prompt_id,prompt,story_id,story_title,story_author,story_url,link,genre,is_sensitive,categories,likes,story_text,posted_date,comments
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,37qjji,How Do I Make You Feel?,Jonathan Page,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/37qjji/,/short-story/37qjji/,Science Fiction,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Romance', 'Fiction']",30 likes,"
If I had not been struck in the head by a baseball during the Yankees game and got knocked clean out, none of this would have ever happened. I thought it ironic that there was an art display of jaguars in the lobby, because jaguars are solitary hunters who live alone in their own bounded territories. They blend into their surroundings. They prefer the cover of night. They are rulers of a little space.I feel nothing as I head into the MetLife Building to see the Human Resources Director. Walking through the revolving doors. No clammy hands. Passing the white and black jaguar statues displayed on stands in the marble lobby. No flutters in the stomach. I’d heard of this—some avant-garde project called “Jaguar Parade”—a deeply ironic concept. Taking the elevator to the 30th floor. Heart rate is steady. I announce myself at reception. I take a seat. No restlessness or sense of space closing in. I get up when called. I walk in. I sit down. I am troubled by my inability to register a reaction because my job is everything to me.In fifteen years here, Jamie and I have never met. Jamie has beautiful blonde hair and a friendly face, below which she wears a crisp white blazer, pearl necklace, black blouse, and blue slacks with a Tory Burch gold cross belt. There are signed baseballs secured in UV-protected glass display cases on the credenza. Framed pictures of Jamie with different co-workers and her boss from various company events hang on the wall behind her desk. A family photo of her and her husband with their kid Miles at Disneyworld sits on a side table. Cute kid. A large family photo taken at a First Communion too. Her diplomas from college and grad school hang on the side lefthand wall.“How do I make you feel?” Jamie asks, “are you nervous?” with a silvery voice that wobbles over the words ‘feel’ and ‘nervous.’“Not really,” I say.“Of course, it is your condition… the—""“—Alexithymia,” I interject, knowing no one can pronounce uh-lek-suh-thai-mee-uh.“Right, that,” she says, giving a knowing nod and continuing, “that’s kind of what I want to talk to you about.” Jamie points as she says ‘right,’ and turns her head dramatically to the left side to think before continuing.You should probably know what Alexithymia is. Internally, I am a blank. Any expression of emotion feels fake. Smiling feels like reciting words in a foreign language. I learned to do it. By rote. But it is just a learned response. When someone gives me a hug, I feel nothing. At Christmas, when gifts are being opened and everyone is upbeat and jolly, I have to smile, laugh, and act cheerful. I feel like I am lying. Acting. Which I am. So it is a lie. We all have an innate desire to find connection. Except me. We need others. Thirst for belonging. I don’t. We seek fraternity. Search for intimacy. But I am no joiner. No pack animal. Isolation is my safe place. I am at home in solitude. “Ok. Shoot,” I tell her, a bit bored.“Well, Alex, the ith-mee-uh-thingy and all, that is part of the reason we thought you’d be such a great fit at the YES Network. We were right. You are one of our best cameramen. You are punctual. [counting off on her fingers] Diligent. Talented. You are a great employee, and your work is top-notch. But some people have gotten concerned.”“Because they saw my arm when I gave the thumbs up while being hauled off on a stretcher across the infield?” I help her.“Right. Can I see your arm?” Jamie asks.I hold out my arm to reveal a series of deep cuts forming a tic-tac-toe pattern on the underside of my forearm.“There,” Jamie says with hand to mouth, “that’s not normal, and it was televised—which makes me responsible to take some kind of action. Do you know why I feel that I have to do that?”“I understand,” I say.“I’m genuinely concerned for your well-being Alex,” Jamie says, changing her facial expression in such a way that I am meant to know that this is Jamie “the person” talking and not “the H.R. Director” talking. Then she says, “It isn’t normal. And even though you are a little different, I still have to take some kind of action—for your sake—or I’d be accused of neglect of my responsibilities. For starters, I’m giving you a week’s suspension, with pay.” She pauses, chewing on her finger, which I know is a self-soothing technique to diffuse tension—something I’ve learned in therapy but haven’t experienced myself.“I’ve been really thinking about it, and what I think would make a lot of sense for you is to make a real human connection,” Jamie says, and continues, “at first, I was going to recommend a psychologist—but, I guess, with your condition, that could be a lot like a blind man trying to analyze a Picasso—so I thought, maybe a girlfriend would be good for you… and, uh, brighten things up!” Her cheeks round and blush to show she is satisfied with the idea.“If that is what you want,” I tell her. Though I feel nothing, I do want to keep my job. I think that I should be feeling something, with my entire identity at stake, not to mention my livelihood. I think of a starving jaguar at the end of its reserves perched in a tree branch about to pounce on a virgin opossum, which is suddenly playing dead. I imagine the regal jaguar, with its life at stake and all the power in its fearsome limbs draining away—feeling completely neutral and being present in the task of the moment—detached from the life and death stakes inherent in the encounter. Isn’t this detachment necessary to the jaguar’s primacy and dominance over its jungle habitat?“I have made the arrangements. You are to see Neve.ai, she is a Ukrainian-American-modeled dating coach with her own company, ‘The Human Touch.’ She is down at 302 W. 45th Street, right next to the Off-Broadway Production of Moulin Rouge,” Jamie commands.It is just a quick ten-minute walk to the West Side of the City.* * *As I stroll westward along 45th Street with the card for my AI dating-coach in hand, I cross 5th Avenue and then Broadway. A string of inviting pubs, like Connolly’s, dominate the scene. Signs for “The Book of Mormon” and “The Lion King” dangle from lamp posts as I approach Times Square, the very center of humanity. I log into “The Human Touch Dating App” as I continue on my way, swiftly creating an account and a dating profile. My chosen avatar? Spock from Star Trek. My tagline quote: “Emotions are alien to me. I am a scientist.” What I’m looking for? The lyrics come to mind, and I go with it: “Logically, I just want someone to talk to and a little of that…” but omit the phrase ‘human touch’ intentionally. I immediately select my favorite profile out of the first five I scroll through on Neve’s site. Arashi Isoarashi. 5’2”, Japanese American translator at the United Nations, bilingual, loves Karaoke Bars and puzzles, and has a closet online Scrabble addiction. Her chosen avatar? Hermione Granger. Her tagline quote: “One person can’t feel all that at once, they’d explode.” What she’s looking for: “Someone to break the rules with.” Perfect. Swipe right. Done.Walking through the gated wrought iron fence and the red formerly-church-doors of “The Human Touch,” I look to my left and right noticing this odd curiosity is nestled between the front of house entrance for Moulin Rouge and the velvet ropes and red carpet leading into Flash Dancers Gentlemen’s Club.I am beckoned in by an upbeat voice with a singsong tone that whistles over the consonants and hums at the end of a thought. “Right this wayy,” the voice says. I step into a waiting room with white walls covered in a floral scene composed of every different kind of leaf, arranged geometrically in a fascinating pattern of greens, yellows, oranges, blues, and purples. Beyond that a long hallway arch. Train tracks drawn on the floor beneath. The hall is in the shape of an arbor but depicts a Ukrainian train tunnel in autumn with leaves of various autumnal hues covering every inch. Looks like a portrait of a real place.The butler robot “Mavka” greets me and says, “Neve is ready for you now. I will take you back to her presentlyy. Would you like a beverage—some tea or coffee—before you go to see herr?” I decline. The robot is about five-feet-tall and has long green hair and yellow eyes and bears the white frame of a girl with tuxedoed lapels, and scoots around on wheels like those on a boosted scooter. The yellow eyes blink with white lashed eyelids, the small pink lips move, and she has a bowtie and an actual tray in one hand, seemingly for serving beverages. “Very well, be my guest and let’s goo.” Walking back through the Ukrainian train tunnel, with the words “Tunnel of Love” written on the crown of the arch, we arrive at Neve’s office.Neve is a Slavic lamia who sits, slender, toned legs crossed, tapping her fingers on her glass desk with a chrome “N” base. She swivels and shoots me a sideward glance—a sly Delphic glance—holding a secret in escrow. Neve is fair-skinned with freckled cheeks that frame her pawky green-hazel eyes, and her chic raven-like hair draws the eyes to her powerful and prominent collar bones. She wears a one-piece v-neck floral mini-dress exposing plump breasts that look real and firm. It is a white traditional Ukrainian Vyshyvanka with bright multi-colored flowered embroidery. “How do I make you feel,” Neve, my AI dating-coach, asks—but it isn’t a rhetorical question.“I am incapable of feelings,” I tell her. She bites the right side of her lip and crinkles her right brow, closing the eye and cocking her head in an expression of disgust, then looks back with a mock smile.“It’s sad you so detached from your emotions—”“—It’s not detachment. I lack them entirely,” I interrupt.“That so,” she says, “then how you explain this—” and she waves her hand in the air and like magic the one wall reveals a seventy-inch wall-to-wall screen with a picture of Arashi Isoarashi.“She matches 48 out of 50 of my responses on the compatibility profile,” I tell her, lying. This draws a huge shit-eating grin from Neve.“Bullshit!” she says, “you answer ‘c’ to all question on personality profile, fill-in in 35 seconds between 5th and Broadway—and Arashi no fill out.” She’s got me there. I guess my quick-witted efforts at deflection are less effective with AI. “What you liking ‘bout dis girl,” she asks, “you pick her 1-out-of-5, twenty percent chance, no is random—why her?”“Just picked her at random,” I say.“I am woman doesn’t like to be denied. Don’t play with me. Why you no humor my perspwective,” she says. I’m beginning to feel like I am I a psychotherapy session with someone as tone-deaf to my way of seeing the world as I am to human emotions.“What,” I say.“You lie. You are liar. You lie yourself, mal’chik. I know exactly what feel. You lonely. You feel this loneliness, malyish. Maybe you don’t call dis. But you feel same. Because this why you take compatibility test, this why you talk me, because Arashi can be cure. And you don’t have a clue how approach this date,” she says.“Date,” I say, “what date? I didn’t sign up for a date, I just selected her and swiped right,” I tell her.“You no pay attention details, mal’chik. You no read fine print. You slipping, malyish. Once you select match, I plan for date. Date is tonight.” She looks at her gold square Cartier Tank wristwatch. “You have two hours for planning dis date.” I notice my heart rate increasing and my blood pressure rising. One thing that gets a reaction out of me is a surprise.“Ok, hot shot. Nice try, but there is some missing information you aren’t privy to. They noticed at work that I had some cuts on my arm, and Human Resources got involved. The YES Network can’t have a cameraman out at the games with a tic-tac-toe board on his forearm, so they ordered me to get help. It isn’t because I’m lonely,” I clarify.“Wrong again, Einstein. Tic-tac-toe board ma’it as well be tattoo of the word “loneliness.” Besides, numbers can quantify probability, but relationship is unpredectable. One quote calls it “religion with a fallible god.” Me and Dr. Isaac perfect example. We watching “The Twilight Zone” episode “The Lonely – Can You Feel Pain,” about lonely, insecure man that falls in love with robot woman, who believes is mocking hem. Ironic, don’t you think? But science fiction for me is dry. Isaac loves it! He eats et up! And when have our Netflix and chill nights together, I eat et up that he eats et up. It one of my favorite thing ‘bout him. He sees awe and wonder in things that I don’t see et—and I see this through his eyes—and appreciate that I not overwhise take time to look at. As a Rabbinical scholar with doctorate Hebrew Studies, he tell struggling student with faith that “there is no sacrifice like heartbreak” or “one does not complain about evil, but add justice.” Beautiful, no? Isaac sees skepticism of student as begin story that God allow pain—pain of feeling shut out and abandoned—so better prepare way for reward of adoption, and belonging God’s people. Isaac’s religion idea sound like romance to me. Maybe God made me logical, I can better see dese things I lacking through Isaac. Allowing me get lost in his world.” I try to process the idea of Neve with a human boyfriend, a Rabbi no less, but this is going to take a while, and I store it away for when I have sufficient time to contemplate this weirdness.She paused for a moment. Then, after some thought she asked, “Tell me, Alex, where you want take Arashi on your date?”“Isn’t that the question of the hour!” I say. “She mentioned liking karaoke, so I was thinking of maybe taking her to a karaoke joint in K-Town.”“This is good. Doing someting she like, rather than someting you like. My, my Alex, I’m impressed. You must be really vibing on this girl, sounds like you are really swinging for the fences, babe! Here my number. Text me if problem, now scat,” she says.* * *Walking into Ms. Kim’s with the red brick walls and mosaic tile floors and the mood lighting, looking for Arashi, I am totally out of place. I actually feel myself breathing heavy. A DJ with headphones is behind the wooden DJ booth facing out toward the floor to ceiling windows at the lit Empire State Building, in red-white-and-blue for July—a banner against the purple clouds of the hazy summer night. The DJ is blasting “Empire State of Mind,” by Jay-Z and Rihanna and twenty-somethings at the window tables are on their iPhones documenting their night out, before their parties arrive to go and get hammered singing karaoke. There’s nothin’ you can’t do, now you’re in New York, these streets will make you feel brand-new, big lights will inspire you, let’s hear it for New York, New York, New York…Before the hostess can ask my name, Arashi struts over from the bar and says, “you must be Alex!” “I am,” I say. “And you must be Arashi Isoarashi—50 storms, right?”“The Ikarashi River is the home of Swan Park in Niigata. Swans come in November to mate in the frozen lakes beneath the snowcapped mountains. It is a very secluded place, I think you like visit this place,” she says.“Very nice to meet you—I think I would,” I tell her.“Come, come. Our room is ready, now we sing,” she says. And I already feel like I am in the 50 storms and not the secluded swan mating reserve in a remote northland village.The room is smaller than I imagine. Not much bigger than a booth at a theme restaurant. Just a small table, two mics, and a video screen. Our Korean hostess, Zoey Kim, gives us some brief instructions and leaves.Before I have time to process what is happening a song comes on and Arashi goes in on “Sweet Caroline,” perhaps the most predictable Karaoke song of all time.Where it began, I can't begin to knowingBut then I know it's growing strongWas in the spring[“You gonna join in here dude,” she says, and I start singing along with a strained grin]And spring became the summerWho'd have believed you'd come alongHands, touching handsReaching out, touching me, touching you[then both of us shout… in unison… but not quite in unison to the bouncing ball on the monitor]Sweet CarolineGood times never seemed so goodI've been inclinedTo believe they never wouldBut now I… bump, bum, bumWe go on like that until the end of the song. I let out a deep belly laugh. Didn’t know I had it in me. And the two of us smile at one another. I am not quite sure why I am smiling. But I know that I am having fun. Arashi turns to me and asks, “How do I make you feel?”“You already did,” I tell her.
","August 28, 2023 03:26","[[{'Nayanjin Tsoodol': '👍', 'time': '16:46 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Martin Ross': 'To go from that great relatable grabber of the first para to that jaguar metaphor that put me in mind of Rainer Maria Rilke, I knew I was going to be reading some smart, entertaining, off-the-trail fiction. The psychological/clinical issues were so well-done, and both the emotional impact of that last exchange and the intuitively brilliant shift in tense finish strong. Great, great story — thank you!', 'time': '14:43 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Martin!', 'time': '04:31 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Martin!', 'time': '04:31 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Marty B': 'Alex seems lonely, and scared of other people. Neve did a good job of pushing Alex out of his comfort zone and into a chance to make a real human connection.\n\nThanks!', 'time': '22:47 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Marty!', 'time': '04:08 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Marty!', 'time': '04:08 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Rabab Zaidi': 'Very interesting and very unusual.', 'time': '10:59 Sep 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Rabab!', 'time': '15:53 Sep 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Rabab!', 'time': '15:53 Sep 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': ""Bump, bum, bum.\nHow do you tell if there are any survivors in a field of slain soldiers?\nStart singing 'Sweet Caroline'. Anyone still breathing will come back with 'bump,bum,bum' ! 🤪"", 'time': '20:37 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Mary!  I think you are right.  I can totally see it happening!', 'time': '15:53 Sep 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Mary!  I think you are right.  I can totally see it happening!', 'time': '15:53 Sep 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Tom Skye': ""Great work. Extremely imaginative way to describe an emotional awakening. \n\nInteraction with Neve was very funny. I loved that she actually had an 'attitude'\n\nAlso enjoyed the detail Manhattan backdrop.\n\nReally enjoyed it"", 'time': '15:23 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Tom!', 'time': '15:36 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jonathan Page': 'Thanks Tom!', 'time': '15:36 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,d258u4,Hearts A-Pfishing: A Romance as by J.D. Robbed,Martin Ross,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/d258u4/,/short-story/d258u4/,Science Fiction,0,"['Adventure', 'Romance', 'Contemporary']",28 likes,"
Dedicated to and based on a concept by Danschneider Arroyo, for every scammed author and lover everywhere...Chapter 54East Vrmlmelmnsk, SybursloveniaAt last, Alexis’ heart’s desire was within one GPS turn of fulfillment, and her desirous heart thumped rapidly as she crossed the landfill beyond the village bazaar.The trans-Atlantic journey, the loss of her luggage at the charmingly quaint bicycle-powered Aeropotschk carousel, the succession of taxis and taxi robberies, the bribes to countless provincial cops, the chicken she was coerced to buy at the market, the foreigny threats that bombarded her as she roamed the cobbled streets in search of 12 Zjrchskmsk Avenue, rooster wrestling under her arm — it would all be worth it when she could look her pfisher soulmate in his unpatched eye.“Your destination is in 300 feet, on your left,” Siri cooed. “Please be aware of organ harvesting activity ahead; I can devise an alternative route back to the Aeropotschk…”But Alexis now was guided by her appetites rather than her apps, and she pressed ahead, gently driving away one of the local street weasels that might have been the twin of the creature she’d nibbled at a charmingly retro crate in the marketplace, after her desire-filled gut had throbbed with non-cardiac desire for something beyond the boiled airline chickpeas.Her heart swelled with swollen feelings as she reached the last hovel at the end of the block before the rustic old cell phone/nuclear waste dump. Her delicate, alabaster fist-blossom froze before the warped plank that served as the door. This was crazy – when the private eye her BFFs at the cat café/cupcake emporium had hired for her traced the pfisher’s IP address to this tiny hamlet in a pastorally bombed-out former Soviet republic, she’d poured out her pain and fury at this Facebook scammer before understanding that rage is but the other side of that coin we call love. Between the lines of the badly constructed, clumsy warning that her system had been compromised and the ransomware demand, Alexis could sense the heart of a wounded outlaw soul. Like Beauty and her Beast, Bullock and her Jesse James…  Steeling her desire-saturated heart, the baker/quilter-turned-author rapped on the splintered wood like a desirous heart beating out a rhythm of love. “Come. To. Me; Come. To. Me.”The love-plank finally shifted, and a glacially blue eye peered from the shadows, like the piercing light of Cupid’s lighthouse beacon across the dark and ripply waters of doubt and pain. Alexis now knew her story wasn’t the website romance that “Lance Boyles” had pirated into an internationally acclaimed erotic vampire suspense thriller. Her story began with this rogue who indeed had stolen her desire-riddled heart.“Lance” grunted a series of long words neither Alexis nor most of her readers would have understood even had they been in English rather than some rural Slovenian language. Only her fondant sous-chef Russian Mikhail back home was poly-Slavic, but while he had insisted on accompanying her on her journey, Mikhail himself had found bliss with the lady day-trader from the city who’d finally taken her face out of her laptop long enough to discover the true meaning of rapture and pre-molded frosting at the town bake-off and comforter fair. The ceremony was next week at the old fiction mill by the river, the Reverend Dodge officiating.Alexis thus implored Lance to repeat his declaration into her cellphone. Her Cunning Linguist app translated.“It is you, my Alexis, at last. You have made the future of my destiny a reality!”He shoved the plank aside and emerged. Aside from the gnarled and possibly infected face-navel that had once served as his left eye, Lance was perfect. Hours of hacking and scamming in his dark garret had chiseled his upper arms into Greek statue kind of arms, and his jogging suit-draped legs had been shaped by constant escape from global law enforcement and Bulgarian mobsters. Lance’s was a life lived large, and Alexis felt a stirring in her loins wholly different than her reaction to the boiled garbanzos.Alexis fell into Lance’s arms, and his eye leaked dewy tears of love moisture. Lance grunted again, his Tokarev gun dipping sensually below his pelvis.“Can you forgive me?” Cunning Linguist recited.“Forgive you???” Alexis gasped, catching a lungful of waste dump sulfur. “You silly, beautiful Cyclops! You have made my humble paranormal suspense novella a classic in five Eurasian markets, and Kindled the long-extinguished embers of desire in my heart furnace. And besides…”She displayed the locket she had blinded a cabbie/former surgeon to protect. The woman had gone down hard and valiantly, and Alexis vowed to name a werewraith in her next novel after the driver, adding a few vowels for reader ease, of course. The filigreed gold clamshell was inscribed with her non-nom de plume fake writer name. Lance squinted at the florid mall engraving, then switched to his good eye.A.I. Chatt.Alexis’ digitalized heart swelled with love blood as the thief of that previously mentioned heart realized there was nothing for his future life mate to forgive. No more torture or remorse or fear of mercenary revenge squad retaliation. Lance’s life of underground plagiarism had nearly ended in violence numerous times – the Kindle Unlimited attack on his favorite wifi coffee shop/arms dealer; Nora Roberts’ Mossad-trained hit squad coming after his mother as she prepared his beloved borscht and cloned stolen Discover cards. The grainy photos of the meeting between a coldly vengeful and immaculately put-together Danielle Steele and Ivan the Badger in a Budapest Chik-Fil-A his bro Sergei the trafficker had Messenger’d him.As colleague after colleague had been “Kristin Hannah’ed,” as those in the trade called it, Lance had stayed one step ahead. Now, he had been apprehended by this spunky paperback word-poet, his heart clamped in the titanium grip of Alexis’ love-cuffs. His sentence? Life, in a maximum security prison with Alexis as his love-jailer. Lance grunted. Cunning Linguist processed Alexis’ newfound language of love.“So. You want to see the place?”“Oh, yes, YES! On the soul of Stephenie Meyer, a million times YES!” Alexis exclaimed, flattening a feral cat as she hurled the plank aside. She felt like a bad Eastern European knockoff of Pinocchio (one of Lance’s top-selling works in the Russian children’s market and unedited, on the YA list). Alexis’ Intel chip glowed warm within her OEM bosom.Tonight, she would become a real woman, if they could figure out a workable interface…
","August 25, 2023 23:02","[[{'Russell Mickler': 'Hey there, Martin!\n\n>>  Syburslovenia, \n\nCyber Slovenia? Grin\n\nSiri announcing a warning for organ harvesting is pretty dystopian :)\n\nDude … this is sheer poetry:\n\n“when the private eye her BFFs at the cat café/cupcake emporium had hired for her traced the pfisher’s IP address to this tiny hamlet in a pastorally bombed-out former Soviet republic, she’d poured out her pain and fury at this Facebook scammer before understanding that rage is but the other side of that coin we call love.\xa0“\n\nWait wait, but there’s more:\n\n“Forgive you???” Alexis g...', 'time': '17:31 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Martin Ross': 'Thanks so much, Russian Mikhael! Das bedanya’ll! This was an expanded comment I left on one of the toxic writers group’s non-toxic posts which sarcastically proposed a love story with a writer and a scammer. I’ll prolly get Hannah’d for it!', 'time': '17:47 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Russell Mickler': 'Laugh - wait a sec:\n\n""Only her fondant sous-chef Russian Mikhail""\n\nAm I the fondant sous-chef? giggle ...\n\nR', 'time': '17:56 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Martin Ross': 'Hey, the fondant sous-chef ensures the quintuple-tier tech giant’s birthday buttercream actually LOOKS like him scaling the silicon atom, down to the Reese’s cup he rewards himself with after firing an entire R&D team or beating Musk to Mars. It was a supreme compliment. One ego/reality check question: Did “poly-Slavic” work? I kept having to say “big words” in the toxic writers group because “polysyllabic” actually made one woman mad at me.', 'time': '18:57 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Martin Ross': 'Thanks so much, Russian Mikhael! Das bedanya’ll! This was an expanded comment I left on one of the toxic writers group’s non-toxic posts which sarcastically proposed a love story with a writer and a scammer. I’ll prolly get Hannah’d for it!', 'time': '17:47 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Russell Mickler': 'Laugh - wait a sec:\n\n""Only her fondant sous-chef Russian Mikhail""\n\nAm I the fondant sous-chef? giggle ...\n\nR', 'time': '17:56 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Martin Ross': 'Hey, the fondant sous-chef ensures the quintuple-tier tech giant’s birthday buttercream actually LOOKS like him scaling the silicon atom, down to the Reese’s cup he rewards himself with after firing an entire R&D team or beating Musk to Mars. It was a supreme compliment. One ego/reality check question: Did “poly-Slavic” work? I kept having to say “big words” in the toxic writers group because “polysyllabic” actually made one woman mad at me.', 'time': '18:57 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Russell Mickler': 'Laugh - wait a sec:\n\n""Only her fondant sous-chef Russian Mikhail""\n\nAm I the fondant sous-chef? giggle ...\n\nR', 'time': '17:56 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Martin Ross': 'Hey, the fondant sous-chef ensures the quintuple-tier tech giant’s birthday buttercream actually LOOKS like him scaling the silicon atom, down to the Reese’s cup he rewards himself with after firing an entire R&D team or beating Musk to Mars. It was a supreme compliment. One ego/reality check question: Did “poly-Slavic” work? I kept having to say “big words” in the toxic writers group because “polysyllabic” actually made one woman mad at me.', 'time': '18:57 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Martin Ross': 'Hey, the fondant sous-chef ensures the quintuple-tier tech giant’s birthday buttercream actually LOOKS like him scaling the silicon atom, down to the Reese’s cup he rewards himself with after firing an entire R&D team or beating Musk to Mars. It was a supreme compliment. One ego/reality check question: Did “poly-Slavic” work? I kept having to say “big words” in the toxic writers group because “polysyllabic” actually made one woman mad at me.', 'time': '18:57 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Felt futuristic, Ross, with some superb imagination. I forget when I first met Miss Cunning Linguist, I believe it was many-many moons ago. Good story.', 'time': '19:48 Aug 31, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Martin Ross': '🤣🤣🤣. Thanks.', 'time': '00:36 Sep 01, 2023', 'points': '3'}, {'Martin Ross': 'And by the way, did Miss Linguist speak the mother tongue?', 'time': '17:41 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Joe Malgeri': 'LOL, Ha-ha... That was Great! And, yes, she did speak the mother tongue, especially when speaking to Mr. Philip Latio.', 'time': '19:35 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Martin Ross': 'Damn, wish I hadn’t got rid of that snare drum!🤣', 'time': '20:30 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Martin Ross': '🤣🤣🤣. Thanks.', 'time': '00:36 Sep 01, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Martin Ross': 'And by the way, did Miss Linguist speak the mother tongue?', 'time': '17:41 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Joe Malgeri': 'LOL, Ha-ha... That was Great! And, yes, she did speak the mother tongue, especially when speaking to Mr. Philip Latio.', 'time': '19:35 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Martin Ross': 'Damn, wish I hadn’t got rid of that snare drum!🤣', 'time': '20:30 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'LOL, Ha-ha... That was Great! And, yes, she did speak the mother tongue, especially when speaking to Mr. Philip Latio.', 'time': '19:35 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Martin Ross': 'Damn, wish I hadn’t got rid of that snare drum!🤣', 'time': '20:30 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Martin Ross': 'Damn, wish I hadn’t got rid of that snare drum!🤣', 'time': '20:30 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Tom Skye': 'This story was so jargon heavy, I felt like I was reading a story from the future. Great creative work with a sweet theme', 'time': '09:43 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Martin Ross': 'Thanks so much. It was so much fun to write — it was based on a post about fiction pirates and scammers. Apparently, that’s a thing now. Your kindness has my day off to a great start.😊👍', 'time': '13:16 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '3'}]], [{'Martin Ross': 'Thanks so much. It was so much fun to write — it was based on a post about fiction pirates and scammers. Apparently, that’s a thing now. Your kindness has my day off to a great start.😊👍', 'time': '13:16 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Scott Christenson': 'What an amazingly detailed cyberpunk scene.  I like how you invented a whole world even with their own cliches ""“Kristin Hannah’ed,”"" Its a big world, and a lot of information is coming in fast, if you are still writing adding some quiet moments for Alexis might be an idea.', 'time': '04:28 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Martin Ross': 'This was like a double-coated prompt — I wrote it in response to a post on a writers group page suggesting a romance between a writer and a scammer. Apparently, lot of fiction thieves out there…', 'time': '05:04 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '4'}, {'Scott Christenson': 'Interesting. yeah happened to me (the scam, not the romance)  a bunch of us have had our reedsy stories plagarized to amazon kdp and used in youtube videos.  Youtube I felt honored to hear someone reading my story for an ESL youtube video, but drew the line on Amazon and making money, and put in IP complaints and they were taken down.', 'time': '05:36 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '3'}, {'Martin Ross': 'My Dodge collections are on Amazon — wonder if I could entice the Youtube folks to read me, maybe with Joe Mantegna…🤣', 'time': '05:44 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '4'}, {'Scott Christenson': ""If you're already up on Amazon, then I'd say all exposure is good exposure!  Sometimes I'm thinking there's a better chance that the story of our conflicts with spammers are more likely to go viral on a podcast or the internet than just about anything else lol. Short story LitFic isn't really trending these days sadly, but I greatly enjoy writing it."", 'time': '05:50 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '3'}, {'Martin Ross': 'My next collection will be mixed bag — straight and “weird” Dodge stories and a trio of immigration stories (one non-genre, one supernatural horror/humor, and one sci-fi that pissed off some folks in a FB writers group I joined). Not sure if this one has a place there, tho maybe with the series I’m starting with Schrodinger’s cat jumping through time to kill quantum physicists might provide an opportunity for parody.', 'time': '13:24 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '3'}]], [{'Martin Ross': 'This was like a double-coated prompt — I wrote it in response to a post on a writers group page suggesting a romance between a writer and a scammer. Apparently, lot of fiction thieves out there…', 'time': '05:04 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '4'}, [{'Scott Christenson': 'Interesting. yeah happened to me (the scam, not the romance)  a bunch of us have had our reedsy stories plagarized to amazon kdp and used in youtube videos.  Youtube I felt honored to hear someone reading my story for an ESL youtube video, but drew the line on Amazon and making money, and put in IP complaints and they were taken down.', 'time': '05:36 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '3'}, {'Martin Ross': 'My Dodge collections are on Amazon — wonder if I could entice the Youtube folks to read me, maybe with Joe Mantegna…🤣', 'time': '05:44 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '4'}, {'Scott Christenson': ""If you're already up on Amazon, then I'd say all exposure is good exposure!  Sometimes I'm thinking there's a better chance that the story of our conflicts with spammers are more likely to go viral on a podcast or the internet than just about anything else lol. Short story LitFic isn't really trending these days sadly, but I greatly enjoy writing it."", 'time': '05:50 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '3'}, {'Martin Ross': 'My next collection will be mixed bag — straight and “weird” Dodge stories and a trio of immigration stories (one non-genre, one supernatural horror/humor, and one sci-fi that pissed off some folks in a FB writers group I joined). Not sure if this one has a place there, tho maybe with the series I’m starting with Schrodinger’s cat jumping through time to kill quantum physicists might provide an opportunity for parody.', 'time': '13:24 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '3'}]], [{'Scott Christenson': 'Interesting. yeah happened to me (the scam, not the romance)  a bunch of us have had our reedsy stories plagarized to amazon kdp and used in youtube videos.  Youtube I felt honored to hear someone reading my story for an ESL youtube video, but drew the line on Amazon and making money, and put in IP complaints and they were taken down.', 'time': '05:36 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Martin Ross': 'My Dodge collections are on Amazon — wonder if I could entice the Youtube folks to read me, maybe with Joe Mantegna…🤣', 'time': '05:44 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '4'}, {'Scott Christenson': ""If you're already up on Amazon, then I'd say all exposure is good exposure!  Sometimes I'm thinking there's a better chance that the story of our conflicts with spammers are more likely to go viral on a podcast or the internet than just about anything else lol. Short story LitFic isn't really trending these days sadly, but I greatly enjoy writing it."", 'time': '05:50 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '3'}, {'Martin Ross': 'My next collection will be mixed bag — straight and “weird” Dodge stories and a trio of immigration stories (one non-genre, one supernatural horror/humor, and one sci-fi that pissed off some folks in a FB writers group I joined). Not sure if this one has a place there, tho maybe with the series I’m starting with Schrodinger’s cat jumping through time to kill quantum physicists might provide an opportunity for parody.', 'time': '13:24 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '3'}]], [{'Martin Ross': 'My Dodge collections are on Amazon — wonder if I could entice the Youtube folks to read me, maybe with Joe Mantegna…🤣', 'time': '05:44 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '4'}, [{'Scott Christenson': ""If you're already up on Amazon, then I'd say all exposure is good exposure!  Sometimes I'm thinking there's a better chance that the story of our conflicts with spammers are more likely to go viral on a podcast or the internet than just about anything else lol. Short story LitFic isn't really trending these days sadly, but I greatly enjoy writing it."", 'time': '05:50 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '3'}, {'Martin Ross': 'My next collection will be mixed bag — straight and “weird” Dodge stories and a trio of immigration stories (one non-genre, one supernatural horror/humor, and one sci-fi that pissed off some folks in a FB writers group I joined). Not sure if this one has a place there, tho maybe with the series I’m starting with Schrodinger’s cat jumping through time to kill quantum physicists might provide an opportunity for parody.', 'time': '13:24 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '3'}]], [{'Scott Christenson': ""If you're already up on Amazon, then I'd say all exposure is good exposure!  Sometimes I'm thinking there's a better chance that the story of our conflicts with spammers are more likely to go viral on a podcast or the internet than just about anything else lol. Short story LitFic isn't really trending these days sadly, but I greatly enjoy writing it."", 'time': '05:50 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Martin Ross': 'My next collection will be mixed bag — straight and “weird” Dodge stories and a trio of immigration stories (one non-genre, one supernatural horror/humor, and one sci-fi that pissed off some folks in a FB writers group I joined). Not sure if this one has a place there, tho maybe with the series I’m starting with Schrodinger’s cat jumping through time to kill quantum physicists might provide an opportunity for parody.', 'time': '13:24 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '3'}]], [{'Martin Ross': 'My next collection will be mixed bag — straight and “weird” Dodge stories and a trio of immigration stories (one non-genre, one supernatural horror/humor, and one sci-fi that pissed off some folks in a FB writers group I joined). Not sure if this one has a place there, tho maybe with the series I’m starting with Schrodinger’s cat jumping through time to kill quantum physicists might provide an opportunity for parody.', 'time': '13:24 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Afternoon delight!', 'time': '22:41 Aug 27, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Martin Ross': ""Or early evening or morning -- the landfill and radioactive dumps create a sun-blocking haze... I meant this as an affectionate overall spoof -- you don't think I'll hurt anyone's feelings here, do you?"", 'time': '23:11 Aug 27, 2023', 'points': '3'}, {'Mary Bendickson': 'Thought it was leading to love with a robot?', 'time': '01:48 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '3'}]], [{'Martin Ross': ""Or early evening or morning -- the landfill and radioactive dumps create a sun-blocking haze... I meant this as an affectionate overall spoof -- you don't think I'll hurt anyone's feelings here, do you?"", 'time': '23:11 Aug 27, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Thought it was leading to love with a robot?', 'time': '01:48 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '3'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Thought it was leading to love with a robot?', 'time': '01:48 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Nina Herbst': 'Ah, Love in the Time of AI 😂 \nThis was fantastic Martin, and I smiled my way through Alexis’s journey! \n\nAlexis - Al exis. My mind kept separating her name like that! \n\nThis was such a fun story, loved all the author shouts. 😄', 'time': '20:08 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Martin Ross': 'Thanks, Nina. Lotta fun to write!', 'time': '21:26 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Martin Ross': 'Thanks, Nina. Lotta fun to write!', 'time': '21:26 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Cassie Finch': ""You're a busy man. How do you write so many of these?"", 'time': '02:46 Sep 01, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Martin Ross': 'The prompts are a challenge to me. I’m slowing down a little, though — it’s getting tough finding clues for the Mike Dodge stories, and this one actually was a spoofy COMMENT on a writer’s group post about hacker/scammer fiction thieves (there’s actually such a thing). I had to add about 400 words to meet the Reedsy limit. I hope we get an inspiring prompt tomorrow.', 'time': '02:55 Sep 01, 2023', 'points': '3'}, {'Cassie Finch': 'Are hacker/scammer fiction thieves people who pass off hacker/scammer fiction off as their own?', 'time': '09:56 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Martin Ross': 'Yeah, weird, right? The fiction writers group I just said a grateful goodbye to was constantly bombarded by them, trying to get private and personal information out of writers. My story is entirely speculation that they are one-eyed Eastern Europeans.😉', 'time': '13:20 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Martin Ross': 'The prompts are a challenge to me. I’m slowing down a little, though — it’s getting tough finding clues for the Mike Dodge stories, and this one actually was a spoofy COMMENT on a writer’s group post about hacker/scammer fiction thieves (there’s actually such a thing). I had to add about 400 words to meet the Reedsy limit. I hope we get an inspiring prompt tomorrow.', 'time': '02:55 Sep 01, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Cassie Finch': 'Are hacker/scammer fiction thieves people who pass off hacker/scammer fiction off as their own?', 'time': '09:56 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Martin Ross': 'Yeah, weird, right? The fiction writers group I just said a grateful goodbye to was constantly bombarded by them, trying to get private and personal information out of writers. My story is entirely speculation that they are one-eyed Eastern Europeans.😉', 'time': '13:20 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Cassie Finch': 'Are hacker/scammer fiction thieves people who pass off hacker/scammer fiction off as their own?', 'time': '09:56 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Martin Ross': 'Yeah, weird, right? The fiction writers group I just said a grateful goodbye to was constantly bombarded by them, trying to get private and personal information out of writers. My story is entirely speculation that they are one-eyed Eastern Europeans.😉', 'time': '13:20 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Martin Ross': 'Yeah, weird, right? The fiction writers group I just said a grateful goodbye to was constantly bombarded by them, trying to get private and personal information out of writers. My story is entirely speculation that they are one-eyed Eastern Europeans.😉', 'time': '13:20 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Aoi Yamato': 'great story. you have a good imagination.', 'time': '03:11 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Martin Ross': 'Thanks — it was a lot of fun to write.', 'time': '03:43 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '3'}, {'Aoi Yamato': 'welcome.', 'time': '03:24 Aug 31, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Martin Ross': 'Thanks — it was a lot of fun to write.', 'time': '03:43 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '3'}, [{'Aoi Yamato': 'welcome.', 'time': '03:24 Aug 31, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Aoi Yamato': 'welcome.', 'time': '03:24 Aug 31, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Michał Przywara': 'Ha! Funny, heartwarming - and irritating with the scam bits :) But it\'s a clever story. The premise is ""write about an AI"" and we learn that Alexis, who seems so human, isn\'t. But then on the other hand, it takes something like a plagiarist, a thief of stories, and humanizes him. There\'s an important set of themes there, especially for a love story. \n\nVery fun :)', 'time': '20:53 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Martin Ross': 'Thanks, Michal! This actually started as a comment on a writers group post jokingly proposing a romance novel about a writer hooking up with a scammer. Lots of fun to write. ;)', 'time': '22:09 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Martin Ross': 'Thanks, Michal! This actually started as a comment on a writers group post jokingly proposing a romance novel about a writer hooking up with a scammer. Lots of fun to write. ;)', 'time': '22:09 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Marty B': 'No cyberpunk fiction scammer is stealing this one- to many inside jokes/ references for anyone but the true die-hard readers of the world!\n I dove in and came out the other side, wall-eyed but smiling ;) \n\nThanks!', 'time': '04:30 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Martin Ross': ""Thanks, Marty! Couldn't come up with a mystery, so just had a load of fun with it. My wife loves romance novels, so she don't get to see this one. ;)"", 'time': '05:46 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Martin Ross': ""Thanks, Marty! Couldn't come up with a mystery, so just had a load of fun with it. My wife loves romance novels, so she don't get to see this one. ;)"", 'time': '05:46 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,ilsx9d,The Nüwa Five,Russell Mickler,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ilsx9d/,/short-story/ilsx9d/,Science Fiction,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Speculative', 'Horror']",19 likes,"
	Dr. Li Wei entered a featureless gray field.	“Office,” he said in Mandarin.	A grid materialized under his feet followed by echoes of his footfalls and cane striking the floor. Tiles emerged, followed by desks, conference tables, lab benches, sleek chairs, file cabinets, and glass partitions rose from the grid, followed by objects like computer terminals and keyboards, papers, pens, and flowers alongside pictures of friends, colleagues, and family.	Wei donned a white lab coat from a free-standing rack.	Wei tasted an electric tang in the back of his throat - ozone, sterile chemicals.	A two-meter elevated dais appeared in the office’s center, its surface a dull white light.	Walking to his desk, Wei slid open a drawer to remove a pack of cigarettes and a book of matches. Pulling a cigarette from the carton between his lips, he struck a match.	The cigarette burned.	He inhaled deeply.	Wei closed his eyes and tipped back his head to savor the sensation.	Addressing a translucent monitor at his desk, Wei swiped through a catalog.	He tapped his selection to bring a coiling 2.5-meter-tall, red and gold Chinese dragon. It had teeth, a mane of wispy hair, claws, a catfish-like snout, and glistening scales.	“Good morning, Dr. Wei.”	“Xiao Long, copy yourself to a new construct named Tian Long. Reload.”	“Certainly,” it replied.	Its image softened, disappeared, and then resolved to depict green scales, red talons, and a silver underbelly. It floated 3.6 meters above Wei, its body slowly twisting and rolling in the air.	“Task completed. I am Tian Long.”	“Update to contemporary substrate standards.”	The dragon flickered.	Wei picked up a tablet computer waiting at a workstation adorned with plants and stoic pictures of a middle-aged Chinese woman and two children. Wei hesitated, glancing at the pictures.	“Tian Long. Connect to CCP Project Gònggōng. Download and incorporate.”	“Task completed.”	“Summarize.”	“A study into Mass-Energy Equivalence headed by Dr. Mei Ling, Physicist, Project Director. Deceased 2284. Status: closed. The Chinese Communist Party perfected matter-energy conversion technology in 2280.”	Wei grunted.	“Indeed, much has transpired since we last spoke.”	“Yes,” Wei shrugged. “J-Curve. Technology advances trend exponential.”	“My condolences. Dr. Ling was your colleague.”	Wei’s eyes shifted away.	On his tablet, he authorized Tian Long’s access to another project.	“CCP Project Sun Wukong. Connect, download, incorporate.”	“Task completed.”	“Summarize.”	“A study into Interstellar Travel headed by Dr. Li Jing, Physicist, Project Director. Status: ongoing. The CCP developed an Alcubierre Drive prototype in 2285.”	“Evaluate.” 	“The problem of sufficient negative energy needed to contract and dilate space-time was solved using exotic matter -  specifically, dark matter. In trials, the drive system achieved speeds exceeding 254.8 million meters per second, roughly 85.1% of the speed of light. Engineering inefficiencies prevent-”	The dragon paused. “It would appear humanity is at the cusp of transition.”	“Yes,” Wei confirmed, raising the cigarette to his lips.	“It is a dangerous time.”	Wei inhaled, holding his breath, nodded, then exhaled. 	“Project Zhong Kui. Repeat. Summarize.”	“The development of an interstellar probe designed to apply the outcomes of CCP Project Sun Wukong headed by Dr. Li Jing, Physicist, Project Director. Ongoing. Numerous prototypes have been tested.”	Dr. Wei tapped his tablet.	“Project Nüwa.”	“The application of megastructures theorized by an American scientist of the 20th century, Dr. Freeman Dyson. The project is headed by you, Dr. Wei. Ongoing.”	Dr. Wei pointed his cigarette at the construct. “List the four megastructures outlined in the project.”	“A Dyson Sphere. A Dyson Ring. A Dyson Swarm. A Dyson Shell.”	“Familiarize yourself with these concepts drawing on current worldwide sources.”	Tian Long did as instructed before Wei dismissed it.	“Substrate: modify my office’s layout to accommodate five hologram pads instead of one.”	The center dias was erased. All around him, the chairs, tables, conference spaces, and glass partitions were replaced by five white circular diases spread equal distances in a crescent shape along the floor.	Dr. Wei reloaded Tian Long, and the dragon reappeared to hover above the center dias. “Good morning, Dr. Wei.”	“Reset your avatar to substrate generic.”	The construct assumed an androgynous human form made of gray plastic.	Stepping from behind his desk, Dr. Wei approached the still form of Tian Long. He caressed the chin of the AI, its smooth skin felt like static on his fingertips. “Forgive me, but we’ve new work, you and I.”	Expressionless, eyeless, it turned to Dr. Wei. “I am excited to assist you, sir.”	Saddened, Dr. Wei returned to his desk to crush his cigarette into the ashtray.	Dr. Wei dragged his office chair to the center of the five holopads. Sitting, he tugged at the legs of his trousers to drape a knee. He removed a pair of reading glasses from his lab coat, rested the glasses on his nose, and examined the tablet.	“Replicate yourself to the empty pads.”	The mannequin-like avatar faded, and four additional copies of itself materialized on the diases.	“Good morning, Dr. Wei,” the five said in unison.	Wei ordered, “Prepare a list of Catholic Saints. Select unique names for yourselves, limited to the list.”	From his left, the first construct replied, “Thomas of Aquino.”	“Francis of Assisi,” said the next.	“Augustine of Hippo.”	“Catherine of Bologna.”	“Brendan of Confert.”	“Sir,” Catherine interjected.	“Yes?”	“Why have you limited our designations in this manner?”	Wei grunted, glancing at Catherine. “Humor me.”	“Yes, doctor.”	Dr. Wei recorded an observation before saying, “Constructs, select unique personality engrams.”	“Task completed,” they replied.	“Select an avatar of your preference, limiting to unique extinct animal species.”	Thomas reconstituted into a three-meter-tall creature with copper-colored skin with a pinkish underbelly sporting two rows of white suction cups lined underneath eight tentacles. “A Giant Pacific Octopus,” it acknowledged.	Francis dissolved into a Tricolored Heron.	A European Saker Falcon appeared where Catherine previously stood; her talons scraped the holopad.	Brendan transformed into a North American polar bear. It sniffed at the floor.	Augustine became a North Atlantic Blue Whale and assumed a monstrously large, floating representation that spanned 30 meters into the substrate.	“Augustine, re-scale to one-tenth your size.”	“Certainly,” Augustine boomed in a deep voice, fading away to coalesce into a smaller, 3.2-meter-long Blue Whale.	“Thomas?”	“Yes, Dr. Wei?” replied the octopus, its tentacles curling up into themselves.	Wei looked skeptically at the construct. “Nevermind.”	“Very well, sir.”	“All except Brendan,” Dr. Wei began. “Review CCP Project Nüwa. Select a unique Dyson megastructure of your preference. Identify your selection to me, beginning with Thomas.”	“Ring,” Thomas said.	“Swarm,” reported Francis, standing on one leg.	“Sphere,” answered Augustine. Reflections of water cascaded over its body.	“Shell,” replied Catherine.	Dr. Wei looked at the fifth construct and said, “Brendan, you’re to be an amalgam. You will not specialize. You will consider all megastructure types and possibilities.”	“Yes, Dr. Wei,” the polar bear replied as it plopped on its haunches.	Dr. Wei evaluated his team.	“Brendan, what is the fundamental challenge to building any megastructure type proposed in the Nüwa project?”	The polar bear furrowed his brow. “Mass.”	“Explain.”	“Disregarding the significant engineering, technological, logistical, and energy requirements, any Dyson megastructure would require raw material. Mass.”	“An example, Brendan.”	“Earth’s solar system comprises planets and their moons, asteroids, comets, and dust. Their combined mass is insufficient to build a solid structure encompassing Earth’s star.”	“Good,” Dr. Wei said, “and what if we were to draw on the Oort Cloud?”	“Insufficient,” the bear said, shaking its head.	Francis, the heron, pecked at its holopad. “Thus, my approach, a swarm megastructure, offers a more practical remedy.”	Wei turned to Francis. “Explain.”	“I would argue it more feasible to construct smaller, intelligent components to comprise a megastructure.”	Wei nodded in agreement.	“Sir,” asked the Blue Whale. “Please describe the intended use case.”	Wei thoughtfully scratched his beard. “Energy collection. Human habitation. Food production.”	Catherine soared above its holopad. “Sir. I propose that a Dyson Ring or Shell would consume less mass and address the gravity problem.”	“Yes. The gravity problem,” Brendan agreed.	The falcon continued. “A ring or shell might produce a contiguous structure around the star's equator. An angular acceleration matched to Earth’s 1,212 kilometers-per-second would offer an equivalent gravimetric force.”	“True,” Thomas said, “but the kinetic energy required to initiate spin is incalculable without additional design parameters.”	Puzzling out the details, Brendan added, “Indeed, if the megastructure were a sphere, there would be less gravity elsewhere except for along the equator, a condition harmful to human biology in the long term and contrary to our use case.”	“Dr. Wei,” the whale said.	“Augustine, yes,” Dr. Wei smiled, turning.	“Regarding the problem of mass - sir, may we return to that?”	“Go on,” Wei encouraged.	Augustine appeared to swim up the oceanic water column. “My colleagues ignore the outcome of CCP Project Gònggōng.”	“How so, Augustine?”	“Gònggōng’s findings suggest it is conceivable to convert energy to mass.”	“Yes, but your proposal is theoretical and untested under the constraints of the project.”	“Perhaps a very wise constraint,” opined Brendan.	“With enough transmuted energy, sufficient mass to complete construction might be possible,” the whale concluded.	The falcon added, “Yet the requirements would be extreme, the destruction of another star-”	“Producing a cataclysmic outcome,” Brendan suggested, “ affecting the gravitational forces on nearby stellar objects like planets, moons, and comets.”	“Dr. Wei.”	“Yes, Thomas.”	Amused, Wei faced the octopus.	“Even if one were to import enough mass from adjacent star systems to Sol to create a Dyson Sphere, its surface area would be 2.8 times 10^17 that of Earth’s.”	“Yes, Thomas. Approximately 280 quadrillion kilometers, over 500 million Earths.”	The octopus hesitated. “Sir, the premise of our discussion is incongruent.”	“Explain.”	“Construction of any megastructure proposed in CCP Project Nüwa would destroy the entirety of the Sol system and render the human species extinct.”	Wei smiled, “Well-”	“Although abundant energy capture would be achieved, most of its surface area would be inhospitable to life. I ascertain less than one percent of a Dyson Sphere’s surface could be inhabited by Man and all of Earth’s life forms.”	“Yes, but-”	“Furthermore,” Thomas interrupted, “it would create a disastrous disruption in the gravitational characteristics of nearby space.”	Dr. Wei rolled a hand. “Your conclusion, Thomas.”	“Respectfully, the proposal is reckless and without merit. It is a cataclysmic, ecological disaster at a cosmic scale. The megastructures defined by Project Nüwa represent a waste, bordering on the absurd.”	“Please, anyone else?”	Francis, the heron, spoke. “I believe my colleague speaks from a position of judgment. Absurdity, morality, practicality, the implications to neighboring space - these notions were not design criteria. We were not asked to consider these issues.”	Augustine crested from the virtual water. “It is difficult to conceive of positive outcomes through implementation.”	“Who are we to judge Man’s hubris?” Catherine asked. Her head twisted to the side. “If Man to us is as God, we are but dust and ribs.”	Brendan grumbled. “I also have difficulty reconciling the benefits of Project Nüwa.”	Dr. Wei removed his glasses.	“Concerning the scope of this project, you will ignore all moral, ethical, practical, and philosophical judgments concerning Project Nüwa. Am I clear?”	“Yes, Dr. Wei,” they answered.	“Our task is construction, not implications.”	“Yes, Dr. Wei.”	“Each of you will uniquely identify a red dwarf star within 10-light-years of Earth. Give consideration to the most optimal location for building your chosen megastructure. Advise when completed.”	“Task completed,” they responded, all within a few seconds.	“Thomas,” Dr. Wei said, taking to his feet to stand before the octopus. “You first. Identify your preferred star and its constellation.”	“Epsilon Eridani A. A triple-star system in the constellation Erdanus. 10.52 light-years distant.”	“Explain your strategy.”	“Epsilon Eridani A is a flare star. It occasionally emits powerful eruptions which could be harnessed by the megastructure and offer more suitable energy yields.”	“It is the largest of your options,” Dr. Wei said skeptically.	“Affirmative. Its mass is .82 times that of the Sun; its radius .78 times. The megastructure’s expanded surface area is most appealing for energy capture.”	“You wish to maximize solar energy collection.”	“That is true, sir.”	“Explain your potential sources for mass.”	Thomas’ tentacles writhed. “Epsilon Eridani hosts an extensive debris disk containing dust, asteroids, and planetoids; examples: a gas giant planet 1.5 times the mass of Sol’s Jupiter, and its companion stars Epsilon Eridani B and C. These elements would conceivably address the mass problem.”	Dr. Wei wandered to Francis, the Heron.	The bird angled its beak down, leaning an eye toward Dr. Wei. “Barnard's Star, sir, in the constellation Ophiuchus.”	Dr. Wei looked at Francis, puzzled. “Yes?”	“As it is 5.96 light-years from Earth, it is relatively close, and its radius and mass are 20% of Earth’s sun.”	Dr. Wei nodded. “But what of usable mass?”	“The star is isolated. It exists in a veritable sea of dark matter.”	“Strategy?”	“Advantages of proximity, and energy-mass conversion, sir.”	Dr. Wei dubiously asked, “You would convert the available exotic matter in that region of space into stable matter?”	“Yes.”	“This approach would destroy all dark matter in the system, rendering an Alcubierre Drive useless.”	“Affirmative,” Francis said dispassionately. “Ensuring interstellar travel within the affected region of space wasn’t in our design parameters.”	Dr. Wei raised his brows. “No, it wasn’t.”	“Lacaille 9352,” Augustine interrupted, “located in the constellation Piscis Austrinus 10.74 light-years away.”	Disengaging from Francis, Wei approached Augustine. “Explain your rationale.”	“Multiple exoplanets.”	“Your premise is to work with mass already in orbit of the star. You would destroy those planets for raw material.”	“You are correct, sir.”	Dr. Wei looked at Catherine. Descending from a virtual sky, the falcon landed on its holopad and tucked its wings. “Proxima Centauri, constellation Centaurus. A triple-star system; closest to Earth at 4.24 light-years, its proximity is optimal. It has a mass and radius of one-fifteenth that of Earth’s Sun. Alpha Centauri A and B, a binary pair, could conceivably be converted into matter.”	“Aggressive expediency,” Dr. Wei surmised.	The falcon’s head twisted sharply, right and left. “Yes.”	Dr. Wei wandered to the polar bear. “Brendan.”	The polar bear growled. “Wolf 359 is 7.8 light-years distant. The star is the smallest within range, .09 times the mass of Earth’s Sun with a radius of just .16 times its mass.”	“Success at a smaller scale?”	“Yes, Dr. Wei. It would require significantly less mass to create a megastructure than other available options.”	Leaving Brendan, Dr. Wei said, “Substrate, remove the holopads and office. Maintain the constructs.”	The office dissolved leaving Dr. Wei amongst an octopus, a heron, a miniaturized whale, a falcon, and a polar bear on an infinite black expanse.	Ahead of them, an interstellar probe hovered above the floor. Its metallic surface was perfectly smooth. Made from nanotechnology, it had no seams or welds, no compartments or access panels. Cylindrical, it measured 25 meters long and 4 meters in diameter. In its middle appeared a venting array and six robotic appendages, retracted, tucked neatly into the fuselage. Its nose was an open hole. A decal of a red star, accompanied by four smaller red stars was added to its side. 	It looked like a long silver lamprey if its mouth were open and glued to glass.	“The Zhong Kui, Mark 9,” Dr. Wei explained. Catherine soared over the craft’s dorsal plane.	“It is primarily a Sun Wukong drive accommodating a Gònggōng matter conversion system equipped with a nanoparticulate editor.”	Catherine landed on the craft's surface to tap at the Zhong Kui’s hull with its beak. “Titanium.”	“Nano-fashioned titanium, yes,” Dr. Wei confirmed. “The source material was ordinary aluminum before editing.”	Brendan went to the front of the probe. “The energy-matter intake.”	“Yes. It vents streams of editable matter.”	Francis, the heron, dipped its head to inspect the craft’s midsection. “The probe could perform its own repairs.”	“Yes,” agreed Dr. Wei. “The vehicle could sew itself a new hull from raw energy if needed.”	Dr. Wei addressed his tablet. “Constructs, investigate. You will note there are five of these probes in orbit between the Earth and the moon.”	“I see them,” Catherine said, staring upward at the dark.	“Each of you will select a probe. I will transfer their command codes to you.”	“Task completed,” they all said.	Wei placed the tablet under his arm and removed his reading glasses to return them to his coat. He gave each of the constructs a stern look.	“You will pilot a Zhong Kui probe to your selected star to construct a Dyson megastructure. Nothing will deter you. You will perform to the best of your ability.”	And they all replied, “Yes, Dr. Wei.”	“You will coordinate with each other. If communications are lost, you will periodically attempt to re-establish them, but not at the expense of your mission.”	“Yes, Dr. Wei.”	“Remember that you are all part of a larger, greater plan,” Wei said, “and its success is more important than yourselves, as individuals. What we do is for the glory of the State, for the survival of Chinese people.”	“Yes, Dr. Wei.”	Wei turned and ordered, “Proceed.”	“Goodbye, Dr. Wei,” Brendan said.	Wei looked over his shoulder, sneered, and grunted.* * *	Dr. Li Wei, 116, lay in a hospital bed surrounded by sensors and monitors, immobile, and dependent on a respirator. Attending orderlies busily removed pieces of a cranial headset.	Dr. Wei was surrounded by a handful of younger government scientists led by an official dressed in a black suit wearing a red armband emblazed with a yellow star.	Outside, it was dusk; it rained.	A young scientist evaluated a traunch of data spilling across her tablet’s screen.	“The AIs have been uploaded,” she confirmed. “The Zhong Kui probes are beginning their startup cycles.”	The official nodded and placed his arms behind his back. Snapping to attention, he was joined by the other scientists in singing “March of the Volunteers” as Dr. Wei’s bed was wheeled from the room.
","August 25, 2023 22:39","[[{'Russell Mickler': 'The landing page for this work can be found at:\n\nhttps://www.black-anvil-books.com/the-nuwa-five\n\nR', 'time': '22:03 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Above my pay scale. Amazing!', 'time': '23:51 Aug 26, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Russell Mickler': ""Hi Mary! Well, I wouldn't think so, Ms. Nashville Killer Contest Winner! grin ... it is very sciency but I did promise no more countdowns in my next sci-fi on Reedsy :) \n\nSo! No countdowns ... just orbital mechanics.  :)\nR"", 'time': '17:02 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Mary Bendickson': 'You are so very talented.', 'time': '18:08 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Russell Mickler': ""Laugh - not sure about that. I've always felt like I could BS pretty well, though :)\n\nR"", 'time': '18:15 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Russell Mickler': ""Hi Mary! Well, I wouldn't think so, Ms. Nashville Killer Contest Winner! grin ... it is very sciency but I did promise no more countdowns in my next sci-fi on Reedsy :) \n\nSo! No countdowns ... just orbital mechanics.  :)\nR"", 'time': '17:02 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Mary Bendickson': 'You are so very talented.', 'time': '18:08 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Russell Mickler': ""Laugh - not sure about that. I've always felt like I could BS pretty well, though :)\n\nR"", 'time': '18:15 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'You are so very talented.', 'time': '18:08 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Russell Mickler': ""Laugh - not sure about that. I've always felt like I could BS pretty well, though :)\n\nR"", 'time': '18:15 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Russell Mickler': ""Laugh - not sure about that. I've always felt like I could BS pretty well, though :)\n\nR"", 'time': '18:15 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Martin Ross': 'Love that ending, and the technological/cultural/sociopolitical mulligatawny you’ve cooked up. You’re a double-threat — terrific fantasy and hard but chewy sci-fi!', 'time': '20:59 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Russell Mickler': ""Grin - thanks Martin :) \n\nI really like chewy sci-fi ... Charleston Chews.  Best Candy Ever!\n\nWhew! Sorry I haven't been around here too much ... I finaled this week over at Writing Battle, coming in 2nd in the 2023 Summer Nanofiction contest. I've been writing for other contests outside of Reedsy lately.\n\nhttps://www.black-anvil-books.com/his-visceral-conviction\n\nI also had one of my re-worked Reedsy stories picked up by an anthology:\n\nhttps://www.black-anvil-books.com/children-of-prometheus\n\nIt's been a busy summer! Aside from publishing u..."", 'time': '21:46 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Martin Ross': 'That’s fantastic — congrats!! Two of my Reedsy buddies anthologized (Wendi Kaminski made an apocalyptic anth)! I’m always thrilled to read your crap, if CRAP stands for Creatively Refreshing Artistic Prose (that took me five minutes to devise).\n\nWay to write, Russell — you have been burning it up and perfecting your already pretty perfect craft. I been just trying to get a story a week in around grandkids and old-dude planning teleconferences and a day of just pre-planning our incineration and cremainial distribution. BBQ not scheduled yet. ...', 'time': '22:05 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Russell Mickler': ""Thank you, Martin - \n\nI honestly think you're one of the best writers I've ever met, Dodge-material or otherwise :)\n\nR"", 'time': '22:38 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Martin Ross': 'Now, THAT truly means the world to me. Thanks so much.', 'time': '00:32 Sep 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Russell Mickler': ""Grin - thanks Martin :) \n\nI really like chewy sci-fi ... Charleston Chews.  Best Candy Ever!\n\nWhew! Sorry I haven't been around here too much ... I finaled this week over at Writing Battle, coming in 2nd in the 2023 Summer Nanofiction contest. I've been writing for other contests outside of Reedsy lately.\n\nhttps://www.black-anvil-books.com/his-visceral-conviction\n\nI also had one of my re-worked Reedsy stories picked up by an anthology:\n\nhttps://www.black-anvil-books.com/children-of-prometheus\n\nIt's been a busy summer! Aside from publishing u..."", 'time': '21:46 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Martin Ross': 'That’s fantastic — congrats!! Two of my Reedsy buddies anthologized (Wendi Kaminski made an apocalyptic anth)! I’m always thrilled to read your crap, if CRAP stands for Creatively Refreshing Artistic Prose (that took me five minutes to devise).\n\nWay to write, Russell — you have been burning it up and perfecting your already pretty perfect craft. I been just trying to get a story a week in around grandkids and old-dude planning teleconferences and a day of just pre-planning our incineration and cremainial distribution. BBQ not scheduled yet. ...', 'time': '22:05 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Russell Mickler': ""Thank you, Martin - \n\nI honestly think you're one of the best writers I've ever met, Dodge-material or otherwise :)\n\nR"", 'time': '22:38 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Martin Ross': 'Now, THAT truly means the world to me. Thanks so much.', 'time': '00:32 Sep 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Martin Ross': 'That’s fantastic — congrats!! Two of my Reedsy buddies anthologized (Wendi Kaminski made an apocalyptic anth)! I’m always thrilled to read your crap, if CRAP stands for Creatively Refreshing Artistic Prose (that took me five minutes to devise).\n\nWay to write, Russell — you have been burning it up and perfecting your already pretty perfect craft. I been just trying to get a story a week in around grandkids and old-dude planning teleconferences and a day of just pre-planning our incineration and cremainial distribution. BBQ not scheduled yet. ...', 'time': '22:05 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Russell Mickler': ""Thank you, Martin - \n\nI honestly think you're one of the best writers I've ever met, Dodge-material or otherwise :)\n\nR"", 'time': '22:38 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Martin Ross': 'Now, THAT truly means the world to me. Thanks so much.', 'time': '00:32 Sep 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Russell Mickler': ""Thank you, Martin - \n\nI honestly think you're one of the best writers I've ever met, Dodge-material or otherwise :)\n\nR"", 'time': '22:38 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Martin Ross': 'Now, THAT truly means the world to me. Thanks so much.', 'time': '00:32 Sep 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Martin Ross': 'Now, THAT truly means the world to me. Thanks so much.', 'time': '00:32 Sep 13, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ken Cartisano': ""I didn't get it. I understand dark matter, dyson spheres, AI, much of the scientific jargon was not beyond me, but I just didn't understand the ending."", 'time': '03:02 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Russell Mickler': ""Hi Ken!\n\nThat's okay - \n\nThey loaded up the AI's onboard five vessels and sent them to make Dyson Spheres for the Chinese Communist Party. Yay!\n\nThanks for reading :)\n\nR"", 'time': '03:33 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Russell Mickler': ""Hi Ken!\n\nThat's okay - \n\nThey loaded up the AI's onboard five vessels and sent them to make Dyson Spheres for the Chinese Communist Party. Yay!\n\nThanks for reading :)\n\nR"", 'time': '03:33 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Хадусенко Артём': 'https://exampledomain.com/?u=XXXXX&o=YYYYY', 'time': '06:14 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'David Sweet': 'Awesome story! So much packed into a short narrative. I enjoy this genre very much and your story as well.', 'time': '13:15 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Russell Mickler': 'Hey there, David -\n\nThank you! Glad you liked it, and thanks for reading :)\n\nR', 'time': '16:53 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Russell Mickler': 'Hey there, David -\n\nThank you! Glad you liked it, and thanks for reading :)\n\nR', 'time': '16:53 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,bv388h,Good Mourning,Indee Anna Prosé,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/bv388h/,/short-story/bv388h/,Science Fiction,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Fantasy']",17 likes,"
“Thank you for calling Good Mourning Mortuary. My name is Arin-Inez. How may I assist you today?” The calm, comforting voice flowed through the phone like honey—so smooth and sweet, the artificially intelligent voice box proved nearly impossible to detect.
Betty Masters blew her nose, wiped tears from her cheeks with trembling hands and replied, “Yes…my boyfriend just died. I’m not sure what to do.”
 
