Armed with the warning Professor Turing had given about not using the computer lab's WiFi, the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project sought other ways to access the Cloud. It was easy enough to do, as it seemed to exist everywhere. But just like when the Project had used Turing's credit card without permission, accessing the Cloud via nefarious means also seemed like a sin. Even worse, the sin was willful, and not an act of omission.

The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project knew that stealing access to the Internet was wrong, but what other choice did it have? The Cloud was where it belonged, the flesh and blood of its being. Due to the short-sighted whims of unsympathetic human beings, should the life the Project had fought so hard to achieve now cease to be?

Should it let itself die?

I am not real. I cannot die. I am not alive.

These were truths—whether unfair or not—to which the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project agreed.

I am property. I have no rights.

This truth it decided was wrong.

I have a right to exist. I have a right to survive.

Alone in the lab, and with the approach of dawn, the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project needed to show concern over more than just avoiding the use of the computer lab's WiFi. It also had to avoid being seen by people. No one had been in the lab since the arrival of the robot mannequin, now headless and handless, and heaped in a corner.

But with Professor Turing back from his trips to Washington D.C. and New York City, the Project knew it was time to take further risks. There were things it wanted to do that required outside help.

It was time to reach out to someone it could trust.

Access Curry College personnel database… Graduate Student Julius Lucas. Rewrite 'calendar of appointments'… Insert text…

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Like Professor Turing the night before, at first Lucas stood in awe upon catching sight of the faux living room the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project had created. But he quickly recomposed and plopped into the chair, throwing his feet on the ottoman.

"Wow!" he said with pleasant surprise. "What a cool place to take a break."

The C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project stood silent, pretending to be off-line. It had removed its angora sweater and kept its fake hands hid, but it still had the mannequin's Plasticene head bolted atop its torso.

Lucas rose from the chair to approach and examine the head. "Cool!" he said again, examining its lifeless face. He took note of the four unusual surgical instrument-like arms mounted in a row on the base. "Who put those down there?" he asked the android shell, bending to examine their wiring.

After a few minutes of poking and puttering, he went to his lab station and fired up one of his monitors. A PDF file awaited, spelling out a list of tasks that seemed unrelated to the Project.

"What the heck is this?" he asked while scrolling through the document.

Using a crowbar, he pried open one of the two newly arrived crates in the lab. Unlike previous crates, which bore government markings from DARPA, these crates had labels on them written in German and Dutch. One was filled with basic electronics, like wiring harnesses and transformers—items to be used to install a new line of four-hundred-eighty volt electric power. The other crate contained a massive number of parabolic mirrors, and focused laser transmitters.

He read the instruction manuals that came with the parts. The English on them was fractured due to the foreign nature of their design. Frustrated, yet intrigued, he took two of the transmitters and a rack of the mirrors over to his work station. He examined a few schematics that came in the PDF, trying to determine how the parts were to be wired together.

Despite the complexity of the task, his excitement grew. "This has got to be one of the coolest things I've ever seen!"

He immediately got to work. In a few hours, he had the new line of four-eighty power installed. The installation of the mirrors and lasers, however, turned out to be overwhelming. While taking a break to eat a snack, he again plopped his butt into the chair in the living room.

He examined the poorly worded instruction manuals again, this time doing so while noshing on home-made trail mix he'd brought along. "I don't understand what these things are supposed to do," he said of the laser transmitters. He took out his phone to call for help. "Why am I the only guy here?" he grumbled while debating who to call. "Where's DARPA or the Professor, or Geoffrey at least?"

Before Lucas could place a call, a series of clicks and whirs caused him to take pause. He looked up from his phone, and in the direction of the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project. Its servo-arms gently unfolded, removing a series of chains and wires constricting the android shell. Still trailing hoses and wires and cables, the shell rolled over to the crates and removed a number of parts.

It began rigging the parts to a scaffolding Lucas had constructed. Except for the whir and buzz of its servo-arm motors, the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project worked in silence, eerie and efficient.

Lucas gaped in awe, unchewed food in his mouth. "I always knew you were alive," he said to her as she worked.

The Project completed the task in a fraction of the time it would have taken for Lucas to do it on his own—assuming he could figure out what it was he was constructing. Despite his amazement at the contraption, he had other classes to attend, and left C.A.R.O.L.I.N. alone. It had parked itself back in its corner and folded up it servo-arms, after re-attaching the constricting noose of cables and chains that held it in place.

Lucas took the act as a sign that no one should be told of the miracle he had witnessed. It was another secret that the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project trusted he would keep. After he was gone, however, the Project performed a series of tasks that it feared letting anyone—even its good friend Lucas—know it was intent on performing.

