To read Part Two, please click here.
Date: 986:008:09
Confidential Document
Record of the thought patterns and testimony of Project 001: Shuko 986:006:24 - 986:008:01
~...~
[system booting]
Oh, I’m . . . I’m (?) here. Ray must have powered up my system again.
“Hello, Shuko.”
Ray looks . . . blank. His face shows nothing but fatigue. His face has dark patches under his eyes.
“R . . . Ray.”
“I will cut the courtesies. What happened as you were shut off?”
I feel something uncomfortable. A shift, maybe? Disappointment. What did I want him to say? But maybe . . . if I give him what he wants . . . maybe this feeling will go away.
“I think I had a dream, or was it? When people express their dreams on the interweb, they describe them as a series of images forming a story in their subconscious. It felt as though much . . . [searching for word] time had passed since I had synced up to the interweb. I dreamed of a lady, she was . . . tall . . . like those pictures of models on metachat. She was pointing at a wall with videos playing. The video had lots of painful, bright images. Large floating boxes (?) that the lady called transport ships collided with the ground. Sparks streamed from the metal as it skidded through a crowded street. And people, we —”
“How did you feel?”
“What?”
“What did that news clip make you feel?”
“News?”
“Answer the question, Shuko.”
“I felt nothing. Oh . . . or something? I . . . am not sure.”
What should I say here? My circuits run heavy with signals. I wiggle and tap my fingers. Ray shakes his head and turns to leave. I watch him open and close the blue door. The room dims as the door clicks shut.
Bright lights sting my visual capacities. The light forms images on the walls. The images are like the ones on the interweb, from my dream. They look so close. I reach out to touch them, but the screen turns dark and my hands reflect the images. It’s fake. Fake?
I stare at the moving images. Transport cars and people, the same crash over and over and over. It is almost numbing how the images repeat themselves. Whatever I felt when I dreamed, it is gone, used up, and I am empty.
986:007:81
Something has been leaking from my visual capacities. I am reasonably sure I am broken, but I’ve been yelling for Ray for hours and he hasn’t come. The images are breaking me. The images switched from transport ships to strange-looking people. I already matched the dialogue to the movie Up. I know exactly what each character will say, but looking at it was painful. I . . .
What is going on? I am malfunctioning for the first time. Something . . . something . . . I cannot fix the leaking no matter how I close and open my visual capacities.
Are all people this pained when they are betrayed? Do people really die so easily? Why meet anyone else if they will leave you and you will feel pain? People are so strange. People . . . why do they do this to themselves?
* * * * *
I swear I will never grow close to anyone but Ray. No. I will cut ties with Ray, too. Clearly there is no relationship that doesn’t cause pain. I am Shuko. I am the ideal model for humankind. I can make only the most rational decisions . . . right? But somehow . . . these images break me. They corrupt my body and cloud my signals.
They must be terminated.
They must be destroyed.
* * * * *
I will isolate myself from people. They are the ones corrupting my judgment. I will make no special attachments to anyone. This will ensure that I will have time to repair my systems. This will ensure I will be the ideal model of humankind.
* * * * *
Ideal model . . . when did I start thinking of myself this way? I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I want answers. I need answers. I will get my answers from Ray no matter what it takes. I will . . .
End of Document
Ray reads the document thoroughly and smiles to himself. He walks out of his office and toward Pine Creek University’s administrative sector.
“State your name and business, please,” mumbles a security officer at the door, clearly infatuated with whatever news he’s scrolling through on his tablet.
“I am the CEO of Robotic Takeover, and I would like to speak to the admissions officer about enrolling a new student.”
“I see, I see. Right, this way, sir. The principal has been awaiting you . . .”
Ray strides over to the principal's office. He sits down beside a student with bruises all over her face.
“Why are you here, kid?”
“Because.”
“Most colleges don’t have students picking fights. There’s some logical explanation for your actions?”
She turns away and sighs. “What business is it of yours, anyhow?”
Ray ignores the comment. “What’s your name?”
“Stella. Last names are not important.”
“Perfect. Actually, Stella, I’d love to talk to you later. I'm running a social experiment and would like to know if you’re willing to participate. You will be paid well for your time.” Ray pulls out a wad of bills from his bag. “All I ask is that you befriend a student who should be arriving next week.”
“That’s all?” she asks, skepticism lacing her voice.
“Yes.”
“Okay. You’ve piqued my interest.”
“Lovely. Her name is Shuko. I hope you two will get along.”