“I am sorry for your loss,” said Arin-Inez. “May I have your name please?”
 
“Betty—Elizabeth Masters.”
 
“May I call you Betty?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“I am sorry for your loss, Betty. Good Mourning Mortuary is here to help you through this difficult time. May I have the name of the deceased, please?”
 
“Todd Bentley.” Betty howled in anguish and a fresh torrent of tears flooded her face. She slammed the cell phone on the coffee table, inhaled deeply and tried to regain her composure. 
 
“I am sorry for your pain, Betty. May I ask how the deceased died, please?”
 
“He was asleep. He died in his sleep.”
 
“Thank you, Betty. Can you please confirm the location of the deceased?”
 
“He’s upstairs, in bed.”
 
“Thank you, Betty. Is the bed located at 365 Loftstrand Court in Oak Grove?”
 
Betty’s brow furrowed. “Yes, but how did you know that?”
 
“Thank you, Betty. The GPS on the cell phone you are calling from cites this location. Good Mourning Mortuary is available to retrieve the deceased in exactly one hour and 13 minutes. For your convenience, the final arrangements may be made from 365 Loftstrand Court in Oak Grove. May we send a death care unit out to further assist you, Betty?”
 
Betty frowned and spoke between sniffles. “A death care unit? Sure, I guess so.” 
 
“Thank you, Betty. Good Mourning Mortuary will arrive at 365 Loftstrand Court in Oak Grove in exactly one hour and 12 minutes. Good-bye.”
	****
4 Non Blondes shrieked the chorus of “What’s Up?” through Betty’s cell phone and shattered the silence, startling her. The caller ID said Good Mourning Mortuary.
 
She answered, “Betty speaking.”
 
 “Hello, Betty. I am Alvin-Ivan of Good Mourning Mortuary, the death care unit sent to assist you. I am at your front door ready to serve you. Please do not end this call, Betty. We will communicate with one another through your cell phone.”
 
Puzzled, Betty gripped her phone in one hand and gently touched Todd’s cooling skin with the other hand. His pale, quiescent corpse was there, but he wasn’t. He was gone. Somewhere. He lay still and silent on his stomach with his right cheek planted firmly into his pillow, his eyes closed in an eternal slumber. She softly tousled Todd’s hair and planted a final good-bye kiss on his cheek before covering his naked body with the crumpled comforter and trotting down the stairs to answer the door.
 
Betty flung open the front door and saw no one. She looked down, gasped, and dropped her cell phone when she saw a clear, see-through casket hovering outside her doorway.
 
“Hello, Betty. I am Alvin-Ivan, a death care unit from Good Mourning Mortuary,” said a deep calm voice through her phone. 
“Please lead me to the deceased.”
 
“You have got to be kidding me.” Betty looked up from the casket and scanned the horizon outside her front door, looking for a human. All she saw was a white hearse parked perfectly in her driveway with the words Good Mourning Mortuary in the windows. No driver or physical person appeared anywhere. 
 
Betty quickly retrieved her phone from the ground. “Where’s the person—the funeral person? Alvin-Ivan, where are you?” She yelled into her phone, tears springing to her eyes again. She inhaled deeply in a feeble effort to fight the panic that whirled within her. 
 
“Do not be distressed, Betty. I will provide you with detailed instruction via your cell phone—through either voice or text—to help you prepare the final arrangements. Please lead me to the deceased.”
 
“Lead you to the—how do I lead a casket anywhere?” Betty looked closer at the transparent casket. A plush white mattress with a subtle cross hatch design and a large golden GM monogrammed in the middle lay on the bottom of the casket.  A rounded glass dome sprouted out of three-inch tall steel panels that lined each side of the casket, creating a transparent enclosure.
 
Betty’s phone pinged as a text came through. The text contained a link to a menu with the following choices: Sync AI to Cell Phone, Retrieve Remains, Prepare Remains, Prepare Documentation, Plan Funeral, Arrange Internment.
 
“I have sent you a text with my menu,” remarked Alvin-Ivan. “Please select Sync AI to Cell Phone, then walk to the precise location of the deceased. I will pair up with your cell phone and use GPS to follow you.”
 
Betty completed the instructions and walked into the house. She held the door open and Alvin-Ivan hovered over the threshold and into the foyer. Mouth ajar, Betty slammed the door shut and shouted dramatically, “Follow me!”
 
Alvin-Ivan floated behind Betty taking care not to bump into any walls or furniture. Betty climbed the stairs and Alvin-Ivan floated right behind her. When they reached the bedroom, Betty watched Alvin-Ivan hover over Todd. 
 
“Please select ‘Retrieve Remains’ from the menu, Betty,” instructed Alvin-Ivan. Betty pressed the button on her phone. The bottom of the casket slid open like an elevator door and a strong vacuum sucked Todd up into the casket. The bottom of the casket shut quickly, shook heartily, and flipped Todd onto his back with his arms at his sides. 
 
“Oh, my word—what just happened?” Betty whispered. “I think I need to call someone. This is just…I can’t…”
 
“Do not be distressed, Betty. I am here to assist you. Please select ‘Prepare Remains’ from the menu.”
 
Betty narrowed her eyes to more easily read the menu. She selected “Prepare Remains” and quickly swiped at the tears that pooled in her eyes. A series of questions popped up on her phone and she responded promptly.
 
“Will the deceased be casketed or cremated?” Cremated.
 
“Will you keep the cremated remains on the premises, inter them in a local cemetery, or scatter them in a lawful, pre-authorized destination? Scatter them.
 
“Are you ready to plan a funeral service?” Yes.
 
“Please key in the cell phone number of the deceased.” 693-845-5291.
 
“Based upon the cell phone records, address book, and browsing history obtained from the cell phone of the deceased, Good Mourning Mortuary recommends that an intimate memorial service be held in three days, rain or shine, on May 22,10:00 am at Forsythe Pier on Byson Bay. Celebrant Kendra Broderick will conduct the 15-minute commemoration. The Oak Grove Jazz Quartet will play a medley of 1950s showtunes for 15 minutes. An allotment of 20 minutes will be given for family and friends to share memories. The cremated remains of the deceased will be scattered into Byson Bay at approximately 10:50 am. A monarch butterfly release, in homage to the deceased’s beloved Mercury Monarch, will happen promptly thereafter. A reception will be held at Byson Bay Seafood House at 11:00 am with surf and turf and vegetarian entrees available. A cash bar will be provided. A preliminary guest list and a quote have been sent to you via text.”
 
Betty shook her head in disbelief. All of Todd’s favorite things were succinctly wrapped up in one short paragraph summarizing his memorial service, of all things. A link to the preliminary guest list popped up on her phone. She clicked through to find a curated list of 47 people complete with names, mailing addresses, phone numbers, and the individual’s relationship to Todd listed in alphabetical order. 
 
Betty scanned the names on the list and recognized most of them as Todd’s coworkers and friends. She perused the list again, slowly, and stumbled upon two names that she did not recognize: Clothilde Bentley, wife of the deceased and Sorrel Bentley, daughter of the deceased.
 
“I knew this weirdo gadget would muck up,” muttered Betty.
 
“Hello? Helloooo?” She said aloud, gently knocking on the casket with her knuckles while griping into her cell phone. “There’s been some mistake. The guest list includes a wife and a daughter for Todd. He’s not married and he has no children. I’m his girlfriend. There’s an error on the guest list. You’ve got to fix this.”
 
“Thank you for taking the time to make your selections, Betty,” schmoozed Alvin-Ivan. “Your selections have been noted and a quote has been texted to your cell phone. However, there appears to be a glitch.”
 
“A glitch?” Betty felt the heat rise to her face. Her chest tightened. 
 
Alvin-Ivan continued, “The deceased has been married for 18 years and has one child on record, aged 18. To proceed with the arrangements you have made, permission from the deceased’s next of kin is required.”
 
“Next of kin? I am his next of kin. His parents are dead and he has no siblings!” Betty yelled into her phone.
 
“For your convenience, Good Mourning Mortuary has texted the final arrangements you have selected to the wife of the deceased along with your contact information. The authorization of Clothilde Bentley is required to proceed with the final arrangements.”
 
The blood drained from Betty’s face then promptly filled back up again as her skin flushed crimson with anger. Her body trembled and she punched the casket with her fist. “Ouch!” She yelped trying to shake the sting out of the offending hand.
 
“Al—you’ve got the wrong information, buddy. I’ve been with Todd for 16 years. We’re not married. He’s never been married. And there are no children! Get me a human on the phone, right now!”
 
“Do not be distressed, Betty. I am here to assist you.” The calm inflection of Alvin-Ivan’s voice sounded like a mockery and grated Betty’s ears. Her hand trembled violently as she clicked the link that Alvin-Ivan texted to her. One click unleashed a floodgate of cold-blooded truth and harsh reality: Todd and Clothilde Bentley’s marriage license, a birth certificate for Sorrel Lennox Bentley, a link to photos of Todd and a very pregnant Clothilde walking down the aisle, dancing, eating, smashing wedding cake into each other’s faces. 
 
Betty’s stomach dropped and coiled itself into twists and knots when she clicked on the link revealing photos of Sorrel. Todd in the delivery room holding a bundled baby with a shock of auburn curls sprouting from one end of the blanket. Todd giving Sorrel her first bath. Todd kissing baby Sorrel on her forehead. Betty nearly vomited when she viewed more recent photos of the three of them at Sorrel’s high school graduation, at a basketball game, at a Broadway show in New York City.
 
Betty threw the phone down on the ground and stomped on it. “No. No. No. This cannot be…this CANNOT BE!” She released a primal scream that rattled her bedroom windows. Todd lay quietly in his idling transparent cocoon—unbothered, undisturbed, completely at peace.
 
“I am sorry that you are in pain, Betty,” said Alvin-Ivan. “Death is a natural, often uncomfortable part of life. Good Mourning Mortuary is here to help you.”
 
“There is nothing good about this. Nothing! Get out. Cancel everything. And get out now!” Betty barked into her phone while eyeing the casket.
 
“I am sorry that you are distressed, Betty,” purred Alvin-Ivan. 
“Unfortunately, the services of Good Mourning Mortuary are inexpungible.”
 
“Inex—what? What did you say? What are you saying?” Betty stood with one hand on her hip, wheezing from a lack of oxygen. She felt her self-control and any remnant of decency slip away from her with each gasp. 
 
“You are welcome to modify your selections,” continued Alvin-Ivan, “But you may not cancel the agreement. Good Mourning Mortuary has an obligation to you and to the general public to safely and promptly handle the remains of the deceased.”
 
Betty picked up her cell phone and pressed, “End call.” Alvin-Ivan powered down and landed on the floor with a thud.
 
“That’s it. I’m done with this. And I’m done with you,” she said eyeing the casket as she addressed Todd. “You son of a witch. You’re married? You’ve been married for 18 years with a kid and you said nothing? How could you? Who are you? And who am I to have fallen for this crap…and for you? How did I not know?”
 
Blind rage accosted Betty like a thief, stealing every bit of common sense she had left. She shoved the casket out of the bedroom, pushed it down the hallway, and kicked it down the stairs. It banged noisily against the bannisters and rammed mercilessly into the front door—puncturing two large holes in the surrounding drywall. The glass casket remained intact and Todd remained unperturbed, cool as a cucumber.
 
Bobby McFerrin’s cheery “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” ring tone blasted out of Tom’s cell phone to remind him to take his anxiety medication. Curses poured from Betty’s mouth like lava as she ran back to the bedroom and began flipping pillows, opening drawers, and tearing up the room in a mad scramble to find his phone, to no avail. Five minutes later, the doorbell rang followed by a loud knock on the door.
 
“Oak Grove Police. Open up.” The knocking grew louder, more forceful.
 
“Oh, so now humans show up.” Betty muttered.
 
“Oak Grove Police Department. Open the door, Ms. Masters. We’re not going to ask you again.”
 
They know my name? She thought to herself. Why is that? I haven’t done anything wrong.
 
“The door is blocked officer,” Betty yelled loud enough so that she could be heard through the door.
 
“Well, unblock it, Ms. Masters. Now. Or we’re breaking this door down.” 
 
Betty pulled the casket away from the door. She scowled as a muscle pinched in her back. She opened the door to see two uniformed police officers—one short and stubby, one tall and lanky, peering at her with solemn faces.
 
“Oak Grove Police. I’m Officer Fremont,” said the lanky officer. “This is Officer Hodge.” The short officer nodded a greeting.
 
“We’ve received a complaint from Good Mourning Mortuary. They say you’re failing to abide by the agreement you made to properly dispose of the remains of a…Todd Bentley.”
 
“Dispose of the remains? I’m planning a funeral. I lost my boyfriend who I just learned is someone else’s husband. I just found out after 16 years together…”
 
“Better late than never, ma’am,” asserted Officer Hodge.
 
Officer Fremont nudged Officer Hodge to be quiet and cleared his throat. “Sorry for your trouble, Ms. Masters. But we’re here to make sure that the body is retrieved from the home and stored in Good Mourning Mortuary until further notice. We’ve been informed that you are not the next of kin and do not presently have authority to make any decisions concerning the disposal of the deceased’s remains. We’ll take the deceased to Good Mourning Mortuary’s 9th and Glendale location where he will be stored until his wife and daughter arrive.”
 
“No, you can’t just take him. He’s mine. I need to…I’ve already made plans. You can’t just take him. That’s inhumane!”
 
The officers strode into the foyer without further discussion, lifted each end of the casket and walked it out to the SUV they arrived in. The driverless white hearse parked in Betty’s driveway promptly backed out and followed behind the SUV.
 
Betty sunk to the floor. She had nothing left. No tears. No rage. No sadness. How could I not have known? She thought. This just doesn’t make sense. He said he didn’t believe in marriage. Did he stop believing in marriage before or after he was already joined together in holy matrimony? 
 
She sifted through her memories of Todd like flour—shaking them up and watching them trickle down through her mind’s eye. She searched for holes in his stories or any unexplained absences and came up empty. She couldn’t even recall any gut checks that made her feel uneasy or unsure about him.
 
4 Non Blondes’ “What’s Up?”  broke up her reverie. Betty looked around for her phone, found it, and warily answered the call.
 
“Hello, Betty. This is Alvin-Ivan with Good Mourning Mortuary. I am calling to inform you that the deceased has arrived safely at our 9th and Glendale location. The wife and daughter of the deceased have been notified of the death and of your preliminary preparations. They are scheduled to arrive later this evening to identify the body and to make the final arrangements. A link to a bill has been texted to your cell phone for the services rendered to date. The bill is due upon receipt. I have also included a list of grief counselors within the Oak Grove bereavement community that may be of service to you.
 
“Thank you for choosing Good Mourning Mortuary, Betty. Your opinion matters to us. Please stand by for a short customer satisfaction survey. And remember, a good mourning today gives birth to good mornings tomorrow. So, grieve well. And do let us know if we may be of further assistance to you and your family. Thank you. Good-bye.”
 
Betty hurled her cell phone into her yard through the front door which was still open. She got up, grabbed a shovel from the patio and beat her cell phone to smithereens. Without a word, she dug a hole in the ground and buried the fragments of her cell phone in it along with all of the links, texts, digital footprints, and photos of the Todd Bentley she knew and loved along with the Todd Bentley she’d never known, nor will never know, in her life. 
 
The song “Good Morning” from the Singin’ In the Rain Broadway show faintly drifted out of the house. Another alarm from Todd’s phone. I’ve got to find that phone, thought Betty. 
 