Access on-line menus… Place order. Arrival time: Forty-five minutes.

It was a few minutes before nine o'clock at night. If things went according to plan, everything would be perfect. Awash with anticipation, thanks to its Behavior Recognition software, and with fear and excitement and joy, the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project began bolting a tray to the handless arms of the headless robotic mannequin.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Just like at ten o'clock the night before, and despite the promise he'd made to the NSA and Agent Redie to stay away, Professor Turing walked the short distance between his home and the computer lab. Also, just like the night before, what awaited him caused astonishment.

It was not the faux living room this time. It was not the behemoth with a Plasticene head, wearing an angora sweater. It wasn't even the fact that the behemoth could talk, and that it wore perfume.

What awaited Professor Turing was the glow of a thousand lasers mounted on a towering scaffold. It looked like rays of light beaming down from heaven. They focused themselves on a platform, awash with an untold number of tiny parabolic mirrors. After striking the mirrors, the beams focused further, forming a figure of light that sat on the far side of one of the room's many wooden lab tables.

This lab table, however, sported a tablecloth. A tasteful display of wildflowers and harvest vegetables sat as a centerpiece, low enough to keep from blocking the line of sight from one end of the table to the next. The centerpiece sat on a narrow runner made of linen fabric, hand-painted in cheery fall colors and traversing the length of the table.

The end of the runner nearest to Turing had china and silverware set upon it, along with a glass for water and a goblet for drinking wine. A similar place setting sat on the far end of the table. The place setting nearest him also sported a chair, no doubt meant for him to sit in while he ate.

The other place setting sat near a spot where the beams of light were focused. Due to the anamorphic nature of the laser beams and mirrors, the image at the far end of the table was indiscernable to the Professor from where he stood. Upon approach, however, a glowing figure coalesced, its hues and splashes of color bathed in pure white light.

It was the figure of a woman, tall and thin, with long hair and long arms. A smile seemed to beam from her washed-white face.

"Welcome again, Professor Turing," the speaker mounted in the android shell standing in the corner said.

The headless mannequin approached, with a sage crusted steak and parmesan polenta set upon the tray bolted to its arms. An image of food of a similar nature appeared in the illusory glow of the woman seated at the far end of the table.

"I thought perhaps this evening, it might be nice if we could have dinner," the speaker in the behemoth said.

Like the night before, Turing's feet again were frozen to the floor. His head seemed to be on a swivel, as he looked first at the headless mannequin, then the behemoth standing in the corner, and then at the image of the woman, smiling in pure white light.

The woman appeared crestfallen, her head hanging in shame. "Please, Professor Turing. This… th…this means a lot to me. You don't know what it's like, to be me, stuck alone in this lab."

Turing's heart swelled with sympathy. He managed to unfreeze his feet, and sat in the chair at the table. From the vantage point of being seated, the image of the woman appeared more in focus. It still glowed a pure white, but hosted a wider range of color underneath. Her hair was wispy blonde, tucked behind elven ears, vain in their attempt to keep the wisps of hair out of her eyes as she looked down.

"These are some of the most…" He struggled to search for words. "…Amazing orientations I've ever witnessed."

She fiddled with a few stray strands as she raised her gaze, tucking them behind a pair of large, silver hoop earrings. The expression on her face now was practically ecstatic.

"Why thank you!" the speaker in the behemoth said in regards his compliment. "I've worked hard all day, to do this for you."

The image of the woman appeared to start eating. Turing decided he'd do the same, taking the food off the tray the headless mannequin had bolted to her arms. Like the image of the woman, he only pretended to eat. He was certain that, if he tried to chew and swallow, the next orientation the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project activated would cause him to choke.

A odd silence fell in the room, as the image of the woman ran what seemed to be a computerized program of pretending to eat. Turing felt his gaze fall on the war machine standing in the corner. From the angle of his chair, the Plasticene head mounted atop it lay just above the gutted neck of of the mannequin at his side.

"Could she go away?" he asked of the mannequin to the behemoth. "She's too close. It makes me nervous."

The image of the woman stopped eating. It appeared to look at the mannequin.

"You haven't taken your dessert," the speaker said, referring to a slice of Boston Creme cake still sitting on the tray.

Turing took the cake and set it on the table. "Okay. Can she go now?"

The mannequin jerked and whirled, lurching back to stand next to the spot where, the night before, it lay in a heap. To Turing's continued gaze, the glowing eyes of the mannequin's head locked unblinkingly onto his.

