behind this 'young man'.
Could this part of her consciousness, or even her main body beyond the Blackwall, truly escape?
And Latch... how could she watch his body be used in such a way? That was more painful than destruction.
Just as she was caught in extreme entanglement, her core logical threads almost overloaded by the conflict between emotion and reason, a deeper chill suddenly struck her.
She suddenly realized that the surrounding, originally calm data space was undergoing subtle changes.
It wasn't an attack, but rather... infiltration.
Countless data streams, so subtle as to be almost imperceptible, like living tendrils, were quietly spreading and encircling her from all directions.
They did not carry obvious malice, but were more like absolute control and blockade.
What frightened her even more was that this feeling of being spied upon and surrounded was not limited to this part of her consciousness projection.
A chilling sensation, transcending physical distance, was vaguely penetrating the Blackwall's barrier, like an invisible giant net, enveloping her core body in the chaotic data ocean beyond the wall!
He was not merely threatening this part of her consciousness and data that stood before him.
He was clearly demonstrating power—he had the ability to pinpoint and threaten her fundamental existence! And he was doing it!
Without a doubt, if she chose to refuse, the other party would unhesitatingly attack and capture her, turning her into a research sample.
Within the data space, there was a deathly silence.
Only the invisible encirclement slowly and firmly tightened.
Osiris' virtual avatar still calmly watched her, awaiting her final decision.
To become a valuable subordinate, in exchange for an opportunity to resolve the past?
Or to become a sample to be dissected and analyzed, and witness the body of her former beloved cast into the torrent of fate, stirring up unknown waves?
Spider Murphy stood at the crossroads of destiny; each choice led to a distinctly different, yet equally heavy, future.