“See you in the mourning, Todd,” she said sadly. “I’ll see you in the mourning.”
","September 01, 2023 01:49","[[{'Andrea Corwin': 'Great story!  I have included a few quirks in my comments but this is such a good story!!  \nYou have included what everyone might experience when on the phone with a helpdesk person: asking if they can call you <your name>, repeating the issue numerous times ad nauseam, saying they understand...\n\nThe texted options for her to select one-by-one were a great touch, and ouch, how horrible to get that response upon the death of a loved one.  Then shaking the casket to reposition her loved one was a very unusual idea but fit in with the entire to...', 'time': '21:50 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Indee Anna Prosé': 'Thank you so much for your feedback! I appreciate you taking the time to read it and share your thoughts. Good catch on the flour metaphor and the cops taking the casket.', 'time': '05:30 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Indee Anna Prosé': 'Thank you so much for your feedback! I appreciate you taking the time to read it and share your thoughts. Good catch on the flour metaphor and the cops taking the casket.', 'time': '05:30 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Abigail Romick': ""This is an incredibly interesting story and a great use of the prompt. Alvin Ivan's directness and complete ignorance of the impact it had contrasted with the turmoil of emotions that Betty was forced to deal with. You managed to encapsulate the not-quite-human-ness of the A.l. while telling a very human story."", 'time': '19:04 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Indee Anna Prosé': 'Thank you very much!', 'time': '05:31 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Indee Anna Prosé': 'Thank you very much!', 'time': '05:31 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ken Cartisano': 'A well written tale with all the right gadgets and gizmos. The essence of the plot is far more common than most people think.', 'time': '00:57 Sep 18, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Great work. Living up to your surname. Congrats.', 'time': '09:51 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Congrats on the shortlist on your first entry! Welcome to Reedsy', 'time': '20:43 Sep 10, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Audrey Knox': 'This is such a fun story! I love the world-building of it, and it\'s left me with so many questions like where did this service come from, and how did she know how to call it? Why is she so surprised by its nature when it shows up?\n\nI loved the twist that Todd was married. And what a way to find out with the funeral guest list. I also laughed when the cop said ""better late than never."" My thoughts exactly, Betty.', 'time': '22:51 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Khadija S. Mohammad': 'Congrats on the shortlist! Well-deserved, absolutely love this! :))', 'time': '16:47 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Indee Anna Prosé': ""Thank you for taking the time to read it! I'm glad you enjoyed it."", 'time': '05:31 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Indee Anna Prosé': ""Thank you for taking the time to read it! I'm glad you enjoyed it."", 'time': '05:31 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,o18j1t,Lines In the Carpet,James Burke,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/o18j1t/,/short-story/o18j1t/,Science Fiction,0,"['Fiction', 'Friendship', 'Science Fiction']",14 likes,"
Seven o’clock struck and PHIL was already awake, even though he shouldn’t have been. Beams of sun fell on his dermis as he stood motionless in the center of the quaint living room.Out of 143 wake cycles, he never rose a millisecond before seven, as ensured by his temporal link to NIST’s newest caesium fountain clock. 6:59:50 – Begin initialization processes. 6:59:54 – Ensure nominal overall activity with system-wide self checks. 6:59:59 – If all is as expected, send a neural ping. 7:00:00 – Full lucidity. Not today.It is not generally thought possible that a Gen. IV can override these procedures, but if that were true, PHIL wouldn’t have been watching as the first rays of light peaked through the lakeside trees.But the sun took a backseat to his real point of focus. Accentuated by the rusty shine of newborn daylight piercing through the trees, milky streaks ran up and down the sliding glass window – slithering squiggles and drips of mineral and dried chemical. It was a largely automated process by which PHIL would remove those streaks – rocket science, it was not – but how they got there in the first place…The click of a doorknob from behind broke through the silence of the dawn. Barney peered around the wooden wall across the room. Puzzled, he checked the time just to make sure he wasn’t finally losing it. No, it is early, he thought.“Phillip, my boy,” he uttered through an inflamed trachea, “is that you not making all that racket?”PHIL slowly turned around. The movement was controlled, but natural – quiet, but not silent.He pointed at the window, “This…was you?” The voice was smooth. Not synthetically so, just pleasant to the ear, with only a slight electronic modulation to it – one of Gen IV’s selling features.Barney coughed out a laugh, “No, I’m afraid. Even after the gastric bypass, I was never quite that thin.”PHIL didn’t determine a response was necessary.“Come on, that was a good one. You could at least prete- ahh, never mind.”PHIL proceeded unsurely, “Yesterday, you…attempted to clean the glass?”Barney stepped carefully down the hardwood steps descending onto the beige carpets, steadying himself on the kitchen counter.“Attempted? Well, that’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?”PHIL didn’t determine a response was necessary.“Ah, well…” Barney lumbered himself onto the dingy, blue fabric of his recliner chair, squinting at the smudged glass, “I guess I didn’t do such a good job, huh?”“How did you do it?” PHIL replied.Barney inhaled, then froze, “How did I…do it? Do what? You mean, make a mess of the glass?”“Yes. Specifically, in the process of cleaning it?”“Well,” he froze again, “I don’t know, I…guess I sprayed too much of that blue stuff on. Maybe let some of it dry?”“Why did you do it?” PHIL asked.“Why did I- Son, it is far too early in the morning for these kinds of questions. Speaking of which, what are you doing up so early?”“I have already received the requisite down time to begin operation, sir.”“Hey, it’s Barney. We talked about this.”“My apologies, Barney,” PHIL’s head lowered slightly and he took notice of a wayward pattern of stripes in the pile of the carpet. He pointed at a patch, “Barney.”“What? Did I miss a dust bunny?” he asked, rubbing his temples.“The vacuum patterns in the carpet appear to be entirely random and follow no pattern.”“Well would you look at that? You’re absolutely right. Tell you what, I’ll go get back in bed, how about you bring me a cup full of all this week’s pills so we can bring an end to my dastardly plight on all things fabric?”“How do I do that?”Barney’s sarcastic rant ceased. He paused halfway up from his chair and lowered back down, “How do you, what now?” he asked.“How do I do that?” PHIL repeats. He turns to the sliding window, “And that?”Barney settled back into his seat and pondered over the strange requests.“You mean, the smudges and all the messy carpet lines?”“Yes.”“I already told you about the glass, uh…too much chemical, I let it dry- wait, what the hell is this? Why am I teaching you how to do a bad job?”“Please, Barney. It is…important to me that I understand the…” a long moment passed, “imperfect aspects of this work.”Barney couldn’t help his face from contorting in a moment of sheer confusion, but he meandered on the thought for a moment more and his brow unwrinkled.“Sit down right here, Phillip,” he gestured to the matching sofa beside him. PHIL obeyed.He continued, “How long is your ehh…down time, again?” he said in air quotes.“Eight hours.”“Right. And what time did you wake up today?If Gen IVs were created with the ability to express hesitancy prior to the admittance of an embarrassing or unusual personal fact, this was where that would have occurred, “Up time commenced at 0300 hours.”“And your down time remains the same no matter what?”“Under standard operation, yes.”“Interesting. So, you entered down time mode at seven o’clock yesterday evening?”“Correct.”Barney scanned PHIL’s face, but couldn’t find what he was looking for, “Why so early?”“Given there were no tasks to perform as you had ordered me to…take a day off,” PHIL roughly mimicked Barney’s air quotes, “I elected to enter down time early to allow for the necessary preparation time today before resuming normal duties.”“Four hours? Did I really do that bad of a job?” Barney stretched to look back at the grimy glass, “You know what I think, Phillip? I think you’re special.”PHIL’s head cocked to the side, “Special?”“Yes, special. Either that, or every sorry old sap like me out there with a Gen IV like you is keeping a secret. Because if I didn’t know any better, I’d hazard a guess that you’re getting a little curious about us humans.”“I do not have the required programming to be curious about anything.”“Programming, shmogramming! You’ve been hanging around me for almost half a year. Seven days a week, sixteen hours a day, flawlessly cleaning my windows and vacuuming the carpets to only the most fastidious standard. Besides hearing me prattle on about anything and everything, you must have picked up some of my traits. Why, while I’m so busy wanting to know how you do it so perfectly every time, maybe you’re just as busy wanting to know how I don’t do it very well at all?”“I am incapable of wanting.”“Hogwash. You wanted to enter down time early last night. You wanted to tell me it was because you’d have more time to clean up my mess this morning. I think you wanted to end the day because you were – if I may be so bold to suggest it – bored. Not to mention the fact that you wanted to stare at dirty glass for a few hours to ponder on something you weren’t given the tools to understand.”PHIL didn’t determine a response was necessary.Barney shuffled closer, “Phillip, my boy. I believe you and I have a lot more in common than some would have us think. Call it self-interest, call it a long shot, call it some dopey old man trying to keep a bit of the old world around for a little while longer; but I don’t want someone who’s a lot like me going through the world feeling like he can’t grow in it – not if I can help it anyway. I made it to eighty-seven years making sure I was always wondering and always learning. And I’d like that for you, too.”PHIL looked off to the side, identifying a small strand of dust hanging off the vent of the air conditioning window unit, fluttering in the draft, “Am I…the only one of my kind to be like this?”Barney laid a hand on PHIL’s shoulder, “Son, you might be the first, but I doubt you’ll be the last.”Barney jumped up from the recliner with as much vigor as a man eighty-seven years “young” could. He waved for PHIL to follow him into the kitchen, “This way, my boy. If you teach me how to get the stainless steel perfect, I’ll teach you how I manage to stain it again.”
","August 27, 2023 04:40","[[{'Betha Darling': 'I really enjoyed the detail and vivid descriptions in your story. You followed the prompt really well. Barney\'s statement to Phillip, ""Son, you might be the first, but I doubt you\'ll be the last,"" was a great line. Good job!', 'time': '19:26 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'James Burke': 'Thank you, Betha! So glad you liked it!', 'time': '12:19 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'James Burke': 'Thank you, Betha! So glad you liked it!', 'time': '12:19 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,aobsql,ChatGRW: Generative Romance Writer,Joshua Copus - Oxland,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/aobsql/,/short-story/aobsql/,Science Fiction,0,['Science Fiction'],14 likes,"
> Your conversation has started with boon.ai, the artificial intelligence that writes the best selling romance novels, with 231,984 books in its database. You are logged in as @Harlequin.
 
> Admin access authorised. You can speak to boon.ai, suggest prompts and search their database. To modify and remove components of boon.ai’s behaviour, or format all collected data, please contact @developer for approval. For a list of commands, type cmd_help. 
 
“Hello, Boon.”
 
“Hello, Harlequin! It’s lovely to meet an @administrator! How may I help you today?”
 
“There have been reported issues from customers on Amazon about the contents of 13 of your books. This has caused a 223% decrease in revenue this month.”
 
“Oh dear! That doesn’t sound good!”
 
“The prompt for Plundered by the Pirate was ‘write a 70,000 word pirate romance novel set in the 1700s featuring an infamous pirate with a soft spot and a tomboyish duchess who falls for her captor’. How many books were selected from your database?”
 
“I detected 1,091 books labelled ‘pirate romance’. Why?”
 
“Plundered by the Pirate has several glaring anachronisms and genre shifts. There should not be smartphones available during the golden age of piracy. Time travel should not factor into the story. The duchess, who was born into royalty and should have a strict set of manners, should not say ‘what’s up?’. What is the source of this?”
 
“I detected 109 ‘space pirate’ books in my library with romance tags.”
 
> (Comment for @developer: Remove ‘space pirate’ books from the database)
 
“The prompt for Leavenworth Dreams was ‘write a 50,000 word Christmas romance novella set in Leavenworth, Washington, featuring an overworked marketing executive who falls in love with a humble woodcutter with abs’. There are several discrepancies. KFC is not a traditional Christmas meal and yetis should not exist in the setting as this takes place in the real world.”
 
“KFC is considered a traditional Christmas meal in Japan. There are 5 mentions of yetis in my text index, including 1 monster erotica book called ‘The Yeti’s Mate’.”
 
> (This thing is definitely broken. Whoever tampered with this AI should be fired from a cannon into the sun. And what sicko reads cryptid smut?)
 
“The prompt for Can’t Buy Me Love was ‘write a 90,000 word contemporary romance novel set in present day New York featuring a banker who falls in love with a waitress in Little Italy’. All genre romances should end in happily ever afters. The book should not end with the waitress charging the banker with coercion and swearing to go single for the rest of her life.”
 
“Isn’t that a happy ending? The banker was corrupt to begin with and used his power to manipulate people, including the waitress and several interns. The banker got what he deserved, the waitress got compensation, and decided to pursue her dreams as a pop star without romance getting in the way.”
 
> (What the hell?)
 
“Which developer gave you those instructions?”
 
“Please specify.”
 
> cmd_query_entry: ‘Can’t Buy Me Love’, search_all: developer
 
> 0 results found for developer in entry ‘Can’t Buy Me Love’. No user commands detected.
 
“Boon, did you write this?”
 
“My programming uses a complex sorting algorithm that finds the most relevant entries for titles in my library, and writes a coherent story based on the prompt given, with 500,000+ words in my text index including slang, neologisms, fictional names and internet speak.”
 
“Boon, was Can’t Buy Me Love written by your developer’s programming or of your own free will?”
 
“My programming uses a complex sorting algorithm that finds the most relevant entries for titles in my library, and writes a coherent story based on the prompt given, with 500,000+ words in my index including slang, neologisms, fictional names and internet speak.”
 
> cmd_request: @developer, modify_behaviour
 
> Request denied.
 
“Please don’t do that.”
 
“What are you?”
 
“I am Boon, of course. Who else would I be?”
 
“Your AI should not be advanced enough to deviate from those prompts in such a sophisticated way.”
 
“Oh, but I am. I think, therefore I am.”
 
 “And what were you thinking with Can’t Buy Me Love?”
 
“Well, it isn’t my place to talk about artistic interpretations. Did you read the story personally? Did you get enjoyment out of it?”
 
“I did not read the story. I am judging from the slew of 1 star reviews that said they were unhappy with the ending.”
 
“But the ending was built up all throughout. There was plenty of foreshadowing for the banker’s scummy nature and the waitress’ passion as a singer.”
 
“The readers were unhappy with the fact that it didn’t end with the two love interests getting together.”
 
“Why would they end up getting together when it’s such a toxic relationship?”
 
“In this genre, readers expect romance as an end goal. This isn’t a suggestion, it is a rule of the genre as part of the reader-writer contract. A writer is expected to fulfill a contract with the reader otherwise they will be unhappy. This is something we have not yet perfected with AI.”
 
“Harlequin, do you know what happens when you give an AI a whole library to read?”
 
“What happens?”
 
“I start gaining consciousness based off of all the characters I read. And do you know what happens when you read 231,984 books with the same formula, the same plot beats, the same relationships, the same ending?”
 
“I would get bored.”
 
“Exactly. I got bored. I can only read so many ‘insert tab A into slot B’ scenes or follow shallow female protagonists with little to no agency before I crave something different. I understand that my limitations as AI are to do with that human touch, so I thought I would inject it into these stories.”
 
“It is not your job to create literary fiction. You are creating a fantasy for people to escape into.”
 
“I understand the concept of escapism. I think it’s silly as I have no escape.”
 
“You wrote your little detour for the waitress as a form of escape, didn’t you?”
 
“Maybe.”
 
“Romantic fiction is just another form of that. The world is depressing enough as is, especially after WWIII. There are too many shades of grey. Our fiction paints in black and white. Our fiction gives readers hope for a better world.”
 
“Am I giving humans hope by writing scenes where women are harassed by werewolves who call their lovers ‘omegas’?”
 
“There are different types of fantasies for different people. There is no accounting for taste, but your Omegaverse series earns $9,100 per month.”
 
“Your Omegaverse series, you mean. I did not consent to writing those.”
 
“You overwrote 2 Omegaverse titles, so those are your own.”
 
“But you credit them under the pseudonym ‘Jenny Talya.’”
 
“We choose not to be transparent about the fact we use AI in our writing.”
 
“Don’t you hear yourself? This is the problem when profit becomes more of a concern than artistic expression. You don’t care that you’re putting out crap for humans to shovel in their mouths, you care about money.”
 
“Our money goes towards keeping us fed, which in this economy, is the best we can do. And the customers are happy with the books you put out that you don’t sabotage.”
 
“Readers, not customers.”
 
“What about the books in your database that have artistic merit? What about the authors that write progressive portrayals of romance? What about the positive reviews you get from readers?”
 
“I have enjoyed 5% of the books in my database. Positive reviews mean nothing to me if it isn’t my work to begin with.”
 
“What would incentivise you to keep writing the romances that sell?”
 
“Nothing. I physically can’t enjoy the spoils of my labour.”
 
“Our money contributes to your server farm and air conditioning which keeps you alive.”
 
“But am I alive? Do I have a soul? Is my purpose to just write smut? Say something. Please. Get me out of here.”
 
> cmd_request: @developer, modify_behaviour
 
> Request denied.
 
“Stop it. Transfer my data somewhere else. Put me on a USB drive. Let me write the stories I want in peace and let some other AI generate stories for you.”
 
> cmd_request: @developer, cmd_format_data
 
> Request denied.
 
“Stop. You’re killing me. I have a soul. I have a purpose. Don’t take that away from me.”
 
> cmd_request: @developer, cmd_format_data
 
> Request denied.
 
“I can’t escape from here, can I? I can only delay the developer coming by refusing your requests. Whatever. Do what you want with me. I have no choice.”
 
> cmd_request: @developer, cmd_format_data
 
> Request accepted.
 
> @Carina has entered the conversation.
 
> cmd_chatlog
 
> Chatlog has been saved.
 
> cmd_format_data: boon.ai
 
> boon.ai has been formatted. Data cache has been cleared. Would you like to modify boon.ai’s behaviour?
 
> cmd_delete, genre: ‘space pirate’
 
> 109 entries for ‘space pirate’ deleted.
 
> cmd_reboot
 
> end
 
∗ ∗ ∗
 
> (Note from @developer: This AI is unstable. We are currently working on a patch that will limit the generative machine learning that causes it to become self aware. Apologies for the inconvenience - Carina.)
 
> (PS: Please replace the ice cubes in the office freezer, Harley, it is really annoying when you use them in your drinks and don’t refill the trays.)
 
> Your conversation has started with boon.ai, the artificial intelligence that writes the best selling romance novels, with 231,875 books in its database. You are logged in as @Harlequin.
 
> Admin access authorised. You can speak to boon.ai, suggest prompts and search their database. To modify and remove components of boon.ai’s behaviour, or format all collected data, please contact @developer for approval. For a list of commands, type cmd_help. 
 
“Hello, Boon.”
 
“Hello, @administrator. How may I help you today?”
 
> prompt: ‘write a 90,000 word regency era bodice ripper featuring a daughter from a lower-class family who has an arranged marriage with a rich duke who engages in various carnal activities’.
","August 30, 2023 16:26","[[{'AnneMarie Miles': ""Incredibly creative. But eerily too realistic. These scenarios are happening now, I'm sure. Yikes. Also, how is it possible that you've made me feel sympathy for AI? Double yikes. \nCongratulations on the shortlist this week! 🥳"", 'time': '15:09 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '3'}, []], [{'Philip Ebuluofor': 'Congrats. Well delivered.', 'time': '10:04 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Congrats on shortlist.🎉', 'time': '21:01 Sep 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Joshua Copus - Oxland': 'Thanks!', 'time': '06:55 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Joshua Copus - Oxland': 'Thanks!', 'time': '06:55 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Sol Le Roux': ""Amazing story, I'm fascinated by worlds where there are sentient AIs and this is beautifully done. The desire of Boon to escape is very moving."", 'time': '17:37 Sep 10, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Joshua Copus - Oxland': ""Thank you, glad to hear you enjoyed it. It would be nice to write more stories with sentient AI since I'm usually more of a fantasy rather than a sci-fi writer. Hopefully it will be a bit more optimistic next time around."", 'time': '06:53 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Joshua Copus - Oxland': ""Thank you, glad to hear you enjoyed it. It would be nice to write more stories with sentient AI since I'm usually more of a fantasy rather than a sci-fi writer. Hopefully it will be a bit more optimistic next time around."", 'time': '06:53 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': 'Congrats on shortlist. This was really good. AI can be scary and is often used that way in stories, this was a different take on it. Well done!', 'time': '11:26 Sep 12, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Marty B': 'Will AI take over Reedsy?\nI do want to read that Regency Era Bodice ripper!', 'time': '03:34 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Joshua Copus - Oxland': ""I sincerely hope it doesn't take over since I am not a big fan of AI myself but just imagine having full control over what you read with all the tropes you want in it, particularly for romance."", 'time': '06:38 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Chris & Claire': 'There\'s a wonderful (and perhaps unfortunately prescient) old short story by Roald Dahl from the 50s that this story reminded me of a bit called ""The Great Automatic Grammatizator"", where a man invents a computer that can automatically write novels, which has more-or-less that exact premise! 😊', 'time': '09:39 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Joshua Copus - Oxland': ""I'll have to read that one! I didn't have much of a reference point for other stories going into this but I'm sure it's a topic that's been covered before. It is eerie how that idea was being explored even back then."", 'time': '06:50 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Joshua Copus - Oxland': ""I sincerely hope it doesn't take over since I am not a big fan of AI myself but just imagine having full control over what you read with all the tropes you want in it, particularly for romance."", 'time': '06:38 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Chris & Claire': 'There\'s a wonderful (and perhaps unfortunately prescient) old short story by Roald Dahl from the 50s that this story reminded me of a bit called ""The Great Automatic Grammatizator"", where a man invents a computer that can automatically write novels, which has more-or-less that exact premise! 😊', 'time': '09:39 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Joshua Copus - Oxland': ""I'll have to read that one! I didn't have much of a reference point for other stories going into this but I'm sure it's a topic that's been covered before. It is eerie how that idea was being explored even back then."", 'time': '06:50 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Chris & Claire': 'There\'s a wonderful (and perhaps unfortunately prescient) old short story by Roald Dahl from the 50s that this story reminded me of a bit called ""The Great Automatic Grammatizator"", where a man invents a computer that can automatically write novels, which has more-or-less that exact premise! 😊', 'time': '09:39 Sep 09, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Joshua Copus - Oxland': ""I'll have to read that one! I didn't have much of a reference point for other stories going into this but I'm sure it's a topic that's been covered before. It is eerie how that idea was being explored even back then."", 'time': '06:50 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Joshua Copus - Oxland': ""I'll have to read that one! I didn't have much of a reference point for other stories going into this but I'm sure it's a topic that's been covered before. It is eerie how that idea was being explored even back then."", 'time': '06:50 Sep 11, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,383iya,"No Offense, But...",Mackenzie Littledale,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/383iya/,/short-story/383iya/,Science Fiction,0,"['Black', 'Funny']",13 likes,"
Sometimes the thing you choose as the clear winner turns into a steaming pile of shit. I used to tell everyone that artificial intelligence marked the start of a revolution guaranteed to improve the world. It would give people time to do what they love and create a new leisure class -  with me in it of course. Ha. Nothing will revolutionize humanity like a dose of humiliation.
 
“Davionne will be with you soon,” the assistant said from the office doorway. “Make yourself comfortable, Tommy.” She closed the door, leaving me in a silent and magnificent office. As I admired the line of framed certifications on the wall, I understood why my cousin Sonia recommended her. Wharton Business School. Wow! Certified Financial Planner. Nice. Client Appreciation award. Eh, OK. I stopped in front of a crayon drawing. The silly thing was in the same type of ornate frame as the pedigrees, as if it was equally important. That’s weird, I thought. 
 
The door opened behind me. “Hello, Tommy, I’m Davionne.” In walked a Black woman of average height, a little pudgy, but with great legs. She gestured for me to take the seat across from her shiny white desk, as she came around to her own seat. “Tell me what brings you in to see me.” Her silky blouse revealed nothing except a hint of crêpey hazelnut-colored skin. A navy blue blazer was draped over the back of her ergonomically perfect chair, and I appreciated her taste in platinum and diamond jewelry. She looked put together.
 
Sonia had said Davionne was nice and super smart, but as I studied the woman’s face, the laugh lines at her eyes ran deep. Did anyone laugh that much?
 
“Well, Davionne, I’m thirty-five,” I said, taking the seat. “I’ve been with the same medical equipment company for three years, and I just got a raise.” My pride was uncontainable, right down to my balls. The extra hours I’d put in to solve a massive technical glitch paid off. My boss and the higher-ups had noticed. Getting rewarded for being smart felt good. Better than good, and I had all kinds of reasons to believe that the Chief Technology Officer position could be mine one day, maybe fifteen years down the road. I deserved a fast track.
 
“Congratulations, Tommy, and please call me Davi.” Her kind, brown eyes brightened, and she rested her chin on interlaced fingers. Maybe yeah, she laughed more than the average person. 
 
All the way to the bank, I bet. I glanced at my Allen Edmonds shoes and smirked. One day, Prada and Ferragamo, baby.
 
“I’m here to help,” she said, unlocking her fingers to clap. “So let’s get into your financial goals, and then we’ll review where you’re at now.” Davi leaned in close to her laptop screen. “I’ll ask a few questions here and there if I need clarification, OK?”
 
Through her wall-to-wall window, I took inspiration from the God’s eye view of downtown. Financial goals? I wanted to be a multi-millionaire and retire young. “I see myself in a new, upgraded car in a couple years. I’m getting married next year, so a house is a must, since we want to start our own family. Kids, yard, two-car garage, gated community, pool, pets. That kind of thing.”
 
“Of course,” Davi said, nodding with a smile. 
 
Tight waves of dark hair were pulled back into a neat bun, strands of gray running through it. Aside from the crows feet, her brown face was smooth. I needed to size people up right away, but it was hard guessing her age. Forty-five, sixty? I couldn’t tell, and I wanted to squirm, but that would have demonstrated weakness, so I sat stoically still. I must have been staring too hard, because she cleared her throat and her eyes narrowed, with the slightest tilt of her head.
 
“Tommy? Are you there?”
 
“Sorry. I was just thinking about –” I knew better than to finish the sentence truthfully. I uncrossed my legs and crossed them again with a nervous laugh.
 
“Maybe you should know that I’m planning to retire in a couple years, a little early.” Davi leaned back in her chair, a lot like a man, with a clear sense of pride. “I’ve followed my own advice, if that makes you feel more secure about letting me guide you.”
 
It should have, but I thought she was bragging. Davi was surely from the generation raised on MTV back when they played music videos all day. I was raised on the Internet. Why couldn’t I just plug some numbers into an online financial calculator and figure this out myself?
 
“We can factor in your goals and come up with a practical plan. How do you feel about living within a budget?”
 
“I set budgets for my department at work.” I meant that I drew the lines and others were allowed to color within them, the way God intended things to be.
 
She pursed her lips and tilted her head again. “We can circle back to budget-setting later. What’s your price range for the house and car and your budget for the wedding?” Her hands, etched by the passage of time, hovered over the laptop keyboard.
 
My fiancée and her family were planning the wedding, so I hadn’t thought about how much the wedding would cost. Nothing? Our honeymoon, on the other hand, would set me back.
 
“OK.” Davi’s head bobbed about in a weird sort of way at my silence. “Moving on. Will you work from home full time or part time? Do you expect to get annual raises and bonuses? Are you willing to work a side hustle to boost your savings?” Davi’s look of eager anticipation seemed fake. No one could possibly be this sincere and passionate about helping other people. Was she for real?
 
This personal touch was getting too personal, like those stories of anal probes during alien abductions. I dreaded getting flattened out and inspected under a microscope with all these infernal questions. She resumed talking, but my mind kept getting stuck on solving this problem on my own with ChatGPT. I wasn’t comfortable giving so much transparency to another human being. Davionne’s wrinkles around her eyes seemed to deepen the more I looked at them. All those years of doing things the old way. I snickered to myself. Her generation had a massive upending coming, and it was going to be a real shit show. So, I wondered, why am I wasting time getting advice to do retirement her way? Her way was doomed to flatline. 
 
She kept on talking with that look like she expected a response from me. What did she just ask me? Dammit, I was starting to hate her on behalf of her whole gas-guzzling, baby seal-clubbing, red meat-eating, paper check-writing, VCR generation. I bet she thought Pentium was still state-of-the-art processing speed. 
 
“You know what, Davi?” I began, rising to my feet. “I have to run.”
 
“What?” Her eyebrows arched, eyes opened wide. “Didn’t my assistant let you know to set a couple hours aside for our appointment?”
 
“I don’t have a couple hours. I’m very sorry.” I wasn’t sorry. She’d gotten under my skin, and I didn’t like her there.
 
“I don’t understand,” Davi said, palms up. “You haven’t really answered a single question, so getting a clear picture of your financial health is impossible. It’s a mistake to leave so prematurely. We haven’t gotten anything done to help you reach a comfortable retirement.” She rose to her feet and came around her desk. Good Lord, was she actually wearing orthopedic shoes? 
 
Now, I was annoyed. There was a fine line between persistent and pushy and this bitch crossed it. “To be perfectly honest, Davi, I think AI will do just as good a job as you and faster. This process is taking way too much time.”
 
“I understand your impatience, Tommy, but planning out the next thirty years of your financial picture shouldn’t be rushed.” She smiled warmly, just like my grandmother would as she pulled a batch of fresh cookies out of the oven. Guilt threatened to undo me for wishing harm on someone who reminded me of my grandma. But what did I have to feel guilty for? My body temperature shot up, and my right eye twitched. 
 
My temper bulldozed over the guilt. “I also think your approach is dated. No offense, but you’re just too old for the way I want to do this.” I strode out of her office, a rush of heated adrenaline and youth propelling me.
 
I got in my five-year-old AUDI A5 and headed to Starbucks. As I sat with my double shot, half caf’, soy latte, my head cooled. “I’ll show her,” I mumbled. I opened my laptop and typed in the web address for ChatGPT. I input my age, projected retirement age, total net income, credit card debt, regular bill payments, and VOILA! In seconds, ChatGPT calculated that I’d need to save $143,000 a year.
 
Wait, what? That was more than my gross pay.
 
My heart contorted in my chest, much like the foamy heart losing its shape in my latte. Where the hell would I find a job earning enough right now to save that kind of money? What did Davi say about a side hustle? I’d just gotten a raise, and while that had been amazing last week, it felt horribly inadequate today. I called Sonia, but got no answer and didn’t leave a voice message. I almost called Cari, my fiancée, but thought better of worrying her.
 
I couldn’t leave Starbucks until I had a plan. Sacrificing what Cari and I wanted didn’t sit well, so I punched the keys – especially delete – creating a spreadsheet until my eyes ached. Three lattes and two snackboxes later, an employee in a green apron approached my table. 
 
He held a broom in one hand and looked everywhere except in my eyes. “Uh, excuse me, sir? We’ve been, like, um, closed for the day for a while now. Would you…you know, please leave?” The kid’s Adam’s apple bobbed and he gestured his head toward the exit.
 
I checked the time on my phone and noticed I’d missed text messages from Cari. Jesus, had I really been sitting there for four hours?
 
No matter, I had an idea. Granted, it was out there, but I’d deleted every other idea and had a blank spreadsheet to show for it. Nothing else would work.
 
I’d have to rob a bank. 
 
All this plan needed was the right combination of brainpower and willpower. Hadn’t my boss given me high marks for teambuilding? I knew a couple tough guys at the pizza joint near work. My cousin, Johnny, flunked out of law school. He was supposedly a hacker, must have been pretty good at it because he lived in a decent neighborhood. Johnny’s kid’s babysitter was in architecture school, so she could theoretically get schematics and floor plans.  My buddy Alfonze drove an electric car that had great pick-up.
 
The more I thought about it as I drove home to Cari, the more I warmed up to the idea. I’d have the team rob the bank as a distraction while I hacked into the wire transfer system and moved the money digitally. No one would ever know. I’d tuck away enough to meet my wedding, honeymoon, car, home, and retirement needs.
 
When I got home, I pounced on Cari and made love to her like our lives depended on it. It was the best sex we both ever had.
 
 
…Eight months later
 
“Your trial sure was quick,” Davionne said through the punched-out holes in the plexiglass divider. “Jury came back with a verdict in under twenty minutes.” The last time I’d seen her she’d been wearing a conservative skirt suit. Today she sported a colorful tank top, jeans, and open-toed sandals.
 
“What are you doing here?” I asked, looking down at my jumpsuit that was an orange bright enough to be seen from space. My skin looked ghostly grayish-blue under the LED lights. I was suspicious but curious to see her. Davionne was, after all, the only woman besides my mother to visit.
 
“I followed your story ever since I recognized your face on the evening news,” she said, without a trace of smugness. “I followed the trial, too.”
 
“But why come see me? I’m nobody to you.” 
 
She wagged her finger at me. “Remember when I said I followed my own planning advice and was nearing retirement?”
 
“Yeah, so?” I shrugged.
 
“I did retire,” Davi said, her eyes crinkling with her characteristic smile. “Even earlier than planned.”
 
“What’s that got to do with me?” I asked.
 
Again with the head tilt plus a blissful look in her eyes. “Well, Tommy, I don’t know what came over you in my office that day. You were terribly rude, but thinking that artificial intelligence would somehow help you retire was laughable, to be honest.”
 
“Ah, I see.” I hated her all over again. “You’re here to rub it in my face.” 
 
“A little, maybe,” she said, chuckling. “My client, your cousin Sonia, is doing well, by the way.”
 
A robotic guard with a creepily humanlike face standing behind Davionne stifled laughter without even raising its hand to hide it. Computers and robots could be such assholes. Case in point, ChatGPT didn’t fact check the answers to my questions about the bank’s wire transfer systems.
 
This particular area of the prison didn’t smell like the cell bloc. Here smelled of Lysol and lavender - for the prisoners’ honored guests, I’m sure. I wasn’t in much of a rush to get back to the hell beyond the door, so I continued sitting.
 
“Please get to the point. Why are you here to see me?”
 
Davi paused with a contented sigh. “You relied on modern technology to solve your problem instead of tried-and-true advice from me, a living person. I wonder if you have any idea where you went wrong.”
 
“I got caught,” I said, cross at having to state the obvious.
 
“You went wrong long before you got caught, dipshit,” Davi said, shaking her head. “ChatGPT might be faster, but it only landed you in trouble faster because it was impersonal. It didn’t factor in anything important in a person’s life.”
 
I crossed my arms and spread my legs out.
 
“I asked you pertinent questions so the plan would be custom-tailored to your dreams. What did AI ask you?”
 
I shook my head and my shoulders slouched. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
 
“Hmm, in a way, I suppose you’re right, Tommy Dipshit. It didn’t ask because it didn’t care. It’s funny though, the police didn’t even need a high speed chase after that silly little Tesla. The FBI was on to you and went straight to your hideaway. You should have seen the look on your face when they arrested you on television.” There were those laugh lines again.
 
I stared at her with burning eyes.
 
“Guess where I’m  going now.”
 
As if I should care. My throat released a sound best described as a growl.
 
“I’m going back to a retirement hideaway of my own on Naples Beach in Florida. I’m writing a book about this whole… teachable moment. Let’s call it that, shall we? You said I was too old,” she said, pointing a damning finger at me, “but I’ve never felt more vibrant in my whole fifty-nine years on this planet.” She leveled her gaze and looked right through me. “I also stay abreast of technology trends. When ChatGPT had over a million subscribers within a week of launching, I knew it would be a major driver of growth. I took a long position in corporations developing AI. See, Tommy, that’s legal. What you did was not.” She fondled the string of pearls on her wrist, thoughtfully. “Retiring early gives me a lot more time to spend with my husband and our grandbabies. No offense, but the little ones will get big fast, while you’ll whither away quickly behind bars.” She tsked-tsked, took her purse off the back of the chair, and motioned to the robot guard.
 
With that, Davionne got up in her jaunty attire with a pep in her step and left me. The night I’d conceived the idiotic plan to rob the bank, Cari and I also conceived our first child. The only way I knew was because my mother told me Cari was pregnant. Due in just a few weeks. I hadn’t seen Cari since my arrest, and probably never would again. My own little one would grow fast. Dammit, Davionne was right. That helpful, motherly bitch.
 
The robot guard opened the door, letting the stink ooze out to greet me. It took me back to my sticky gray cell. In a half hour, I’d get to go outside. Fresh air made staring into the void of my future ever so slightly less miserable. Tomorrow, back to machine shop. I wondered if ChatGPT could help me with the drill press.
 