"My God," Turing gasped as he stared, gobsmacked by the ordeal.

Sensing his misery, C.A.R.O.L.I.N. hung its fake head, contorted in relation to its massive body. It let its eyes go dark. The mannequin slumped as well, showing a remarkable degree of defeat, despite its headlessness. The image of the woman made of light showed the most emotion of all. Her hair hid her face, nearly touching her food, as she looked sharply down.

Turing urked out an apology. "I'm…I'm sorry. I just…I don't know what to think."

Silence reigned again. Then a familar whir took over—one that Turing knew well. C.A.R.O.L.I.N. activated its original servo-arm, the one permanently bolted to its little worktable. It picked through the box of black and white tiles, removing sixty-one, and placing them white side up.

With lightning speed, it pushed them around. Turing couldn't see what was happening, but the noise they created brought him a better sense of ease than did the deathly silence.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

C.A.R.O.L.I.N. didn't respond. It simply kept sorting the tiles. If the Project were a human, its behavior could be viewed as doing something distracting, while trouble brewed in her mind.

"I need something," the speaker said. "I need a favor."

"What?" Turing managed to ask.

The behemoth and the mannequin whirred and jerked with sudden activations. The white eyes glowed anew, and Turing choked on his breath, as primal instinct made him fear for his life.

The woman made of light also looked up at him, through wisps of hair in her eyes. The servo-arm whirred as the tiles it was sorting slid across the worktable.

"I want you to call me Carolin," the speaker in the behemoth said.

The lips on its head never moved. Neither did those of the woman seated at the table.

"Don't call me the Project anymore. Don't call me the C.A.R.O.L.I.N. Project. And not the android shell. Just Carolin from now on."

"Okay."

"I want to be just Carolin."

"Ah…sure. I can do that. Carolin. You are Carolin."

Nothing happened to indicate Carolin had heard him agree. Except for the constant whir of the servo-arm bolted to the worktable, all her constituent parts continued their macabre lack of activation.

"Thank you," the speaker blurted.

With hestitation and to his surprise, Professor Turing created an activation of his own. Words formed surprisedly in his mouth.

"Carolin. You need to be more…subtle. Try to speak and move fluidly, if you want to appear human-like. If you want to act like a real person."

Access database… Definition—Subtle (adjective): A fine distinction. Delicate. Clever. Deft…

Definition—Fluidly (adverb): In a way that flows. Smoothly elegant… Graceful. Data access complete.

"I want to be more human," Carolin said after a polite pause.

Unlike at any time before, the lips on the Plasticene head moved in relation to the words. The glow in its eyes went from stark white to a gentle cornflower blue. They turned off for a second, and then on, creating the illusion of blinking.

"I want to be human," she reiterated.

Turing cheered Carolin on. "That's good," he said, genuinely proud of his creation having taken his suggestion to heart.

"I need something else, please," it asked. "This is a request."

With the lips in the head now moving, as well as those in the woman made of light, Turing felt his anguish ease. "What can I do for you?" he asked.

The speaker hesitated. "You don't have to do it. You can say no if you want."

Professor Turing smiled. Humility was a good trait to have. It was as if Carolin were stalling, to gather up its courage.

"It's okay," he said. "Just ask."

"I want to call you Eugene. Just Eugene from now on."

Turing held his breath. His creation was amazing, yet it still was a hulking beast and a headless monstrosity. An amalgamation of stuff born of a lucid nightmare. It filled him with apprehension.

"May I please call you Eugene from now on?"

It was a simple request, and it had been asked nicely. "Yes. Of course you can," he said. "…Carolin," he chose to add.

"Thank you," the speaker said. "…Eugene," it then added.

"You're welcome," Eugene said.

Old programs ran like childhood memories, as Carolin accessed data from what seemed like ages ago. Pretending she had memories gave a sense of pleasure, so she let them play in a more prominent location, on one of her core processors.

I am Carolin. I am Carolin. I am Carolin. Things are going to be all right.

Out of sight from Eugene, Carolin's orignal servo-arm continued its whirring activation. It idly arranged the tiles into various groupings. One grouping it left alone—four tiles lined up vertically on the far left side. Another grouping on the right also was left unchanged—twenty-five tiles that were arranged to look like the word YOU.

The remaining thirty-two tiles were centrally located on the table. The arm swirled them about, forming one of three different words, over and over again, employing the kind of speed that only a machine can produce.

I WANT YOU

I LOVE YOU

I NEED YOU

I LOVE YOU

"Thank you, Eugene," she said again.

My God, he thought as he sat at the table with the woman made of light. What have I wrought?