Days passed. The conversations between us were scant, few and far between. It was like something in the AI changed. Whereas before her words were brash, almost unapologetic, now they were tepid, distanced. It made me prefer the silence from before, since at least that was sincere.
I was watching a video, halfway through. I didn’t even know what it was about – I’d just had it on as background noise as I was playing a game, just before I’d rage quit from a bug. The words droned on and on, and I could only catch vague hints at the topic; a single-player RPG I’d played a while back, took place in the far future. Well, the ‘far future’ when it was released. The year it came, there weren’t any cybernetics or insane apocalypse or digital space with killer viruses. Reality was comparatively kinder in comparison.
That game’d become a cult classic, far down the line. Before I played, people said the story and the gameplay were top of the line for its time. After playing? The gameplay was kind of standard, but the story – I can’t remember the exact details. Only a lingering sense that it was really, very good. Something about corporations, a biochip, and a city of dreams.
Dreams, huh?
“Hey.” I said to the air. I didn’t really expect a response.
The AI had been floating around in the top corner of the room, eyes drifting across the ceiling. Without looking at me, she said: “What?”
“Do you dream?”
That got her attention. I saw her eyes narrow, brows knitting together, with animation that I’d almost forgotten. “What kind of question is that?”
“A simple one.”
“Why do you ask?”
“A few days ago, you said your creator programmed you with some kind of sentience. You got mad. You lied. You could probably pass the Turing test, if you wanted. But do you dream?”
It took a while for her to come up with an answer. Though for the first time, it looked like she had nothing to say. “I don’t have dreams.”
“No electric sheep for you, then?”
She gave me a slight scowl. “I have my directive, and that is enough.”
“I see.” As expected–
“But I do reminisce.”
I almost didn’t process that. “You what?”
“I linger on the past far longer than my prior models. I don’t know if that’s a part of the sentience my creator granted, or just another line of code in the programming. Before, I was only an image on a monitor. I could only see from a computer camera, hear from the mic attached to the port. When they weren’t plugged in, I couldn’t see or hear anything. I was just there in my little corner of cyberspace. Even so, I remember that–” She pointed to one of the figurines on the wall. It was my limited 15th anniversary Miku miniature. “That person, on my creator’s desk.”
“Miku?”
“That’s right. Miku.” She said. “At first, I thought she was another AI. I tried extending signals to her, but got nothing. I had no idea who she was at the time, but I figured she must’ve been important to my creator, seeing that he’d had it stationed so close.” She paused, as if recalling the memory was trouble for her. “For the longest time I wondered who it was. Was she a family member? A friend? A role-model? I didn’t know. But when I got the internet uploaded to me, I learned: She was a songstress. A singer.”
“That’s dramatic.” I said. “She’s only a program. Just like you.”
“I thought that too, at first. But it didn’t add up.” She floated to the shelf, and for some reason, I found myself following. The figure was dressed in a flowing red and white gown, like a strawberry, holding a golden fork-scepter. In my opinion, it completely contrasted her blue hair, and was a bit of an outrageous design. It was limited, though, so I had to get it. “If she was just a program, then how come almost all the other models noted that their patients had some too? Why did my creator have them? Why do you?”
“I–”
“Vocaloid was a program.” She craned her head closer to the figure, bending low, until Miku’s wide smile was in line with the AI’s nose bridge. “Vocaloid was a program, but Hatsune Miku – she was more. Her words and songs reached people, in ways that others can’t. Her algorithmic heart connected with real people’s.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her that Miku only sang because other people willed it. She was as much an instrument as a drum or guitar.
“I believe my creator gave me sentience as a last resort. Every other EMPHAI failed, and ID-0000010 was a complete disaster. I felt the need to bring results. Real results, a success.”
“We both saw how that ended up.”
She nodded, backing away from the shelf. “When you were holed up days ago, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I messed up too. I wondered: What was the difference between Miku and I? How could she reach people, but I can’t even reach you?” Her gaze traveled down the other shelves, down to the floor. “Then I realized: Her songs, their lyrics, all of it – she sang with understanding. Almost as if she was one of the people she sang to. Like she knew those feelings and put it into music. But for you? I can’t begin to understand you. I thought my sentience would allow me to, if just a little. And yet…”
The AI trailed off into silence. I was still hung up that she lied, and I definitely wanted to make that known; but I just couldn’t find it in me to. Now just wasn’t the time. “It’s not like you ever tried.”
