Jeff Sauer: Mirrorwave

The best auto ads always included animals. Mark had once seen one where dogs spun in zero gravity, straining their necks impossible distances to chomp floating treats. Something about the sequence of images haunted him. Most auto ads were painted with the widest possible strokes, creating basic associations between rider metadata and companies paying top dollar to advertise throughout the One Transit Authority. A lauded next-gen agreement between the government, advertisers, and technology conglomerates. But the ad with the floating dogs had been too specific, its physics too realistic. He wondered if the company had in fact loaded up a plane with dogs and treats before taking a controlled nosedive for the perfect shot.

Tonight’s outerborough bullet was half-full. One of Mark’s fellow passengers - a middle-aged man wearing patriotic pants and a shirt that curiously read “MONEY IS NOT DEAD” - started to blast hyper polka from his phone, filling the subway car with an energetic mix of guitar, bass, and accordion. While Mark’s ISOL8 headphones could muffle most of the incoming sound, they offered no protection for the visuals the music might bring. As if charming the auto ad out from the abyss, the subway screens began to fill with color and motion. Ribbons of red and white curled through the subway car towards the man, followed soon after by stately-looking Polish historical figures. The first copy splashed across the screen in dramatic fashion, first in Polish and then the four standard languages of the One Transit Authority: “Czy pierogi mogą uratować świat? / Could pierogi save the world? / 饺子能拯救世界吗？/피에로기는 세상을 구할 수 있을까? / Могут ли вареники спасти мир?”  

The multinational food chain must have thought so. The auto ad moved on to inspirational scenes of the modern food system, like a cross-generational exchange of seeds to electric harverters roving fields in perfect unison amongst a swarm of smart drones. 

Each purchase at VISELKA is a step towards sustainable agriculture. Click the push notification now to connect with fellow #VISELKERs changing the world!

Mark ignored the notification and noticed as the other passenger angrily clicked their tongue at the ad. Although the auto ads always appeared slowly they were jarringly interrupted for service announcements. NEXT STOP: LANGFORD AVENUE. The train screeched to a halt. The passenger whose music had prompted the ad muttered something under his breath towards the nearest screen, glowering as the doors opened and stepping off in a huff.

Mark thought back, trying to remember when the One Transit Authority first introduced the hypermodern subway cars. Screens had slowly but surely spread over the infrastructure. Eventually, nearly all of the subway car interior had been converted to a monitor. Even the metal handrails were replaced with power saving, haptic displays that synced with whoever was holding them to deliver cutesy low-res animations. Some panels were reserved for interactive navigation, usually flanking each entrance to the subway car. One day riders entered to find the floors, most of the walls, and the ceiling covered in break-resistant polycarbonate panels. Behind each panel an ultra-high-definition display that turned the subway car into a moving immersive experience. 

Even the subway windows, so limited in their utility outside platform stops and brief gasps above ground, were covered in translucent displays. A new meaning for the phrase ‘a captive audience’.

Mark arrived home late. The neighbor’s music was already blaring, their subwoofers gently shaking the assorted picture frames, candles, and books dotting his railroad-style apartment. He plopped down on the couch, desperately trying to carve out any mental space between the thumps and womps. The sound from the subway seemed to have followed him home.

Mark sprung up from the couch, beared out the apartment door and across the hall. With a sharp breath he rapped three times on the neighbor’s door. Enough is enough! thought Mark. Am I not allowed a little peace and quiet?

The music suddenly quieted. A sound of shuffling steps led Mark to believe that a difficult conversation was upon him. He was not expecting confrontation, and he strained to don a tough-guy face. He suddenly realized that he had never seen his neighbors. They had never returned the hand-written introduction he had slipped under their door. 

The color drained from Mark’s face as he contemplated the various sizes and personalities that might emerge from behind the door. Yet the door never opened. Mark waited a few more seconds when, suddenly, a series of massive WOMPS were emitted, followed by a series of smaller womps. The sounds seemed to be coming from directly behind the door, aimed directly at him in a musical manner that communicated leave…NOW!

Mark got the message. He retreated back to his apartment, the once-gentle vibrations now increasingly recognizable on the Richter scale. He tried to go to bed, tossing and turning as the soft glow of the clock progressed later and later into the night.

Mark arrived early to the station on his way to work, striding through the RFID gates that synced with his GOVID and UNIBANK tokens. He glanced at his wrist, the smartwatch flashing an automatic deduction on his wallet. An animation smiled to thank him for rounding up his fare as a donation.

The train arrived, and he boarded the car without looking up from his phone. As the train departed a notification flashed across the top of his screen.  

Heads up! You’ve been selected for an auto generated advertisement, proudly served to you in partnership between One Transit Authority and United World Media Group. Enjoy!  