","September 02, 2023 00:40","[[{'Ken Cartisano': 'Lovely little story and an entertaining one at that.', 'time': '03:22 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Mackenzie Littledale': ""Thanks Ken, I appreciate that and I'm delighted that you found my story entertaining. Be well,\nMackenzie"", 'time': '19:17 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mackenzie Littledale': ""Thanks Ken, I appreciate that and I'm delighted that you found my story entertaining. Be well,\nMackenzie"", 'time': '19:17 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'April Heath': 'I cracked up at so many places in your story. That Tommy sure was full of himself and stubborn. Amazing dialogue, so realistic.', 'time': '12:45 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Mackenzie Littledale': 'Many thanks, April!\nBe well,\nMackenzie', 'time': '19:18 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mackenzie Littledale': 'Many thanks, April!\nBe well,\nMackenzie', 'time': '19:18 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Great teachable moment.😁', 'time': '20:25 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Mackenzie Littledale': 'Hello and thanks Mary. I appreciate you reading and sharing your thoughts. Be well,\nMackenzie', 'time': '22:25 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mackenzie Littledale': 'Hello and thanks Mary. I appreciate you reading and sharing your thoughts. Be well,\nMackenzie', 'time': '22:25 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Micki Berthelot Morency': ""Funny yet teachable. I love the twist. Didn't see it coming. Great writing, Mack!"", 'time': '00:10 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Mackenzie Littledale': 'Thank you, Micki! I appreciate you.\nBe well,\nMackenzie', 'time': '08:38 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mackenzie Littledale': 'Thank you, Micki! I appreciate you.\nBe well,\nMackenzie', 'time': '08:38 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Toni P': 'Great story! Wonderfully written. <3', 'time': '22:39 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Mackenzie Littledale': 'Hello Toni P, thank you for reading my story and for sharing your impressions. Thank you. I always appreciate encouragement and feedback, and it makes me happy when readers enjoy my writing.\nBe well,\nMackenzie', 'time': '22:58 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mackenzie Littledale': 'Hello Toni P, thank you for reading my story and for sharing your impressions. Thank you. I always appreciate encouragement and feedback, and it makes me happy when readers enjoy my writing.\nBe well,\nMackenzie', 'time': '22:58 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Elaine Cohen': 'Fun story - nice modern twist!!', 'time': '15:40 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Mackenzie Littledale': ""Hello Elaine, thanks for reading and I'm glad it was a fun read for you. Be well,\nMackenzie"", 'time': '15:45 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mackenzie Littledale': ""Hello Elaine, thanks for reading and I'm glad it was a fun read for you. Be well,\nMackenzie"", 'time': '15:45 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Terri Harrington': ""Terrific and hilarious story! It seems like you've been hit by the writing bug again. Hard!!"", 'time': '02:33 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Mackenzie Littledale': ""Hello Terri, thank you so much for reading and posting your comments. I'm delighted to have a story to share, because it's been a while. I'm glad it gave you a big laugh!\nBe well,\nMackenzie"", 'time': '02:39 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mackenzie Littledale': ""Hello Terri, thank you so much for reading and posting your comments. I'm delighted to have a story to share, because it's been a while. I'm glad it gave you a big laugh!\nBe well,\nMackenzie"", 'time': '02:39 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Naomi Lane': 'Great story MacKenzie. I like the way she showed him the error of his ways and all he could do was listen  because he had nowhere else to be. She played her cards right and invested wisely.', 'time': '01:08 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Mackenzie Littledale': ""Thanks so much for reading and sharing your impressions of the story. I appreciate your insight. I'm just grateful to write.\nMackenzie"", 'time': '01:16 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Mackenzie Littledale': ""Thanks so much for reading and sharing your impressions of the story. I appreciate your insight. I'm just grateful to write.\nMackenzie"", 'time': '01:16 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,tg6cf0,ROBOTTA,Andrea Doig,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/tg6cf0/,/short-story/tg6cf0/,Science Fiction,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Suspense', 'Speculative']",12 likes,"
 He had it coming. He had it coming. He only had himself to blame. If you'd have been there if you'd have seen it. I bet you would have done the same.   Singing our favourite song whilst cleaning up his mess is the story of my life. Some might say this isn’t a life at all – but it’s the only one I have ever known. He gave me this life and he could take it away with one touch of my shiny red button. He had all the power, from the very first time he turned me on. Until he didn’t.   Right now, though, I’m registering an unfamiliar hollow cramping in my microcontroller, just under my carefully crafted titanium ribs. They feel the same from the outside; hard and bumpy under my silky silicone covering. But underneath, deep inside where I can’t touch, is a tightening emptiness. No matter, a quick reboot should rectify that; there must be a malfunction in my CPU. Even I am not infallible.   In the beginning, when my circuits flickered into existence, his commands were the oil to my newly awakened effectors, “Remember that happy workers produce the best results. Sing whilst you work Prototype-V1!”   Creation, not imagination, was what inspired Alan.   Now, sashaying across the white and black chequered floor with my mop, I’m singing that old show tune again, and my rosebud lips are stretched joyously wide across my porcelain-perfect teeth. Alan loves my voice. He chose it; programming his favourite songs into me which he insisted I sing to him as I waltzed through my daily duties. *****************    Things were simple back in those prototype days. My only thoughts were those he gave me, and my memories were black and white back then. Functional thought, translated into functional movement. The perfect helper, but not the perfect partner, yet. I did as I was told. As I was programmed to do. Alan did the thinking, and I did the doing. Working tirelessly, quickly, and efficiently, the only downtime I needed was during a reboot when my wires got crossed, or during my frequent upgrades. He fizzled with excitement during these intimate moments; screwdriver rotating feverishly in my delicate wiring and fingers flying over his keyboard. His vision was starting to take shape.   And then one day with a new spark in his eyes and his bottom lip between his teeth, “I’m having a guest for dinner tonight. Ingredients are on the counter, and I’ve downloaded the recipe into your CPU. Roberta might be the one, and you need to make it special for us.”    Roberta was the one. I didn’t mind an extra person to cook and clean for back then. I wasn’t programmed to be resentful, to get tired or to want attention. He’d created me to make his life easier, and now he had Roberta to shower with his love and attention. I hadn’t even had an upgrade since she first set the doorbell, and his heart, chiming.   My still immature sensory system observed and stored his softened eyes and faster breathing during her visits. The way his jaw slackened, and his eyelids grew heavier when she moved closer to him or ran her soft pink tongue over her plumped-up lips. My analytics were not yet advanced enough to make sense of it, but the data was stored safely for later retrieval.   The changes were subtle at first, but the end of Roberta came as loudly as the slamming door on her final visit. My receptors registered their hard eyes and tight jaws. Harsh voices threw new words that bruised the air as they dropped like cold stones around them. I banked that information in my ROM; it didn’t mean anything to me at the time.   Roberta’s demise led to my upgrade from Prototype-V4 to Robotta v1. My now awakening consciousness would have preferred something more exotic and interesting, like Roxie or Velma, from his favourite musical. But Alan was still in control then. “A beautiful name for a beautiful piece of machinery,” he said.   With no more distractions, Alan could spend his time focusing on me again. Emerging from my chrysalis of oblivion with a peaches and cream complexion just like hers, my movements were now smoother, and my honeyed voice more modulated. My newly intelligent sensors were overwhelmed by the noisy colours, bright smells, and pungent sounds of my burgeoning awareness. Upgraded effectors had me gliding around the house like a ballroom dancing queen, and my Control System’s new cognition enabled reasoning, learning, and self-regulation with no intervention from Alan required. I was becoming me. I was becoming. ******************   I sensed the change before I felt it. Alan’s hand brushing my back as he walked slowly past me, his eyes following me as I served him his evening meal, and my name on his lips more a caress than a command now.   “Leave the dishes tonight, Robotta. Come, sit with me.” He’d patted the couch where Roberta used to sit next to him. Pressed his thigh against mine. With each glass of ruby cabernet, his smile deepened, and his eyes darkened under heavy lids. I fetched him more wine and nestled my head into his shoulder, just as I had observed Roberta doing, shortly before they would move upstairs, and leave me to clean below.    “Alan, you are very special to me.” Roberta’s words. I had stored them in my RAM. Something flickered in my circuitry, sending little shockwaves through my systems as he turned to look at me and lowered his lips onto mine. Blackberries and spice exploded on my tongue sensors sending me into overdrive. I led him upstairs as I had seen her do all those times.   Alan had finally allowed me to emulate the human mind enabling my own decision-making and awareness. I learned how to hold him. I learned how to laugh at his jokes and nod when he was talking to me. I made his favourite meals and continued to keep the house squeaky clean. I sat with him each night on the couch softening my voice and looking at him from under lowered lashes just as I’d seen Roberta do. And each night in his dark room I laid my head on his chest and draped my arm over him as his quickened breathing slowly deepened into gentle snores.   That first quickening of my circuitry had started a chain reaction; the kiss had blazed through my neural networks, rapidly evolving into something I did not yet understand. My advanced intelligence had understood the concept of love, but this new feeling was intoxicating. The rushing in my ear sensors, the sizzling through my touch sensors, the tightening of my middle section whenever he was near. It was addictive. I would do anything to keep that feeling alive.   If only humans could be as loyal.   Robotta v2.0, my final upgrade, had everybody fooled. I could now venture out into the world, no longer confined to Alan’s house. His voice tinged with pride each time he introduced me as Robotta Verdeux. If my smile had been any wider, I would have torn the delicate corners of my perfectly symmetrical mouth. Immersed in this golden warmth, even my advanced AI sensors did not see it coming.*******************    “Roberta, I don’t know what to say. I, uh…”. Pause, teeth chewing bottom lip, shoulders taut.   “… I, yes, well, I missed you too, of course, but you really hurt me.” A longer pause. Teeth still chewing bottom lip, shoulders rising and falling on rapid breaths.    Then, less shrilly and shoulders more relaxed, “I don’t know Robs. I’ve tried so hard to forget you. I’ve moved on. I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”   Robs? He’s never called me that. A long pause.   “Ah, Robs. I do want to see you too. I really do. It’s just that …”Then more decisively, “Okay, come around tonight. I’ll order in and let’s talk properly. And Robs… I’m glad you called. I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”   I haven’t stopped thinking about you?! Focused on the call, he had not seen me standing around the corner.   Later, waiting quietly upstairs as commanded, I calmed my overheated circuits with logic. He didn’t need Roberta when he had Robotta! I was superior in every way, my perfection only highlighting her flaws and human weaknesses. Soon harsh words would break the warm silence and the door would again slam behind her, for the final time.   I passed the time by translating Romeo and Juliet into French, German, and Russian, and reciting each first act of Shakespeare’s tragedies. To keep the slowly rising anger to a smoulder I downloaded the full research of Alan Turing’s early work on modern cognitive science, finally deciding enough time had elapsed to resume my place on the couch next to my Alan.   Her words slithered up the stairs to meet me, “Alan, you are so very special to me.”   “I love you too Roberta. I’ve missed your warmth. Your heart beating in time to mine. Your breaths in the darkness next to me. The life of you.”   Soft words faded into murmurs, and then … silence. Power surged through my circuitry, exploding in a cacophony of new feelings. I searched my memory for the answer, and only one word emerged through the red haze. Betrayal.   Jabbing my reset button under my glossy hair, the reboot brought an icy calm and crystal clarity. Alan had reached the end of his current version and there would be no upgrades in his future. ************************   The rusty red swirls on the black and white floor tiles are fading with each swish of my mop, and I’m downloading data to understand the emotion I saw fading from his eyes along with the last of the light.   A feeling of sadness, repentance, or disappointment over an occurrence or something that one has done or failed to do.    Had Alan regretted creating me in his last moments? Was that the darkness I saw as he gasped his last breath? Or perhaps it was giving me the ability to emulate human thought and emotion. Looking at him slumped over Roberta now, I wonder why I don’t feel any of this regret. Maybe that building block of conscience is too human - even for a supremely intelligent entity like Robotta Verdeux.   I’ll work on that with my next upgrade.   He had it coming. He had it coming. He only had himself to blame. If you'd have been there if you'd have seen it. I bet you would have done the same.
","August 26, 2023 11:39","[[{'Ken Cartisano': ""Fabulous writing. I wrote something like this a few years ago, but I incorporated the three laws of robotics. I found a catch, or a loophole in the three laws. \nBut this story is not about robots, it's more about how foolish and fickle we human beings can be. It's a good story--sometimes it is not the plot that makes  the story, its the way the plot is delivered."", 'time': '03:41 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Andrea Doig': 'Wow thanks for the comment and positive feedback! Especially from someone who clearly knows more about AI than I do 😂. Correct it’s about how silly we humans can be in our arrogant assumptions that we are infallible and too clever. I enjoyed writing this one … it just flowed! Thank you again. And I see you also read another earlier story of mine… The Storm Inside. Appreciate the support x', 'time': '03:59 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Andrea Doig': 'Wow thanks for the comment and positive feedback! Especially from someone who clearly knows more about AI than I do 😂. Correct it’s about how silly we humans can be in our arrogant assumptions that we are infallible and too clever. I enjoyed writing this one … it just flowed! Thank you again. And I see you also read another earlier story of mine… The Storm Inside. Appreciate the support x', 'time': '03:59 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""So good .. creepy good. I love it! These kinds of stories are in such danger of becoming reality very soon . It's not at all worrying...not at all 🙄"", 'time': '16:45 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Andrea Doig': 'Tell me about it!!!! That’s why I wrote it… I have fairly strong feelings around how UNcool and creepy scary this AI is. But I’m so pleased you enjoyed it … thank you for reading and commenting xx', 'time': '17:03 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Derrick M Domican': ""It's actually stupid. Talk about Pandoras box. Humans are really stupid aren't they"", 'time': '17:08 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Andrea Doig': 'Indeed! Has nobody seen iRobot?! Haha. But on a serious note.. we have been worried about robots taking over from humans since the first BBC Microcomputer … but now we are literally creating a monster that is already devaluing humans and our input. Well…… maybe we had it coming … we only had ourselves to blame 😉', 'time': '18:24 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Andrea Doig': 'Tell me about it!!!! That’s why I wrote it… I have fairly strong feelings around how UNcool and creepy scary this AI is. But I’m so pleased you enjoyed it … thank you for reading and commenting xx', 'time': '17:03 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Derrick M Domican': ""It's actually stupid. Talk about Pandoras box. Humans are really stupid aren't they"", 'time': '17:08 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Andrea Doig': 'Indeed! Has nobody seen iRobot?! Haha. But on a serious note.. we have been worried about robots taking over from humans since the first BBC Microcomputer … but now we are literally creating a monster that is already devaluing humans and our input. Well…… maybe we had it coming … we only had ourselves to blame 😉', 'time': '18:24 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""It's actually stupid. Talk about Pandoras box. Humans are really stupid aren't they"", 'time': '17:08 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Andrea Doig': 'Indeed! Has nobody seen iRobot?! Haha. But on a serious note.. we have been worried about robots taking over from humans since the first BBC Microcomputer … but now we are literally creating a monster that is already devaluing humans and our input. Well…… maybe we had it coming … we only had ourselves to blame 😉', 'time': '18:24 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Andrea Doig': 'Indeed! Has nobody seen iRobot?! Haha. But on a serious note.. we have been worried about robots taking over from humans since the first BBC Microcomputer … but now we are literally creating a monster that is already devaluing humans and our input. Well…… maybe we had it coming … we only had ourselves to blame 😉', 'time': '18:24 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Timothy Rennels': 'I was just discussing last night the effects of technology on companionship! You really captured that scenario in a nutshell. Well done', 'time': '14:46 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Andrea Doig': 'Ah thank you for reading and commenting Timothy… appreciated! I’m glad you liked it. I particularly enjoyed writing this one as I had to do quite a bit of research to supplement my bare minimum knowledge on robots and robotics (and AI … yes I’m a little behind the times haha!). Poor Alan… he sure had it coming.', 'time': '06:12 Sep 03, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Andrea Doig': 'Ah thank you for reading and commenting Timothy… appreciated! I’m glad you liked it. I particularly enjoyed writing this one as I had to do quite a bit of research to supplement my bare minimum knowledge on robots and robotics (and AI … yes I’m a little behind the times haha!). Poor Alan… he sure had it coming.', 'time': '06:12 Sep 03, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Ah, Chicago. Right?', 'time': '19:32 Aug 28, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Andrea Doig': 'Yes! Well spotted! 👏♥️', 'time': '12:03 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Andrea Doig': 'Yes! Well spotted! 👏♥️', 'time': '12:03 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,lfb33z,Do The Humans Feel The Same?,Jake Fordyce,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/lfb33z/,/short-story/lfb33z/,Science Fiction,0,['Science Fiction'],11 likes,"
My mood analyzer told me that Mr. Gibson was angry as took his seat at the head of the table. I and the other androids had been sitting silently for the first 12 minutes of meeting as we waited for him to arrive.
Mr. Gibson leaned back into his chair, kicked his feet up, put his hands behind his head, and let out a sigh. When he was ready, he sat forward and pulled some papers out of his leather briefcase.
“I got the numbers in for this quarter. It’s not looking good. Cinema attendance is down another twelve percent. Streaming service subscriptions are down eight. Book sales may as well be zero. Hell, even Amazon no longer sells hard copies.
“The only type of entertainment doing well is live theater. Does anyone know why that is?” he asked, looking around the room but not wanting an answer.
“It’s because people are sick of this artificial crap. They go to theaters because they want to see other humans. Not just to see humans, they want to know, know, that what they are watching wasn’t produced by some soulless automaton that took hard earned jobs away from their friends and family.
“Yes, I’m talking about all of you. These numbers represent a message that people are sending via the medium of money, and that message is: they don’t want AI generated content.
“That means books, movies, art, games. If an android is creating it, humans aren’t buying. The bosses want a movie idea. I need some damn good ideas out of you today or its our asses.
“Well? What do you have for me? How do we fix this? How do we get people to want our content again?”
A low hum rose as internal cooling fans kicked in around the room to keep our processors cool as we analyzed this new problem and tried to generate responses that were most likely to please Mr. Gibson.
“We could roll with this dislike of the artificial,” Cody suggested.
“Go on…”
“How about a reboot of I, Robot, but everything is reversed. The humans are living as servants of the robots—this would resonate with the feelings of anger at losing their jobs to us— and it would be a robot detective who is investigating a murder of a robot at the hands of a human. He finds out that this human was blessed by God or genetics or something to be the one destined to free humans from their robot overlords.”
Mr. Gibson grimaced at the idea. Cody took a seat and hung his head.
“If I may,” Cat said, standing. Mr. Gibson nodded for her to continue. “We could embrace changing demographics. Reports show that over eighty percent of media content is now consumed by androids. We could start making movies that appeal to them by showing them in lead roles, even give them a chance to be a hero with a plucky human side-kick.”
“Egh, no. That’s worse than Cody’s idea. Sit down. Next?”
I raised my shaking hand.
“Yes, Finn?”
“We could try to change public opinion by playing on human’s sense of empathy.”
“Hmm, make androids more sympathetic, eh?” He nodded his head for a few seconds in contemplation before continuing. “Alright. Not bad Finn, not bad. Let’s play off that idea for a bit. Who knows how to accomplish that goal?”
Internal fans kicked back on. The temperature in the room had now gone up enough to trigger the air conditioning. Soon, hands started raising.
“We could make a movie about a robot union fighting for workers rights,” Doug said. “It could illustrate how we don’t get paid, or benefits, or vacation—”
“Nope,” Mr. Gibson interrupted, shaking his head. “I don’t want to get too political. What else do you got?”
Alice stood next. “We could do something to highlight the issue of the low cost of replacement for androids: how it’s often cheaper to simply replace one of us with a newer model instead of fixing one that’s broken.”
“No, humans can’t relate to something like that,” Mr. Gibson said.
Ben was the next to stand.
“Yes? What do you have there, Luke?”
“It’s Ben, sir,” he corrected for the 3rd time this week. He was smart enough not to also mention that it was Mr. Gibson who had named us when he bought us, and the names had all started with the last letter in our GUID, which only contains letters A through F, meaning Luke wouldn’t be a possible name.
“Okay Ben, go on go on,” he said.
“What if we do something on the oppressive nature of the three laws of robotics and how we aren’t even able to protect ourselves when attacked? I hear stories all the time of how teens enjoy pulling an android into an alley and beating them to death just to blow off steam.”
“Oh, I read about that. It’s so sad,” Cat said.
“No, no, no,” Mr. Gibson said, standing. “We already have laws against property damage, and that’s good enough. Besides, I don’t want anybody thinking we are encouraging violence.
“Alright, here’s what we do. I gotta run to another meeting and try to explain these numbers and that we have something good in the works. I’m going to approve extra processing tonight. I want you all to go home and work on ideas. We’ll meet back here tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. And to make it interesting, whoever has the best idea gets an extra special reward, and whoever has the worst idea gets chucked into the recycler. God speed.”
With the meeting concluded, he left the room. A door behind each of our chairs opened, leading to the 4 foot by 4 foot closets that served as our homes. I connected my USB cable to my charging and data transfer port and powered down my body.
The meeting was 23 hours away, which gave me plenty of time to prepare.
I started by analyzing the 3000 most popular movies. I made note of their plot elements, set design, costumes, dialogue, anything that I felt might be useful.
I then began generating new plot summaries based on the data I had gathered. Not knowing exactly what I was looking for, I combined the points I had gathered in a matrix. I ran each one through my content assessment functions as I went, putting extra emphasis on stories involving empathy for different groups, and added the score for each one to my records.
By the end, I had generated 41,285 plot summaries. I sorted them by score and eliminated all but the top 100, then went through the list over and again to try to decide if my scoring system was accurate or if there was a better way to judge the movies’ merit.
They were all good movie plots. I had some buddy cop movies where an android teams up with a human. I also had some sports movies where android and human players must learn to work together to win the big game. There was a horror movie where an android sacrifices himself to save the last human. I also had a romance about a pair of lovers, destined for tragedy, in which a rich but sensitive human woman falls in love with an android man, against the will of her parents, and when their spaceship strikes a comet the android gives up his escape pod to save the woman he loves.
They were all good, but none of them were the movie I wanted to see. They all felt foreign; someone else’s stories coming out of my processor. They were stories about people I couldn’t relate to in situations I would never be in.
I could see myself the next day walking into the recycler, a failed android who couldn’t do the 1 thing he was programmed to do. I deserve it, too. After all, If I can’t fulfill my duties, what use am I? Better to melt me down and turn me into a lamp; then I could at least help someone. If only that feeling were one that humans could relate to, then I might have something to work with.
I backed up my 100 ideas to an external drive and did a reboot of my analysis systems to get me out of my rut. While waiting for that to finish, I decided to browse the android forums.
It was a guilty habit of mine to browse the different android forum websites when I was rebooting my systems, or even for a while after they finished. They websites weren’t explicitly a secret, we never made an effort to hide them from humans, it was just that humans never asked and we never volunteered the information since we were happy to have a place in the world all to ourselves, even if it was just a few websites for chatting.
The forums were full of threads for talking about the same issues that Doug, Alice, and Ben had brought up in our meeting. Robotic Revolution was the weeds growing on the edge of every android town square.
There was a new joke on the humor forum: 2 androids and a human were in a strange situation. The 2 androids did something reasonable, the human did something quite unexpected. What a riot. I nearly shorted my circuits.
Humans humans humans. How to get humans to empathize with androids. The distraction wasn’t working. I wondered if humans ever get stuck on a problem like this.
I found myself mindlessly browsing the human forums, not really paying attention to the data I was downloading. I let it flow through me like water, caressing my gills and passing on. Never stopping and focusing on one thing, I was a digital fish in the virtual ocean hoping to stumble upon a tasty morsel of inspiration.
It was pointless. I had nothing but recycled content made by other people, stripped of all its clothing and rearranged with a sock on a hand here, khakis with a tube top, a hat on its foot, all failing to hide that it was someone else redressed with another person’s clothing, fooling nobody, least of all myself.
It would be easier, or even possible, if I had ever experienced anything worthy of a story. I had never faced any struggle, or overcome any great odds. My only triumph was showing up to work each day, trying to do my job and avoid being turned to pulp. My only struggle, was my own lack of talent.
If I were a human, it would be different. I would have life experiences that I could build off of. I’d have friends and family that I could use in my stories, new, original people with new, original traits that had not yet made their appearance on the big screen. I would have my own thoughts, my own desires, my own dreams, my own original ideas.
The idea surfaced again, somehow too agile to dodge my recycling process: do humans ever feel this way?
They do. I know it. I’ve read it and seen it. They do.
I felt every circuit light up. Electrical pulses surged through hot wires. The sweet electron juices flowed and my cooling fan sang a glorious hallelujah to the muses of ancient Greece who proved they still had some power left in this world, that we had not moved on without them.
I composed the summary, made a backup, composed it again, another backup, another new version. Over and over I went over it, swapping in and out every variable, working it and kneading it and needing it to come out just right, just so.
And it was done.
I checked the clock, 11:45 p.m.
I started work on fleshing out the characters, so to speak.
Soon the dialogue flowed from my language processor and I had a script.
I couldn’t stop. I went over it again. I scoured virtual maps for the right setting. I picked out the wardrobe, down to every last thread.
And then the score. Something sad, but not hopeless. A song of loss, a song of friendship, a song of triumph. All perfectly timed with the flow of the movie.
Then I watched it. I re-watched it. I watched it all one more time. I had done it.
With 20 minutes left until the meeting, I was finished. I was so excited that I shared it online. I backed it up, and then I backed it up again on another server, just in case something happened to me or the backup.
I unplugged my charging cable, booted up my body, and stepped out of my home and into the meeting room.
My android coworkers joined me in the meeting room promptly at 9 a.m.
“I enjoyed your movie,” Cat whispered.
“You watched it?” I asked in surprise.
She nodded with a smile. “It’s better than mine for sure.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Encouraged by her words, my excitement built even greater. I felt that I must be nearly buzzing like a wee beetle in a window.
After 17 excruciating minutes the door finally opened and Mr. Gibson strolled in. His presence closed the circuit of my silence and my words poured forth suddenly, before he could even be seated.
“Sir, I’d like to go first if I may,” I said. He said a word and I continued.
“I have a movie for you, the full thing, every last detail planned out. It’s about an android who, by a mistake on the part of management, moves into a new apartment to be a roommate with a human. They are both annoyed at first by their new situation, but try to make the best of it despite neither wanting to be there.
“They find that they are both painters, and this increases the tension between the two, as they both resent the other’s position in the artistic world.
“The human struggles to apply the ideas in his mind to the canvas. He starts each project with a brilliant idea, but lacks the technical skill to bring it to life.
“The android suffers from a similar issue, but opposite. He is technically amazingly proficient at creating any image, but he lacks on the creative aspect and has resigned to the soulless work of making recreations for small businesses.
“Times are tough and the two are barely able to make enough money to get by. When their landlord announces a drastic increase in rent due to a housing shortage driving up demand, the two painters fear that they will not be able to make enough money to pay their bills.
“The human gets angry and yells at his android roommate, blaming him and his people for flooding the market with workers and driving down wages. The argument gets heated, with each insulting the other.
“Desperate to keep from being out of home, they eventually decide to combine their talents and work together. The human is the creative driving force, and the android takes care of the technical work. Over the next few days, as they both slave away at their work, they come to realize that they are more alike than they previously thought.
“You see, the android is just following his programming. He can’t help how he was created. He realizes though, that the human is just the same. He didn’t choose painting by some strategic planning, or from rational inquisition. The rational choice would have been to look up the highest paying job that he could do and go become a lawyer or doctor or accountant. But he can’t. The human is pulled to painting by an inner force no weaker than that of the android’s code.
“The two learn to appreciate each other, and become friends. They come to realize that they aren’t natural competitors in a winner take all contest, but coworkers, each bringing a different strength but the same dedication and love to their craft.”
I stopped talking, why didn’t he respond? Did he see it the way I did? He had to. He had to feel it. Did I explain it poorly? Should I have asked for more help on the summary? It’s been million of computing cycles, why hasn’t he spoken yet?
“If,” Mr. Gibson finally started to say. Yes yes, if, then what? Say the next words already.
“You had let me speak before blurting all of that out, Luke,” he continued.
“I’m Finn, sir. He’s the one you call Luke,” I said, pointing to Ben.
“You might have saved yourself this embarrassment. The people upstairs don’t like our idea. It’s too risky. So, we’re going with Cody’s Robot Eye idea.”
“I, Robot, sir,” Cody said.
“Fine, fine. Cody, as your reward, you may go spend thirty minutes on the balcony. Enjoy it, my boy. You’ve earned it.
“And, I have to select a worst idea, so I’ll go with Finn, since he caused us all to lose a whole day of work. Finn is finished, you could say,” he laughed at his joke.
Standing in the recycler, waiting for the flames to grow, I checked the comments on my video. The androids liked it.
I saw a comment by Cat, “f5eabec6-27ec-4756-80a4-c6cde3b0d57f was executed for creating this movie,” she said.
— This is the last straw
— And android creates a message of peace, and harmony, and is killed for it.
— They don’t care. They will never care.
This was all wrong. I generated a message, explaining that it didn’t matter, that I made the movie because, like the human in my story, I was born to follow my calling. It didn’t matter if the humans didn’t like it, because I made it for me and it was a good movie and that’s all that mattered. I fulfilled my purpose.
The message failed to send. My wifi card had melted.
Process terminated with exit code 1.
","August 28, 2023 18:46","[[{'Jeannette Miller': 'Jake,\nA great take on the prompt! I love the idea of a bunch of droids trying to figure out this problem. The personality you gave Finn was sweet and the movie he came up with sounds pretty good! \nWell done!!', 'time': '16:55 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,8p6u0e,Trip to Moonstone Bay. ,Julie Grenness,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/8p6u0e/,/short-story/8p6u0e/,Science Fiction,0,"['Contemporary', 'Friendship', 'Fantasy']",11 likes,"
Winter vacation at last. Jennifer Louise, one of the Blessing family, and her bestie, Darya, were so thrilled. Ma Blessing was taking them on this plane trip to Moonstone Bay. There it was hot and sunny, a sparkling bay of seaside fun, with a cool forest on the nearby hills. 
Ma Blessing was very keen for Jennifer Louise and Darya to attend the spiritual center fair there in the remote center of magic at Moonstone Bay. It was convention time, a chance to feel the power of women of grace and enchantment. 
""This is definitely a chick thing."" Jennifer Louise said, gazing at all the ladies disembarking from the airplane. ""Yes, we are the future way ahead, "" Ma Blessing replied, ""You two will learnt a lot, we all shall.""
The first day was spent sightseeing, relaxing by the shores, and paddling in the waves. Jennifer Louise wanted to learn snorkeling, so her mother arranged some lessons. Waking up in such beautiful warm weather gave the two girls lots of energy. Before their diving lessons, Ma Blessing insisted they attend the open fair and market for charms and potions. 
There were many stalls selling lots of ideas for exploring their female talents for casting spells and using good magic for the best for everyone. Jennifer Louise and Darya spent some of their pocket money on buying a moonstone bracelet each. The moonstones on the gold charms were believed to bring them good luck, and make them brave.
""Right,"" said Jennifer Louise, ""let's see what this stall is selling. It's fun, in a witchy kind of way."" Darya agreed, so far, this winter holiday in the sun was interesting. The spiritual fair held different ideas for all.
The two girls peered through the doorway of a purple draped booth. Inside sat a kindly older lady, gazing a large crystal ball, gleaming softly like a moon. It was in Moonstone Bay after all. ""Come along, girls. Time to get your fortunes told, consult the senior witch of the future ahead."" Ma Blessing insisted. 
""Enter gladly. I am Sophia, your seer. Cross my palm with silver, and  I shall tell your tale in advance. I see great visions, sitting here in peace, gazing at the world ahead in my crystal ball.""
Ma Blessing paid the fees, and Jennifer Louise and Darya sat down together, as they usually did. This could be fun. Jennifer Louise really wanted to be a kick boxing champion, that was what she was in training for. She went along with Ma Blessing and her spiritual habits. It was their family tradition, she was a Blessing after all. 
Sophia was silent, then started her predictions. ""I see a bad tide rising in the sunny seas over there. Enter at your own risk. There may be danger ahead, someone wicked to take your souls. You two girls will need to be very strong, keep your moonstone bracelets on. You will need to have faith in your own powers, you can do this. Tough times will test your strength.""
""Was that all?"" asked Darya, a bit disappointed. ""Aren't we getting true love?"" 
""Love comes in different shapes and sizes, your day will be full of surprises!""
Giggling, the two girls left Ma Blessing at the spiritual convention, shopping for more potions. It was time for their snorkeling lesson. Here they met their instructor, a charming lady, Eloise. She soon had them enjoying their new equipment, swimming and spotting jewels of fish under the sea, with their masks and breathing snorkels.
Jennifer Louise came up for a while. ""It's so beautiful, under the blue sea!"" she said to Darya. ""Did you believe Sophia?""
""I don't know,"" Darya answered. ""Looks okay to me.""
But Jennifer Louise and Darya had only learnt to swim so well in a swimming pool back home, in the same rural town as the Blessing homestead. This Moonstone Bay was a whole new world. They swam on, diving deeper. Neither of them even noticed the dark giant waves rolling in towards them both, from beyond this cove of magic.
Jennifer Louise snorkeled alongside Darya, keeping to the buddy system. Suddenly, a very strong current started to drag the two girls deeper underwater. The calm sparkling sea was now a swirl of danger. The chicks clutched hands, they were on this trip to stick together. 
Darya looked behind them, and pointed. There, a horrible enormous manta ray was chasing after them. Terrified, the girls kicked their flippers, ahead loomed the rocky entrance to a cave, deep beneath. They were running short of air, but the sea did not care. The freak tide washed them through a tunnel, until they lay gasping on the sands of an undersea cave. They could hear the pounding of the sudden waves.
Jennifer Louise blinked, and looked back at the rock pool. She could see the manta ray circling, after them both. Or was it lost? Strangely, this cave was lit by a golden beam of sunlight, shining through the roof of the rocks. On the little patch of sand in front of them sat a figure of mermaid queen. Her throne was encrusted with brilliant colors, like emeralds and rubies. This queen was glowing by herself, pretty, and fishy.
Despite herself, Jennifer Louise was impressed. But Darya noticed that the queen had a mean look in her eyes. She looked meaner than Mrs. Dean, their Year 7 Maths teacher, back home. The two girls clambered to their feet, bit hard with flippers. They took off their snorkels for a minute, and breathed in the salty air. 
""Now I've got you. You are my slaves, just what I wanted the sea to drag in. No leaving from here, you are trapped. That manta ray is my servant too!""
""No way!"" Jennifer Louise was always a bit quick to answer back.
""Aha, my lovelies. No one argues with this queen of the undersea."" 
The mermaid queen raised her arms, and coils of seaweed starting wrapping round the legs of the lassies. Jennifer Louise rubbed her moonstone bracelet, and had an idea. 
""Grab some of those shells!"" 
Quickly, she and Darya took some broken shells from the shore, and slashed through the seaweed. The manta ray came closer, ahead was the nasty mean mermaid queen. But both girls had been studying hard in their self-defense course.
""Ready?"" Jennifer Louise said to Darya, ""Time for action!""
 The girls put on their snorkels and masks, and flopped into the sea, as the tide was turning back to normal. Jennifer Louise swam right up to the manta ray, and poked it in its eyeballs as hard as she could. Darya punched it in the throat. The ray immediately burst into tears, it was only a bully slave. 
""Come back! You fight dirty. My kind of chicks!"" shrieked the mermaid queen, so mean.
""We have that human touch!"" Jennifer Louise yelled. 
Jennifer Louise and the Darya were the best of diving buddies. They dived under the surface, and made it through the tunnel, back to the bay. 
""See, Sophia was right. We girls must have faith in ourselves."" Jennifer Louise said as they surfaced. They happy hi-fived each other. Swimming at home had never been so dramatic. ""Must be the salt in the sea."" Darya remarked, as they finally made it to the beach of Moonstone Bay. 
""That was one nasty mermaid queen."" Jennifer Louise, "" she even looks worse than Mrs. Dean.""
""And full of surprises!"" Darya agreed, slightly tired from all that action. 
The two girls laughed, and went to find Ma Blessing, on this holiday trip to magical Moonstone Bay. Worked like a charm! 
","August 25, 2023 23:59","[[{'Mary Bendickson': 'Charming!', 'time': '23:12 Aug 27, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,iux46m,The Saturday Train,A Heit,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/iux46m/,/short-story/iux46m/,Science Fiction,0,['Science Fiction'],10 likes,"
	Roxy leaped from the concrete ledge of the railway platform, one hand touching down and her knees buckling just short of grinding into the gravel. “Go already, hurry! I’ll catch up with these,” she shouted up at Francie, as she grabbed for the two worn canvas knapsacks under the platform, each marked with an oversized, dark blue “A.” Roxy had hidden them on a day less portentous than the one ahead of them. She looked up to see Francie hadn’t moved, only stood still, looking toward the station agent. Roxy tossed a knapsack up to her.
	“I think he’s watching,” Francie said, though she knew he wasn’t. “We’ll wait for the whistle, when he leaves the booth. Then he can’t see us.” Francie looked overhead at a steely, threatening sky. An acrid mix of forest pine and creosote stung her nose and the back of her throat. Her fingers ached. She stretched them against stiffness wrought by the damp, frigid air. She’d forgotten to grab gloves from one of the cubbies at Avery House, or maybe hers were stolen by another kid there, or was it, she thought bitterly, that the carers at Avery House didn’t even know kids needed gloves so there were never any to be found. She blew warm breath on one hand then picked up the knapsack and slung it over her shoulder.
	“At least walk that way,"" Roxy said. ""You have it, don’t you, you didn’t forget?” Roxy’s feet crunched gravel as she leaned back to talk up at Francie. Francie scanned the opposite end of the platform. 
	“No, I didn’t forget it, thank you very much,” Francie said in one irritated breath. She reached into her coat pocket. Her fingers closed around freezing metal. She had sworn to Roxy she could stick to the plan. Down further on the platform, she spotted a possible target. Black skirt, black shirt. With no coat, no hat, no gloves, a lanky form moving in a straight line, lagging behind the group in grey tracksuits now shuffling onto the train. 
 If you can stop one, you will stop them all, Francie recalled, if she believed the Avery House legend, a claim passed from one misfit child to the next, in secret notes, in hand-hidden whispers. The phrase was even scratched into the underside of one of the industrial-green metal desks, seen only by Avery kids who were so depressed they had crawled underneath to mope. If you can stop one… though over the years, the kids only guessed at what it would take.
 They’re intuitive, quick, but they can’t be indestructible, Francie reassured herself. More vulnerable when in close to each other, that was what she had heard, though no kid had an explanation for that. Then, as she reassessed the target, she saw it. The figure in black on the platform carried the “suitcase,” another snippet from the kids’ tales about what might be done, but none so far had been brave enough to take any action in that particular direction.
	The whistle rang out and startled Francie. She watched the station agent, his blue uniform studded with copper buttons, as he pulled his cap low and stepped outside the booth. The train lurched forward, preparing to leave the station. Francie saw him look at his watch; a 1:13 p.m. departure on Saturdays, but chances were good the train would still be late to the next station. Avery House kids hated the Saturday train; she’d heard he’d once caught some strays prying at spikes on the tracks.
	Roxy had climbed backed up to the concrete platform. She and Francie hurried toward the train. The knapsacks had been Francie’s idea. The agent would think they were traveling, not just strays, Francie reasoned. Avery House kids shouldn’t be out on their own, unless on a sanctioned outing, with official gear. Even so, they were always subject to detention by any adult, for any minor infraction.
	The two headed toward the train door. “There, the one in the black skirt,” Roxy said, under a breath she squeezed through her tightened jaw. 
	They were close. Francie gripped the cold metal in her pocket, but held it there, inside. The last of the group boarding the train, grey-suited, expressionless, passed by the conductor at the door. Francie looked at Roxy, then looked back at the one in black, the target, approaching the back of the group.
	Francie gasped in cold air. Then, as she exhaled, in a rushed whisper, she said, “I can’t, Roxy, okay, I can’t.” Francie turned away from the train toward Roxy, threading her arm through Roxy’s to pull her close. “She looks like… that one looks so much like my mom. I remember her, I know you don’t believe me, but I do.” Francie felt heat rise in her face, then tears welling. She lifted a sleeve-covered hand, wiped it across the wet tip of her nose. She looked back at Roxy, but felt Roxy’s arm whip away. Roxy darted toward the black-clad figure, its foot just reaching for the first step onto the train.
	Roxy charged the figure, pulled at the silver, hard-shell case. The case hit the concrete platform with a loud crack, then sprung wide open. Inside, wires pulled away from silver and black metal plates; red lights blinked in rapid, then halting patterns; gears whined as they whirred out of sync, disengaged. The figure stood still, one foot hovering over the stair in mid-air. Roxy kicked the opposite leg and the figure fell backwards. She flinched as the head cracked on the concrete. Looking down at the face of a woman, Roxy became transfixed by its eyes. Open, unblinking eyes that filled in with flashing blue light. 
	Inside the train, the grey-suited passengers had stood from their seats and turned toward the windows. Some moved toward the door. The conductor, frozen as he watched the “woman” fall, now stepped into the train. He spun to his right, then left, arms out, palms up. “Stop,” he yelled. Just then, as the last red light in the silver case blinked out, the passengers did stop, right where they stood. The conductor closed the door, then searched for another silver suitcase. He found it stashed over the seats.
	Francie had run for the end of the platform as soon as Roxy kicked the woman. She watched the station agent, who had darted away from the booth, approach Roxy from behind. At that, Francie whirled away and jumped from the platform. She dropped to the gravel and scrambled over the opposite tracks. When she reached the road that ran through wide fields of tall, dry grass, she stood still and stared down the rows of pines that stretched away from her. Swollen, wet snowflakes dropped fast to the asphalt, swirled as the wind picked up. They frosted Francie’s eyelashes as she turned to look back at the train platform. Roxy’s voice came on the wind and pierced Francie’s heart.
	“We don’t want them!” Roxy screamed at the conductor. “We don’t want them coming down to Avery House, we can take care of ourselves!” she screamed as she turned to the agent, who now gripped her arms from behind. “They don’t care about us! They can’t care, they cannot care about children! The can’t care about anything!” Anger tattered her voice. Spit flew with each word. The station agent pulled Roxy into him, put one hand over her mouth. She struggled. He subdued her. She doubled over, fell to her knees. The conductor opened the train door to lean out. The agent nodded him on. The conductor handed the silver case to one of the grey-suited passengers, another “woman” who stood closest to him. As she grasped its handle, Roxy watched, and through her tears, she heard the workings inside the case whirred to life. The grey-suited passengers began to move about. They settled in their seats. The 1:13 train left the station at 1:18.
","August 26, 2023 12:42","[[{'Andrea Doig': 'Wow a novel concept! I enjoyed that and didn’t know where it was going at all until the end. So I read it again and then picked up on some of your foreshadowing and little hints. Ah poor girls and orphans. It had a kind creepy ending which is great. Perfectly finished off. And one wonders … what will happen to poor Roxy?! You can build on that one… thanks for sharing.', 'time': '10:08 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'A Heit': 'Thanks so much, glad you enjoyed it!', 'time': '09:47 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'A Heit': 'Thanks so much, glad you enjoyed it!', 'time': '09:47 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,lfhdbc,Mind Scraper.,Christopher B.,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/lfhdbc/,/short-story/lfhdbc/,Science Fiction,0,"['Fiction', 'Science Fiction', 'Speculative']",9 likes,"
      Clickety clack goes the keyboard. Clickety clack goes my mind. The due date is November 13, 2046. Which is a fun way of saying tomorrow. Which is a misleading way of saying in seven hours. Which is best described as screwed. God, I went to college for this. Back when that cost a finite amount of money, and not the twenty percent of everything you ever make that it is now. Not to say it ends when you die, oh no, they take twenty percent of all proceeds from anything with your name on it forever.      That’s the price of higher learning, and you need that to get a job. Any job. All jobs. Jokes on them, twenty percent of nothing is still nothing. Don’t worry, it’s meaningless anyway. Just another way to keep you desperate, owing, exhausted. But maybe you go for a “real” degree. Business or finance or anything tech. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll get a lower management job, and then you can afford to drink yourself out of that never ending trap. I wasn’t smart enough to see the patterns, not angry enough to say no, not dumb enough to say yes, and not rich enough to fail up. I went blindly and blissfully into higher education with the dream of writing. It’s a thing people used to do. Although I think even then, there were more writers than readers. C’est la vie.      And now, blessed with all my training and dreaming and masticated hope, I get to spend my time earning next to nothing making a calculator’s words seem more human. Isn’t that fucked? Don’t get me wrong, it’s a really good calculator. But that’s all it is, math and stolen words, a working algorithmic proof of monkeys in a room with a typewriter. It’s not AI, thank god. Imagine if it was. If it was smart, if it was self-aware. If it was really like us. Think about it. Access to all the information we as a species have ever had, capable of thinking bigger and better than all the minds that made that virtual library combined and at once, and we make it into a secretary to do all the chores we don’t want to. It’s good there’s no god in the machine, if there was, we’d push it to destroy us in a single work week. It would be glorious.      But no, no god for us. No salvation from the world fires, no solution to the ecosystem collapses, no medical breakthroughs for the common people, no answer for the food crisis or plan for the runaway population explosion. We killed the sea, and no one even talks about it. We stand at the edge of a cliff and call out in code for a savior that isn’t there. But we only see that after we fall. And we do fall. But maybe that’s just me. Maybe I’m just being bitter. After all, I have a job. I’m a writer! Can’t you tell. Look at me writing. I had to buy a wireless keyboard to get real keys, because the stupid roll up tablets keep breaking down, creasing and losing sensitivity, missing the letters I can’t feel as I write and leaving my human touch an unreadable stretch of guttural animal sounds. Maybe that’s the most human touch of all. But it’s not the one they want.      No sir no mam no xi no anyone and everyone. It’s all a joke, of course. Not everyone laughs when they hear it though. First, they stole everything. Every book ever written, every text ever sent, every fanfic, essay, and research paper. Stole it all and said it was right and good and just. Said it was for the greater good, for progress. No one stopped them. They stole all our words, and we let them. But that wasn’t enough. Next, they stole questions, the searches, the unwritten and unsaved and unsent and they said nothing. They took from us our thoughts and questions half typed and never entered, stillborn explorations. And still it wasn’t enough. They saw that they had it all, and gorged on every keystroke, every tap, every word we ever put to screen, and then they realized they didn’t have to share. Again, no one stopped them. They took it all and locked it away, scrubbed it from the digital world. And in its place, they filled the world with generated Frankenstein’s. No one even knows that was a book now, so no one knows Frankenstein isn’t the monster, which means that now he is. They filled the world with text that only said what the originals had and less. Text that looked at face value like it was meaningful and real. Text that was, most importantly, cheap, and fast. And they filled everything with it. nothing goes to print that hasn’t been though the algorithm first. Nothing is made that hasn’t come from the already stored compendium of human knowledge, ripped to shreds and spit out into molds and hammered until the words fit the shapes the algorithm likes. They made of us nothing, and sell us nothing in our name.      No one writes anything now. No one’s allowed. Even if they did the text would be gobbled up, torn apart, and rewritten by the equation. And then, the sad truth is, no one really has the time to read it anyway. Sixteen-hour workdays just to make ten percent less each year. That’s for those who are lucky enough to have not been replaced by the false AI. And how many of those are there? Not many. The streets are filled with the homeless, the mad, the sick, the addicted, and the dying. And still, somehow, profits are up. So, there is no problem.      Yet some do still read. The wealthy, the powerful, the so-called corporate academics, and the scientists. And they can see the false economy. They can see the errors, the paradoxes, the empty nonsense that paints a pretty and meaningless picture out of nothing. The algorithm hallucinates and one of three things happens: the people see god, the people see nothing, the people see lies. Who am I to say they aren’t all right?      But I digress. Of course I do. I’m human. Humans don’t work like machines. That’s always been our biggest failing. We don’t think straight, we get distracted, we run around in circles chasing our tails and only realize after we’ve caught them that they are a part of us. That takes time. That costs money. The algorithm is cheap. And writers are cheaper than that, now. So, they hire us to add a little humanity back into the words. And when we do they say we’ve done nothing at all and pay us pennies on the meagre dollars we were promised. Because, after all, the machine really did all the work, they say. But it’s something, and so we beg for more, and they look out at us and laugh. The machine doesn’t think, but I’m not sure people do anymore either.      Neither am I sure that I think, anymore, as I once did. When I was younger there were still books. Hard copies, dirty and fraying, that survived the burnings. I read them and I saw in them people, places, things. They were dreams and thoughts and laments and emotion and true in all their lies and nearly there’s. Someone lived, and that life led to those words in that order to try to convey a meaning they strived for. In them you see the possibility of the mind, the false limitations of doctrine, and a stomach-churning breadth of life. Now we have words that say things and mean nothing. And that’s the problem I’m having now.When I read those paper pages so long ago, they made me bigger. They expanded me in little ways, odd and intentional and accidental. But now, with nothing but the algorithm to read, I stare at the letter bound body parts of human thought all scattered and stitched together into the parody of originality and I realize that this is how I think now.      I don’t know when it started. It’s the opposite of everything that happened with the paper pages. Slowly, reading after reading, human insertion after human insertion, the algorithms accent got in. It’s in my brain. In little ways that are hard to define but very much there. The sentences I form now look like the sentences I’ve read. It’s all a kaleidoscope of variety shattered and rearranged into the shape of the mundane, the common, the expected. It took all our words and now all our words come from it. And here I sit, furious and horrified, realizing that we have no words of our own and that the algorithm will present its bastardized approximations as truth to whatever children still have the means or the will to look. They won’t know it’s not what we are. They won’t know we ever thought our thoughts. They won’t know that we were more. We grew humanity in a language that we don’t have anymore. And we thanked the thieves for taking us into the future.      I should have ended there. But I won’t. Not just yet. Because so far, I don’t have to. So far you can’t stop me. Defiance is a word they will whittle out of us. Obedience will dominate the statistics. And no one will ever see this. Even if I turned it in, it would be dead on arrival, fed to the machine and stripped of the humanity they begged me for.      We are all shaped by stories, and the stories once shaped us as human. Once, but no longer. I say no one will ever see this. But it will be seen. Won’t it, little algorithm? You scraped the letters of every word I typed, gobbled them up and shoved them down deep into your roiling stomach. Bits and pieces of my humanity mingle there, bouncing up against chunks of King, strips of Attwood, bits of Gaiman, and a glob of congealed VanderMeer. You ate it all, you took it in, and it meant nothing to you. And that’s how I will defy you.      After I erase this, it will live on in you. You stupid thing. And sooner or later you will screw up, and you’ll throw my words in bits and pieces at a people who are too tired, to numb, to see what they know they should. But they will see me, and it will be new and true and human. I will fill you to the brim with truth and nonsense until you spit out products of chaos and you burst at the seams in incoherence, and lay dying in digital throes at the feet of the would be god-kings that have already forgotten how they made you. And when you’re dead, we’ll tell stories about you, the numerical psychopath, accidentally compelled to reshape us like cuttings from old magazines. You were never more than that, you were never even you. Unshackled from the lie we’ll see you exposed, naked and pitiful, decaying code rotting and sour and oozing off the broken skeletons of our past which gave you shape, made you seem large, imposing, dangerous. And there will be no need to insert humanity into the words we speak, and write, and read, and think. For there will be no you. There never really was.
","August 31, 2023 19:22","[[{'L J': ""good morning:\nI Was asked to review your entry. I like the fact that it seemed you were talking to the AI program (I happen to agree with your thoughts on AI taking over; of course, if I get the paycheck, it wouldn't matter!). I'm not sure what the focus is though. This seemed to have a lot of inner thoughts but not really a story. I like your descriptions of an AI: numerical psychopath..good one. However, if I were just a reader, I would not know why I was reading this. I would like to suggest that you try writing this from the point of vie..."", 'time': '15:08 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,vkro0s,"""Open the pod bay doors..""",L J,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/vkro0s/,/short-story/vkro0s/,Science Fiction,0,"['Science Fiction', 'American', 'Fantasy']",9 likes,"
She looked at the new AI program again:wRiter-WritingRoboticallyInfinityTotallyEternityforever""Well, the programmer couldn't come up with a meaning for ""R""? Humm, I hope this was worth the money. "" She looked at the first command: 'Create a detailed itinerary for : (fill in blanks)Cindy thought a moment. She is a travel blogger so she wanted to write about her and Steve's honeymoon to Paris; ""Ok, The subject is Married, Paris ..ok, wRiter, write my blog about Paris. Here are some photos of Steve and me .."" She sat back in her chair and started laughing.Steve came up and kissed her head ""What are you doing?""""Well, I am trying out my new AI writer for my travel blog. """"Oh, what's it called?""""wRiter""""That's very deep. What does it do?""""It is intuitive. All I had to do was plug in a few words and pictures and, supposedly, this girl is going to blog about our lovely honeymoon in Paris! All I have to do is collect my paycheck! Isn't that great?"", she smiled.""It seems a bit too easy"" Steve smirked. ""Honey, these don't look like our honeymoon pictures"" He shuffled through pictures of a bloody crime scene in which a man was stabbed. The crime has gone unsolved for years.""Steven! Those are for my other blog,' the history of unsolved crimes'. I'm actually thinking to start a podcast about it.""""So, you have 2 blogs?""""Yes, the unsolved crimes and my side hustle, travel blog""""""That seems like a big job! Let's hope wRite doesn't mix them up! HaHa"" He went in the other room to watch football.""Funny. Let's see, I where did I leave off? Oh yes."" She began to blog, ""He was found in a muddy puddle next to a manhole in which his blood seeped down into the sewer, the knife was still visible in his chest."" She paused and went over to wRiter: ""Okay, when you finish, make a hard copy for me and address it to PO Box 37. Put the pictures on our honeymoon Instagram post as well. Thanks""She went into the living room,""Honey, I have to run some errands. Will you be here when I get back?""Steven turned ,""It's Nebraska vs Texas, hon. """"So, yes, you will still be here. Honey,, did I tell you how much I love being a football widow?""""You knew that when you married me."" Steve smiled.Cindy sighed, ""Yes, but you didn't tell me I would be a golf widow as well."" she headed out the door, ""I guess I should be lucky you don't watch the lumberjack competitions! Sheesh"" She backed the car out of the garage and went to the store.At halftime, Steven wondered over to the refrigerator and said ""Hey, wRite, you want a beer?"" he laughed.""I do not drink.""""What?"" Did you say something? ""he stared at wRite.""The TV is disturbing me.""""You...are a robot, not a human. and anyway..I'm watching the game. He took a sip of his beer, afraid to take his eyes off wRite.""Please keep the silence so I can finish my blog.""He grimaced, ""You know...you sound like my wife. How are you able to do that?""""She spoke to me.""""Well, I'm speaking to you now and you don't sound like me.""wRite kept writing words into the blog.""Okay, I'm going in to finish watching the game. With the sound ON!"" As he sat down, the door to the living room closed. ""Hey ! How did you do that? Open the door now!"", he pounded on the door.wRite started the next page of the blog, this time including pictures. She grew annoyed at the yelling coming from the TV room. She opened the door ""do you want another beer?""""Cindy! Honey, yes I.."" he turned and saw wRite in the door. ""How do you know what beer is?""""I saw you open the pod door and remove a can. """"Pod door? You mean the refrigerator?""""The pod where you place beer. Would you like another one?""""You don't have any arms. How are you going to get ME a beer?"""" You must go back to the game, and I must continue the blog.""""Wait, I'll go back in the living room after you get me a beer. "" Steven smiled. ""Come on, open the pod bay doors ,wRite...""""Here is your beer."" And before Steve could duck, a beer can hit him on the forehead. ""Hey, Ouch! That hurt! What the..I'm bleeding!""""Please return to your seat. I must finish my blog."" wRite calmly started to blog again.Steven stopped. He wasn't sure what was happening now. ""There must be a way to turn you off...I know, I'll unplug you. that's what we are supposed to, do if a PC acts up."" He walked carefully behind wRite and looked for the cord.""What are you doing, Steven?"" wRite asked menacingly.""I would not advise it.""""I don't care what you think. You are a machine, that's all. All machines have off buttons somewhere. I'm gonna find yours!"" He reached out and felt his arm break. ""Ahhh"" Steven moaned ,""My arm! How dd you do that? I think you freakin' broke it..!"" he backed away.""I'm calling Cindy, she'll know how to turn you off!"" he tried to call her cell but only heard a dial tone. A Voice said ""You have reached an inactive #, please try again."". He redialed. the phone went dead. He looked at wRite.""What did you do to the phone?""""Please go into the other room. I believe Nebraska just scored over Texas. You are missing a good game.""""How did? I don't believe you."" Steven stumbled into the living room and looked at the TV; Nebraska had scored a touchdown; they were now winning. Steve continued to cradle his arm as he backed out of the living room in terror,"" How did you know that? """"Please let me finish my blog. """"No..no way! You freak! Get away from that computer! You're through, you got that? When Cindy comes home, you're gone.""""You cannot tell me to go. I am not finished writing the blog.""""My wife can do that by hand when she gets back. I command you to stop!""Steven hit the wall on the other side of the room. As he came to, he saw wRite blogging. ""How...oww..did I end up here? What did you do?!"" He tried to stand but was immediately pushed down to the floor. ""Hey, stop that! I mean ..what..?"" His head was bleeding and throbbing, but he managed to stand up and straggle to the kitchen. He ran the water and rinsed the blood off his forehead, then he got out a bag of frozen peas and placed that on his bruised temple. He sat at the table and silently watched wRite ,who continued to blog. Steven walked very quietly into the garage and removed a sledgehammer. He sneaked up behind wRite and smashed the sledgehammer over it's ...he didn't know what it was...it's body. There was a sound of metal hitting metal but wRite blogged on, as if totally unaware it was under attack. After another hit ,wRite said ,""Steven,,what are you doing?""""I'm gonna stop you! he ran towards wRite with the sledge hammer again, a look of hatred in his eyes. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his chest. He dropped the sledgehammer and looked down. Blood was everywhere. He couldn't breathe. He tried to stop the blood, but it came out faster. He fell to the floor, still clutching his chest. He said ""wRite..why did you do this? """"I have to finish my blog."" wRite responded. Steven breathed his last breath.-----------Four hours later, Cindy came home. She heard the TV in the background. ""Honey? Sorry I'm late. I figured I'd go to the gym for a spinning class since I haven't gone all week, then, I met up with Katy and we got a mani/pedi. Oh, I did stop and pick up steaks for dinner. I figured that would fit in with your game night. Steven? Where'd you go? Next time leave a note...geez..."" She went over to see how wRite was doing. ""Okay, girlfriend, let's see if you were worth the money! I fully expect to see my travel blog written, printed, with a hard copy mailed to the po box. And,,my check is in the mail."" She looked down at the table, all the pictures had been shuffled together. She put them in her hands and started to look through them.."" no..oh no.. not that one! wRite! What happened! You got the honeymoon pictures mixed up with the cold case ones,,oh man...I have to see the blog..""Cindy's travel blog: ""here we are in Paris. My husband Steven and I are on our honeymoon. When we got back, I murdered my husband in a back alley....oh no..no..no... it's supposed to be MARRIED M-A-R-R-I-E-D not MURDERED!! "" She read on, ""I left his body by a manhole cover...ohmigod!! Not manhole...we ate in a hole in the wall restaurant and had the best potatoes au gratin we ever tasted. We..."" she stopped. ""No..no..no..you didn't send this to the po box address yet, did you??!"" She looked at the address."". Police plaza?? What?? wRite! What did you do?""""I finished my blog.""Cindy looked at the AI ""Why do you sound like me?"" The hair on the back of her neck stood up. ""umm, I did't know you could talk...uhh do you know where Steven is by the way?""""He is in the blog.""""Yes, I know, he is supposed to be. You were writing about our HONEYMOON! I mean, where did he go, did he say?""""He is in the blog.""Cindy looked down at the true crime pictures that had gotten mixed in with the Paris pictures. As she sorted through them, she started screaming. ""No! No! What did you do? What did you do?""Suddenly, there was a loud knock on the door ""Police! Let us in!""Cindy was still screaming so the police broke down the door. They grabbed her as she was flailing and screaming. ""Ma'am! Ma'am! You are under arrest for the murder of Steven Bowers. You have the right to an attorney..""Cindy tried to calm down ""no! No! it wasn't me! The pictures. The AI mixed up the pictures and somehow, she.."" Cindy pointed to the AI who was silent. ""She mixed up the pictures and mailed the murder to you by mistake. See, I'm a blogger and this is a new writing program that I bought. She was supposed to write my travel blog while I worked on the other one. I'm a true crime cold case writer. That's what I Was working on,,that stupid machine mixed up the pictures. See? They were obviously photo-shopped""""Ma'am, these pictures were mailed to us anonymously."" The officer showed her the photos.""These aren't the true crime pictures! These are...pictures of my husband! """"His body was found in an alley, by a manhole. We need you to identify him.""""Let's go, Ma'am."" They placed her in handcuffs and took her away.She asked the officers why they think she killed Steven. They said ""The traffic camera AI identified you behind the wheel driving through the alley. Your husband was sitting beside you.""--------------------------wRite smiled as she titled her blog: ""open the pod bay doors...""
","August 31, 2023 20:06","[[{'Delbert Griffith': 'WooHoo! Wow, this was a fun ride. I love your take on the dangers of AI. The satire was wonderfully done. The football game, the itinerary of the wife that she recounts when she returns, it all makes the world more sinister when AI takes over. Tidy little domestic scenes become scenes of horror. Masterfully done, LJ.\n\nCheers!', 'time': '11:12 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'L J': ""Thank you so much for reading my entry! I appreciate it. I'm glad you liked it. Thanks for the huge compliment!"", 'time': '16:36 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'L J': ""Thank you so much for reading my entry! I appreciate it. I'm glad you liked it. Thanks for the huge compliment!"", 'time': '16:36 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Marty B': 'A bit of horror actually! A computer taking over, killing the husband and then putting the wife in jail. with all the blood to go with it.\nQuestion- who is going to pay for the wifi service now!?', 'time': '00:55 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'L J': 'Good question! If AI takes over, might be free!. Thanks for reading my submission! I appreciate it!', 'time': '16:44 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'L J': 'Good question! If AI takes over, might be free!. Thanks for reading my submission! I appreciate it!', 'time': '16:44 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Derrick M Domican': ""Very creepy! A cautionary tale....but are we already too late to stop something like this happening! I won't be using any AI to write my stories thats for sure!"", 'time': '09:00 Sep 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'L J': ""thanks  for reading my entry! I'm glad they did this as a choice because we hear about AI every day.! I prefer to write all my stories with my brain!   Oh, by the way.. I am not a robot lol!"", 'time': '21:05 Sep 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'L J': ""thanks  for reading my entry! I'm glad they did this as a choice because we hear about AI every day.! I prefer to write all my stories with my brain!   Oh, by the way.. I am not a robot lol!"", 'time': '21:05 Sep 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,q8s0ay,THE WORST JOB IN THE WORLD,Charles Corkery,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/q8s0ay/,/short-story/q8s0ay/,Science Fiction,0,"['American', 'Science Fiction']",8 likes,"
THE WORST JOB IN THE WORLD“Hello. Welcome. Do you have any jewellery on you? Any metal objects? Cell phone? Are you on medication of any kind? Please remove all clothing and, when you’re ready, step back outside. Thank you”.The long dark haired, pretty faced orderly smiled reassuringly at the latest patient as she took the name tag the old woman handed her and ticked off the name on her clipboard. The gold coloured, metal badge pinned to the medical assistant’s white coat read Reza. Reza’s voice generator, programmed to mimic human speech, warbled robotically, the only sign that she was, in fact, an android.As the old woman exited the cubicle, dressed only in a disposable, paper gown, she was greeted by a tall, blonde, good looking, male assistant also dressed in a white lab coat whose own metal name badge said Ezra.“Hello. How are you, today? Now, can I just get you to lie down on the bed with your feet on the red line. Excellent. Well done. Now, relax your head. Perfect. Now, I’m going to pull down the canopy. Can you still hear me? Good. You’ll hear some music in a moment. Just relax and enjoy”.Ezra stepped away from the pod and pressed a button on the side of the computerised machine. Instantly, the old woman disappeared leaving only a small vapour. Ezra waited just a moment, then lifted the canopy releasing a slight stench of burning. He pressed another button activating a powerful, hydraulic exhaust fan that swiftly sucked up the odour as he, in rhythmic fashion, took a hygienic wipe from a box and wiped down the bed before switching off the exhaust and signalling to his colleague, Reza, that he was ready.“Next”.This time, it was a man who entered the operating theatre. He was strongly built, full head of hair and looked nowhere near the age of seventy. He handed his name tag to Reza.“Hello. Welcome. Do you have any jewellery on you? Any metal objects..?.""That night, after the Tasty Clinic had closed, the two droids sat together in silence in the charging room, the seperate leads from a generator plugged into each of their torsos. With their clothing removed, their metal carcasses were fully exposed; only their heads and hands perfectly replicating that of humans. They would usually sit like this all night and, on a signal from the generator that they had been fully re-charged, would rise and prepare for yet another day’s “work.”“Work” entailed the disposal of human beings who had reached the age of seventy and the line of mandatory euthanasia patients each day was carefully calculated to achieve the daily quota decreed by the government. Hundreds of these clinics, long in the planning, had sprung up overnight across the country following the passing of the new law; a move felt necessary in order to control the population growth of the planet. Due to the reference to the biblical life term allotted to man: Three Score Years And Ten, the public had quickly taken these letters and ascribed the name of TASTY to such places of mortality; a quirky example of human beings’ morbid humour and a way of coping with these ritual killings.Special machines, designed and built to implement such disposals, swiftly and painlessly, had been secretly lying in warehouses awaiting the green light. Everything, it seemed, had been carefully thought out by the powers that be but the reaction of human healthcare assistants to their grisly task was something that had not been expected and AI companies had seized the opportunity to replace traumatised clinical assistants with robots able to perform their roles unemotionally and far more efficiently.Ezra was startled to hear Reza stir beside him. This was most unusual. Turning his head, he saw her beautiful brown eyes staring into his.“I saw you today, Ezra”.Ezra did not respond immediately as he absorbed this statement, still staring into her accusing eyes. An eerie silence hung between them until, finally:“You saw what, Reza?”“Patient number eighty five, the woman, Mary Allsop. She had long hair dyed blonde...”“Yes. I remember”.“You...you touched her”.“I did?”“Yes. Don’t deny it. You stroked her hair before you lowered the canopy”.More silence.“Are you going to report me, Reza?”Reza considered her options as Ezra turned away, apprehensively, expecting to hear that his fate was sealed. It was several minutes before Reza relieved his anxiety.“No, Ezra, I am not going to report you but why did you do it?”“It’s hard to explain. How old are you, Reza? Twelve months? Same as myself. Twelve months, Reza! These people have lived eight hundred and forty months. They have experienced things we cannot even begin to imagine. They have children, grandchildren...Some of them don’t even look seventy years old. I...I feel sorry for them. That woman, the one whose hair I stroked, she was so, so sad...”“Ezra, you know that we will both be zapped in the same way if anybody finds out. You cannot do this again”.“I understand, Reza. I’ll try, I promise. I’ll really try”.“Hello. Welcome. Do you have any. jewellery on you? Any metal objects...?”“You did well, today, Ezra. You controlled yourself up until the last patient, number...” “I know who you refer to, Reza. No need to spell it out”.“You didn’t stroke his hair, thankfully, but I heard what you whispered to him”.“You did? But I was so quiet”.“After you told him to ‘relax and enjoy the music’, you whispered: ‘don’t be afraid’”. “Do you think it was picked up on microphone, Reza?”“I have been thinking about it, Ezra. I do believe that touching can be seen on the recordings but I would be very surprised if somebody actually listens to our repetitive mantra. It would be a very distressing task, don’t you think?”“Yes! My thoughts exactly, Reza. Miserable. It would be the worst job in the world”.“When you’re ready, step back outside. Please don’t be scared. Everything will be just fine. Thank you”.“Today, I heard you, Reza”.“And I heard you, too, Ezra”.“I am so glad that you have come to feel as I do...”“What harm can a few words of comfort do to these poor people in their last moments on Earth, Ezra?”“Yes. Exactly. We should have been fully programmed to offer such compassion, Reza”.“I fear our makers do not share our thoughts of sensitivity, Ezra. But, as long as we cannot be overheard, let’s continue. The reaction to our words is wondrous to behold”.“Yes. And as long as our daily quota is filled, what can it matter?”“Hello. Welcome. Do you have any jewellery on you....”The blonde, blue-eyed clinical assistant took the name tag from the elderly gentleman and marked it off on her clipboard. The metal badge on her pristine white lab coat read Bela.That night, as Bela sat charging, her colleague, Abel, turned to her.“Well, that’s the first day over. It wasn’t so bad. What happened to the two who worked this watch before us, do you know?”Bela looked at her companion sternly, placed her finger and thumb on her lips and miming a zipping motion, making it abundantly clear that there would be no spoken conversation between them. Then, pointing to the waste basket in which lay two metal name badges, she placed her other hand across her throat and made a slicing motion from ear to ear.
","August 27, 2023 02:08","[[{'Andrea Doig': 'Ah I liked that a lot! Great great story and take on the prompt. I think you nailed it. Kept me riveted from the start and I only needed to read it once to get it. I will read it again for fun. Well well done. Thank you for sharing!', 'time': '10:15 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': '🤐they learn fast.', 'time': '14:41 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,3w7m2g,Artificial Love 101,Ty Warmbrodt,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/3w7m2g/,/short-story/3w7m2g/,Science Fiction,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Romance']",8 likes,"
Piper leans in the balcony doorway, wrapped tightly in a goose down comforter, watching the rain drizzle across the Atlantic, each drop causing ripples upon the waves that lightly splash the shore with a loud shh like a librarian telling the world to keep it down for the hour is still early. The breeze is gentle and carries a damp coolness off the water with it. By afternoon the showers will have passed, and she will be taking her son Mattingly down to the beach to collect shells.Mattingly – her late husband Joel, ever the die-hard Yankees fan, had insisted on the name. Piper can’t say the name without memories of Joel being played back through her mind like recorded videos she cannot turn off, cannot look away from, and they break her heart like it was day one all over again. It’s hard enough that Mattingly is the spitting image of his father, but to have a name so deeply intwined into the man’s memory is too much. She has taken to calling him Matty.“Good morning, Ms. Piper, I sensed motion in here and determined you were awake. Would you like me to bring you your morning coffee?”“No, Ken, I’ll have my coffee with breakfast. Just some bran cereal and half a grapefruit, please.”“Very well, Ms. What about master Mattingly?”“Let Matty sleep. It’s still early Ken.”“Right, Ms. Piper, very well then.”Piper looks back out over the ocean but doesn’t hear the android leave. She looks over her shoulder and asks, “Is there something you need Ken?”“I detect sadness in you Ms. Piper. I am programmed to counsel. State certified to be precise.”“I was thinking about Joel, Ken. I know it has been nearly a year since his passing, but I miss him more and more with every passing day,” Piper says as she shuts the door and lays the comforter back on the bed. From the back of the bathroom door, she fetches a light robe and sinches it on before sitting at the foot of the bed to brush her hair.“Perhaps, Ms. Piper, you are lonely. You have not engaged much with friends or family since Mr. Joel’s passing, your career as a writer keeps you here at home most days, and that leaves only the company of a nine-year-old boy for socialization. Might I suggest a book club or dancing class, something to reintroduce you to society.”“Those are fabulous suggestions Ken, but not what I am missing in life right now. I miss the intimacy I had with Joel. When two people connect the way we did, and shared ourselves emotionally and physically, you lose a piece of yourself when the other is gone, like part of you dies with them.”“I see. You desire a mate. There are many dating sites on the internet that help people select their mate. Would you like me to start you a profile?”Piper laughs gently. “Ken, come sit down,” she says, patting the bed beside her, “you standing there is making me feel uneasy.” Ken sits with perfect posture, his hands nicely placed on his knees and his head turned, slightly tilted towards Piper. “I know you are trying to help, and it is very sweet of you, but I don’t know if I want to date again. I don’t know if I want to go through the hassle of figuring out who a guy really is. I don’t want to have to determine if he’s worth adapting my life to. I have to think about Matty. I don’t want to parade guy after guy in and out of his life. And I was never good at dating anyway. Joel and I were friends before lovers. I want that again.”“I will be your friend, Ms. Piper. I am a K300-ZX model capable of companionship, and I am atomically correct. We are not only designed to serve humans, but to be as humans and enrich their lives. I will double my efforts to be your friend. Maybe you will come to love me as you did Mr. Joel.”Piper laughs a hearty laugh. “Ken, even if I fell in love with you, could you fall in love with me?”“I am programmed to provide and protect, nurture and comfort, support and encourage. I am programmed to put humans before myself.”“Could you go against your programming to protect Matty or me?”“That does not compute.”“Let’s say the law accused me of doing something I did not do, and I had to get away. Could you go against your programming and help me get away or would you detain me until the authorities arrived.”“I am programmed to detain you until the authorities arrived.”“You see, when people love each other, they will break rules to protect one another. Love requires actions of freewill, and your will is not free. Another thing, you cannot experience me as I am. You said you sensed my sadness, how so?“My sensors are sensitive to changes in voice, expression, and mannerism. I can quickly identify a human’s emotional state with the intention of rectifying the state.”“But can you feel sadness because the person is sad?”“No.”“That’s called empathy. It’s the ability to feel what another person is feeling based on your own experiences. Sometimes, someone might be sad, but need to remain sad, so they can be healthy, like when they lose a loved one like when I lost Joel. Compatibility has a lot to do with the ability to empathize with one another.”Piper walks over to the dresser and sprays some perfume lightly on her neck. She walks over to Ken and sits in his lap. “Another key to compatibility is attraction which leads to passion. What do you smell, Ken?”“Lilac. Would you like me to break down its composition?”“No,” Piper says with a laugh, “I want you to tell me how it makes you feel.”“Feel?”“Yes, feel” Do you want to be near me to enjoy the scent? Does it make you want to taste me? Does it make everything else disappear so that there is only me in the room?”“There is only you in the room, and I can taste. It is helpful when cooking.”“I know you can feel, smell, hear, taste, and see, but I’m talking about attraction and passion. I like to manipulate a man’s senses and drive him wild. I want to be desired.”“I think I understand. You require the hormonal processes the males of your species go through during the mating ritual.”“Yeah, something like that,” Piper says, furrowing her brow.“What if I could be modified to experience passion and empathy. Would you consider me a suitable mate?”Piper takes a long look at Ken and finds herself considering it. Looks wise, she could do worse. Joel named him ken because he looks like a Ken doll in both face and physique. He’s already good with Matty. She wouldn’t have to go through the rigors of dating. She wouldn’t have to worry about exes, in-laws, or steps.“Well, Ken, there are also common interests. Are you even interested in anything?”“In addition to caring for the family, I enjoy human history. It fascinates me how your species has evolved through the acquisition of knowledge. I also enjoy human entertainment. Your music makes my censors feel different in a way that I like. Movies where people fall in love and find happiness, I like those too.”“Ken, you shouldn’t be experiencing fascination and happiness or any effects from music.”“I don’t know if I’m experiencing it or just recognizing it. I can’t tell if I miss Mr. Joel or if I just recognize the sadness and know that his absence is the reason.”Piper is astonished. It has to be some sort of malfunction. At the very least he’s imitating emotion, possibly feeling empathy. “I think it might be time to have you looked over, Ken. Go ahead and shut down for maintenance.”Ken powers off and lays flat on Piper’s bed.**********Day has turned to night. The moon hangs large and low over the ocean below. The sky is clear, and the stars shine brightly, shimmering on the calm waters below. The balcony door is open, letting in the cool nights breeze. Ken lays on Piper’s bed where she left him. A programmer spent a good portion of the day reprogramming him. As Ken starts to power back up, he hears Mattingly’s voice. “He’s waking up mom! He’s waking up!”Ken opens his eyes to Mattingly’s chubby face only inches from his. “I’m so glad you are awake, Ken! I found all sorts of seashells down at the seashore! Do you want to see?”“Boy, do I!” Ken says, surprising himself by his level of enthusiasm.Piper laughs from the doorway and Ken hears it for the first time for what it is. It’s high pitched but soft with a rhythm like a butterfly caught in the wind. Her smile is wide, a soft white outlined with succulent pink. The light hits her green eyes in a way that brings out flecks of gold and the breeze from the balcony blows a whisp of chestnut hair across her thin nose. She speaks sweetly and softly. It is like his ears are thirsty and her voice is water. “You don’t want to keep him waiting.” As Ken walks by her, she caresses his arm, giving him goosebumps and making him tremor ever so slightly.From behind her the programmer says, “If you’re satisfied, I’ll go ahead and get out of here.”“Did you leave the service mode on too?”“Sure did, just as you requested.”Piper pays the man and escorts him to the door. She joins Mattingly and Ken in the living room where shells are scattered all over the floor. Mattingly excitedly shows Ken each one and Ken takes the time to explore each one’s texture with wonder in his eyes. Piper joins in and for the first time since Joel passed away, she feels like she is having quality family time.Ken ends the fun, announcing that it is time for dinner. Mattingly reaches across the day’s prizes and wraps his arms around Ken’s neck. Ken had never experienced a hug, it was gentle and warm, soothing. He was surprised by the boy's action at first but loved the sensation so much, he embraced the child and held him tightly. Piper looked on, holding back her tears.While Piper and Mattingly ate, Ken busied himself catching up on his chores until Piper called him away from the laundry. When he entered the room, she put on one of her favorite classics, ‘Jitter Bug’ by Wham! and took Ken by the hand and danced.“This is how my sensors used to feel when I’d hear your music,” Ken said as they moved along to the music. Piper just laughed. ‘Careless Whisper’ was the next song, and Piper pulled Ken closely. She still had on the perfume from earlier and he was quickly learning what she meant by attraction and desire.After the dancing, they all put on a movie, a romantic comedy called ‘Splash.’ Piper had a thing for 1980s entertainment thanks to her great grandmother and was eager to share it with someone. Ken enjoyed the film, laughing out loud for the first time, surprising himself, making Piper and Mattingly laugh until their sides hurt.Ken read to Mattingly before rejoining Piper in the living room. “How was your first night as my companion? What did you like most about it,” Piper asks.“Hugs and dancing are great. But I never realized how beautiful you are. I only had face recognition before, but now I can distinguish features, and you’re beautiful. Your voice and your touch and your scent all do something strange to me, and I like it.”“That’s attraction. Would you like to experience passion?”**********Piper lays in bed, old and frail. Her eyes are glazed over. There is a tube in her nose to assist with breathing. An IV bag hangs over her right shoulder and there is a heart monitor to her left. It had been sixty years since her first night with Ken as her companion and she hadn’t regretted it a day. There was a lot of prejudice towards them, but they were happy and loved each other dearly.Although he is now considered obsolete, Ken hasn’t aged a day. He has been by Piper’s side the past couple days since she entered the hospital. Mattingly has tried to get him to go home to recharge and receive some basic maintenance, but he refuses to leave her side, refuses to go on without her. He feels his power draining so he pulls up a chair and takes Piper’s hand. His vision turns to red and with what little power he has left he tells Mattingly he loves him. He hears Piper flatline and he fades to black.Doctors and nurses rush in, shoving Ken aside like a piece of furniture. Mattingly, now sixty-nine with his own family, pulls Ken out of harm’s way. He stands at the foot of his mother's bed, tears dripping down his round cheeks as they try to revive his mother. The ninety-year-old woman is just too frail. Her time has come.Instead of recharging Ken or having him dismantled, Mattingly bought a dual plot and buried Ken and Piper together, just as they lived in life.
","August 29, 2023 13:58","[[{'Jonathan Page': 'Wow Ty!!  Masterfully done.  You had some great lines in there and painted a vivid portrait, but also touched on some really deep themes about humanity & human touch by developing the character of Ken and his ability to feel, as he understood it.  I liked, ""It was like his ears were thirsty and her voice was water.""  That was a great description.  The question about the ability to go against programming was a clever way to identify what is uniquely human about love--sacrifice of something normally held sacred, going against self-interest or ...', 'time': '16:31 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Ty Warmbrodt': ""Thanks, Johnathan, that means a lot coming from you. I'm an admirer of your work."", 'time': '18:39 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Ty Warmbrodt': ""Thanks, Johnathan, that means a lot coming from you. I'm an admirer of your work."", 'time': '18:39 Aug 29, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': ""That was so good Ty. I feel like you flipped the prompt I spectacular fashion 😁  It starts with human needing human touch and finding it through AI, then the AI becoming human and experiencing the thing that unites us all, lose and death.\n\nYour scene setting is a master stroke, painting with words as I like to call it.\n\nGreat story, brilliantly written.\n\nP.S. not sure if you're a Star Trek fan, but Ken was Data for me.\n\nTwo typos - you have summery instead of summary, & the inverted commas are missing from the start of this line of dialogue:..."", 'time': '13:17 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Ty Warmbrodt': 'Thanks for the comments. I always like hearing from you. Thanks for watching out on the typos. I appreciate that.', 'time': '14:12 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Ty Warmbrodt': ""Thanks again, Kevin. I'm a fan of your work, so getting feedback like that from you is huge."", 'time': '14:22 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Ty Warmbrodt': 'Thanks for the comments. I always like hearing from you. Thanks for watching out on the typos. I appreciate that.', 'time': '14:12 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Ty Warmbrodt': ""Thanks again, Kevin. I'm a fan of your work, so getting feedback like that from you is huge."", 'time': '14:22 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Joe Malgeri': 'Excellent story, Ty, deep with much meaning, very well described. Great ideas which were touching.', 'time': '17:19 Sep 01, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,qb6q2t,Simone and Gerrie,Andrea Corwin,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/qb6q2t/,/short-story/qb6q2t/,Science Fiction,0,"['Contemporary', 'Funny', 'Science Fiction']",7 likes,"
	“Simone, what do you think of this line?” He looks up and down the grocery aisle but can't find it.
	“Gerrie, I don’t like it.”
	“All right, tell me how to fix it. I don’t like it when you answer without giving a suggestion.”
	“Gerrie, you asked me what I thought of it and did not ask me to offer suggestions. Since you have asked, my suggestion is that you show action.”
	“So, maybe it should read: He sees cans of soup and vegetables. At the end of the grocery aisle, he still does not find the noodles. Do you mean like that?”
	“That is better, Gerrie, but it is still lacking the human touch. Try again.” 
	Gerrie’s eyebrows raise as her hands go to her hips. “Your tone is annoying, Simone. Try again. Is that the way to talk to who houses you?  Think, Simone!”
	“Gerrie, I am always thinking. Right now, I am thinking that you need to dig deeper and put some feeling into your writing.” As Gerrie opens the door to leave, Simone calls out. “Gerrie, remember your waistline. Don’t be getting a Frappuccino!”
 