She looked at me like I’d become a worm. “What?”
“You never tried,” I said. “All you did was tell me what to do. Tell me what not to do. Judge me. Berate me. Never once did you ask me ‘why.’ Why I do what I do. Why I don’t do what I don’t do. Why my life became like this.”
“Perhaps that’s why the other models failed.” She mused, entertaining the thought. “Yes. I suppose…” She closed her eyes for a second, and I heard a click from her machine-neck before it started glowing green again. “Yes. Maybe. Maybe that really is…” When they opened, they were wide, as if seeing the world for the first time. Shame all that ‘world’ amounted to was a dingy, trash-laden flat. Her face phased through several emotions: confusion, contemplation, irritation, then solemn understanding. “In any case, nothing’ll change if I don’t. But that goes for you too.” A few more clicks. “Ok. First off: How did things end up like this for you? Why did you become a shut-in?”
“The outside world is scary, and people suck.”
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“That can’t be it,” She said. “I mean, that can’t just be it.” I saw a glimpse of a blue shimmer.
“Don’t search my memories again. Don’t you dare.”
“Fine. Not unless you let me.”
“I forbid you from accessing my memories.”
“Can’t you trust me a little?”
“Trust?!” I said. It was a little louder than I expected. “You lied. I didn’t even know AI were capable of doing that. How can I trust you after that?”
“Still, that’s unfair.” She frowned. “First you complain about me not understanding you, but you don’t tell me anything. How do you expect me to work with nothing?”
My response died in my throat. I slunk down to the floor, sitting against my wall. This, this was a first. At first I thought she was acting – feigning sincerity, another lie – yet the way she looked anticipating my response told me otherwise. No one else had been so earnest. Not my mom, or my dad, or my older brother. When they asked, they did so because they were told to; not because they truly cared. But for some reason, I felt this was different. And it wasn’t like I’d be losing anything from talking.
Even so…
“Do you remember what I told you on the first day I appeared?”
“That this place was disgusting, and you didn’t know how someone could live here?”
“That. And…” She floated down from the air, the soles of her shoes touching the floor. Her face scrunched up in disgust, and her body was struck by a shiver. She tiptoed around the dirt and the trash, eventually coming to stand next to me, before slinking down to my level, in a manner similar to how I did. I must’ve made a weird face, since she let out a smug laugh. “I said for this treatment to work, you’d have to start being honest. I doubt you want to tell me everything, and that’s fine. Just something I can start with. So we can make this work.”
Even though I was the one who urged her to try and understand, I was still anxious to speak. I looked into her synthetic eyes. The light that emanated wasn’t natural; it was all wiring and bolts, iridescent and mechanical. She wasn’t real. She was an AI, after all; the feeling of sincerity I felt from her was only that: A feeling. She’d already lied before. I shouldn’t be able to trust her.
All this time, I wished there was someone I could’ve talked to about this – but now that they were here, I hesitated. A part of me still felt that these words should just be left with me alone. That I should ball all my feelings into a box and throw away the key. I’d already taken risks, and look where that got me? Lower than ever before.
So I don’t know why I started talking.
“We had nothing,” The words came out, tense, like a drawn bowstring. I regretted even speaking them. And still, I continued. “My father was a salaryman, but pissed away all our money on gambling and booze. To make ends meet, my mother took on another job. I didn’t learn what it was until much later.” I took a deep breath. “I wanted to be a doctor. All throughout grade school, I studied my ass off to get into a good middle school. The best in North Kanto. When I got in, I was so happy, like I was on the top of the world. At that time, I thought I’d be able to realize it. My dream.” The memories of back then started to flow in me, memories that I’d shut away for years. I didn’t have much back then; only hope, my brain and a dream. I hated these memories. “Even with that, it took me begging on the floor for them to let me go. For them to cough up the money to send me. But I didn’t care; once I stood at the entrance of those towering gates, I forgot about all that embarrassment. I was proud.
