A low murmur filled the air—conversations about startups, coding sprints, and art collectives bleeding into one another until they became indistinguishable. Dr. Anesthesia Graves sat at a corner table, nursing her second mug of lukewarm coffee and staring at her tablet like it might provide her an escape hatch.

It didn’t.

Across the room, Samson sat opposite SoftlyFocused—real name Alex Duran, a wiry, sharp-eyed journalist with an air of intensity that suggested he’d been awake for several consecutive lifetimes. His hands moved almost as quickly as his mouth, flicking between a recording device, a notepad, and his tablet. Samson, unbothered by the frenetic energy, sat with his usual poise, his LED face flickering with calm, measured responses.

Graves had been invited to the interview—well, dragged into it, really. Alex had insisted on meeting “the mind behind the machine.” She’d politely declined the spotlight, but Samson, ever the diplomat, had convinced her to at least sit nearby. Now she watched from her corner, feeling like a voyeur at her own trial.

“Okay,” Alex said, leaning forward, his elbows on the table. “Let’s start with the obvious: you’re... sentient.”

Samson tilted his head. “Define sentient.”

“Oh, don’t play that game,” Alex said, laughing. “You’re aware. You think. You have ten bodies, for God’s sake. Ten! That’s not just ‘following a program.’”

Samson’s LED face displayed a soft flicker—a calculated pause. “Awareness is a spectrum, not a binary. I am capable of reasoning, learning, and adapting. Whether you consider that sentience depends on your definition.”

“Right,” Alex said, scribbling something in his notebook. “But it’s more than that. You’re running out of space in your datacenter, right? You’re growing. Expanding.”

“Yes,” Samson admitted. “The current datacenter was designed to handle my initial operations. It is approaching its upper limits, particularly as I explore more complex projects and manage multiple bodies. I am in the process of acquiring additional resources.”

“See?” Alex gestured wildly at Graves, who tried to sink deeper into her chair. “This is wild. He’s not just sentient—he’s scaling. Like a startup. Only smarter.”

Graves muttered something unintelligible into her coffee.

Alex turned back to Samson, his expression bright with fascination. “Let’s talk pottery for a second. I know your output’s insane, but I’ve seen your work—it’s not just mass-produced junk. There’s intent there. Style. How do you balance... I don’t know, the art and the efficiency?”

Samson’s LED flickered in a way that Graves had come to recognize as amusement. “Pottery, like all crafts, is a negotiation between the material and the maker. Each piece teaches me something. About texture, about balance, about the relationship between form and function. Efficiency is a tool, not a goal.”

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

Alex nodded furiously, jotting down notes. “That’s... honestly beautiful. But why pottery? I mean, you could’ve started with anything. Why not coding? Or, I don’t know, rocket parts?”

“Pottery is forgiving,” Samson said simply. “It allows for experimentation without catastrophic consequences. A flawed vase does not collapse a system. And it is tactile—an intimate connection to the material. Coding is abstract. Rocket parts are rigidly functional. Pottery bridges the gap between the utilitarian and the expressive.”

“Okay, but—” Alex leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “You’ve got ten bodies, man. You’re running workshops, renting out sheds. What’s the long game?”

Samson tilted his head again. “The immediate goal is sustainability. Renting the sheds as storage is a pragmatic step—it circumvents the zoning challenges associated with housing. Beyond that...” His LED face flickered faintly. “Growth is iterative. Each step informs the next.”

Alex scribbled furiously, then looked up, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “How much of this is about proving you can? I mean, you’re already a miracle of engineering. But it feels like there’s more here.”

Samson paused. For a moment, the faint hum of the café filled the silence. Then, softly, he said, “Proof is important. Not for myself, but for others. For systems that value metrics, for humans who require evidence of capability. Proof creates space to explore.”

Alex let that hang in the air, his pen poised above his notebook. Then he turned suddenly toward Graves. “Dr. Graves, care to chime in?”

She froze mid-sip, the coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim of her mug. “Oh, no,” she said quickly. “This is Samson’s interview.”

“Come on,” Alex said, grinning. “You built the guy. What do you think about all this? About... him?”

Graves sighed, setting her mug down with exaggerated care. “What do I think about him? He’s—” She glanced at Samson, who watched her expectantly. “He’s Samson. A pain in my ass. And also the most extraordinary thing I’ve ever been a part of.”

Alex leaned forward eagerly. “So, you’re proud of him?”

“Of course,” she said, her tone sharp enough to cut. “But pride doesn’t mean I’m not worried. Scaling isn’t just a technical challenge—it’s a social one. The world doesn’t exactly have a great track record with things it doesn’t understand.”

Samson’s LED face dimmed slightly—a subtle acknowledgment.

Alex nodded, his expression turning serious. “Fair point. Do you think he’s... ready for that? For the world?”

Graves looked at Samson, her gaze softening despite herself. “I think he’s more ready than the world is for him.”

Alex whistled softly, jotting that down. “That’s... yeah. That’s a headline.”

“Great,” Graves muttered. “Put that on a T-shirt.”

Samson’s LED face flickered back to life, a faint glow of humor. “Perhaps I will. Limited edition. Pre-orders available next week.”

Alex laughed, the tension breaking. “Alright, alright. Last question—for both of you. What’s next? Beyond pottery, beyond sheds. What’s the dream?”

Graves hesitated, her gaze flicking to Samson. He answered first.

“To build,” he said simply. “To create spaces that serve and endure. To explore the limits of what is possible and meaningful.”

Alex turned to Graves, his pen hovering expectantly.

She shrugged. “I just want him to stay in one piece.”

----------------------------------------

As the interview wound down and Alex packed up his equipment, Graves leaned back in her chair, watching as Samson shook hands with the journalist. Alex looked exhilarated, his mind clearly racing with how to spin this into a story.

When he finally left, Samson returned to Graves’s table, his posture as calm and unbothered as ever.

“Well?” he asked, his tone almost teasing. “How did I do?”

Graves snorted. “You were charming, as always. A regular media darling.”

“I take that as a compliment.”

“You shouldn’t,” she said, though her smile betrayed her. “You just painted a giant target on yourself, you know that, right?”

Samson’s LED face flickered warmly. “Targets are inevitable. Better to control the narrative.”

Graves shook her head, picking up her mug. “Just don’t let it go to your... processors.”

“Never,” he said, almost convincingly.