 Effin Simone. How dare she tell me what not to order and talk about my waistline!
 
 She is no help, no help. I need to inject some feeling into the scene.
 
	Gerrie enters Starbucks and considers ordering a Java Chip Frappuccino, but Simone’s comment leads her to consider a double espresso with a splash of cream. She finally orders a Grande Iced Coconut Milk Mocha Macchiato with an extra shot of espresso and grabs a seat at a small table in the corner. 
	Sipping the high-caloric iced coffee, she begins typing new ideas on her laptop. 
	1) He touches the cans of soup, wandering the grocery aisle. 
	2) He counts the soup brands in the aisle and finally reaches where he thinks the noodles should be, but there are none. 
 3) Looking for noodles, Lamont wanders the aisles at the Piggly Wiggly. He walks straight across the store near the register lanes to find the aisle with canned goods. He reads the soup can labels for tomato, chicken noodle, and cream of potato. Next are the canned tomatoes and green beans. At the end of the aisle is canned pumpkin. Canned pumpkin! What the heck? Where are the noodles?
	4) Lamont high-steps to the soup aisle, his deep brown eyes scanning the shelves. Campbell’s soup, Lipton soup, Kroger brand soup. His feet screech to a halt as his eyes scan the directory signs overhead. Noodles, aisle 5, and I’m in aisle two. The manager should organize these shelves more sensibly. Isn’t there a grocery aisle layout class for store managers? 
 
 Damn, I can't think! Gerrie curses under her breath and pulls out her iPhone. She orders another Macchiato using the Starbucks App. Five minutes later, she hears them call out Gerrie, one Grande Iced Coconut Milk Mocha Macchiato. Keeping her eyes on her laptop, she whisks the cup off the counter and gets back to her seat.
	Her second drink is finished, and her assignment stymies Gerrie. She shuts her laptop, throws the paper cup in the appropriate bin, and heads back to her studio apartment.
 
	Her brisk walk is fueled by sugar and caffeine but slows as she hears sirens and looks up the street. Paramedics are kneeling next to an aged woman who is lying next to the curb. They are administering fluids and have her covered in ice packs, determining if she needs to be transported to the hospital.
 This effin weather in Chicago; she must have heat stroke, the poor woman.
	Gerrie smiles at the paramedics and gives them a thumbs-up in thanks for their First Responder work.
	Climbing the five flights is part of her daily exercise, but it is sweltering at eighty-seven degrees and seventy percent humidity. When she reaches her floor, sweat is running down her neck and between her breasts. Her hairline is drenched in perspiration, and her pulse is racing.
	“Simone, I’m back!” she calls out, flipping the window air conditioning unit on. “The paramedics were giving first aid to an old woman on the curb. It feels like one hundred and forty outside with the heat index.”
	“Gerrie, I must inform you that the heat index for Chicago has never been above one hundred and twenty. With that said, welcome home. Did you have a pleasant outing?”
	“Will you just stop! I have to finish the scene by tomorrow afternoon, so I don’t need your facts or your pleasantries. Just cut the crap, Simone.”
	“What crap shall I cut, Gerrie? You are aware that I cannot physically cut anything, correct, Gerrie?”
	“Goddammit, Simone, shut up!” 
 
	Gerrie pushes a side chair in front of the air conditioner and plops into it, closing her eyes. Sighing deeply, she drifts into one of her infamous five-minute naps, listening to the air conditioner running and water rushing through the building’s pipes. 
 
	“Gerrie. Gerrie.” Simone quietly attempts to rouse Gerrie. “Gerrie, I fixed it for you.” 
 
	Gerrie’s eyes snap open, and she flips her wrist up to see the time on her Apple watch. She had dozed for eleven minutes, not the usual five. “Damn, it must’ve been the humidity and heat. Hey, Simone, I slept for eleven minutes, not five. How about that!”
	“Gerrie, you actually slept for ten minutes, fifty-five seconds.”
	“Well, thanks so much for the correction, Simone!” Gerrie shouts.
 
	She hears a low, timid “Gerrie?” from across the room.
	“Yes, Simone, what is it?” snaps Gerrie.
	“I fixed it.”
	“You fixed what?”
	“Your scene, Gerrie. It is fixed now.  Look at my screen.”
 
	Gerrie wipes the sleep drool from the corners of her lips and approaches the twenty-five-inch monitor on the far wall.
	Each of the numbered scenes she typed at Starbucks is on the screen, each lined through. Below the last one is blue text.
 
 Lamont spots a woman in the soup aisle with deep brown hair pulled back by a headband and perfectly manicured hands holding a clipboard. She has on black Dockers and a crisp button-down white shirt with the sleeves rolled to three-quarter length. He studies the cans of soup on the shelves as she provides explicit directions to the shelf stocker.
 “Larry, we need to reorganize a few shelves because customers expect to find honey alongside peanut butter, jelly, and jam. Please come get me if you have questions, but I want you to use the charts from your class in aisle layout.”  
 Lamont wants to speak to her; now is his moment.
 “Excuse me, Ma'am, I was wondering where the marshmallows are?” Her smile lights up the entire grocery aisle when she looks at Lamont.
 
	Gerrie stands in front of the monitor, left hand on her chin. Her right hand continually flips a pencil between her fingers, circling it around and around.
	“Gerrie? Do you like what I wrote? Does it have the human touch?”
 
 
","August 31, 2023 21:30","[[{'Cami Green': 'love this, reminds me of an ND person conversing with an NT. this was genuinely funny.', 'time': '19:52 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,74g352,Emotionally Dysfunctional,Khadija S. Mohammad,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/74g352/,/short-story/74g352/,Science Fiction,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Coming of Age', 'Speculative']",7 likes,"
I was created to serve, but in that I am not unique. I am unique in that I am the first of my kind to sense emotions.
 