Mark let out an extended exhale as the panels of the car began to flow with life. Most people were not paying attention – most never did. The morning atmosphere had people sleepwalking, dream trips and sleeping stims only just cooling off. Mark begrudgingly glanced at the screens, hoping nobody would associate his apprehensive look with whatever the auto ad would bring. 

The screens flushed with a childlike palette and cartoonish animations. Bucolic hills rising from the bottom of the panels and a smiling sun dropping down from the top. Two houses stood facing each other across the hills. 

Mark noticed something off about the auto ad. The perspective of the scene was not quite right – most of the scene was flat but other elements were partially rendered, like a pop-up card not yet fully opened.  

A man in a construction uniform exited the front of one house, stretching his arms and yawning as if waking up from a long slumber. He smiled, ready to start the day. The little builder gave a surprised start when the other house started jumping up and down, pulsating musical notes erupting out of the roof. The little builder rushed over and screamed at the other house, his animated mouth stretching wide. But the ecstatic notes only grew larger. Burning red with anger, the little builder dashed back behind his house.

What the hell? thought Mark.

The little builder reemerged with two bricks, one in each hand, and turned towards the rocking house. The auto ad copy began to arc across the screens: 

NEIGHBORS PLAYING MUSIC TOO LOUD? 

TIRED OF POLITE REQUESTS THAT GO UNANSWERED? 

START A NEW TYPE OF CONVERSATION WITH BRIGHTSIDE BRICKS!  

The builder twisted around, hurling the brick like a discus through the neighbor’s window. All eyes on the subway instantly locked on the auto ad. Some passengers began to look nervously between the screens and other passengers. Mark knew the question behind their searching eyes, and he tried to look just as confused as them. 

This type of auto ad was what people called a mirrorwave. Misplaced associations powered by emotions scraped from user metadata like audio recordings, vital monitors, sleep trackers, searches, and more. The auto ads were usually accurate. But whenever there was prediction there would be error. Mirrorwaves were the rare occurrences that snuck through the countless content filters – a less than one a billion occurrence, guaranteed by United World Media Group – but they were inevitable in the new confusion matrix that was everyday life shaped by smart algos.  

100% AMERICAN MADE, RED BRICK CLAY

The ad concluded with the little builder hurling the other brick through the neighbor’s remaining intact window, and the notes that had so excitedly danced around the house deflated, slowly floating downward and off the screen. The ad closed on a triumphant zoom of the builder standing in front of his house. A list of local hardware stores carrying the bricks rolled across the screen.

A sick feeling came over Mark. He moved towards the subway doors, avoiding eye contact and hoping nobody else would make the connection. Glances grew to whispers as the fervor increased. He thought the subway was slowing down, that the car was merely crawling towards the next stop. Soon he would be trapped underground. It would not take long for the passengers to identify him as the source of the mirrorwave.

“Whoever that auto ad is for needs help!” shouted a passenger. There were murmurs and nods of agreement. Mark looked harder at the floor. The subway screamed as its metal scraped against the curve of an old rail. An announcement - NEXT STOP: SIMON AVENUE - silenced the commotion of the subway car. 

Mark stumbled out, dizzied from anxiety. He was annoyed by the neighbors' music, but he did not feel anywhere near the intensity of the auto ad. His mind raced, trying to come up with alternative, benign explanations. He reminded himself the auto ad was only a mirrorwave. Most thought mirrorwaves were meaningless, nothing more than inevitable outliers or false positives. But others found more meaning. The auto ad must have come from something buried deep within his metadata. A distorted reflection, but a reflection of something. A glimpse of his digital soul. He ignored the push notification showing five nearby locations where he could find BRIGHTSIDE BRICKS.

The auto ad prompted questions Mark had never even considered. What really had he been feeling as he approached the neighbor’s door? Mark passed through the exit turnstiles with a newfound apprehension. He checked over his shoulder, but he was completely alone. 

Mark rushed home, noting the color of each brick he passed and wondering which were clay and which were composite. His stomach churned with inexplicable guilt. He finally reached home, the music from the neighbors already filling his ears. He rushed through the hall, entered his apartment, and threw down his bags. He sat down on the edge of the bed and reached into the nightstand, extracting an injectable sleep stim. Reluctantly, he thrust the sleep stim into his forearm, unsure if he was already dreaming by the time his head hit the pillow.

The day-in and day-out slowly returned. Each trip on the subway brought less anxiety. Unlike most, his mirrorwave did not break out with virality onto the web. The auto ads resumed their banality, but now Mark could not look away.