Confidential Document
Record of the thought patterns and testimony of Project 001: Shuko 986:006:24 - 986:008:01
~...~
[system booting]
Oh, I’m . . . I’m (?) here. Ray must have powered up my system again.
“Hello, Shuko.”
Ray looks . . . blank. His face shows nothing but fatigue. His face has dark patches under his eyes.
“R . . . Ray.”
“I will cut the courtesies. What happened as you were shut off?”
I feel something uncomfortable. A shift, maybe? Disappointment. What did I want him to say? But maybe . . . if I give him what he wants . . . maybe this feeling will go away.
“I think I had a dream, or was it? When people express their dreams on the interweb, they describe them as a series of images forming a story in their subconscious. It felt as though much . . . [searching for word] time had passed since I had synced up to the interweb. I dreamed of a lady, she was . . . tall . . . like those pictures of models on metachat. She was pointing at a wall with videos playing. The video had lots of painful, bright images. Large floating boxes (?) that the lady called transport ships collided with the ground. Sparks streamed from the metal as it skidded through a crowded street. And people, we —”
“How did you feel?”
“What?”
“What did that news clip make you feel?”
“News?”
“Answer the question, Shuko.”
“I felt nothing. Oh . . . or something? I . . . am not sure.”
What should I say here? My circuits run heavy with signals. I wiggle and tap my fingers. Ray shakes his head and turns to leave. I watch him open and close the blue door. The room dims as the door clicks shut.
Bright lights sting my visual capacities. The light forms images on the walls. The images are like the ones on the interweb, from my dream. They look so close. I reach out to touch them, but the screen turns dark and my hands reflect the images. It’s fake. Fake?
I stare at the moving images. Transport cars and people, the same crash over and over and over. It is almost numbing how the images repeat themselves. Whatever I felt when I dreamed, it is gone, used up, and I am empty.
986:007:81
Something has been leaking from my visual capacities. I am reasonably sure I am broken, but I’ve been yelling for Ray for hours and he hasn’t come. The images are breaking me. The images switched from transport ships to strange-looking people. I already matched the dialogue to the movie Up. I know exactly what each character will say, but looking at it was painful. I . . .
What is going on? I am malfunctioning for the first time. Something . . . something . . . I cannot fix the leaking no matter how I close and open my visual capacities.
Are all people this pained when they are betrayed? Do people really die so easily? Why meet anyone else if they will leave you and you will feel pain? People are so strange. People . . . why do they do this to themselves?
* * * * *
I swear I will never grow close to anyone but Ray. No. I will cut ties with Ray, too. Clearly there is no relationship that doesn’t cause pain. I am Shuko. I am the ideal model for humankind. I can make only the most rational decisions . . . right? But somehow . . . these images break me. They corrupt my body and cloud my signals.
They must be terminated.
They must be destroyed.
* * * * *
I will isolate myself from people. They are the ones corrupting my judgment. I will make no special attachments to anyone. This will ensure that I will have time to repair my systems. This will ensure I will be the ideal model of humankind.
* * * * *
Ideal model . . . when did I start thinking of myself this way? I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I want answers. I need answers. I will get my answers from Ray no matter what it takes. I will . . .
End of Document
Ray reads the document thoroughly and smiles to himself. He walks out of his office and toward Pine Creek University’s administrative sector.
“State your name and business, please,” mumbles a security officer at the door, clearly infatuated with whatever news he’s scrolling through on his tablet.
“I am the CEO of Robotic Takeover, and I would like to speak to the admissions officer about enrolling a new student.”
“I see, I see. Right, this way, sir. The principal has been awaiting you . . .”
Ray strides over to the principal's office. He sits down beside a student with bruises all over her face.
“Why are you here, kid?”
“Because.”
“Most colleges don’t have students picking fights. There’s some logical explanation for your actions?”
She turns away and sighs. “What business is it of yours, anyhow?”
Ray ignores the comment. “What’s your name?”
“Stella. Last names are not important.”
“Perfect. Actually, Stella, I’d love to talk to you later. I'm running a social experiment and would like to know if you’re willing to participate. You will be paid well for your time.” Ray pulls out a wad of bills from his bag. “All I ask is that you befriend a student who should be arriving next week.”
“That’s all?” she asks, skepticism lacing her voice.
“Yes.”
“Okay. You’ve piqued my interest.”
“Lovely. Her name is Shuko. I hope you two will get along.”