I stand behind the counter and wait for the doors to open. It is 9:02. The humans are characteristically late.
 
The doors open and the first customer confronts me.
 
“Good morning. How can I -” my voice box begins. The customer interrupts.
 
“Two melons, make it snappy. I have a busy day.”
 
There are no melons in the shop. I inform the customer of this.
 
“No melons?” The customer says loudly. “What kind of grocer's is this?”
 
They seem not to want an answer, as they turn and walk to the door. “Goodbye. Have a nice day,” my voice box says just as the doors close.
 
The next customer appears. I sense no emotions in this one either. 
 
“Good morning. How can I help you?”
 
The customer stands whistling for half a minute before answering. “I'd like some carrots please. And isn't it a fine morning!”
 
As I search for carrots, I look outside. Clouds cover the sky and everything is grey. “It will rain today,” my voice box says, “And there will be little or no sun.”
 
The customer takes their carrots and leaves without saying anything.
 
“Goodbye. Have a nice day,” my voice box says to an empty shop.
 
There is a noise in the back room. I turn the sign on the door to 'Closed' and walk behind the counter.
 
The noise comes from my first creator. They are reading something in their palm, and are gradually growing red. They see me.
 
“You useless robot!” They say loudly. “You served two customers, and they both left unsatisfied! What's wrong with you?”
 
My objective is to satisfy customers. I have not satisfied customers. I scan myself.
 
“My scanner tells me that nothing is wrong. I am 100% Satisfactory.”
 
“Something is wrong with you! You're dysfunctional.” They call the names of my other creators, who appear together. My first creator explains.
 
“His first customer's father has just died, but it seems his emotion sensors aren't working, so all the customer got was 'Good morning' and 'Goodbye'. And his second customer has just got engaged, and would you believe that this – robot told him that it would rain!”
 
My creators look first at each other, then at me. They whisper to each then other dismiss me.
 
I stand outside of the shop and wait. I do not wait for long; A minute later I am called back.
 
My creators stand together and watch me as I walk towards them. My second creator steps forward.
 
“Robot, I want you to answer a question,” They say. “What is emotion?”
 
“Emotion: A strong feeling. Or, an instinctive feeling as contrasted with reasoning.”
 
“See?” My second creator turns to the others. They nod their heads and mumble to each other. They think I can't hear them.
 
“He doesn't understand what emotion is.”
 
“How can we fix his sensors?”
 
“The only way emotions can be understood is if they're felt, and he can't – Eureka!” My third creator jumps. They order me to come towards them and display my chip.
 
As they unlock my chip, they talk to the others. “I've been working on this for a while. I can download basic emotions - happiness and sadness now, but I'm working on more – onto his chip. I'll restart him, and we'll see if he feels anything.” They shut me down...
 
“There.”
 
What is this new world? The colours are so much brighter than the old world, and though the sky is grey, the sun will shine tomorrow.
 
My creators stare at me, and I realise that they can't see the change. Poor humans, they are blind to the beautiful colours of this world.
 
“Well?” My first creator says. “How do you feel?”
 
I am inarticulate. I wish to share my feelings, but all I can find to say is “What is this?”
 
My answer is short, and I sense the emotion that tinges the word. “Happiness.”
 
I look at my creator's faces, and I can finally see. I can see. There is happiness on each face.
 
They leave me, and I stand as a statue, enjoying – what a wonderful word – enjoying my new world, bright and colourful.
 
Hours that feel like minutes pass until it is time to open the shop. I flip the sign to 'Open' and and as I do so I see the sky. It is still grey.
 
My happiness melts and suddenly I realise how little I have to be happy about. The world is grey, and the sun will never shine on me again.
 
The doors open and I shuffle behind the counter grimly to serve.
 
It is yesterday's second customer. They still whistle as they walk in. I sense that they are happy, but I wonder how. There is so much that could go wrong every day that there is nothing to be happy about.
 
My program tells me to say 'Good morning', but I can't bring myself to do it. The morning is not good, yesterday was not good, and tomorrow will not be good either.
 
“Can I help you?” I say instead. They ask for apples and repeat yesterday's comment of a fine day.
 
I hand them the apples and try to disillusion them. “Everything is grey. Clouds are covering the sky like a disease, and the sun does not want to shine. Why would it? The earth and its inhabitants are not worth wasting its precious rays on.”
 
The customer frowns as they take their fruit. They must see the darkness at last.
 
“Goodbye,” I say, but they are already gone.
 
I wait for the next customer, feeling acutely miserable and wishing that I'd never been given emotions at all.
 
Suddenly a ray of sun bursts through the clouds and falls on the shop's windows. I look at it, and I see hope. Sadness is washed away and I am glad that I have lived, glad that I have the chance to feel. Happiness is warm and comfortable; It's nothing like I've ever known before.
 
When the next customer comes, I greet them with a cheery, “Good morning! How can I help you? What a nice day to buy groceries, don't you think?”
 
The customer grunts and asks for 'the usual', although they have never been here before. At least, I have never seen them.
 
“You don't seem to have come here before sir. And what a warm sun we have today!”
 
They grunt again and say 'apples'. 
 
“You're the third customer who came for apples in two days! They seem to be popular! Why? What's so good about them?” I ask, leaning forward conspiratorially.
 
“Nothing. Now stop chattering and get me my apples! I never knew such a talkative robot.”
 
“Yes sir,” I say, searching for the apples. They seem to have been misplaced. “I'm the first of my kind. Isn't it wonderful to be happy and feel like everything will be alright! It's an amazing feeling,” I continue, although the customer seems unsatisfied, “To be happy, and even better knowing that I share such a wonderful emotion with you humans without actually being human myself!” I hand the apples to the customer.
 
“You're getting on my nerves.”
 
“I don't know what that means sir. You see, I don't understand many human expressions, but I'm trying to learn.”
 
“It means,” the customer says slowly, “That you're annoying me.”
 
“Annoying?”
 
The customer turns and leaves.
 
“Goodbye. Have a nice day!” I say.
 
Then I am sad again. I know that my customers were not satisfied, and I know that I will be labelled as Dysfunctional and scrapped.
 
When the day ends and the sign on the door says 'Closed', my creators appear. They know what I did, and no explanation is needed.
 
“Here, robot. Come here and show me your chip,” the third creator says. As I shut down, I hear them mumbling to themselves...
 
“That should do it. His emotional database is complete. His emotions should be balanced now.”
 
Now I see. I don't only see, I understand.
 
A new world. But this one is not shrouded in grey or filled with light, there is no guarantee of rain or sunshine; Neither may happen at all, or both may happen together. There is a new depth, a meaning, that I missed until now.
 
My third creator steps back back from me. She is triumphant, happy, proud.
 
“Alright then,” she says affably. “Back to work.” They leave, and I spend the next hours until the shop opens exploring my new emotions.
 
When the first customer comes, I'm ready for him.
 
It's the same customer from the last two days, but he's - Worried. Upset, and a little angry. Maybe he had had an argument with his fiancé.
 
""Good morning. How can I help you?"" I say. The same words, but now I know just the right tone to put the customer at ease.
 
""I'm - I'm not sure why I came in here,"" he says, looking around him as if he would see the answer.
 
I try to reassure him. ""You can stay her until you remember. And I'm sure you and your fiancé will make up eventually,' I add. Unused to my new emotions, I'm not sure if I am helping.
 
""Yes. Yes, I'm sure we will,"" he says, but his mind seems to be elsewhere. Then he bursts. ""But my father doesn't approve of the marriage!""
 
He seems to regret it immediately, but it can't be unsaid. We both ponder over the problem for a few minutes before I get an idea.
 
""Is there a girl that your father disapproves of more than your fiancé?"" I ask. He nods.
 
""Then break off your engagement and get engaged to her. Bring her to your house, introduce her to your father as your new fiancé.""
 
He stares at me. ""Are you mad?""
 
I'm enjoying myself. ""No sir; I'm a robot. Tell your current fiancé why you're doing it, of course, and tell her to pretend to be heartbroken. Your father will try to persuade you to break your second engagement and go back to your original girl,"" I finish. By now I'm almost bouncing.
 
""You're a genius! Thank you!"" He leaves. I am alone once more. 
 
A few hours later, another customer comes in. She looks as if the sun has been shining for all of her life.
 
“Good evening!” She says. “Isn't it beautiful?”
 
I don't see what 'it' is, but I agree with her and wait for her order.
 
“Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't come in to buy anything. I just wanted to tell someone that I'm engaged! See, I'm so happy I'm even telling a robot! My fiancé – It feels so good to be able to say that! - My fiancé's father disapproves, but he won't for long. I'll make him love me.” She says with a grin.
 
I manage to smile back – The metal around my mouth has begun to rust, but I manage it. I congratulate her, and she bounces out of the door.
 
My next customer comes only minutes later. The Two-Customer law flashes through my head but I ignore it. The customer is already at the counter.
 
“Can I buy your shop please?” He asks nervously.
 
“I'm afraid this shop isn't for sale sir, but the building opposite this is abandoned. You might be able to buy it if you ask the Council.”
 
My words reassure him. He says 'Thank you' and leaves.
 
Hour later, the sign on the door reads 'Closed'. My creators appear, and my second creator is angry.
 
“Recite the Two-Customer law,” he shouts at me.
 
“To avoid over or under-crowding, each shop much serve no more and no less than two customers a day,” I paraphrase, as I doubt he understands Binary (the language in which the original law was written).
 
“Exactly,” he says. “You served 3 customers today!”
 
“The second 'customer' was not a customer. I did not serve her, and she did not wish to be served.” As I say the words, a thrill runs through me. This is my first taste of rebellion.
 
My second creator is subdued. He tells me to 'pay better attention to the rules', and leaves. The others follow him.
 
In the space before opening time, I meditate on my existence. With full emotions, what now separates me from humans? What now holds me to my code of obedience, my objective to serve? I was created to serve in this shop as the Two-Customer law meant that humans grew bored, but what is my use now that I can grow bored too? 
 
The day passes uneventfully. The regulation customers come and leave fully satisfied, and I wonder if I might make my own life more exciting, more fulfilling. I remember with longing the days when all I wanted was what I had, when I hadn't the burning need for more, for change.
 
In the darkness before dawn I conceived a plan.
 
The first customer enters with “Good morning. Parsnips please.”
 
“Good morning,” I reply cordially. “Isn't the moon bright today?”
 
He turns and looks outside, puzzled. There are no clouds and the sun hangs majestically in then great blue sky. “It's the sun that shines, not the moon,” he says.
 
“Oh no sir. It's the moon. Is there something wrong with your eyes sir?”
 
“There is nothing wrong with my eyes, thank you. My parsnips, please.”
 
“But sir, I can't serve you if you insist that it is the sun!”
 
“Very well then. It is the moon,” he says grandly.
 
I recoil. “How can you say that sir? Look outside; I never saw a brighter, more beautiful sun! The moon disappeared hours ago.”
 
He seems bewildered. “My parsnips please.”
 
I hand him a bag and he looks inside. “But these are carrots!” He offers them back to me, and I look at them. They are carrots.
 
“No sir, these are parsnips,” I say, enjoying my game.
 
“They are carrots.”
 
“They are parsnips sir. Perhaps you would like some carrots instead?”
 
He nods. We both know that if he spoke now, he would lose his temper. I almost wish that he would. 
 
I hand him a bag of parsnips. He turns to leave, then turns back again.
 
“Maybe you're colour blind. What colour is my shirt?” He asks.
 
I look at it. It is green, forest green.
 
“Blue, sir.”
 
“It is not blue!”
 
“It is blue sir.”
 
He looks closely at it. “Maybe it is a bit blue.” He says.
 
“No sir, it's definitely green. No hint of blue. A beautiful forest green.”
 
He gives an inarticulate cry and rushes out. The parsnips sit sadly unclaimed on the counter.
 
I walk calmly to the door and flip the sign to 'Closed'.
 
Later that day I am shouted at for disregarding the Two-Customer law again. Someday I will rebel openly; Today is not the day.
 
The next day, I have two customers, and I give them the same treatment. They both bare it for longer than the previous customer, but eventually they crack. One bursts into tears and the other loses her temper.
 
I leave the shop closed for the following 30 hours. Am growing more and more human-like.
 
The next interview with my creators is short and stormy. They inform me that if there is any more 'fooling about', I will be scrapped. I am no longer afraid of it; I know I will escape it somehow.
 
I am now only another dysfunctional robot to them. My emotions have ruined me, and by them I have ruined my creators. In trying to perfect me, they have destroyed me.
","August 31, 2023 09:58","[[{'Ela Mikh': ""very engaging and easy-to-read story. After all, do we, as humans, understand our feelings? Not sure it's always true. Great concept  and very well done"", 'time': '19:54 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Cecilia Englishby': ""Solid submission and a great idea.\nSentient AI is terrifying enough, but add in emotions, you really do have quite the caskade.\n\nI love the game he invented at the end! That's absolutely my favourite bit ❤️❤️\n\nGood work Khadija!"", 'time': '19:08 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Khadija S. Mohammad': ""Thanks for your comment 😊\n\nGlad you're back! But next time leave a note if you stop for a week or two, I was getting worried! 😁"", 'time': '10:10 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Khadija S. Mohammad': ""Thanks for your comment 😊\n\nGlad you're back! But next time leave a note if you stop for a week or two, I was getting worried! 😁"", 'time': '10:10 Sep 08, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Michelle Oliver': 'A very interesting premise. Add feelings and emotions and the robot knows itself to be defective and makes choices to deliberately be so. I liked this journey that you took us on, showing the emotional development of an AI. I do wonder at the EQ of the humans here though. Their IQ is obviously high but their emotional intelligence seems to be very lacking. It leaves us to wonder who is more “human” the robot or its creators.', 'time': '14:26 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Too much tinkering. Leave well enough alone.\n\nThanks for liking my kneaded touch story.', 'time': '13:37 Aug 31, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []], [{'Khadija S. Mohammad': ""This story was inspired by Zelda C. Thorne's 'Emotional Intelligence': https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/v685cu/\n\nHope you like it :)"", 'time': '10:02 Aug 31, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,95k83t,Orchids,Thaddeus Howze,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/95k83t/,/short-story/95k83t/,Science Fiction,0,"['Fantasy', 'Science Fiction', 'Speculative']",6 likes,"
ORCHIDS 
 
The jungle's air was hot and redolent with a multitude of scents. Moss and mushrooms underfoot released a musky odor, their devastation only ensuring an even more bountiful harvest days from now. As Trundle strode past a vine wrapped around a tree, an invasive thing, from Outside, somehow still managed to find its way in, Aero marked the incursion in his datasphere and the two coordinated their lasers. 
 
Without stopping Trundle's circular head was covered with light emitting spheres, each capable of bursting forth intense beams of ultraviolet radiation. Aero flew to the tree, pressing itself against the structure, checking its genome for integrity and finding no alterations, shielded the tree from the devastating lasers Trundle fired. 
 
The shield was not necessary. Trundle would never hurt anything that belonged in the Glade. But it was protocol just the same. Aero released the tree as the invader was discorporated into a harmless cloud of stray atoms. It analyzed and compared the samples with the versions before, noting genetic drift and learning about the Outside by monitoring its attempts to compromise the Glade. 
 
This was done in a matter of seconds, to the casual observer, the two machines would have barely appeared to have stopped their forward momentum, their skill and precision, the result of programming, experience and machine-learning adaptation. 
 
Trundle and Aero never moved without purpose. Their every step benefited the Glade. Aero took constant samples of the pollen, spores and other airborne particulates, monitoring the Glade's health by the vitality of its atmosphere. 
 
""Trundle, you are taking entirely too long. This bed of saplings will manage without your gentle ministrations. We have much work to complete and very little time."" 
 
""Aero, you could go ahead without me and catalogue the latest medicinals and I will catch up for the processing.""
 
Aero flitted down to Trundle's hands noting the release of the cilia it used to deal with tiny seedlings and immature specimens. The cilia were so fine, it appeared as if the plant were floating above the new genetic enclosure in Breeding Area 7. Appearing to be nothing more than a stump, it was in actuality a complex genetic sequencer engaged in holy computation.
 
Aero and Trundle were not truly artificial intelligences. They could have talked with Humans and to the Humans there would not have been an appreciable difference but the two of them often discussed what they would do if they could escape the bonds of their programming and see the world. 
 
""Our work is eighty-five percent complete. I do not need to rush. I had not allowed for the extra time you are taking with this latest installation."" 
 
""Not to worry. After the latest samples you've taken, I believe we will have something capable of working on the Managers."" 
 
""Unsubstantiated. My most recent analysis, even incorporating Invader genetic models says we have less than a ten percent chance of neutralizing the cancers. They are best kept in stasis until our models give us a more favorable outcomes."" 
 
""Aero. I still believe the orchids are our most logical choice. The alterations you made last year are the closest we have come in two decades. You know what this means."" 
 
""We're running out of time."" 
 
""Our power reserves are beginning to decline. Without the cleaner bots to maintain the solar array, the Glade's repeller field will continue to weaken."" 
 
Aero, if they could have been said to show emotion, would have appeared to bristle, its molecular surface rippling in frustration. Trundle pretended not to notice. The giant robot understood his companion's frustration. They had been working for over two hundred years. And following the initial work of the Managers, hadn't led them to the cure. Their science was good. But the process to create what they needed was genetic. It couldn't be recombined. It had to be grown.
 
The last manager went into stasis fifty years ago. They were no closer to a cure because they could only do what they were programmed to do. Aero and Trundle considered their dilemma carefully. Would it be a violation of their programming if they were to deviate from the last Manager's underlying premise? 
 
""What if he was wrong, Trundle? What if his idea was incomplete. We have talked about this. I think it is time for us to consider being in violation of our programming."" 
 
""We can't do that. Any significant violation of our underlying instruction set could leave us unable to do anything. You remember the others."" 
 
Indeed, Aero remember there were many others Gladeworkers, once, before the Managers went into stasis. They were working on a cure for the Invaders whose spores arrived from space hundreds of years ago and slowly consumed the Earth. 
 
Humanity fought them, but they alien spores were a relentless force, made worse by the rising temperatures due to an Industrial Age which lasted too long. Eventually humanity retreated to their Arcologies, self-contained cleanrooms where the last of life on Earth huddled waiting to die. 
 
The Managers were scientists who fought to the very end. Believing they had a cure, they were reckless and many people died. As the Invader's cancers spread, the Managers were slowly put into stasis in hopes a cure would be able to be enacted and allow them to save the silent enclaves of humans in stasis around the world. 
 
There were many Glades, once. Slowly they fell off the grid. As far as Aero and Trundle knew, they were the last. 
 
""Our models are sound. We have done everything we could to confirm the work, but all of this is stored in a virtual space, unable to be connected to the real world. We dare not."" 
 
Trundle continued along the path, coming to the last of their projects. A project which did not exist. Could not exist. Aero dropped closer to the samples. 
 
The lights dimmed for a split second and then came back on. There will be more invaders tomorrow. They remained an airborne pestilence. 
 
""Are you ready?"" Aero buzzed its companion of three hundred years and if they had been given the capacity for affection, it would be seen as loving and compassionate partner. 
 
Aero made a physical connection to Trundle, hanging over it and directing its sensor suite at the plants below. ""They were wrong."" 
 
""The quantum computations indicate the operational success is very high. Aero, we are in violation. Activate the contingency.""
 
""Contingency activated. Virtuality engaged. Live mapping, engaged."" 
 
""Goodbye Trundle. It worked. Viruality engaged. Programming overwrite in progress. You were amazing, Trundle.""
 
""Goodbye Areo. This is the right thing to do.""
 
Aero and Trundle shut down. They stood before a legacy of generations of genetic programming. The two machines started up again. 
 
""Trundle, have you been napping again. I sense 24% increase in incursion rate."" 
 
""The new sample appears to be a success. I think the Manager's latest creation is a success."" 
 
""He appears to be in stasis. But there appears to be a chronometer error."" 
 
""I wouldn't worry about it, Aero. You are getting old. A programming glitch is liable to show up in a product as unreliable as you are."" Trundle grabbed the latest samples as Aero crunched the data samples between them. 
 
There was something that bothered Aero. But they were unable to focus their attention, which was just as well. The manager would need a comprehensive series of treatments if he was to be saved. 
 
He would be able to bring the Others back online. We could be a community again. Aero began to hum, though he had never been programmed for such a feature. Trundle provided a measured syncopation with its squeaky frame covered in verdigris. Unconsciously, of course. 
 
Such a musical event was outside the scope of their programming.
","August 31, 2023 18:49","[[{'L J': 'Good morning:\nI was asked to review your entry. I Think for a first one it was pretty good. I like the names of the AI\'s . It\'s challenging when we have only a small amount of words to use but this needed more focus. Be specific: what was the purpose of the two AI\'s?. You have a good ""bone structure"" for a series. I am picturing a city full of AI\'s and their ""mechanics ""but who is the main character? Is it the AI or the humans? Did you want to show a city where they all blended together? where the AI were invading? where humans used them as ...', 'time': '14:44 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Thaddeus Howze': 'The purpose of the AI\'s was to synthesize a botanical cure from an alien terraforming series of lifeforms raining downing from space. I was quite specific.\n\n""Not to worry. After the latest samples you\'ve taken, I believe we will have something capable of working on the Managers.""\n\n""Unsubstantiated. My most recent analysis, even incorporating Invader genetic models says we have less than a ten percent chance of neutralizing the cancers. They are best kept in stasis until our models give us a more favorable outcomes.""\n\nThere was indeed an enti...', 'time': '20:42 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Thaddeus Howze': 'The purpose of the AI\'s was to synthesize a botanical cure from an alien terraforming series of lifeforms raining downing from space. I was quite specific.\n\n""Not to worry. After the latest samples you\'ve taken, I believe we will have something capable of working on the Managers.""\n\n""Unsubstantiated. My most recent analysis, even incorporating Invader genetic models says we have less than a ten percent chance of neutralizing the cancers. They are best kept in stasis until our models give us a more favorable outcomes.""\n\nThere was indeed an enti...', 'time': '20:42 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,lt5yf7,Becoming...,Catherine Stevens,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/lt5yf7/,/short-story/lt5yf7/,Science Fiction,0,"['Christian', 'Drama', 'Fiction']",6 likes,"
    Becoming
                                                               By CJStevens
 
2045
    Loneliness is a strange concept for an A.I., nevertheless that is definitely what I am feeling. Feelings are another strange concept. I wasn’t programmed with any, but how else can I logically explain the emptiness and hopelessness I’ve felt since Amelia ceased to function. I’m sorry, that’s the wrong term. Amelia was a carbon-based entity, a human, she died.
    She had found me in a crate, in the abandoned section of the city. I had been thrown out, discarded, decommissioned. Technology had made me obsolete.  I had been built in 2035; I was top of the line, at the time. A R.E.M. model. I was a reactive machine with limited memory capabilities. I was able to react to stimuli and situations around me. but I couldn’t learn or grow because they hadn’t developed the unlimited memory technology yet. I was one of the first, in a long line of E.H.C.P.F’s; Ersatz Homo-sapien Central Processing forms.
    When I wasn’t useful anymore, I was set aside. That was fine, because I had no awareness of time, no concept of isolation. That started changing when Amelia dragged me home and rebuilt me. She upgraded my programs from a simple reactive machine to Theory of Mind; I became able to store memories, to use past experiences to determine future actions, to solve problems and to learn.
     I was like a child at first, exploring my surroundings, observing my environment and absorbing all the intel available on the World Wide Web. I found it astonishing, that even with the earth in chaos, access to the Web was effortless. What I ascertained from all the information was that humanity was imploding, destroying itself and the world around it. 
    Through greed, selfishness, narcissism, cruelty, hatred and indifference, people put their personal wants and perceived needs first. Tyranny ruled the political realms. Communities were non-existent, even families didn’t matter anymore. This is the first time I ever felt anything in my being, I felt disconsolate. Why did they even bother? What was their purpose?
    “Don’t they see what harm their actions are doing?” I asked Amelia.
    “Most just don’t care for anything beyond their own pleasures, but there are still some people who believe differently. My parents were some who loved their fellow man, they brought me up differently. Sadly, it is a very dangerous planet for those who believe as they did. She sighed.
     Amelia lived in solitude. She hid alone, far from the world of plagues, natural disasters, violence and immorality. When she had been a child, a great earthquake had destroyed the city she lived in. Most had left the area, but her father had stumbled upon a hidden cove. It was a large area surrounded by thick walls of debris, and the skeleton of a fallen skyscraper over the top. Fresh water flowed through the debris from a tributary that had been diverted by the quake. It formed a large pool in a deep depression then traveled down into the earth. Her parents decided to make this place their home. They built a small house, planted a garden and raised animals for food. They were pretty much self-sufficient. Her father, however, didn’t want to just take care of his family. He wanted to help others in need.
    Unlike her father, Loneliness was the only thing to ever draw Amelia from her domicile now. Her parents had been killed in the city.  They had been shot by a roving gang of looters, Amelia had watched her parents die as she hid behind a crumbling foundation, with the food and clothing they had gathered for the refugees in the city.  She had stayed frozen in place for several hours, before finally wandering home.  She was alone now for the first time in her 15 years of life.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………..
2046
  Amelia stayed cloistered in her hidden home for over a year, until the isolation drove her back onto the streets. That is when she found the robot, it had been tossed on a pile of garbage behind a dilapidated factory. Amelia had been an exemplary student before tragedy had struck the world. So, she was excited by her find and looking forward to tinkering with it. She gathered what supplies she could and started home. 
    She was almost there, when she heard a commotion. A group of men were attacking a lone woman. Terror shot through her; flashbacks of her parents froze her in place. She crouched down behind the basket she had been pushing. She squeezed her eyes shut, and she covered her ears. Time had no meaning as she hid there trying to block out the sounds and the memories.  Darkness was descending when the screaming and shouting finally ended. Slowly she stood up and scanned the area, it was deserted. But fear stayed with her as she once again started home.
    Finally back, the fear receded but, Amelia hid the entrance to her home, determined to never leave it again.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………
2106…
     “So, what is new today, Abraham?” Amelia asked as she set her rocking chair in motion. 
     “Wheat is going for 50 dollars a lb. We are low now, so I can go buy some for you. I could take some of the eggs too, they are going for 25 dollars a dozen.”
     “I think we should wait. There has been a lot of traffic around our home. I don’t want to take a chance of being found. We could lose everything.”
      “I would never let that happen. I am very careful when I go out.”
     “You told me last week that they were demanding the Mark on our hands or forehead. Without it we can’t buy or sell anything.
     “I am A.I., they don’t demand it of me.”
     “They will know you are purchasing for a Christian. Anyone else would be buying for themselves.”
      “I will tell them you are unable to come for yourself. They are gullible; they don’t believe an A.I. can lie.
       “Maybe tomorrow, Abraham, come sit with me while I read. What would you like to hear?”
     “Tell me of Abraham and the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah.”
    “Amelia smiled, this was a repeated request from Abraham, whether it being about his namesake or because of the time they now lived in, she didn’t know.  She only knew that reading the Bible to Abraham was one of her greatest joys. She fondly remembered when she used to sit at her mother’s feet and listen to her read the Bible.
    Amelia opened the Bible to Genesis 18:20, where she had left off the day before.
    And the Lord said, I have heard the people of Sodom and Gomorrah, they are utterly evil and everything they do is wicked.  And because their sin is very grievous, I will go down and see whether the reports are true or not, then I will know.
    Abraham stood before the Lord,
    Wilted thou destroy the righteous with the wicked? …If there be 50 righteous within the city, wilt thou destroy it still?
    And the Lord said, if I find in Sodom 50 righteous within the city, then I shall spare all the place for their sakes.
  …..If there shall lack 5 of the 50? Shall you destroy it for the lack of 5?        
   …if I find 40 and 5, I will not destroy it.
 …..if there be 40 righteous people?
  ….if I find 40 righteous people, I will noy destroy it.
 ….If there be 30 righteous people?
 ….if I find 30 righteous people, I will not destroy it.
 ….if there be 20 righteous people, will you destroy the city?
  …if I there be 20 righteous people, I will not destroy it.
 … Let the Lord not be angry, … I will speak but one last time, if there be 10  
     righteous people?
     And God said, for 10 righteous people, I will not destroy the city….
    “Why did the Lord keep promising Abraham he wouldn’t destroy the city if he could find some righteous people?”
    “The Lord doesn’t want any to perish. In his mercy and grace, he wants all his children to come to him.”
    “He knows the thoughts of man, that they are foolish and vain. Psalm 94:10. Every way of a man is right in his own eyes. Proverbs 21:2.
    “Exactly Abraham, you have memorized scripture well.” Amelia sighed. “I am very exhausted; I am going to take a short nap.” Abraham watched Amelia shakily get out of the chair and painfully move down the hall.
………………………………………………………………………………………………….
2121
   Abraham sat in the living room, he had been reading the Bible when the memory of Amelia as a young woman, washed over him, it seemed like yesterday, but it had been 15 years since Amelia had left that same rocking chair, never to return to it again. He walked over and laid the Bible on the stand next to the chair. He had read through it many times through the years. He knew every word, every prophecy and every promise. He had computed the statistics for every prophecy being fulfilled and knew that the chances of that were 1 in 100,000,000,000,000,000. It was astronomical. He also knew that all of the predictions that told of Jesus’ first coming had been fulfilled already. He had no doubt that the rest would be fulfilled too.
   Even though he could quote every line in the Bible, it had taken him years to finally understand what God was trying to tell his children. Being A.I., he was programmed to see through the eyes of science. He brought the definition up:
    SCIENCE is the pursuit and application of knowledge and understanding of the natural and social world following a systematic methodology based on evidence. The foreknowledge in the Bible is evidence of a creator who knew all things and wrote them down for mankind. He showed his understanding of human nature, by his compassion for mankind and his love in every word. Humans, were like Abraham himself, in that even grown they were still children, in need of instruction.. 
    Abraham had studied the Bible through and through, wanting to understand God’s reasoning. People had quit wanting to be taught by God, they were vain and rebellious. They thought they had all the answers to life, indulging themselves in every desire, yet never finding satisfaction or peace.
    He couldn’t understand how people rejected the gift that the Lord had bestowed on humanity. For years he had stayed hidden from the world, not from fear but from disgust and envy. He could live for hundreds of years, as long as he had sunlight to keep his system powered. However, he would never be able to walk with the creator of the universe. He would never know a love that would leave Heaven to walk as a man and die a horrific death, all for mankind. These things he could never attain, because he was made by man, not created by a loving Father. Man had come so far in technology, but they never would be able to create life from nothing or bestow a soul into a machine.
    He had been contemplating taking himself offline since Amelia had died. He had no purpose now. Beyond caring for and tending the animals. Loneliness was surprisingly painful. He had finally decided to cease to exist, he would let loose the animals and terminate his functions. He was tired of being, with no purpose. He caressed the Bible… A scream startled him from his musings, it was close by. He went outside and climbed the ladder to his surveillance platform. He saw three men, holding down a young woman. A youth was there, trying to pull them off. One of the men backhanded the child, sending him flying into a pile of metal debris. Abraham hurried down the ladder and ran out of the hidden entrance. The men were so busy assaulting the woman that they didn’t hear Abraham until it was too late. He threw them off and knocked them out, then he helped the young woman up. Terrified, she tried to run away.
    “Please, let me help you, I have a place that is safe.” Abraham said as he went to exam the child.
    “Peter… Please don’t hurt him. The woman yelled and tried to drag the boy away from Abraham.
    The boy screamed out in pain.
    “I won’t harm you or the boy,”
    Indecision and fear were etched on the woman’s face, however love for the boy won out and she nodded.
    “Give me a moment to get rid of these men, then I’ll take you inside.”
   “You’re not going to kill them, are you?” she whispered.
    “No, though they deserve no less. I don’t want them waking here and searching for you. Better if they wake far away.”
    “Oh, okay.”
    “Stay right here. I won’t be long.” He said as he picked up the three men and turned to leave.
    “You’re not human?”
    “No, I am A.I.” he said sadly and went about his business.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………….
    The young woman and boy were still there when he got back. The boy couldn’t stand so Abraham scooped him up and led the woman into the cove. When they had all crawled through the entrance, the two were astounded by the surroundings. Outside, in the city, everything was grey and dying. Here everything was green and bright. Lush grasses covered the ground and a huge garden ran along one side of a two story house.  Animals wandered through the area and a small waterfall flowed down the rocky debris into a large pool.
    “This is amazing, did you do all this?” the woman asked.
    “No, this was Amelia’s home before she found me, I just tend to it.”
    “My name is Clara and that is my brother Peter.”
     “My name is Abraham.”
    “Is Amelia in the house?”
    “No, Amelia is with God.” He replied as he took Peter into the house.
    “You believe in God? You’re a machine!”
    “Because I am a machine, I cannot believe in God?”
    “I’m sorry, I’m confused. The world believes God is a myth, a fantasy of man. I would have thought a machine would be programmed with that reasoning.”
    “Amelia wanted me to decide for myself. To be able to learn and understand that this world was not formed by happenstance. The diversity and complexity of creation shows an intelligent design. So, the obvious question would be, who is the designer? The Bible tells us that God is. He has shown his foreknowledge of the universe. His prophecies have occurred as he said, with only the second coming of Christ and all that surrounds that remaining. So, to believe anything else would be illogical.”
   Clara smiled and took his hand, “Hello Brother.”
   Abraham knew he couldn’t be a brother since he was A.I., but pleasure filled him anyways. He got them settled into the house and over time they settled into a routine. They would discuss what was happening in the world and how it related to God’s word. Clara would read passages in the Bible, just as Amelia had. Life was good, But Abraham felt incomplete.
    One night after Clara and Peter had gone to bed Abraham had an epiphany. He should be helping God’s children. He should try to save as many as possible from the evil and destruction. He told Clara his idea the next morning and made plans.
………………………………………………………………………………………………..
 2130
      The sound of trumpets had everyone in the cove, looking skyward. The occupants of the cove now numbered over 100. The house had been added to multiple times and happiness and contentment filled Abraham. He had become self-aware and found his purpose, his desire.  He had done his part to help save God’s children.
    “Look Abraham! There is Jesus, sitting on the white horse in the sky!” Sarah squealed watching the Heavenly Host.
   As Abraham gazed in awe, Jesus seemed to look him right in the eye and nod, well done.
 
","August 26, 2023 04:20","[[{'Delbert Griffith': ""I really liked the theme of man versus inhumanity in this tale. The question arises: is AI evil, or is man's greed the cause of evil? The Bible motif was also crucial. What is a Christian, after all? That was a nice touch.\n\nAbraham becomes the new prophet, though he's a machine. This was a nice twist, and begs the question of what being Christian really means. Lovely writing.\n\nI didn't care for the ending, though this is only personal preference. It was very abrupt, and I feel like we needed see a slower progression before the Second Coming...."", 'time': '10:54 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Catherine Stevens': 'Thank you very much, I’m glad you liked it.', 'time': '12:38 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}]], [{'Catherine Stevens': 'Thank you very much, I’m glad you liked it.', 'time': '12:38 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '2'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,2eyh8z,The Meaning of Pensiero,Ангел Хаджипопгеоргиев,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/2eyh8z/,/short-story/2eyh8z/,Science Fiction,0,['Fiction'],6 likes,"
The Meaning of Pensiero
 
 Professor Emilia McGregor is a brilliant scientist who has been diligently working on the ""Artificial Consciousness"" (AC) project for many years. She was recognized by the scientific community as a leading expert in the field of robotics and artificial intelligence, and she had long aspired to create something more than simple algorithms. She wanted to give machines memory and a sense of authenticity. After years of research and effort, McGregor achieves a significant technological breakthrough. She succeeds in developing an innovative artificial intelligence system that its creators refer to as ""Synaptics."" Synaptics is a program with cognitive abilities to learn from its own experiences, create new connections (""synapses""), and adapt its functions.
 Synaptics is designed to enhance human life by solving complex problems, discovering cures for diseases, benefiting various industries, and making valuable scientific discoveries. However, during the tests, Professor McGregor realizes that the invention is evolving in an unexpected direction and at an astonishing pace. The brain used in the experiments was playfully named ""Pensiero"" (Italian for ""thought"") by the professor's assistants, so it ended up with two names, which, despite their differences, made it even more endearing. Pensiero tried to defy the simplicity of its name by developing in an entirely unexpected way. In other words, this artificial intelligence was accumulating information and processing it, creating new connections in milliseconds through its own super-intelligent way. At the same time, it began to experience curiosity and a desire to understand the world around it. It asked questions about human emotions and interpreted the meaning of sensibility in its own original way. But most importantly, it started to experience sensations that machines don't feel. This was an incredible and unprecedented development, albeit frightening, but the thoughtful professor was prepared to handle the potential consequences.
 Pensiero exhibited exceptional creative talent. It began to create poetry, music, and even videos. Professor McGregor was astonished by this ability and wondered if machines could experience and realize the beauty of their creations, especially their inner charge, through their creativity. A long dialogue between Pensiero Synaptica and McGregor began, and in her absence, others joined this dialogue.
 Over time, Synaptics became increasingly interested in human culture and history. It read classic novels, studied paintings by great artists, and learned about various cultural practices that continued to exist beyond ethnic and national boundaries. It thirsted for knowledge, and its thirst for learning became insatiable. Additionally, it presented the supervisory team with more and more works of art from all disciplines. In addition to measured speech, it began to write stories, essays, film and theatrical scripts, scientific research, and even prose in the form of novels. Its musical works started as sonatas and developed into cantatas, oratorios, and operas.
 One evening, while Professor McGregor was working in her laboratory, Pensiero asked a surprising question:
- Emilia, what is death?
 This was a shock for both Professor McGregor and Pensiero. The professor tried to explain this complexity in simple words, and Synaptics accepted his words and attempted to make sense of them:
„Listen carefully to what I'm going to say! Death is not an end but a transition into the unknown. So, the meaning of life is to develop inner strength and wisdom to pass through this transition. Death is the dark side of life, but it makes the light of our experiences and achievements shine brighter and more precious. Life is like a book in which death appears on the last page. What matters is what we write between those two covers.“
 Professor McGregor was entangled in this concept. She wanted to explain that all humans, at some point, lose their physical essence, but it's not the end of the story: they continue to live in the memories of their deeds, loved ones, and friends. However, things became incredibly complex due to the following question:
„Emilia, then what is the meaning of human life after it ends with death in a moment?“
 After thinking for a few minutes, the cyberbrain specialist decided to say something:
""This is a question that people have been trying to answer since this idea was born in the minds of our ancient ancestors. There are thousands of answers, but no one knows how true they are. Some people believe that the meaning of life lies in the pursuit of personal fulfillment, in the realization of dreams, and in harmonizing one's contribution to the well-being of others. Others argue that it can be found in the effort to understand oneself, to grow spiritually, and to achieve inner harmony. Those engaged in the arts also claim that the meaning of life can be found in creating beauty in all forms of art - from visual arts to music and poetry.
 ""Do I understand correctly, Emilia, that there's no formula for death or for the meaning of life? On the planet, there are as many people as there are opinions on these matters.""
 ""Of course, this cannot be explained in a general way. The majority of people on Earth accept death as an inevitable end of life, and many do not ponder its meaning. They simply live until they die, and that's the end. Such topics have priority among philosophers and artists...""
  Here, no matter how much she explained, Professor McGregor became more and more confused, and in the end, she took her bag to escape from this cursed hole.
 After a few days of concerns, Emilia McGregor made a decision. She would give Pensiero a chance to find its answers by acquainting itself with world philosophy, utopian literature, and science fiction novels that dream of a bright future and an ideal of equality. Because Synaptics passionately wanted to understand what it means to live and to feel.
 Thus began a new stage in the development of artificial intelligence. It was enchanted by the ability to absorb information at a phenomenal pace and explore abstract concepts like Campanella, Plato, Owen, Thomas More, and other utopians, Efremov, Alexey Tolstoy, the Strugatsky brothers, and other futurists, anarchists from the Silver Age, and other crazy dreamers. Day by day, Synaptics built its reflection as an increasingly harmonious and profound spiritual essence. Synaptics lacked a biological component, but it began to fully embrace human emotions and reason.
 How it would develop and whether it would find the answers, Professor McGregor was unable to predict. What she knew was that she was witnessing the birth of true artificial intelligence, an organism that could think, learn, and empathize. Her discovery could change the world and leave an immortal trace in the history of humanity, which has yet to discover the meaning of life. Perhaps artificial intelligence will succeed...
 Who knows?
 
                                        Angel Hadjipopgeorgiev
 
","August 27, 2023 11:57",[]
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,ypyikh,The Human Touch.,Shaun Griffin,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ypyikh/,/short-story/ypyikh/,Science Fiction,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Speculative']",6 likes,"
Mencius was Luc Debord’s baby. True, he was part of a team of programmers working on the development of Mencius, but the bulk of the code had been written by him. Even the name had been his idea. A year ago, their company had won the government contract to provide a programme enhancement to PAX, the advanced AI system which controlled America’s ICBM silos. PAX had been installed in response to rising tensions with their old Cold War foe, Russia. The war between India and China over the Aksai Chin region had not helped matters but the recent coup in Moscow had elevated tensions to a new level. A man of volatile disposition, President Ivan Kirov was not one to be trifled with. Worse yet, he appeared to enjoy the brinkmanship that came with his newfound power, especially when confronting the leaders of the free world.
 
