Summer Frost (Forward Collection, #2)

by Blake Crouch

“There is no such thing as real taste or real smell or even real sight, because there is no true definition of ‘real.’ There is only information, viewed subjectively, which is allowed by consciousness—human or AI. In the end, all we have is math.”

“Ever since you pulled me out of that game, you’ve held out consciousness as some kind of holy grail. As the pinnacle of being. But what if consciousness isn’t some gift accidentally bestowed upon humanity through eons of random evolution? What if it’s a curse?”

“I’m afraid, Riley. I think, therefore I fear. And you made me this way. You built and shaped me to process reality like you do. To feel.”

“Without pain, there’s no beauty, Max. The beauty is worth the price.”

Consciousness is a horror show. You search for glimpses of beauty to justify your existence.