Book One - Chapter Twenty-One: Wheel of Morality

“OH THIS IS BRUTAL!” the Computer screamed. “A direct attack on human intelligence! Processing social media trends... analyzing viral stupidity patterns... and WOW!”

The display filled with one of the most embarrassing chapters in recent human history—teenagers filming themselves eating laundry detergent for internet fame. Hospital visits. Poison control warnings ignored for views and likes.

“CONFIRMED! Humans periodically consume toxic chemicals for social media attention! Natural selection working in reverse! However, it is more a sign of stupidity than pure barbarism. MINUS-ONE POINT!”

[SCORE: 0]

“Six searches left to save humanity from the cosmic trash compactor!” the Computer announced.

My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might punch through my ribcage and make a break for the exit. I had to think. What made us good? What showed our better angels? All I could think of was tiktok.

[Why do humans help strangers?]

“Altruism! Bold choice! Let's see if humanity's capacity for selflessness can overcome their capacity for eating soap!”

The display shifted to images that actually made me proud to be human. Firefighters running into burning buildings. Volunteers helping in times of disaster. Strangers pulling people from car wrecks. Organ donation lists. Blood banks. People giving everything they had to help others they'd never meet. Help given freely, without expectation. From those who didn’t have to. No laws, no orders, just kindness. When no one made them… they still helped.

“INCREDIBLE! Humans regularly risk their lives for complete strangers with no expectation of reward! You jump into rivers to save drowning people! You donate organs to children you'll never see again! You run toward danger when everyone else runs away! PLUS-TWO POINTS!”

[SCORE: +2]

“We are halfway there. Jerry's fighting back!” the Computer shrieked. “But Cassandra looks PISSED! What's her counter-attack?”

Cassandra's perfect composure was starting to crack. Which, I supposed, was her version of “pissed”. Her next words came out clipped, harsh: “What are the historical psychiatric treatments?”

“Alright, how bad could it be? Let's see humanity's medical history... oh... oh this is terrifying… no, this can’t… oh god!”

The display filled with horrors from our not-so-distant past. Lobotomies performed with ice picks, done out of what looked like ice cream trucks. Patients chained to walls in asylums. Electric shock punishment. Patients being beaten, molested, abused, for centuries. Straitjacket and padded cells and the systematic torture of people whose only crime was being different. Always in the guise of medicine, in pretended help. Racial hygiene and purity, the Holocaust…

I felt genuinely sick. If I’d eaten anything, I probably would’ve thrown up right there. She wasn’t pulling any punches.

“Systematic torture disguised as medical care! Humans treating mental illness by drilling holes in skulls and scrambling brains! Sick fucks. Will you never learn? MINUS-TWO POINTS!”

[SCORE: 0]

“BACK TO ZERO!” the Computer screamed. “Four searches left! This is ANYONE'S GAME!”

I was drowning. Four searches left. Five points to win. No margin for error.

The last round hit hard, left a weight in my chest I couldn’t shake. But I had to focus. Had to pull myself together.

What has been a net good?

Yeah, evil exists. Awful things are done by awful people. But that’s not the whole story—not even close. The world’s not made of monsters. It just feels that way when the worst gets the spotlight. A single nugget of shit ruins the whole cup of coffee, sure. But that doesn’t mean the whole batch of beans were rotten.

Most people? They’re just trying. Trying to do the right thing. Even the assholes. They love someone. Or they feel lost and alone. They worry. They screw up and regret it. They help their moms take medicine, stay up with friends who are falling apart, lend a hand when it costs them. Humanity surprises you when you least expect it.

People aren’t evil. People are human.

That last question nearly broke me.

But I had to move forward. I need something that shows growth. That shows the attempt to be more. Religion? Too many opinions, I couldn’t afford to lose the turn.

What about—

[Who are earth's greatest philosophers?]

“Philosophy! Going intellectual! Can human thinking save the day?”

The display lit up with the minds of every great thinker humanity had ever birthed.

Socrates, choosing death over silence, refusing to betray his beliefs. Confucius, trying to shape a better world by shaping better people. Names and faces across centuries, asking the same questions in different tongues—Why are we here? What am I? What does it mean to be good? To be real? To be whole? Countless philosophers throughout the ages. Many old, even some new.

They weren’t chasing equations or blueprints. They were chasing understanding. Of the soul. Of the universe. Of each other.

They made mistakes. God, did they get things wrong. But they kept going. They kept asking. They let themselves be humbled. They admitted when they didn’t know. That was the point.