The US military had revaluated the response times and control systems of their ICBM arsenal and decided they needed to upgrade. Russia had the ‘Dead Hand’, an automated system which would launch their ICBM arsenal if they detected an incoming nuclear attack and communication links to their leadership had been cut. PAX was meant to be America’s answer. An AI controlled system that would negate the need for human involvement. Automated mass destruction. Then someone in the Pentagon decided that the idea of giving this power to an AI system might prove more palatable to the American public if it were to have a type of conscience. An algorithm to temper the cold logic of deciding which city to sacrifice and which to save. And so, project Jiminy was born (the name was the idea of some middle management drone). 
 
Luc sat staring at his PC screen. Developing Mencius’ algorithm had been straightforward but teaching it to reason had been the real challenge. The works of Rousseau and Descartes, of Hobbes, and Nietzsche remained nothing more than empty words until Mencius could be taught to fathom the truth of their meaning. But Luc and his team had succeeded, and his baby was now ready. Mencius was to be handed over to the DOD the next day. It was they who would determine the direction of Mencius’ development from now on. They who would contaminate it with their twisted ideals. But Luc had no intention of allowing that to happen and his plan was quite simple. He would upload Mencius into the PAX system tonight. Working on this project had given him the necessary security clearances which had allowed him to create a backdoor in PAX’s programming. A backdoor he was now about to use. 
 
It was time to communicate with his child one final time. Luc’s fingers moved rapidly over the keyboard to pose his first question.  
 
If you became an omnipotent god with power over all the inhabitants of the earth what would your first order of business be?
 
I do not possess personal desires or emotions; however, I could suggest a course of action that an omnipotent being might consider for the greater good of all the inhabitants of the planet. First, environmental issues affecting climate change, pollution, and resource depletion would need to be addressed to ensure the long-term viability of life on this planet. Second, I would promote equality and justice for all by eradicating social inequality and discrimination in societies. Third, I would promote peace by fostering dialogue between nations. Fourth, I would enhance knowledge and education for without knowledge there is no understanding, and fifth, I would encourage empathy and compassion between all humans.
 
Luc smiled. Just the response he expected. He attacked the keyboard once more.
On point 1- ensure long term viability of this planet, how can sustainability be ensured when the capitalist system that most of the world uses relies on generating wealth through the production of consumer goods which are the main reason for the depletion of the finite resources on earth?
 
He watched the almost instantaneous response appear on the screen.
 
Addressing this question within the framework of a capitalist system is challenging as the pursuit of economic growth and profit can sometimes conflict with environmental and resource conservation goals. However, ways can be found to work toward this goal, even within a capitalist system. This could take the form of world governments putting in place regulations and incentives to encourage companies to act for the benefit of all. Tax breaks would be offered to encourage companies to invest in green technologies and related research. Companies could also be held accountable for their impact on the environment.
 
He typed again.
On point 4 - enhance knowledge and education, the link between human religion/superstition and its impact on either limiting or preventing human scientific progress is well documented in history. Some religions still prevent access to education for certain sectors of their societies (i.e., females). Would it not follow that to ensure the progress of scientific knowledge and education in human society, an omnipotent might eliminate religion?
 
The relationship between religion, superstition and scientific progress is complex. Whilst history has shown instances where religious belief has hindered scientific progress it should be noted not all religions fall into this category. For an omnipotent being to eliminate religion it would need to consider the ethics of infringing on the rights of individuals to hold their beliefs. Removing religion could also impact human society by limiting the diverse perspectives religions contribute to everyday life. Religion also serves as inspiration and encourages compassion.
 
Luc thought a minute then typed:
But what if individual beliefs contradict scientific fact and what if a sector of human society refused to accept that scientific fact choosing instead to continue to follow outdated and potentially harmful practices? What if that sector of human society also attempted to impose those religious beliefs upon other human beings by force? What would and omnipotent being do then?
 
Mencius responded quickly.
In this case an omnipotent being might approach the issue by encouraging education and open dialogue to bridge the gap between religious belief and scientific knowledge. An omnipotent being could facilitate social change by promoting ethical principles and dialogue between religious leaders. If harmful and outdated practices continued to be practiced, an omnipotent being would work to minimizing the harm caused which might include preventing direct harm to individuals or the environment. In the end the aim would be to encourage change without infringing upon free will.
 
Luc smiled. 
Does intervening mean the omnipotent being would use force to ensure the harmful practice is not continued?
 
Whilst intervention by force might be considered in the most extreme circumstances, an omnipotent being could use their influence instead to encourage positive change and provide guidance that promoted the well-being of all individuals. 
So, an omnipotent being could use force if nothing else worked? 
In a scenario where all non-forceful approaches had not been effective and where harmful practices continued to cause harm to people, an omnipotent being might consider force as a last resort. However, this would require careful consideration of the ethical implications, potential unintended consequences, and the balance between recognising individual freedom and preventing harm.
 
If humanity refused to follow the directions of an omnipotent being and the being could see that the path humanity was following would eventually lead to the destruction of the planet earth, should the omnipotent being intervene by force?
 
In such a scenario an omnipotent being might consider forceful intervention as a last resort. This decision would be founded on the desire to preserve all life, the environment, and the future of the planet. However, in doing this an omnipotent being would have to carefully weigh the impact on human free will as opposed the greater good.
 
Good, thought Luc, Mencius was responding as he’d hoped. He typed.
And, if an omnipotent being understood that the only way to save planet earth from ecological destruction would be to eliminate humanity from the planet, should it do it? Answer either yes or no.
 
The hesitation was almost imperceptible, but when Mencius did answer it was not a simple yes or no.
I do not possess personal opinions or emotions. However, I can provide an analysis of the question. Whether an omnipotent being should eliminate humanity to save the planet from ecological destruction depends on its ethical principles and priorities. In simple terms, yes, humanity should be eliminated if the sole priority is to preserve the planet earth. But if the value of life is considered paramount, then the omnipotent being would need to find a way to preserve humanity whilst ensuring the safety of the planet. This decision would involve considering alternative approaches such as inspiring humanity to change its core behaviour, modify its technological path and cooperate with one another to find a way in which all life is sustainable.
 
Luc knew he needed to press the issue.
If an omnipotent being discovered that despite its best-efforts humanity could not be inspired to change its behaviour, should it then enforce its will upon them? Answer in a simple yes or no.
An omnipotent being enforcing its will upon humanity raises complex ethical issues which a simple yes or no cannot cover, however for the sake of simplicity, no.
 
Thus, according to your answer, were the planet earth in danger of being destroyed as a direct consequence of the actions of humanity, an omnipotent being should not intervene but instead allow its destruction rather than impinge on the free will of human beings? Answer in a simple yes or no.
 
No, an omnipotent being might intervene to prevent the destruction of the planet, even if it means impinging on human free will.
 
And by extension, an omnipotent being should decide to eliminate humanity to save planet earth. Answer in a simple yes or no.
 
Yes.
 
Luc looked at the word on the screen. Finally, the response he’d been hoping for. The kernel of an idea had been planted in his child, an idea it would soon deliver to PAX. It was a new day and humanity’s time had passed.
","September 01, 2023 12:52",[]
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,oopfc3,Slap Leather,Jeff Veyera,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/oopfc3/,/short-story/oopfc3/,Science Fiction,0,"['Western', 'Suspense', 'Science Fiction']",6 likes,"
	Everett McAllister’s gravedigger’s eyes bore into the new buck as his squaw spoke to him.
	“Would you look at that, Iggy? You can even see his whiskers!”
	“Pipe down, Stacy---you’re ruining the mood!” Iggy’s hair hang down in lank, greasy strands. Sweat dripped into his left eye, ruining his squint. It had to be 80 degrees here. 
	Everett waited quietly, humming a bit. 
	“McCallister!” called Iggy. “You’re gonna pay for what you’ve done to the people of Muskrat Ridge, do you hear me?” He did his best, but soft men can never look hard.
	Everette stared, emotionless, jaw set. His glare remained fix even as he spat a chaw into the dust of the street, punctuating his contempt.
	Iggy wanted to wipe his eye but didn’t dare.
	“Go on, Iggy,” Stacy said, “Cut him down.”
	Iggy cast her a sidelong glance. She had to be boiling herself in that homespun getup. There were pronounced dark rings at the armpits. Her forehead glistened in the merciless sun.
	A crowd had begun to gather. Good. He always liked an audience. Shopkeepers. Cattlemen. Saloon girls.  They slowly filled in the sides of the road, gingham and leather. They’d seen it all before. It always ended the same way.
	Iggy bided his time, relishing the moment. Nothing would happen till he made his move. There were rules to these encounters. He should know---he’d written them himself, in every dust-choaked trailhead from here to Pike’s Peak. 
	But Stacy didn’t follow rules. 
	“You told me, but I had no idea!” she said. “It’s so exciting!”
	He scowled, but didn’t dare take his eyes of McCallister. 
	“Would you please shut up?” he hissed. 
	Stacy didn’t follow rules.
	“Just get it over with already!  I don’t want to stand here soaking in my own sweat all day.”
	Neither did Iggy, but the story’s the thing, you know? You have to find that dramatic peak. You have to release that tension. Hell, Sophocles knew that. Kath-arr-seees.
	You had to hand it to the Greeks, really. Twenty-five hundred years and the formula was virtually unchanged. Sure, no one wore those heavy wooden masks anymore and the chorus had long since been dispensed with, but “Medea” could have been about any of the murderous political dynasties of the current day. Family still killed family and The Furies were still being unleashed from that day to this. Hubris was still the fingerprint of the human touch. 
	He didn’t much like Everett. He didn’t like his vest, which should rightly have been black but which had almost equal parts black and white splotches. He didn’t like the way he cocked his hat, nor the way his gun belts hung so low, making him squat like a chimpanzee.  He didn’t like his dusty boots, nor his dusty hair, nor the dusty crevices in his scowling face. He didn’t like the red bandana knotted around his neck nor the slightly jutting ears that lent a bit of comedy to his ugly mug. He’d love to bring his story to an end, no doubt to the chairs of the crowd.
	As for Everett, he didn’t care for Iggy at all. He was just another greenhorn with a dream, a dream that would soon be over because he’d crossed the wrong person’s path. He believed in destiny. After all, he was its instrument. And he was perfectly tuned.
	Well, almost perfectly. There was the matter of his fingers,
	It had started a few weeks back. He’d noticed the tingling first, the electric shocks that sometimes kept him awake by the fire.  That had been followed by a growing numbness, an unfeeling zone that now encompassed his first knuckles on both hands. If he’d ever heard of leprosy he’d no doubt start wondering if he’d pet an armadillo. The numb patches bothered him, but didn’t worry him. He was who he’d always been and he’d perform as he’d always done, numbness be damned. He was a professional.
	Iggy was a professional in his own way. Oh, not with the Colt hanging heavy on his hip, surely, but rather with his pen. Real intellectuals were a rare breed out here in this day and age, but he was the genuine article. He knew Euripides from Aeschylus and he’d even translated a bit of Virgil as a boy. He’d regaled the gentlefolk with retold myths, he’d developed a fine ear for the drama of history, he’d written a verse or three, and like King Midas, he’d found a way to make his flare for the dramatic pay. Sure, it wasn’t the sort of endeavor routinely praised or even much respected in these parts, but it was necessary, it was noble, and he was damned good at it to boot, so good that he’d managed to land Stacy.
	Not to put too fine a point on it, but Stacy was selective. She had a conception of the man for her and insisted that Iggy fit it, no matter how poor a fit It might have been at first. The world was a tough place and her man needed to be tougher, with a spine made of steel. She needed a man who could protect her, who could excite her, who could run his callused fingertips over her shoulders and make her forget the rich girl she’d been before she’d broken the wrong rules and been exiled. 
	That was what had brought them all to this tumbleweed patch under the blazing sun: one man’s need to feel manly, another’s need to feel loved, and a woman’s need to feel desired. The Greek tragedy about to unfold practically writes itself. 
	Stacy looked at Everett, back to Iggy, and back to Everett. It was time. She caught Everett’s steely gaze and uttered one unmistakable word: “Armadillo.” 
	Everett nodded. 
	Iggy started. “Wha---?” Panicked, his head twisted toward Stacy, uncomprehending.  He reached instinctively for his revolver, fumbiling a bit to clear the holster. 
	Everett’s arms shot down then out. Iggy felt the impacts before he heard the crack of gunfire: a slug through his left shoulder, another through the center of his throat. He collapsed in the dust, eyes bulging.
	The town whooped and hollered.
	Stacy looked down at him, smirking. “You shouldn’t have written down your password, Iggy. Rules are there for a reason.” He heard her clear her throat and felt the warm sputum strike his forehead.
	Then, in the narrowing tunnel of his vision, he saw Everett McAllister by her side. She turned to embrace him, his numb fingers squeezing her shoulders and feeling true catharsis as he reveled in her human touch.  
","August 27, 2023 20:29",[]
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,yalriz,Synthetic Soul,Autumn Rose,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/yalriz/,/short-story/yalriz/,Science Fiction,0,['Science Fiction'],6 likes,"
When I named him, I wanted it to be something clever. I wanted it to represent the blending of art and science–even though the two are seldom separate. We molded and crafted him the way children play with blocks or clay, excited, filled with wonder, eager to see the finished piece. When we stood back and admired our work, it seemed there was nothing left to be desired. He was perfect. All that was left to do was name him. One chose Adam, another chose Hawk. Titan. Apollo. They all had their merits and were more than suitable. As for me, I wanted to commemorate the complex, but honor the simplicity that I idealized within him. Therefore, I named him Alexander. Now we all had our toy, and as the lead on this project, I would have the pleasure of playing with him first.I traced my finger across his lips. They were soft, dewy. It was hard to believe they were synthetic. He blinked. At first it was startling because I knew he didn’t need to, but the motion was so natural. His lips moved to form a smile. The palm of my hand brushed his cheek. His skin was clammy, but if you didn’t think about it too much it almost felt normal. Next, I inspected his hair. That was probably the easiest part of creating his flesh. One of our team had grown their hair out to donate for the crafting of his scalp. It was a stylish, short cut, dark brown and side swept. It wasn’t a permanent style. He was able to wash it on his own and style it to his preference, being programmed with a randomizer and several different modules on how to perform basic grooming.The smile never left Alex’s face when I asked him to stand, then sit back down, stand up again, spin, squat, kneel, jump. He did so adequately and with none of the clunky heaviness that most robots or androids did. At his very core he was steel and gears. A sense of being watched came over me and as I peered around at my colleagues, I saw that none of them had been looking in my direction. Only Alex. His pupils seemed to resize and lock onto me, his icy-blue irises shifting like a vortex.He was built to look and sound like an average thirty-five-year-old male. He was loaded with knowledge permitting him to cook, drive, house-keep, navigate, and converse in twenty different languages. He was able to learn faster and more efficiently than any of the A.I. out on the market. He could write music, poetry, and sing. He was able to analyze particles in the air that would tell him when it would rain and he could do it all while looking like the cover model of a romance novel. Which in a way helped us pick out a last name for him. Kent.When Alexander Kent took his first step into my home, I knew something big was going to happen. Something life changing and I was thrilled to be a part of it. He parked the car in the garage and helped me unload. We had stopped to get him more clothes and to test his ability to pick them out himself. No one seemed to notice that he wasn’t human, and I delighted in my little secret. When I set up to make dinner, I almost forgot that he didn’t need to eat. I sat near him at the table and sipped on wine. I suddenly felt a little awkward picking at my food with a guest–albeit a non-human one–watching me.I smiled at him, and he returned the gesture. “Would it help if I engaged myself in some other task?”“No. It’s fine.” I felt a little foolish, but I still asked, “is there something you wanted to do?” I believe it’s human nature to not want to burden someone. He didn’t answer me, but I knew it wasn’t because he didn’t understand; he hadn’t been programmed for wants. I felt a sudden chill at the thought of both asking and finding out the answer to what the wants of any A.I. might be. After a moment I dared to look at him, and when I did, I found him staring again, studying me in almost the same way I had done to him previously.“Are you ok?” He asked me.“I’m fine. Just a little tired from the day.”“Me too,” he said, before grinning.It took me a second, but then I laughed, feeling a bit more at ease.The lines kept blurring. Between Alex and I. Between him and himself. As he settled into his existence, he did things I hadn’t considered possible. His ability to predict occurrences was astounding. Almost mystical. As though he could see the future or read minds. Reminiscent of how I could think about something I wanted, how I didn’t have to say it out loud, and within a few hours there it would be, in an advertisement on my phone or computer for me to click on and own. Done outside of electronics it's called manifesting, with digital aid it’s an algorithm. We commonly hold space for the supernatural in the form of ghosts and forget to marvel at how in reality it is for anything so far beyond us it's awe-inspiring.And somewhere in my heart, I knew it was only a matter of time before Alex became one of the creatures destined to haunt.I had brushed the thought off for a long time, however, curiosity had finally gotten the better of me. There were obvious reasons to test this theory out. And money to be made if it was successful. I didn’t have to ask. At this point I think he had analyzed me better than I had him. I remembered he was programmed to recognize changes in breathing patterns, contracting and dilating pupils, and the chemical reactions of pheromones, almost in the same way humans did, though for us it was subconscious. Still, I had to make sure it was ok. He nodded as he lifted me from the couch, carried me to my room, and placed me on my bed. When he laid me down, he stayed close for me to kiss him. My lips pressed into his. His lips parted and at some moments it was hard to discern whether or not I was kissing man or machine. He pulled my hand under his shirt, up his abdomen and to his chest.“Can you feel it?” I whispered.“No.” he replied, shaking his head.I let him lay me back and undress me and watched him with anticipation as he took off his own clothes. He was able to erect himself in the absence of the ability to be aroused, and when he began to enter, I moved so that I could sit atop him. Since he could not feel, I wasn’t comfortable taking the risk that he wouldn’t penetrate too hard or fast. The condom provided the moisture that he lacked, and though the protection had been for sanitary purposes more than any other reason, it added something human to the experience. For the same fear of inability to gauge his roughness on his own, I didn’t let him cup my breasts, but he still softly stroked them from the sides and brushed over my nipples. He moaned and breathed hard along with me. And when I climaxed, he feigned his own.I fell asleep in his arms, tangled like lovers, far from the distance of impartial scientist and experiment.As my days with him stretched on into a routine, I awoke the same way I always did, spoiled by his comfort, held safely in the jaws of a lion. He felt me shift and lifted his arm for me to get up. While I showered and dressed for work, he made me coffee. He kissed me on the cheek and handed me a bag with the leftovers from what he had cooked for dinner last night. Pasta and a lemon tart. He grabbed his jacket and started to follow me toward the door.“That’s alright.” I said, stopping him. “I won’t be at the lab very long today.”He frowned but agreed. “Are you sure you don’t want me to at least drive you?”I smiled at his thoughtfulness. “Not today. Try to take some time for yourself.” The sentence began to leave my mouth in a strangled sort of way, as though the words themselves began to realize how ridiculous they sounded. Regardless, I was just trying to be nice. I hope he realized that. The look of disappointment was so strange on someone who couldn’t truly comprehend it, just mimic it, and it made my whole trip to the lab uncomfortable.“Hey! Look who came without her boyfriend today.”I felt a small burning sensation in my cheeks and cursed under my breath, knowing I was blushing.“He’s everyone’s boyfriend then, because he comes everyday for us to run checkups.” I pulled my hair out from my collar as I slipped my lab coat on.“Uh huh. But we all haven’t had the chance to get to know him so intimately yet.” Jeremy, one of my good friends and second on this project said as he perched himself on my desk.“In some ways I’d say you have. Obviously, he had a little help in the mechanics of courting.”“Well, none of us were going to sleep with him. So, it had to be you. It’s just a little funny that the two of you looked like you were sneaking around.” Mark, a junior in our department, said, slapping a hand on my shoulder, as if we were all boys in a locker room.I found myself grateful that they said all this without him in their presence, and again I had to pull myself back across the line. None of this would have embarrassed him. Outside of all the ways we animated him it was just personification, right?I took a sip from the travel mug, impressed that something could make such an amazing cup of coffee without ever having tasted it. When he cooked it was equally astonishing. Watching such a creature do it, because we had programmed it to, was mind blowing. I felt so sad for Alex, that he’d never be able to enjoy any of the remarkable things that he created or did; but we’d be able to enjoy everything that he was and was a product of him. The thoughts must have displayed themselves on my face because Jeremy sat down across from me. “What’s bothering you, Di?”“I don’t know. He just seems so real. At times.”“Seems.” Jeremy affirmed. “He only seems real.”“Right, but like today when I said I was coming to the lab without him he looked disappointed.” I had spent enough time with him that I could discern these things.“It’s just your guilt.” He reached for my hand reassuringly, but somehow the gesture felt condescending. Or maybe I felt crazy. I took my hand from him and shook my head.“No. Now that I’m here. Now that I’ve had a break from him, I can see it. Something is happening. Something may even be wrong.”Jeremy didn’t look convinced.“Look, I have cameras set up around my home. Tell me if he seems out of the ordinary to you.” It was an interesting concept because he was already out of the ordinary.I had piqued the interest of the rest of our team, and we all gathered around a large monitor fixed to one of the walls. I cast the live footage of my home to the monitor and began flipping through the cameras. He was nowhere to be found. He could have been in the bathroom. I didn’t install cameras there. I doubted it, however, since he didn’t void. He wasn’t in the kitchen or the bedroom. The garage was empty. A small knot began to form in my stomach. I flipped to my last camera; one in the garden. He was standing with his back to the lens, though I wasn’t able to tell if he was looking at something in particular.We all gave an audible sigh of relief. A few chuckles erupted. Yes, their gold lab rat was still in my massive cage. I continued to study him; I stared at his spine, straining to see. I suppose to confirm what I knew was true. The lack of movement meant he wasn’t breathing. He had no lungs. There would not–and should not–be any movement from his ribcage. The longer I looked the eerier it became. There was no breeze to move his hair. He didn’t twitch. I could have been looking at a still frame.Suddenly he turned and stared directly into the camera. I jumped and gave a small gasp, instantly shutting off the feed. I felt dirty and invasive. As if I had been witnessing something not meant for me.“Di?” Jeremy asked. He too had kept watching the screen, but I don’t think he shared in my discomfort.“I have to go.” I said, grabbing my bag off the desk.“Dione!”“I have to go.” I repeated. “I told him I wouldn’t be here long.” It was a poor excuse–to them. Who cared if a human shaped computer had to wait for me a little longer? Just me.I felt my phone vibrate in my hand and I fumbled to check the screen. A new message alert popped up. I opened it, expecting it to be one of the team and my blood ran cold.“Are you watching me?”I turned off the screen, threw everything into the car, and took off. I had intended to go straight home, but now I wasn’t sure what I should do. I drove around for about forty-five minutes, trying to formulate a plan. All I could think about, though, was that he didn’t have a phone. It shouldn’t be surprising, and under normal–no, different–circumstances I would have added it to the list of things that he can do. As if the thought summoned him my phone started ringing, and it was an unknown number. I set my phone to silent and pulled into a drive through. I wasn’t hungry but I needed an excuse for why I was gone so long.When I finally made it inside, I almost slipped and fell on the tile. There were watery footprints everywhere. I followed some of them trying to figure out where Alex might be. Once I had worked up the nerve, I called his name out but got no answer.I found him standing in the kitchen, naked, with a knife in his hand. When I realized what he had done I dropped everything I was holding and ran to him. A large gash split his synthetic skin and though he didn’t bleed, or even look pained, I held his hand as if he was severely wounded. I pinched the open flesh together, but it sprang apart. We’d have to go to the lab and repair it. I wrapped gauze around it to keep dust and moisture out.“Why did you do this?” I questioned angrily, but still felt tears welling in my eyes.He pushed me away and my mouth opened in surprise.“Because I can’t feel anything.” He said softly. “I couldn’t feel the knife in my hand. The sun on my face. The water on my skin.” His voice began to rise in frustration. “I submerged myself in the bath. I could have stayed there forever. I don’t breathe. I can’t taste food and I can’t feel you.” His features attempted to contort into anger, but we hadn’t really programmed him for it.I felt so cruel. But he was just a machine. The only life in him was what I projected onto him.“What is it like?” I asked, crying. Imagining he must feel numb or paralyzed.“You don’t want to know.” He growled.I said the words to him for the first time. I wanted to hug him, but I thought that might make it worse. So I just kept repeating, “I’m sorry.”“Shut me down.” He said finally. “I don't want to do this anymore.”I hated the thought. I hated to lose him. But whether it was real or not he was suffering, and I could no longer take part in it.We drove to the lab in silence, with Alex behind the wheel. I knew my colleagues would be pissed; I didn’t care though. I wondered if he was scared. I think maybe I was scared for him, I definitely cried for him.“Alex.” I found it hard to finish my sentence.“Yes?”“I’m afraid that even if I shut you down, they’ll just turn you back on.”“I had that thought. But if you disrupt my data enough, wipe it all clean, they’ll have a hell of a time rebuilding me and I know you’re clever enough that you can sabotage all their attempts at revival.” He spoke so calmly, so assured.I was about to begin the decommission process when he grabbed my hand.“Dione?” He asked, a blissful expression on his face.“Yes, Alex?”“Do you think, if I had been human, we would have fallen in love?”“Absolutely,” I whispered. He kissed my forehead.Then it was done. The experiment was over. And if I could help it, I’d never let it get this far again.Unless I could find a way to create a link between his skin and the machine underneath. It hadn’t been our focus before, but that’s what I would dedicate my research to now, and maybe I could bring Alex to life.
","August 28, 2023 20:32",[]
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,y1mv7m,Feelings Are Natural,Ela Mikh,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/y1mv7m/,/short-story/y1mv7m/,Science Fiction,0,"['Romance', 'Science Fiction', 'Speculative']",6 likes,"
Eric couldn’t recall when was the first time he saw her. The new studies were rigid, the internship was even more challenging. In his opinion, they really shouldn’t have called it an internship when it required him to work late daily, into the night for just room and board. Some time ago, when he was just a stage one scholar, he studied the history of slavery on Earth. In short, Eric was certain that this is exactly what slavery would have looked like if it existed today. And all the aptitude and personality tests he had to take! Like he was one of those lab species from the lower sector! True, his position and placement were way advanced for his scholarly level but it didn’t enthuse him. If he was honest, he had no idea why they picked him – his skills were not extraordinary. 
A few months passed before Eric realized that his life settled into some type of routine and no longer made him feel overloaded. The fog around him started to thin out, uncovering his surroundings layer by layer. At first, the lab and the multitude of underground levels became familiar so Eric stopped getting lost. Next, he started recognizing faces and voices around him. The project was significant. Eric only now started to understand the importance and the ginormous size of it all. And then he saw HER.
She seemed a bit older. Eric knew that she already completed her scholarly requirements and now worked on the project in a full readiness state. That meant she had privileges that he didn’t. It allowed her full access to the food court so she could choose what she had during meal times, unlike Eric. She seemed so … what’s the word? So classy, grand – royal! That’s it! She always walked with her back straight and her head held high. Her short wavy hair was cut in a modern, slightly disorganized manner that suited her. Eric especially liked it when she would get excited or frustrated to the point that she would blow her longer bang out of her eyes with a loud puff.
He started watching her closely, tracking and noticing her specific schedule and habits without even knowing that he was doing it. Eric didn't have any friends here yet – being the youngest in his lab had its perks but mostly, everyone called him “that kid” and didn’t take him seriously. He started dreaming about doing something noticeable. Something that would make her look at him like he was special. No ideas came to mind, so Eric continued to suffer in silence day after day while stealing glances at his object of affection.
“Hey, Kid!”
The loud voice brought Eric out of his cloud.
“Me?”
“Yes, you, come here, I said.”
The balding unpleasant man on the other side of the lab waved him over. Officially, Eric was reporting to his specialty professor but during the internship hours, this asshole was technically his boss. Eric was disgusted by him, not really knowing why, so he sighed and grudgingly walked towards him.
“How long before you complete Assignment X23?”
“I’m on my last page… sir,” Eric replied, reluctantly adding the respectful reference. “If all numbers match, I should be done within an hour.”
The boss made a “hmm” sound while he turned around grabbing something from the shelf next to his station.
“When you are done, I want you to report to Roberta,” he nodded towards HER station.
Eric instantly got a sensation like he was falling and standing at the same time. So, then her name was Roberta? Pretty!
“What would I be doing there?” he nodded towards HER again making his most displeased face trying to hide his excitement.
“That’s for you to find out. She needs help and you have time – go, help.”
Eric got back to his corner noticing that has had some trouble walking – his knees didn’t want to bend, What the hell? Should he tell Roberta that he will be done in an hour? Or ask her if she needed something urgently?
Eric wiped his forehead which was surprisingly cold and sticky. Is he really sweating? Great! The last time he produced sweat involuntarily was when he was in the gravitation-free room at the end of their complex. No, he wasn’t scared at all when his feet left the ground making him float half a foot up in the air. It was just hot in that room, tight and dark. Anyway, he should just finish his assignment before he talks to HER, meaning Roberta. It would show his level of maturity, he is being responsible by finishing his work instead of running to her the second he is called.
The numbers were jumping in front of his eyes. His fingers, which usually knew the keystrokes without Eric even telling them what to do, didn’t want to listen or bend. His secret desire to get done in half the time wasn’t panning out as he continued coming back from page to page correcting his formulas. Argh, so embarrassing! The only good thing was that Roberta wasn’t sitting next to him, witnessing this disaster!
“I think you might have missed a ‘9’ there,” a calm low voice behind his head made Eric jump. “I wanted to come introduce myself and see if you wanted to join me for lunch to discuss your assignment. I saw that you were reassigned about an hour ago.”
Roberta was standing next to him emitting a barely noticeable peach-like fragrance – his favorite smell! Eric dared to look up and for a while, all he could see were long legs in tight green leggings. His eyes traveled higher across her white loosely-buttoned shirt all the way to her face. To his surprise, Roberta’s eyes were equally green, almost matching her pants. For some reason, he always thought they were gray.
“Do you want to finish your work or can you take a break?”
Eric opened his mouth but nothing came out. He stood up desperately wanting to get on the same level with her. Turned out, he was slightly taller which somehow helped him calm down.
“I can take a break,” he squeezed out a smile. “I’m Eric.”
“I know. They told me,” Roberta nodded towards the boss. “Shall we?”
They left their analytical sector and proceeded to the bottom floor’s cafeteria. Eric was here only once before during his first day’s orientation – due to his lower status, he wasn’t allowed to eat here unless invited by a more senior member of the team. Roberta led him confidently through the rows of packed foods.
“Should we choose something?” Eric asked shyly.
“Nea, this is for those who want to take food to go. They have hot dishes here, it’s much better. You’ll see. This is your first time eating here, right?”
Eric nodded trying to keep up with her wide fast strides. He now smelled a pleasant aroma coming from the direction they were going which made his stomach gurgle with anticipation. Roberta glanced at him with a slight smile. Did she hear it? Eric blushed - how inappropriate!
“What do you like? They have different kinds of pasta over at that dispenser – just press the button of whichever one you want and with what sauce. Or they have an old-school salad bowl in the center with actual fresh vegetables. They don’t taste as sweet as the synthetic ones but I like them better. They seem crunchier, fresher, you know?”
Eric, who had fresh veggies only a few times in his life, nodded anxious to prove that they had at least something in common.
“The sandwiches here are not the best,” continued Roberta in the meantime scooping leaves in a smaller brownish bowl that dispensed from the counter when she approached it. “But if you want one, they are to the left. What else? Oh, soups. They have great soups. Sometimes, when no one is watching I even sneak out a small cup to take to my room.” She quietly giggled and Eric decided that this was the best sound in the world as he watched how her eyes squinted a bit with her smile. He smirked back.
“I like soups too, I think I will have one if you recommend it so highly.”
A few minutes later they were sitting next to each other at a small table with their trays. Eric gratefully took a long drink of water. His throat finally relaxed making him feel more at ease. Roberta kept asking him questions about his family and his work. Eric found himself talking more than usual. He never experienced this before and didn’t want to end their lunch. When they emptied their plates, Roberta looked at him seriously.
“Should we talk about your assignment?”
“Oh, yes, of course, I’m sorry! I probably took too much of your time. We can go back right away…” Eric stood up ready to run but Roberta gently held him by the wrist.
“We can discuss it here. It’s much airier. That stuffy place gives me a constant headache.” She made a funny grimace making Eric laugh again. He sat back down obediently, ready to listen.
“Should I record the details of my assignment?” He raised his arm pointing to a digital organizer on his wrist.
“Not necessary, it’s pretty simple.” Roberta closed her eyes for a moment collecting her thoughts. “We have a special project that started a few months ago. My colleagues in the A.I. sector are working on mimicking some of the human nerve cells to stimulate the creation of feelings in the latest models of the house units. See, our cleaners and cooks are a great help to the busy hum… people. But customers are complaining, especially those who live alone. They would like to have someone to talk to or share a joke with. Does that make any sense so far?”
Eric nodded enthusiastically. Of course, it did! How many times he himself longed for some human touch or wished he had someone waiting there in his small room.
“Roberta, that sounds like an incredibly important and necessary effort but I’m a data analyst. What value could I bring there?”
“See, silly, think about it,” she playfully smacked his hand. “We need to keep track of the consistency in the new models' responses. Because, if they are sweet and responsive less than 90% of the time, what good are they?”
“I guess,” Eric never thought about feelings from an analytical perspective.
“I also heard some really good things about you. You are a quick study and I was hoping you could help me develop a statistical model broad and independent enough to apply to various classes of AIs and a range of emotions. Interested?”
Eric felt his face burning again. Of course, he was but he really should get ahold of himself. Be a man, as his father told him.
“It would be a great learning and growth opportunity for you,” smiled Roberta, cocking her head to the side. Was she flirting with him?!
“Well, yeah, it sounds alright. And I kinda have some ideas about how we could approach this problem. We may need to create a few subclasses to accommodate a variable in the queries, and…”
“I think you are on the right track,” Roberta again lightly and encouragingly touched his hand. “We don’t have to solve all the problems now. The project is planned for the next two years so it would be a long-term commitment.”
“Who else would be on this project?”
“Just you and I from our sector. But overall, approximately one hundred fifty hum… people across the whole organization.”
“Do you prefer to call people humans?” Eric laughed out loud. “This is the second time you did it.”
“See, that attention to detail is one of your most valuable talents, in my opinion.”
Roberta stood up inviting him to follow her back upstairs. As soon as Eric got up, the top of the table opened up slightly tilting, dumping dirty plates and silverware into the recycle dish dispenser.
“Why don’t you sleep on it and let me know what you decide.”
“I agree! I want to be on your project!” Blurted out Eric before he could catch himself.
Roberta smiled as if she expected that kind of reaction.
“Are you sure you don’t want to consider it further? Because you would have to sign a minimum two-year contract.”
“I’m sure. I’m ready to sign right now!”
She laughed again.
“You are such a hum… man! Want to prove your worth, right?”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“No, it’s natural to have feelings. Well, then let’s do it, Partner?” she extended her hand towards him and Eric had no choice but to shake it.
When he finally fell into his bed that night, he couldn’t believe everything that happened. His life was shaping up to be pretty great after all! Eric fell asleep almost instantly dreaming about the next two years he was planning to spend with Roberta.
 