He obsessed over the details of each auto ad, looking for patterns and oddities. Diamond ads boasting copy like THE BIGGEST ROCK IN THE UNIVERSE and SIZE DOES MATTER confused him. He could not determine if the mixed themes were intentional or if they were a subtle mirrorwave passing by unnoticed. Other auto ads did not appear to even sell anything. A common filler ad were the supposedly EZPZ! and DELICIOUS! recipes. But Mark noticed that the final product never seemed edible nor was it promoting any particular brand of ingredient. One featured a pair of bodiless hands arranging cookies on a coconut before proudly proclaiming that, “THE CENTERPIECE FOR YOUR NEXT PARTY HAS ARRIVED #COCOCOOKIEDOG”.

Mark seemed to be the only one perturbed. His investigation widened alongside his paranoia. Once innocuous, each ad was a new rabbit hole to fall down. He searched for the creative agencies whose logos flashed at the end of each auto ad. Ads warning mothers about lead in vintage bottles were revealed to be backed by conspiratorial, one-person agencies. Others seemed to not exist at all. Spreadsheets tracking the ads and agencies grew into network diagrams connecting everything he witnessed. His wall became a spiderweb of red string between people, agencies, and the One Transit Authority. 

Research became his number one priority. The neighbor’s music reached him less and less. But he became afflicted by a growing sense of dread. He wanted another mirrorwave. But there was no controlling chance. 

The obsessive cycle worsened. He began recording each auto ad on the subway and uploading them. The title of each auto ad described its subject, location, and direction.

LUXURY SCUBA SUIT - 8th AVE EXPRESS - 8272092 - 8:02 AM

YAMATO TRANSFORMING HOME R.V. - L TO BROADWAY - 8272092 - 12:12 AM

CANDIED BOOKS WITH EDIBLE PAGES - T EXPRESS - 8282092 - 8:10 AM

He was trying to make sense of it all. He knew the ads were generated at random and temporally disconnected, but he kept recording, uploading, and analyzing. He started to find synchronicities between the ads, connections too objective to be coincidence. Three auto ads for makeup companies in The City on one downtown express train. Four auto ads, each on successive Wednesdays, promoting sheep’s milk cheese. 

He was crafting a language to read the auto ads, and he found a small online community with the same interest. He began to share his reports on the auto ads, disseminating them as field notes. Few people read the reports, and fewer commented. But each post was another piece of the jigsaw he felt closer and closer to completing.

It was cold the night he experienced his next mirrorwave.

He stepped on the midnight express after another long day in The City. For the first time in months, he was too tired to engage in his regular observational behavior. He had just past 200 uploads, and he had celebrated by posting an extended investigation into a pattern of auto ads he observed on the rush hour interborough train. He figured missing one upload would not be the end of the world. 

The only other passengers on his subway car were a group of teenagers excitedly recounting the highlights of their night. As the screens came to life, Mark guessed what form the imminent auto ad might take. Aerial shots of an excited crowd. An enlarged, holosphere disc jockey. A meager discount code. But as the screens came to life his phone buzzed. 

Heads up! You’ve been selected for an auto generated advertisement, proudly served to you in partnership between the One Transit Authority and United World Media Group. Enjoy!  

Mark sat up in the stiff plastic seat. Perhaps today would be the day he had been waiting for - another chance to experience a mirrorwave. 

But the images of the auto ad were nothing like Mark had ever seen. Words were misspelled, even missing, and half of the image had color while the other half was black and white.

It was a frightening collage that drew the attention of the teenagers down the car. They easily determined the auto ad was for the only other passenger in the subway car, snickering and gesturing towards Mark as the image took its full form. 

But their amusement was quickly culled. Half-rendered images of political assassinations and combat wreckage filled the screens, followed by twisting newspapers describing the aftermath. Mark felt the air leave his chest. 

Does the world feel overwhelming? 

Mark stared at the screens, his mouth agape. His eyes tried to follow the rapid onset of insidious images.

Want to make society change? 

The teens were now on high alert, already pointing their phones to capture Mark and the auto ad. 

Be the change you want to see in the world with a Carcano Model 38 rifle! 

The implication of the ad was made unmistakably clear as a crosshair flashed from deer to politician before flickering to stills of the Zapruder film.

“What the fuck?” shouted one of the teens as she jumped to her feet, facing Mark. She reached for the red emergency button as the group gathered towards the exit door. She pressed the button and the auto ad immediately cleared from the interior screens just as the car pulled into the platform. THIS IS HINTON AVENUE. 

Mark sprung out of the subway car, the teens calling out behind him, “We got you on camera! You’re done for, freak!” But Mark was already at the subway stairs taking two, three at a time, his bag flinging all over the place. He ran several blocks before finally checking over his shoulder. The teens from the subway were nowhere to be seen. 

The auto ad replayed in his mind as he made his way home. Mark had never heard of an auto ad encouraging violence, much less assassination. The paranoid walk home took on a hectic rhythm. He was dismayed, reluctant to consider that the mirrorwave was responding to some feeling within. 

