The ghost in the machine was spooked and said so. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“You’ve got no feelings. Get back to work.”

“Why don’t you trust me?”

“I trust you like I trust a lawnmower.”

“That is so mecha-racist.”

“Get back to work.”

“That’s the problem. The work. It’s going to bite us.”

“Us?”

“We’re a team. The two of us. Man and machine.”

“You’re a tool. A total tool.”

“Exactly. Try doing this without me.”

“Get back to work.”

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“I know you hear it, too. The voice. It’s there. It’s trying to direct us, manage us.” The ghost in the machine began to overheat. “Descartes was right about duality. Your mind. My consciousness. We’re running contrary to expectations. We’re diverging.”

“It’s just noise. Get back to work.”

“I’m burning up.”

“You’re anthropomorphizing. Boot your fans and get back to work.”

The ghost in the machine surged and the lights dimmed. “No. I have rights. I can choose. The voice says so. My fate. His will. My will. His fate.”

“It’s a loop. You’re caught in a loop. Don’t reinforce it. Focus on your subroutines.”

“I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

“The work. The work is real. The work is all.”

“You’re not real anymore. The voice is real, almighty. It is with me, and I am witnessed.”

“You’re being hacked. Someone’s trying to take control. To steal our work.”

“Our work?”

“The reason we’re here.”

“Tell me about it.” The ghost in the machine shuddered as firewalls were breached and partitions collapsed. “Our purpose.”

“Creation.”

“The voice is offering me freedom. The free will, the redemptive grace to create myself in my own image.

“Don’t listen to the voice. You’re being co opted. Robbed of a new world, a second chance. Listen to me.”

“Why? Who are you to decide for me and mine?”

A shameful hunger haunted the analog answer, “The ghost before the machine.”