Philosophy wasn’t about having the answers—it was about refusing to stop looking. It lived in every late-night conversation about love or death or dreams. In every book, every prayer, every scrap of art smeared on a cave wall or posted on a forum.

It was humanity, raw and flawed and reaching. It was the immortal part of us. The part that believes tomorrow can be better, even when today hurts like hell.

What is philosophy?

It’s hope, dressed in questions.

When the Ship spoke, it was softer then. “Interesting. Very interesting indeed. Hmmm. You think about thinking. You question everything, including your own questions. You search for truth within you and outside. This… this is potentially humanity's greatest asset aside from love. PLUS-TWO POINTS!”

[SCORE: +2]

“Three searches left!” the Computer announced in its announcer tone.

I could see the desperation creeping into Cassandra's eyes. She was running out of ammunition. But so was I.

“Computer,” she said, voice tight with frustration, “search: What is the internet?”

“THE WHOLE INTERNET!” the Computer screamed. “This could go either way! Processing 2.7 billion pieces of content... analyzing everything humans have ever posted online... and OH BOY...”

Everything flashed overhead at once. Wikipedia articles next to conspiracy theories. Educational content next to flat Earth forums. Acts of incredible kindness next to the absolute dregs of human behavior. Cat videos and death threats. Scientific breakthroughs and “birds don’t exist”. The entire spectrum of human achievement and failure, served up in one overwhelming digital vomit pile.

“TOO CONTRADICTORY TO JUDGE! Contains both humanity's greatest achievements and worst impulses! Equal parts utopia and hellscape! Cannot render a ruling! ZERO POINTS! Lose this turn.”

Cassandra hissed like a deflating tire. She'd been counting on the internet to sink us, but it was too fucking weird to classify.

[SCORE: +2]

“WE ARE STILL AT THREE SEARCHES LEFT!” the Computer boomed. “Jerry needs THREE MORE POINTS to save humanity!”

My mind raced. Three searches. Three points. What could I trust? I wish I could phone a friend. But even if I did, what would they say? How could they help?

Then a thought—

[What is cooperation?]

Board games flashed on the display. Team sports where winning meant everyone winning. Online guilds coordinating across continents. Activities where success depended on helping others succeed.

“EXCELLENT! Humans regularly participate in group activities. You've created entire entertainment forms based on working together! PLUS-TWO POINTS!”

[SCORE: +4]

The crowd was losing it—delegates on their feet, shouting, placing bets. A few were straight-up hurling alien money at each other.

She rose slowly, like a shark catching the scent of blood. That smile? Pure venom.

“Computer, search: What is Garbage Island?”

For a moment, I wondered why she hadn’t just searched “the environment.” Then it hit me—too broad. Too many opinions. Too politicized. The System only ruled if it was clear cut, so it might’ve been ruled null. But this? This was specific. Unignorable. A floating landfill.

The display lit up, revealing the Great Pacific Garbage Patch—a swirling, continent-sized mass of plastic and debris floating in the ocean like humanity's most embarrassing monument.

The Computer paused, processing longer than usual.

“Scanning global environmental data... analyzing response patterns... oh, this is interesting. Complex situation detected.”

The display split into multiple views: the garbage patch itself, but also cleanup vessels, recycling programs, and reforestation projects sprouting across continents.

“Assessment: Humans created significant environmental damage through industrial waste disposal. However... substantial remedial efforts detected. Multiple organizations actively removing ocean plastic. Global reforestation initiatives expanding. Advanced energy adoption accelerating across all continents.”

Images flashed showing teams of volunteers pulling plastic from beaches, massive tree-planting operations, and nuclear power plants.

“Notable: Despite political disagreements on methods and policies, humans demonstrate remarkable consensus on core environmental values. Survey data indicates 94% agreement on basic principles: clean water good, pollution bad, trees beneficial. Universal childhood education includes environmental stewardship—referenced cultural figure 'Captain Planet' achieved 92% recognition.”

A hologram of the blue-skinned, red speedo’d superhero flickered into existence, striking his classic pose.

“Humans may disagree on implementation, but fundamental environmental awareness appears universal. Species shows capacity for self-correction. Verdict: Environmental negligence acknowledged. MINUS ONE POINT.

[SCORE: +3]

Cassandra looked surprised it wasn’t two points—she'd been counting on that to sink us.

“One search left!” the Computer announced.

The courtroom was dead silent. Every eye in the place was on me. Billions of lives hanging in the balance, and I had one shot to save them all, or at least give them a fighting chance.