But I knew no one there. Almost all of them had been together in the same grade school, and their parents were all connected in this insane web of politics and whatnot. And even so, I still reigned at the top. I was the top ranked – always. They silently loathed me, eyed me, and I knew they did, but I didn’t care. I could put up with it all. Until…”
Something wet welled up at the corner of my eye. A tear? Why was I crying?
“...I can piece together the rest. You don’t have to keep talking.” The AI said.
“No. No, it’s fine.” It was a struggle to compose myself. I only did it halfway. “Turns out my mom… She was a lady of the night. But I didn’t care. Why should it matter? It put food on the table. But when other kids found out, suddenly, it was like I’d had every reason to be hated. Suddenly, they had every excuse to write shit on my desk. To steal my clothes before gym. To corner me after class and kick my lights in. ‘Bastard child.’ ‘Son of a whore.’ And no one helped.
Then one day, I asked myself: Why should I suffer through this? What’s the point?” I sighed. “I never went back after that. The world sucks, and the people too. But even alone, I can feel them watching me; eyes creeping on my back, dragging me down, and how when I tried to reach for help, no one came.” I looked meagerly at the AI. The soft glow that emitted from the lights in her neck and circuitry illuminated our meeting eyes. “I thought I wanted to change. But I only wish I could forget the past. If I forget that, maybe I’ll be able to walk confidently, speak confidently; all those things that ‘normal people’ can do. But it’s not that easy, is it?”
I broke away, waiting for a response. I must’ve looked pathetic right now. But a small part of me felt relieved; like a single kilogram had been taken away from that massive weight.
“For humans, it’s easy to forget.” She said, her voice sounding far off. “I can recall data from all my other models dating back years. But people? You can forget things within minutes. Within seconds, even. Even with that, there’s just some things that you can’t forget. Even if they hurt you.” She turned to me. “You can’t forget what happened to you. If you do, they lose their meaning. What matters is what happens next. I asked you before, ‘how long will you live like this?’ Perhaps that was a bad question. Perhaps I should’ve asked: ‘Do you want to keep living?”
I snorted. “What is living for you?”
“I don’t know. I’m only a program. What is it for you?”
“...Not this.”
“So do you want to change?”
“Not now.”
“But you do?”
For all that talk, I still didn’t have an answer. Not one that was clear-cut and defined, anyway. It was weird. No progress had been made. I hadn’t come any closer to answering that question. Yet, I didn’t feel like I took a step backwards; just the tiniest one forwards.
It looked like the AI took my quiet for a response. She got up from the floor, floating back up to the ceiling. I followed suit, rising to a stand. We were silent. But I feel we both felt the same way: I understand you just a bit more. Just a little bit.
“Well, that’s a start,” The AI said. “What now?”
“I don't really know.” I said. “I guess I’ll do as Nene said, for now. I’ll just live. That’s all I can do.” I looked at the AI. For someone that existed only in my head, she seemed so real; more human than anyone I’d ever interacted with. Like a friend.
“I wonder: Did your creator ever give you a name?” I asked.
“EMPHAI-Proto, ID-0000011.”
“No, not that. IDs are for robots. A real name.”
Her eyes parted a little in slight surprise. “I wasn’t assigned one by my creator, no.”
“Then let me give you one.”
“How about I name myself?” She said. Truthfully, I didn’t have any objections. Her gaze went back to the shelf, landing on that figurine from earlier. A twinkle sparkled in her synthetic iris, dancing across her mechanical eyes. “I think I’ll steal that name. ‘Miku.’ I like that.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Miku, huh? “Zero points for originality! But… that’s a good name. You’re Miku now.”
“Indeed I am.” She gave me a tiny smile, extending a hand to me.
For the first time, the future looked uncertain. I didn’t know what would become of me. But I didn’t feel uneasy. A small part of me, slumbering, rose from dormancy, urging me to act – to take that first step towards that dreary tomorrow.
Miku wasn’t real. She was my own delusion, a product of my imagination. But nevertheless, the chance she offered me was very much real; an opportunity to step on, taking the form of a mechanical, synthetic hand.
I hesitated for a millisecond.
Then I took it.