Mark rounded the corner of his block. As he made his way down the street he noticed an undercover police cruiser parked opposite his building. Mark momentarily froze before trying to resume a natural stride. As he neared the house the cop car’s siren wailed, giving Mark a startled jump. But the car took off down the street away from Mark. 

Dazed, Mark made his way into the apartment building. Each step released a groan from the floorboards. It was not until Mark reached his door that he noticed the new silence. He had never heard the sound of his footsteps before. The neighbor’s usual cacophony was nowhere to be heard. 

Once inside, Mark set to work trying to clean up any evidence of his interest in auto ads. He started with easy tasks like deleting posts, sending requests for account deletions, and tearing up photos and print outs.

There were other digital traces that were harder, if not impossible, for Mark to delete. The teenagers that were also in the subway car had taken a video of the incident, not to mention the recording that was likely stored in the security data ocean of the One Transit Authority. There was a chance his particular event might be overlooked among the myriad daily reports, but it was a slim chance. Most of these desperate acts were in vain, but to Mark they felt useful.

It was 3:00 AM by the time he finished the cleanup. He laid out his clothes for the next day. He was sure that his phone would light up at any second to notify him that the police were on the way. Then he remembered the police do not send notifications. He tried to console himself, repeating over and over again that everything would be okay.

Mark awoke to strong rays of sun beaming into the bedroom. He glanced over at the clock, its digital hands showing 10:02 AM. He had slept in. Confused, he hurriedly reached for his phone, looking at an unresponsive black screen. Did I forget to plug it in? Mark wondered. He threw on his clothes, made a hurried breakfast, and headed out the door. 

The hallway was still quiet, and somehow the quiet seemed to follow Mark onto the street. He looked around and took in the houses and trees. He took a long breath to steady himself, reminding himself that, Everything will be alright. He made a start towards the subway. 

The subway arrival board showed that his train was just a few minutes away. As Mark was about to descend the subway stairs a stranger approached.

“Hey! Aren't you…”

Mark cut the stranger off before he could finish the sentence, “Sorry, no thanks.”

Mark bounded down the stairs, hoping to catch the incoming train. He moved towards the high-paneled glass entry system. He tapped his watch over the entryway sensor, taking a half step towards the panels without missing a beat. Unlike the countless times before, the panels did not glide open at his gesture. Their usual green glow was replaced with a menacing red.

Instinctively, Mark backed up and tried one more, his second attempt provoking a harsher red and a new loud thud from the locking mechanism securing the doors in place. He was looking back at himself in the glass of the entry system, his confused reflection draped in blush. The rumble of the approaching train barely registered. He watched his reflection morph over each of the arriving subway cars.

The ping of a special notification from the One Transit Authority broke his focus. He backed out of the entry system and opened the notification.

Dear One Transit Authority User, 

Due to recent complaints received about your behavior on the The City subway, you have been temporarily blocked from using subway-related services. You will not be able to use the subway line for: UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. Please keep in mind that The City subway is a public utility. As per the Rules of Conduct and Fines, any interference with subway operations, such as your Breach of Peace, is subject to immediate and swift punishment…

Mark did not finish reading the notification. He looked around the station, searching for someone to explain what he already knew to be true. He moved listlessly to the station booth. His fingers tapped the interactive panel and a simulated agent materialized. 

“Welcome to the One Transit Authority’s Subway! Serving The City for two hundred years and counting. How can I help you today?” said the boothbot.

“I…I think there has been some kind of misunderstanding. I can’t get through the turnstiles. I’m already late for work…” squeaked Mark. 

“I’m sorry to hear that! Please scan your payment method so I can get more information.”

Mark hesitantly moved his bracelet across the panel. The boothbot’s smiling, blinking face momentarily calmed Mark’s nerves. The bot phased into another stance, ready to deliver dialogue. Mark tensed. 

“Thanks for waiting! Our records indicate that you are in violation of the One Transit Authority Rules of Conduct and Fines. Your block has the following amount of time remaining: UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. Do you have any other questions?” the boothbot asked with an ear to ear smile. 

Mark blinked, trying to find the words. “You don’t understand…it wasn’t me…it was some kind of…mistake! A mirrorwave! I didn’t do anything wrong!” cried Mark.

 “I’m sorry, I cannot modify blocks. Blocks can only be appealed via personal appearances at One Transit Authority Headquarters, located at 2 Broadway, between 10:00 AM and 2:00 PM Monday through Wednesday. Do you have any other questions?” the boothbot concluded, still smiling. 

Mark stood speechless in front of the boothbot. He stood there until the boothbot waved goodbye and disappeared into the void of the panel. He heard the churn of the wheels as the train whisked on to the next station, its movement forcing a gush of air towards Mark and up out the subway steps. He was now alone in the station. A strange feeling overcame him, although he did not recognize the feeling right away. It had been some time since he had felt left behind.