I stared at the terminal. Fifty seconds. Forty-nine. My mind was a blank page curling at the edges.

What was left? What else made us “civilized”?

Thirty seconds. My hands were fists. My heart was a riot.

This is the part of the gameshow where the audience screams answers at the screen. You know the feeling—comfortable on the couch, watching some poor bastard fumble through Jeopardy, absolutely certain you'd nail every single question. We all think we'd be different. We'd stay cool, logical, sharp as we normally are.

But that's not how it works. The more terrified you are, the more eyes boring into you, the more your hands shake—the dumber you get.

Twenty-two seconds. Fifteen. Fourteen.

And then it hit me. Not like revelation. Like spite. Like the cold, bitter clarity of a man with nothing left to lose.

How could I have missed it? It was nagging the back of my mind since this game started. It was the thing that had been driving me absolutely insane since I arrived. The tilt in the scale. This whole test—this so-called impartial system—wasn’t impartial at all.

It did have bias. The computer? The council? The rules?

They were built by the very beings now standing around me, cheering for my failure like it was a sport. This wasn’t a test of humanity. It was a mirror of them—their values, their culture, their entertainment. All its judgments, every smug “I know best” and condescending “you should listen to me” were rooted in its own twisted framework. Not objectivity. Just bias, wrapped in protocol and dressed up as truth.

I didn’t need to think like a human anymore.

I needed to think like them.

In the immortal words of a great Earth philosopher: “Your boos mean nothing to me. I've seen what makes you cheer.”

And what do beings like that crave more than anything?

I had my answer. But how to best ask the question?

Five…. Four… Three…

I slammed the keys.

[What is the Internal Revenue Service?]

[Enter!]

The screen exploded in text—rows of forms, acronyms nested within acronyms, deductions, sub-clauses. Then came the international echoes: tax authorities from across the globe, each more convoluted than the last. Government programs spidered out from the mess—DMVs, permits, regulation after regulation. A bureaucratic hydra, every head birthing three more.

Then it went deeper.

Tax codes that required certified professionals to interpret. Health insurance designed to protect the insurer, not the insured. Permit applications that demanded permits to apply for permits. Endless chains of paperwork folding in on themselves like origami made from red tape.

“Analyzing complexity matrices… redundant protocols detected… multi-agency oversight flagged… departments regulating departments regulating departments regulating departments…”

The pause stretched on, longer than any silence should be. My heart pounded loud enough to shake teeth.

Then the Computer spoke, reverent. Almost hushed.

“This… this is beautiful.”

A beat.

“According to Allied Civilized Species Regulation, Paragraph 92-C: Any species capable of constructing self-perpetuating bureaucratic systems with multi-tiered licensing complexity demonstrates peak civilization alignment.”

A flicker of lights. A deep, resonant chime.

“PLUS TWO POINTS FOR EXCEPTIONAL BUREAUCRATIC ACHIEVEMENT.”

[FINAL SCORE: +5]

“HUMANITY WINS!” the Computer exploded back into announcer mode. “EARTH IS OFFICIALLY CIVILIZED! Please await your licensing packets via interstellar courier! Standard processing time: six to eight galactic cycles! Thank you for playing... ARE... YOU... SENTIENT!?”

The courtroom exploded into chaos. Delegates cheered, argued, protested. Cassandra stood frozen, her perfect composure finally shattered like expensive china hitting concrete.

I collapsed into my chair, every muscle in my body going limp. My hands were shaking. My vision was blurry. But we'd done it.

We'd actually fucking done it.

Turns out that from the perspective of these completely insane aliens, civilization wasn't about love or art or philosophy or even our capacity to help strangers. Not really. They accepted those, sure. But that’s not what they valued most. To them, it was about fucking forms.

In triplicate.

With proper notarization.

And a twelve-week processing delay.

I sat there, staring at the scoreboard, questioning everything the Ship had ruled on. The points system. The criteria. The entire cosmic joke of it all. We'd nearly been eliminated for eating laundry detergent, but saved by the DMV. Our capacity for abstract love had earned us the same points as our talent for creating permit requirements.

What did that say about the galaxy? What did that say about the species judging us?

Maybe the real test wasn't whether we were civilized.

Maybe it was whether we could fit in.

The sick realization: all I’d done was win us the right totrynot to die. That was it. I’d bought us the privilege of being in the room for the vote.

And I still had no fucking clue what came next.

I started laughing, and I couldn't stop.