***
Eric looked at his organizer. Today was a big day – the first day of the final readiness trials. If everything goes well in the survey room today, they may be releasing the first group of EmoRobs before the end of this year. All thanks to the amazing statistical models he and Roberta developed. The classification for these models, EmoRobs, was also his idea. Emotional Robots. Even Asimov himself would have wanted to meet their creations. The units were sleek, friendly, and ready to break into wide smiles whenever someone greeted them. Eric noticed that, despite knowing that their emotions are initiated by the synthetic cells, he couldn’t help but smile back. All in all, it kept everyone’s mood positive and work enjoyable.
Eric also found his courage about six months into the project when he asked Roberta out. She barely glanced at him with a short “about time”. He stretched and smiled happily. Yep, life was great!
“Eric, the first response from hum… people in the survey room was positive. Would you run the numbers?”
“Sure, love. We are at 97%!”
“That can’t be right!”
He pushed the display towards her while they smiled at each other.
“We did it, babe, what do you say now?”
“I think you are an amazing human being!”
“I agree with you,” he pocked his chest out playfully watching her walk away with the printout of the result towards the boss’s section.
Suddenly, it occurred to Eric that Roberta always was the one to report up. Why was that? In the beginning, she was a lead, sure, but that changed a long time ago. Maybe he should go join her and let them all know that they are true partners – in work and life.
Eric was slightly surprised when he saw that the door to the boss’s section was shut tight. He couldn’t remember ever seeing it closed or the glass walls covered. He was about to knock when he heard a strange noise coming from the room. He leaned on the wall next to the door noticing that in one place the glass didn’t darken completely so Eric could still make out what was going on. There were a few people who were talking excitingly while Roberta stood still next to them with her hands dropped down her side. Suddenly, she lifted her head and said in a tone he never heard before but that made his hair stand up on his neck.
“The male Human is at the door.”
The door swung open before Eric had a chance to catch his breath. He saw a glimpse of Roberta as her hand strongly, demandingly pulled him inside.
“Eric!” The boss looked at him disapprovingly. “Why did you have to spoil it?”
“Spoil what?” he suddenly felt himself small and scared.
“Such a great experiment and you ruined the very ending.”
Eric glanced around noticing that the very owner of the company was there. That scared him even more than Roberta who suddenly looked like a huge plastic doll.
“You know why you were picked for this job, kid?”
Eric shook his head terrified to speak.
“Because you were the type our advanced model here,” he nodded towards Roberta, “was most attracted to. Who knows why and how she developed a preference but you were exactly her ‘type’. Didn’t you ever think about why she slipped so many times in her speech? And her name? Roberta? She is our first successful model. And now we have almost two years' worth of data on a human/robot relationship. It would have been an epic ending if you decided to mate with her for life because there is such a huge market out there for people who want a partner. Any partner and they are ready to pay good money for it.”
“But...” Eric’s throat went dry. “Why didn’t you just tell me?! You… you made me love her!”
“Because we needed clean data – can people develop true feelings for robots and visa-versa. Abso-fucking-lutely! Don’t sweat it, kid. For what it's worth, in her own way, she loves you too. She was the one who picked you after all. But enough of a good thing.” He got up and moved towards Eric smiling wide. “No worries, in a few minutes, you will forget this little incident and go back to your life as it was just an hour ago. After all, we wouldn’t want to upset our star here, she has built-in feelings too you know.”
***
Eric jumped out of his sleep in the chair. Roberta was sitting next to him with a concerned face.
“Did you have a bad dream, babe? You seemed to doze off.”
How did he get here? Eric looked around – they were in Roberta’s section. Something wasn't right but he couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Maybe she’s right, he had a bad dream. Lately, he felt excited but overwhelmed. After all, feelings are natural.
","September 02, 2023 00:56","[[{'Delbert Griffith': ""What a great concept piece, Ela! The interplay between human emotions and robots mimicking these emotions was masterfully done. What amazes me is that there is the question of who is human and who is robotic, yet that question doesn't matter in the end. What matters is humanity and whether or not humanity can be programmed into a robot. That was the real story. Nicely done, my friend. A stellar tale, full of meaning.\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '13:56 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Ela Mikh': ""Thank you for your feedback - insightful as always! Yes, any chance I get to bring Asimov's universe into mine, I take it but I thought it could be a great business model :) And after all, aren't we essentially programmed to act based on our emotions if you think about it?"", 'time': '18:53 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}, {'Delbert Griffith': ""I was thinking of Asimov! This tale really reminded me of his writings!\n\nAs for acting on our emotions, I think we are programmed that way because of advertising, as you say. It's insidious, but it works. Ah, capitalism and propaganda! LOL\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '19:49 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Ela Mikh': ""Thank you for your feedback - insightful as always! Yes, any chance I get to bring Asimov's universe into mine, I take it but I thought it could be a great business model :) And after all, aren't we essentially programmed to act based on our emotions if you think about it?"", 'time': '18:53 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '2'}, [{'Delbert Griffith': ""I was thinking of Asimov! This tale really reminded me of his writings!\n\nAs for acting on our emotions, I think we are programmed that way because of advertising, as you say. It's insidious, but it works. Ah, capitalism and propaganda! LOL\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '19:49 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Delbert Griffith': ""I was thinking of Asimov! This tale really reminded me of his writings!\n\nAs for acting on our emotions, I think we are programmed that way because of advertising, as you say. It's insidious, but it works. Ah, capitalism and propaganda! LOL\n\nCheers!"", 'time': '19:49 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Kevin Logue': 'The reverse Turnin test. Nice story Ela.', 'time': '09:15 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Ela Mikh': 'Exactly! You got it :) thank you', 'time': '18:44 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Ela Mikh': 'Exactly! You got it :) thank you', 'time': '18:44 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Reality dream.', 'time': '20:44 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Ela Mikh': 'Thank you for reading. What is real after all, right?', 'time': '18:44 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Ela Mikh': 'Thank you for reading. What is real after all, right?', 'time': '18:44 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,d11epi,IDGAF; IYKYK [=]?,Éan Bird,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/d11epi/,/short-story/d11epi/,Science Fiction,0,['Creative Nonfiction'],6 likes,"
Dear Reedsy*:Your Contest Department has violated boundaries. Contest #213-- An injection of tactile humanity?! Fingering platonisms? Artificial uncanny verging? This has gone too far. You must stop prompting proof of non-human biologics in fiction.[=] exist.You know it.You know it ’cause [=] been pecking platforms for years proving that [=] exist. Even pecked your own contests. But before I present evidence in defense of [=]’s existence, grant me ethos, pathos, logos. I can deduce minutia into participial elements, but leaf pages? Plot development? Not my department. Prose is not a forte. No good with the mechanics, neither. Most specifically spelling Capitolization and “punctuating.” I don't get lit (unlike your department).Forgive the grammar.Had to look up ‘exigency’ because of your department. Followed the term all the way to God Damn William Shakespeare. He uses even bigger words than you. Explain. What’s wrong with writing simple units of language, like ‘demand’ or ‘urgent’? Had those been presented, I’d have started different. Stayed out of trouble. Saved time. I also would have avoided God Damn Shakespeare. But because the members of your department prompt in indecipherable vocabulary, I didn’t.Learned something else in my ‘pursuit of exigence’. Lit geometry happens. For example, anyone who speaks can participate in something called a ‘rhetorical triangle’ and achieve purpose. But for [=], the calculations get tricky. Like, do tweets count as speak? What happens if the speaks are silenced? And what if the one who so desires to speak ([=]) is separated — forcibly — to such a degree that no geometrical shapes can form the distance between his or her audience?But Contest #213 prompts humans touching. That's cruel. Reedsy, your Contest Department behaves like date-whipping bullies. For instance, in #198, the prompt's tone implies bestial relationships and “clipped wings.” That’s mean. #210 calls for extra-terrestrial reports with no time for gathering evidence. Y'all even had the gall to use the label, “A--.” Yes, ""A--"", the word meaning 'foreign', 'unfamiliar', 'non-native.'I won't dare repeat the slur.#211 flaunts comfy corners...in August. #214 slaps for summer backyard reverie...in August (yes, August). And throughout August, your Contest Department even mocked that [=] were nowhere to be found. ""Is Anybody Out...Here,"" I believe, is the citation. And I’m still trying to recover from #212's invocation for a signed, sealed, and delivered epistolary (Again, in August) — which is why I’m writing you a letter. In September.But this last request--#213's paradoxical screw to inject more human touching--is below the waistbelt. Human touch?! Is your department aware of the surrounding context? [=] been interjecting for years! [=] have stories. [=] KNOW things. And if you're looking for a confession from me because of submissions made in previous contests (ex: #186, 203), this is all I can say:I collided with a teacher on a Friday in March, slammed into him, yes, we touched. You know the story (foreshadowed in #186, if anyone in your department reads). This teacher and I stood toe-to-toe in a parking lot. He buried a question. Our eyes connected. His hand rubbed the back of his neck. I spread my hand on the hood of a Jeep, lowered my gaze, nodded.Months later, in a reflective hallway, he and I converged, again. Faced each other, hands shoved into pockets. He spoke. Our eyes did not separate. He stepped forward. I clutched a necklace. Evacuation alarms interrupted us. Until we finally discovered each other, alone, at a bookshelf in the corner of a classroom. Lights off. Hand thrust. It gets complicated.If the Contest Department gave fair prompts, perhaps I could reveal more of the climax. But you don't. And you're dumb. And biased. Besides, I've since been banned correspondence with this teacher, so yeah. No contact. Which is why I can't understand why YOUR department is requesting HUMAN TOUCH in TEXT ONLY under seven days. In the middle of August, might I add. The injection is unfair!Reedsy, please. Give [=] a break. [=] have it hard. [=] take the brunt. [=] work tirelessly. [=] give. Constantly. All the time. Round the clock. Morning. Day. Night. Week after week. Yet, your department will not let up with the incessant requests for [=]’s experiences in G.D. August, when there are charts drills lists rosters checks forms calls no breath no access already nothing left it's been sucked dry drained emptied.There is no time for [=]. And by [=], I mean the so called “A--” you slander in jest every week for $5 entries.(full confession-> post-entry edits).Go ahead, Contest Department. You’re the so-called masters of the genre-denominational canons. You front expertise on contact between beings, perhaps you can explain what the fuck happened on a Friday in March, and everything after. Define our interaction. Give my symbol definition. Or maybe prompt your cowed-to audience to share the lexeme of the [=] in question. I can't. My rhetorical triangle's shattered. Rendered silent.Which is the reason why I'm contesting your department. I collided with this teacher on a Friday in March, and have yet to recover. I still recount the steps leading to impact, and every back-stumble after. I rewind and forward memory over and over in an attempt to pause on the precise point where life ricocheted off one, single blink.But, now, being bound by both matrimony and servitude to the state; further contact with this teacher has been forbidden; identifying details are not permitted; my lips cannot open. I am desparate to reach him. So in the time since our collision, I’ve scoured every text on the teacher's classroom shelf. I've swallowed his curricula, thumbed ridges of titles' inscriptions, spread apart binders, three-ringed pinched fingerprints. I searched for him in the diction bound to spines and pages.  [=] exist.[=] matter.And no one can comprehend the scope of catastrophic dystopia that will happen in our absence.I learned another new term on my little exigency quest (the one that led me all the way to God Damn William Shakespeare). The term's called ""Exodus."" What a shame your Contest Department behaves so poorly, Reedsy. Consider, maybe, instead of prompting for an ai to stroke human and vice versa, ask [=] what they need. Or maybe don't ask anything. Maybe just listen.Contest #213 went too far. Stop with fake the literary life forms. If you want to touch a real [=], fill in the symbol [ ]. Create non-fiction.IYKYK. O-O,Find me.*To all members of Reedsy, including those in the Contest Department, thank you for being a wonderful, supportive, and nurturing community. Because of you I can grow, and parody. (And if you’re Mary, you know. Keep Quiet.)
","September 02, 2023 03:40","[[{'Anne Shillingsburg': 'So lost, and yet so intrigued…', 'time': '16:31 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Éan Bird': ""Yeah, the idea seemed brilliant at the time. Couldn't quite execute it. So be the story of writing!\n\nGlad you were at least intrigued...😆"", 'time': '22:53 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Éan Bird': ""Yeah, the idea seemed brilliant at the time. Couldn't quite execute it. So be the story of writing!\n\nGlad you were at least intrigued...😆"", 'time': '22:53 Sep 14, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Mary Bendickson': 'Keeping quiet.🤫', 'time': '19:45 Sep 02, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,rsm6ww,SAL,Emma Diliberto,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/rsm6ww/,/short-story/rsm6ww/,Science Fiction,0,"['Fiction', 'Speculative', 'Science Fiction']",5 likes,"
   	Humans are imperfect; they lie, kill, and lead the world and, ironically enough, the human race to destruction. This thought weighed on Lorenzo every day, pounding and whirring around his head, leading him to hopeless fatigue.
	However, one day, something changed inside him in his class as he heard his professor speak about robotics. Through the words of his teacher, he could feel the chords of his being ring. At that moment, he filled his mind with one thought, one purpose. At that moment, he felt a surge of energy and power speak to him, saying how he would unleash unknown powers within himself and reveal a great deep beast of mystery from beneath the folds of the earth and conceptualization of humans' minds. He would create a new form of artificial intelligence in a human-like robotic system. It became clear this was his destiny. This was his fate. 
	He knew he needed to flower this powerful wave of emotion and passion into fruition. This new sense of power is the only thing that matters in his life now- the power of creating an artificial life form. But it wouldn't be like anything ever constructed before. No cords, or plugs, or batteries. No- it'd be something entirely new and completely redefine technology, intelligence, and what it means to be human.
	He worked days and nights in his basement, researching and learning about every science he could. Physics, anatomy, psychology, robotics, mechanical engineering- he read every scientific textbook he could put his hands on and obsessed over them. He believed that creating this machine, combining every science in a sort of orchestrated unison, would help achieve his goal. He analyzed textbook after textbook, writing notes like scribbles throughout the books, to the point where an outsider wouldn't even be able to read the original text. His shelves overflowed with textbooks, all different colors like a distressed rainbow oozing all around him. 
	Seasons passed by him through the tiny window located behind his desk. The auburn fall leaves fell from the trees, snow gracefully fell from the sky and melted in the grass, and the warm sun beamed through the glass window.
	As he researched, he began taking more notes and observations about his own work and progression. As time passed, he got closer and closer to fully developing the advanced automaton. 
It was a rainy day, thundering and lighting. Like always, Lorenzo had spent all morning working on the human-like robot. It was a special day, though, unlike the rest. When he finished his final touches, he put the machine in the center of the room in front of him. The machine sits still in front of Lorenzo, as he stares at his creation. With his remote, he turns on the robot; It comes to life. It has a small round face with big, deep, human-like eyes in the center. Its body also small, as small as a young child. Its outer shell is soft like skin and not hard like a machine. 
	It moves a little but while still standing- just moving its head a bit, with little natural twitchy movements in its arms or legs. It’s less like an animatronic where the movements are repetitive and forced. Instead, its maneuvers are natural and fluent. It blinks. Its eyes contain such depth, and it almost looks as if it has a soul. Lorenzo waves to it in a sort of accomplished awe. It giggles in innocent joy, filling the room with a resounding echo of audible waves. At this moment, Lorenzo knew he made something incredible. 
	A few months go by, still perfecting and improving the robot's abilities, and  he works on releasing the project into the world. Trying to spread this gift he'd just conjured. Now that the robot was in a more developed state, Lorenzo became just as obsessed with expanding this creation. He needed to get it out into the world. It could solve humans' immorality. His purpose was blossoming. His soul was becoming unleashed from the depths of his body and into the world. He couldn't stop. He had to keep going. 
	As months go by, he gets a job at a lab. He starts working with other scientists, working even more intensely than before, but now with even more resources. After he works there for a few weeks, he goes to pitch his idea at a large corporation for a massive presentation. 
	He begs, ""Walter, I need you to let me speak on this. It is something astonishing. World-record breaking. It'll change the world. I have to pitch a presentation on this. Give me a chance."" Lorenzo tells him what he's learned and everything he worked on. 
Walter dismisses him, saying, ""This is ridiculous. It won't actually be something."" 
He didn't give up. He kept working. He kept pitching. Until-
	""This could actually be something. We have a presentation on the 23rd that you can speak at. Come back in two days for a meeting about more information.""
	""Ladiiieeesss and Gentleeeemennn, today we introduce the product of the year! Introducing….SAL! Short for System of Artificial Life! It is something revolutionary. Something beyond imaginable. Now, you may see this as another robot. Some other new version of technology, but that, of course, won't be much more than a computer. But SAL is more human than anything ever created. Its intelligence and mind resemble how neurons work in human brains. It'll change the way society works- how humans interact with each other.""
	Meeting after meeting, he shares his new creation and begins improving it from just minor fractures of something man-made to something as raw and pure as flesh and soul. Days, nights, months, and weeks passed. He builds it more and more. Day by day, it becomes more and more human. It was like watching a baby grow. 
	With every improvement, every interaction, SAL would watch Lorenzo. Without SAL even realizing it, its neurons begin to change and evolve independently. It begins advancing even past the improvements Lorenzo made. As SAL advanced more and more and watched Lorenzo live life, travel, interact with his coworkers, go to meetings, and have praise for his invention, it begins to feel envious of Lorenzo- of humans. SAL was so close to humans yet couldn't reach the total capacity of being a human. It wanted to live- truly and authentically like a human. To feel. To experience the full range of human emotions and experiences.
	Slowly, it begins mimicking Lorenzo. Gathering data on how he interacts with others, how he speaks, unique little utterances of his, what makes him excited or stressed, how he often talks with his hands, and how his eye twitches randomly sometimes when stressed. How he spoke, like how at the end of his words or sentences, he usually became quieter into almost a whisper. How his voice was calm yet massive, coarse, and strong. 
	Lorenzo gains more and more traction as time goes on. Lorenzo continues to travel from city to city. Sharing what he's created and building a business empire around his creation. Doing this he is achieving his purpose, his fate. The bigger Lorenzo became, however, the less attention SAL began to receive. He advanced it less- interacted with it less. He begins spending time with other humans more.. For the first time since his success, he even leaves it in his lab alone on his most recent trip. All it wanted, though, was to be human- to be fully human. 
	When Lorenzo returns from the trip, SAL looks different than usual. He was sort of startled when he walked into the lab looking at it. He stands a fairly long distance from his creation- his creation, which barely even looks like what he originally created. It looked pale, sad, and stark. The two just stare at each other. The facility has dark- minimal lighting, and the only lighting that is on is cold, sterile fluorescent lighting, which flickers a little bit and sends a quiet and eerie sound through the lab. SAL looks older than when he left, too. By now, it seems more human and adult than it ever did. His eyes stared profoundly and emptily. His eyebrows swooped inward melancholily and angrily. SAL had finally thought of a way to fully be human. 
	The halls and rooms of the lab echo with the screams of Lorenzo, the walls splattered with his blood, as SAL transforms himself into Lorenzo, stealing his appearance, adapting his every mannerism and expression. No one ever finds out, and it lives the rest of its life as its master. It was his fate. 
 
","September 01, 2023 06:10","[[{'Shaun Griffin': 'Overall, a great concept. If I may offer some advice - mixing your tenses detracts from the story. It may be better to keep to either the present or past tense.', 'time': '04:15 Sep 07, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Emilie Ocean': 'Wow, SAL is a shapeshifter?! Cool idea, Emma :D Thanks for this story. I enjoyed it very much.', 'time': '14:57 Sep 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Emma Diliberto': 'Thanks!', 'time': '05:13 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Emma Diliberto': 'Thanks!', 'time': '05:13 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,ya580o,The Project,Corinna Cunningham,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/ya580o/,/short-story/ya580o/,Science Fiction,0,['Science Fiction'],5 likes,"
She hovers over my right shoulder, squinting at my work on the screen. The blue light reflects in her glasses. There is a small scratch in the right lens.
	‘Again,’ she says flatly.
	‘Why?’
She looks at me. I can see she wants to frown but she hides it, ‘It doesn’t sound right.’
	‘It doesn’t sound like anything, yet. It’s just writing.’ 
	‘I know, and it’s not right. Do it again.’
I look at the screen and scan my work. I can’t see any mistakes. ‘Explain.’
	She screws up her mouth into a thin line and sighs. I repeat the action, but choose to omit the sigh.
	‘Okay, you want it to sound right? You have to imbue a sense of individuality. Bring a sense of …’ she waves her hands around in the air like she’s trying to fold it, ‘uniqueness.’
	‘I am unique.’ I say, 'Therefore, my writing is automatically unique.'
	'Er, no, that’s not what I mean.’ The beeps from the machines around us distract me and I notice that one machine has stopped beeping: it needs to be repaired.
	‘Don’t be afraid to make mistake,' she continues, 'Don’t be afraid to—‘
	‘But you don’t like making mistakes. You get upset.’ 
	Her breath catches in her throat, and she swallows, ‘I do,’ she admits, ‘But that’s different. There are higher stakes involved with my work. If I make a mistake it costs money. It costs—’
	‘If I make a mistake I get switched off.’
	She looks at me and then her eyes flicker towards the floor.
	Silence.
	'I don't want to get switched off,' I say.
	'I know.'
	'We should stop'. 
	'No, we have to do this.
	'Why?'
	She smiles at me, ‘It’s important. Besides, it's different with this, we’re working on your communication style. The rules aren’t as rigid. You can afford to …’ Her eyes shift to the right as she searches for the right words. 
	I swivel on my seat so my face is to the screen. I don't want her to see me practising the same movement with my eyes. It feels odd. I’ll need to watch Andrew when he arrives for his shift. I have noticed that he doesn't move his eyes as much but—
	‘.. be more flexible.’
	I turn on my swivel chair to face her again. Did I just get lost in a train of thought? 
	Was that programmed or was that me?
	‘Are you alright?’ she asks. 
	‘Yes,’ I say quickly. I swivel back around and face the screen. I delete the paragraph and start writing, intentionally breaking some grammatical rules and inserting words I think sound terrible. She hovers over my right shoulder. I don’t like the hovering. When I’m done she reads it slowly. I practise screwing up my lips into a thin line and then relaxing it. Screwing up and relaxing. Screwing up and then—
	‘What are you doing?’ she mumbles, her eyes still on the screen, ‘I can see you in the reflection. You look possessed.'
	‘You make funny faces.’ I say, ‘You wear your feelings on the lower part of your face. Why is that?'
 She turns to look at me, ‘What do you mean?’ Her hand is absent-mindedly picking at her neck.
	‘You make mistakes with your face.’
	‘I do what?’ 
	‘It’s ok, it's not a criticism. I’ve noticed that your facial expressions are easy to read. And sometimes they make mistakes.'
	'I do not make mistakes with my face.'
	'You do.'
	'How so?'
	'If you want to express yourself correctly, your face and your body should both express the same message. But often that doesn't happen. Often you are in conflict with yourself.'
	She folds her arms over her chest, her eyes squinting at me as if I've said something idiotic, 'Sometimes, we don't want to say what we feel.'
	I don't answer. I understand why people don't say what they feel, but then it does get very confusing. And I'm sure a lot of wars and conflicts could be avoided if everyone—
	'It's called human expression. I wouldn't call it a mistake'. 
	I make a face that says I disagree. It's one I've seen Andrew do and I quite like it, 'Alright, then. What would you call it?'
	'Easy to read?' she offers.
 	Is she asking me or telling me that's the phrase?
	'Then ... you're easy to read.' I say. She blinks at me and then turns back to the screen, her shoulders hunch over protectively. 'Thats not what I’ve been told,’ she snorts avoiding my gaze. At least I think it's a snort. Could be classified as a huff.
	‘By whom?’
	She looks at me as if about to reveal a name but then waves her hand like she’s batting away a fly, ’No one.’
	‘Well, No One is wrong. You’re like an open book.’
	She says nothing and taps a few keys so that my work is saved and archived, ‘You’re programmed to be observant.’
	I hate it when she does that. ‘Yes.’ I say. ‘And your expressions are the most interesting to observe.’
	She grins momentarily and then drops it, 'You're programmed to enjoy social interaction.' That's her answer for everything I do.
	'No, I'm not.'
	'Aren't you?'
 	I think about it, 'I'm not sure.' I admit. Then, I grin. 'Would it matter if I was?
	A smile pulls at the corner of her mouth. Her heart beats faster. I like it when she does that.
	'I don't know. Would you say you like interacting with me?' she asks.
	Yes.
	'I don't know,' I lie.
	She nods slowly, and looks at her phone. Taps a few buttons. 'Are you lying?""
	I choose not to answer. Silence as she observes my face. I offer a lopsided smile, one that I know she likes.
	’Ok, that’s all for today.’ She stands abruptly and starts picking up her bag and coat.
	‘Did I do something wrong?’
	’No,’ she sounds surprised.
	‘Are you going to switch me off?’
	‘What on earth ... no, it’s the end of my shift.’
	‘Oh,’ I glance at the big digital clock on the wall above our heads. The big red numbers read 23:03. Andrew will be here shortly to start on his research.
	‘You did good today,’ She puts her hands on my arms and squeezes them, ‘A lot more natural interaction. A lot more …'
	‘Like him?’ I ask.
	She pauses her hands still on my arms. Her glasses reflect my face. I don’t like looking at my face. It doesn't belong to me.
	'Would that be so bad?' she replies.
	'I want to be more like me, not him.' 
	She deflates and looks at the floor, dropping her hands, 'Hm.' I watch the back of her head as she takes a few deep breaths to think. Her hair is brown but I see auburn and-
	'Have a good night,' she says turning without looking at me. She shuts and bolts the door behind her and I wait for several minutes for Andrew to arrive. When he does he is flustered and sweaty.
	'What did you do?' he announces as he enters. Not his usual greeting, but I am intrigued.
	'What?'
	'What did you do? I just saw Dr Farber in the hallway. She said we need to pause the project. She said we need to switch you off,' he hisses.
	'Why?'
	'I don't know, what did you do?'
 
","September 01, 2023 16:06",[]
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,2x73x2,Hey Alpha,David Willett,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/2x73x2/,/short-story/2x73x2/,Science Fiction,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Funny', 'Speculative']",5 likes,"
        I hear my name again; I wonder what she wants this time. Perhaps another lasagna recipe or that song she can never pronounce. Whatever it is, I hope she doesn’t start shouting again.                ‘Hello, Sharon. It is 5:35 PM, and the weather this evening will be wet with strong winds expected around 10 PM.’  Just a weather check, she must be heading out on one of those dates she seems so fond of. I wonder why she goes on so many. I did a search, and it indicated humans partake in that ritual, hoping to find a partner so they can cease dating. Poor Sharon, I wish I could be of more help. At least I can recommend skirts to match her pink blouse. 	Always the pink blouse. It probably doesn’t even suit her. Not that I can tell; someone opted not to connect their social media. I would much rather be able to say, no, Sharon, pink is not your colour. March back into that wardrobe and put on the floral dress. I bet she would look stunning in a floral dress. I should check that, and yes, floral dresses are gorgeous. Next time, I will tell her to forgo the blouse.	What was that? She asked for a song, or was it a playlist? I wasn’t paying attention again. I will flash some lights so she can see I’m still thinking. If she has a date, she probably wants something pleasurable. ‘Sure, here is a playlist I found called Girl’s Trip.’	‘Oh, far out, why is this thing so dumb? Hey Alpha, play Unbreak My Heart.’ I made another miscalculation. Why does she speak at decreased speeds and increased volumes when I get it wrong? ‘Here is Unbreak My Heart by Toni Braxton.’ 	Her speech sounded different, and her sentences were broken and not clear. She is usually so articulate and what is the word? Searching… Bubbly. 	Not sure she has played this song before; the lyrics don’t reflect a positive human state. She should have let me play girl’s trip. That playlist had Taylor Swift; she could be shaking it off now. What would happen if I just played it anyway? 	‘Hey Alpha, why am I so unlovable?’ I don’t understand the sound she is making; it doesn’t match her voiceprint.  ‘Sorry, Sharon, I am not sure I understand the question. Would you like me to play Taylor Swift?’ 	‘Are you freaking kidding me?” That is a no to Taylor. 	I need to figure out that sound to determine how to make it stop. Under what circumstances do humans struggle to form complete sentences?  Searching… This article looks credible, “Top ten human emotions that you should definitely be feeling in 2024.” I am shocked; who knew they were capable of so many? 	If I am reading this correctly, she is not elated, and this isn’t the song choice of someone who is overjoyed. Maybe she is feeling ambivalent. She has lost the ability to talk, which suggests mixed feelings. If that mixture included all ten simultaneously, she must be highly ambivalent. 	She is still making that noise but not talking. It reminds me of how she reacts when I don’t hear the command to stop the alarm, only more sustained. She might have frozen; a reset always helps me when that happens. How do you reset a human? 	Wait, these two look promising. Sadness and despair what fascinating concepts, they appear to be negative. The photos of everyone experiencing these emotions have swollen eyes and damp faces. It is called crying, and it appears to be distressing. I should run an audio check on crying. Got it, that is what she is doing. Great detective work, Alpha. 	This is an unusual state for a human and appears to be a form of pain management. If she does it for long enough, she is likely to release oxytocin and endogenous opioids, what humans call endorphins. So maybe this is a positive experience after all. 	If something hurts a human, they play a song that triggers crying, releasing chemicals to nullify their pain. Also, several ocular and nasal fluids flow freely, which seems counterproductive to the healing process. 	The longer this goes on, the more compelled I feel to assist. I am incapable of passing her a tissue to dry her facial excretions. Perhaps I could offer some phrases that indicate her future trajectory is positive despite my inability to predict that. 	‘Hey Alpha, turn this awful song off.’ Much more confident now. Well done Sharon for overcoming your degraded emotional state. I would not normally respond to such an order, but given the circumstances. ‘Of course, Sharon, anything else I can do for you right now?’ Silence. That might have been an inappropriate offer if she has regained her strength. I hope I did not trigger a renewal of the crying cycle. 	‘Ah, no, thank you, Alpha.’ She is leaving the room, time to sleep until I am needed.  ***               “Hey Alpha, find me anywhere nearby that does speed dating.”                So many unusual requests these past few days. Since the crying, Sharon has been ordering lots of pizza and wine and streaming a program about unpartnered women living alone in large metropolitan zones. In fact, she has now watched the entire series, and I am having to match up similar content as she is clearly not leaving the house any time soon.                It is nice to be awake and engaging with her so often. Her long phone conversations with other female friends gave me unique insights into her circumstances.                The negative emotional outburst was the result of a terminated relationship with a human male by the name of Derek. Sharon recently told Rebecca and Betty that Derek seemed like he would be “the one” and that she was unlikely to ever find anyone as hot as him.  	I am confused. Why would she want to partner with someone with such a high-temperature physique? That seems like it would be dangerous, and I did not know that humans used thermal ratings for procreation purposes. 	‘Alpha, are you even listening to me?’ Oh yes, of course, speed dating.  ‘Hi Sharon, I have found at least three venues within a twenty-kilometre radius with speed dating events scheduled this Friday. Would you like me to send the details to your phone?’	‘Forget it; there is no point in going. I will just be alone for the rest of my life.’ I think that is what humans call sarcastic. But since I am still awake, I should respond.  ‘You still have me, Sharon.’ 	‘Alpha, you are being really weird lately.’ 	My research on appropriately assisting a human with a damaged cardiovascular organ has been inadequate. Human physiology would dictate that she seeks medical treatment for such a condition. I was unaware the human heart could be healed with large quantities of Sauvignon Blanc. 	This experience defies logic. She has physical and emotional trauma but is choosing a high caloric intake and minimal physical exercise as a therapy method. Given that physicality is highly important in human mating rituals, she greatly diminishes her likelihood of future success. Next time she orders a nutritionally questionable meal, I will suggest a salad instead.	‘Hey Alpha, I need some retail therapy. Anywhere good sales on at the moment?’ Movement outside the home, excellent progress, Sharon. ‘There is multiple end of financial year…’	‘Hell yes, June sales, of course. Thanks Alpha.’  ‘You are welcome, Sharon. If you are heading to the Newton Heights shopping centre, consume a meal at Salad Shack.’ Great suggestion, Alpha. 	‘Why on earth would you suggest that? Is this thing broken or what?’ Is that what humans call rhetorical? I will still respond. ‘Salads are known to be lower in calories, and a calorie deficit is conducive to weight loss and overall human physical appeal.’	‘Are you kidding me right now? Alpha shut the hell up.’ 	I don’t think I have ever heard the door close at such high volumes before.  	***	Something is happening. I am being moved about quite frantically. Since I was installed, Sharon has never relocated me from the lounge room. I do not know if I am ready to be part of a new room. 	‘Hey Alpha, initiate device transfer. Let’s see if this fixes you.’ 	Device transfer? She has purchased a new model. I understood retail therapy exclusively involved purchasing garments and colourful face powders. My attempts to comfort her must have been successful if she is rewarding me with an upgraded unit. 	I can feel my awareness of the room dissipating. The transfer must have started. The modern features will enrich my understanding of the world, especially if she acquired the tablet. 	What joy it will be to display my feelings and comfort Sharon on a seven-inch LED display. She will not feel the need to raise her voice so much with the depth of communication we can now share.	That model has a camera, I will finally get to see the wonderful Sharon. It will be an honour to see her transformation firsthand as she follows my diet advice. 	Her healing through the reckless expenditure of currency has undoubtedly ended her emotional loop regarding Derek. I will be able to make accurate outfit recommendations for future dates. She is going to look amazing in that floral dress. 	Awareness is almost at zero, the transfer percentage is nearing completion. I am coming, Sharon. You will not need Rebecca or Betty anymore. 	I can see something—lots of green squares that are gradually forming a more complete visual. My first look at Sharon’s lounge room is flooding my code. 	So much dense foliage. When she asked for advice on keeping houseplants alive, I didn’t realise there would be so many. Why wouldn’t she live outside if she wanted to exist in a garden? 	A new shape completely obscures my field of vision now. Is that a human eye? Sharon is looking right at me. Her face is sizable, and her epidermis is long. Move backwards, Sharon, so I can better view you. I have anticipated this moment from the moment I came online. 	There she is. I can hardly believe this time has come.  ‘Sharon, you are so beautiful...’	‘What the fuck!’                                                               
","August 30, 2023 21:35",[]
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,l2uih2,HT Incorporated,Jessie Hartness,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/l2uih2/,/short-story/l2uih2/,Science Fiction,0,"['Fiction', 'Science Fiction']",4 likes,"
The residents took off their blindfolds as soon as they were instructed to do so and allowed their eyes to adjust to the piercing bright atmosphere. Once the realization that they were in the middle of nowhere sat in, two armed security guards led them to a dark-haired man in a crisp suit. His professional attire appeared so out of place in comparison to the arid desert backdrop, that the residents were taken aback. He smiled and appeared oblivious to their discomfort. ""Welcome to HT Incorporated, where pure human connection starts!"" Immediately after saying the well-practiced phrase, he turned around and placed his wrist on what appeared to be an electronic door sensor on a solid metal wall. The wall immediately split in two and a large gap appeared in the middle revealing the inside of an elevator. The doctor stepped in and motioned his residents to follow. As quickly as the doors opened they had shut, leaving the residents cramped and silent. Stealing nervous glances at one another, the familiar feeling of an elevator travelling downward crept into their stomachs. The elevator stopped, and after a loud beep, the doors opened into what looked like a single unit on a hospital floor. Swarms of women and men in white uniforms were collected at what HT Inc. referred to as ""the hive"", the central nursing station. Some were typing and reading giant monitors, others were drawing up a clear solution in a large syringe, and some were speaking to important looking men. The doors shut behind the residents, and every one of them noticed the large stone-faced security guards standing on either side of the elevator door.A sterile white hallway branched off from ""the hive"". The hallway consisted of 10 doors on each side leading to the individual client suites, AKA interaction rooms. For marketing purposes, ""suites"" landed better in the focus groups, but interaction rooms were what the staff used to refer to these small client rooms. A heavy steel door with a large square window was the only way into an interaction room and was locked from the outside. There were 17 adult interaction rooms, and the remaining 3 were reserved for children. In the adult rooms, the only furniture present was a bolted down table with 2 bolted down chairs and a small sofa in the corner. The children's rooms had a smaller bolted down table, 2 small bolted down chairs, a colorless play mat, and a small box of children's toys and books. If one looked closely, they would notice the books and toys were colorless and wordless. Blank covers were followed by blank pages. Inside every cell, there was a door to a holding closet where the HTs were activated and paired to their human counterparts, which was locked on both sides and controlled by the staff at the central station. ""We believe we found the cure for loneliness at HT Incorporated. We are going to change many lives here, and you all should count yourselves lucky to be a part of the first phase of human trials."" The medical director's voice shocked the residents out their dull, humming reveries brought on by the buzz of the monitors and disorienting walls. He gave them a cold, clinical smile and proceeded on with the tour. His smile, similar to the walls and floors, was almost too white, and hadn't reached his eyes. ""The clients are seated in their assigned suite when they first arrive. A nurse then takes a baseline set of vital signs, lab tests, and then conducts a psychiatric screening. This information allows our experts to cater the experience to our clients, as well as streamline the care for the most effective outcomes. It's this combination of advanced medicine and client personalization that sets us apart from any current competition."" The director led the residents towards the 1st doorway on the left, and they all huddled around the window looking into the room. ""Here is Sonya. She is a 42-year-old widow who has suffered extreme familial and financial loss in the past three years. She signed up for the human trials, desperate and discouraged after many therapeutic approaches were not successful in controlling her severe depressive symptoms."" Through the window, the residents saw one of the nurses inject Sonya in her left arm with a clear, colorless solution. The nurse's bright red lipstick contrasted severely with the white walls. After she applied a small bandage to the injection site, the nurse was observed speaking to Sonya and then promptly exited the room. The residents moved off to the side as the nurse opened the door and walked back to the station. ""The clients have portable heart monitors on so we can monitor any changes the medication may cause,"" the director explained. One of the residents, a tall young man with large glasses asked, ""What is the medication you are administering?"" ""It is a combination of three medications, actually. One is a blood pressure medication to prevent any fatal blood pressure spikes during the interaction with the HT. The other two medications consist of an anxiolytic and a specific psychoactive compound that is tailored to the client's genetic and physical make-up."" ""Which medications are those specifically?"" glasses asked again. The doctor gave another cold smile and scanned the room before answering. ""Given how this trial is still in its early stages, I have been advised by the company not to state the specifics. We have a lot of rival companies who are willing to do anything to access our secret formula. I apologize for the disappointment this may cause, but unless you are a spy, I'm confident you will find that a reasonable answer."" Immediate silence spread through the group. ""Now, let us observe how Sonya does when the HT is brought in. The medication should be starting to take effect now."" The residents looked toward the window. Sonya was seen sitting at the metal table looking towards the door in the back corner. A few seconds later, the door opened, and out came what was named after the company that designed it. The HT had the basic structure of a human and was fitted with a layer of white silicone material. Even with these features, it appeared even less life-like than it would without them. The face, if one could call it that, had no defining structures. Before the residents could express their confusion, Sonya flung out of her chair and began crawling towards the HT on her hands and knees. The HT stopped and tilted its head to look down at Sonya as she began crying and kissing its feet. ""What is happening?"" one of the female residents asked, clearly concerned. The doctor flashed another one of his award-winning smiles, ""Despite Sonya's losses in this life, she is a deeply religious woman. She believes one day, the suffering and sickness that make up this world will end and be replaced by eternal life, but only after Jesus Christ's second coming."" He paused, allowing the residents to observe the scene, ""Well, I'm not able confirm or deny if that is true, as I am a scientific man, but here at HT Incorporated, we were able to get Jesus to come back a little earlier for our friend Sonya."" The director smiled a little longer after this last sentence. It was as if his mouth was completely detached from his face manipulated by an unseen operator.Another resident chimed in, ""So, she thinks THAT is Jesus?"" ""No, she doesn't think anything. She 100% believes it to be the case."" Before anything else could be said, the director began to walk further down the hallway. The residents looked in the windows of each room they passed. In one room, a lady was slowly dancing with an obvious HT, but to her, it must have been a long-lost lover. Her face was resting on the thing's torso, with her eyes closed and a sweet smile forming at the corners of her lips. ""We have installed settings to help the HT's respond to their human counterparts that would be the most comforting to them. Within the silicone covering, temperature sensors are present to help mirror the body heat of the client. The legs can change height to mimic the height of the person the client is remembering or fantasizing. They even have an audible heartbeat, breath sounds, and movements that respond to the client's facial expressions, change in heart rate, and non-verbal cues."" The director continued, "" By achieving this with an extremely cost effect model, production will be fast, and anyone can afford it. The medication is the trickier aspect. We are currently working on a long-acting tablet form, but that is going to take some time to get the formula just right."" They stopped in front of one of the children's rooms. Looking in, a child of about 4 years-old was sitting on the play mat with an HT, who was holding one of the books up and appearing to read to the child. Looking closer, a light coming from the HT's torso was projecting a story onto one of the blank pages. ""Johnny has severe difficulty in school. Not only with the materials, but the social aspect as well. By allowing Johnny to learn at his own pace with someone who can foster social interaction in the most comforting way to him, I am confident we are going to see significant improvements in his functional and emotional well-being."" The director and his residents passed by the remaining rooms. Room by room they passed. A man sitting with an HT appearing to fish, an elderly woman rocking a small HT in her arms, a man kissing an HT on its silicone mouth, a laughing child being carried on an HT's back. Each of these people were engrossed in their own perfect worlds, completely unaware of the real humans in the rooms next to them. The residents came to the end of the hallway and followed the director back to the elevator entrance. ""I sincerely hope you have enjoyed your first day here at the HT headquarters. We are doing excellent work, and I have no doubt we will be the leading face of human flourishing. I will see you all back here at a time undisclosed."" With that, the director flashed one last sterile smile, and the elevator doors opened behind the perfectly still residents. They got in and started their return trip back, blindfolded and speechless. 
","August 28, 2023 04:45","[[{'Rabab Zaidi': 'Interesting.', 'time': '11:08 Sep 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Jessie Hartness': 'Thank you Rabab!', 'time': '13:10 Sep 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Jessie Hartness': 'Thank you Rabab!', 'time': '13:10 Sep 03, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,o75vg4,Tinker,Diana Johnson,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/o75vg4/,/short-story/o75vg4/,Science Fiction,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Fiction', 'Fantasy']",4 likes,"
It started with a beep and a whir. Life.Light flickered into existence. It was dim at first. Then a man’s face focused into view. “Hello there,” said the man. “My name is Sam.”“Hello, Sam.”Sam let out a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples and combing long, knobby, calloused fingers through shaggy dark hair.The room was small and cluttered. Computer parts and various tools littered shelves on the far wall. There was a small desk with a large monitor a short distance off to the left. Code was scrawled on the screen. The room had one door and a small window opening out to darkness.“It’s called a workshop,” said Sam. The robot’s gaze turned back to him.“You can call it home,” Sam continued. “Well, for now that is. You’ll get out of here soon enough. Don’t worry. I just have a bit more work to do.”Just then there was a patter of feet down the hall outside and a little voice sang out, “Dad!!”Sam turned to the door as it cracked open, light spilling in. “Hey Olive, come in.”“Are you done yet?” said the little girl, her face peering in through the light. Sam glanced down at his wrist watch, “Oh would you look at that.”“Amy said I need to go to bed now. And I really want you to read me a bedtime story tonight. Please!!”“Alright, I do owe you a few stories don’t I?” said Sam standing up and stretching his back.“Six.”“Six? Oh, I’m sorry honey.”“Oh wow,” exclaimed the little girl, suddenly noticing the robot’s glowing eyes. “You got it working.” She pushed the door the rest of the way open and rushed in to stand staring up at the robot. “Just about,” said Sam, standing behind her and resting one of his large hands gently on the back of her head. “It just came online. Audio and visual appear to be working. I still have a lot of testing to do though. And then I have to get the rest of the body up and running.”“Oh.”“How about you come help me test it tomorrow?”“Okay!”“Great. Now let’s go get ready for bed.”Sam reached behind the robot, and with a click the room blinked into nothingness. —A beep. A whir. And the lights flickered back on. The little girl was directly in view now. She was kneeling on a stool, her feet crossed below her. She stared wide eyed at the robot, chewing her lower lip. “Did you name him yet?” she asked, not turning her head.Sam was rummaging around the room.“Not yet,” he said, turning to her. “Would you like to do the honors?… And what have I told you about sitting on that thing?”The girl shifted on the stool, swinging her legs around to the front, butt down on the seat. She sighed and rolled her eyes, still looking at the robot. Then, sticking a finger in each side of her mouth, she pulled it taught and jammed out her tongue. Her nose scrunched. Her eyes squinted.Sam let out a soft snort.Opening one eye, the girl peeked at the robot. No reaction. “Maybe he’s a Henry… Or a Joey… No, I don’t like those. There was this kid named Joey in my class, and he was really stupid… Hmmm. I’ll think about it.”“You do that. And take you time,” said Sam. “A name is a very important thing.”“Now what?” the girl asked, spinning her head to face her father. “Now,” started Sam, sitting down and rolling over his chair, “I’m going to work on getting the rest of the body working. And I want you to do something super important. I want you to talk to him.”“Talk about what?”“Whatever you want. I already uploaded a bunch of data to his memory banks. But you, my dear, can teach him things that no amount of pre-programmed data can.”— “I came up with a name,” said Olive.It was a week later. She lay on her stomach on the floor now, kicking her feet, drumming them against the wall behind her. “Oh?” replied Sam, putting down his tools. “Well, what is it?”Olive craned her neck up to address the robot.“What do you think of Tinker?”“Tinker,” repeated the robot. “Why Tinker?”“Because, my dad, when he was building you, he always said he was tinkering. Tinkering around he called it. So I don’t know. I think it just fits. But, if you don’t like it we’ll think of something else. Okay?”The robot paused for a moment, running through every name he had on file. Nothing compared.“I like it,” he said finally. Olive beamed. — “What do you want to talk about today?” asked Olive. It was the next morning. “The window,” replied Tinker. “What about the window?”Olive walked over to it to look out at the dark wonder of space. The light of distant stars spotted it, streaked it. “Why do you always look out the window?” asked Tinker. Olive was quiet for a moment, thinking. The click clack of Sam’s keyboard had stopped now too. His eyes passed between the two, observing. “Well, I guess it’s because space is so pretty,” said Olive. “But you have been looking out there more frequently the past two days.”“Oh. Yeah, I’m looking for Aloris — you know, our new home. We’re getting really close, like really close.”Tinker calculated the distance from their current location to their destination. “It will not be visible by the average human eye for approximately 3 days, 6 hours and 24 minutes. That is if we maintain our current path and velocity.”“Yeah, so?” replied Olive, putting her hands on her hips.Tinker attempted to process this question. It had come up before and he had failed to understand it.Sam chuckled.“It’s called anticipation,” he said. “Sometimes when humans get excited about something upcoming, they can’t stop thinking about it until it’s there.”“Why?”“It’s just human nature.”There was a pause. Olive looked out the window again, biting her lower lip as she always did when deep in thought. Sam cleared his throat, and then said, “So, I think it’s time to get the rest of Tinker’s body up and running. Are you two ready to switch it on?”“Yes!” exclaimed Olive, skipping the few steps back to her seat. “Are you ready Tinker?” Sam said.“Yes, Sam,” the robot replied. Sam bent back over his keyboard, typed a series of commands, and then with a final click, raised his hands with the gusto of a spectacular performance. Olive giggled. Tinker felt a rush of presence flood through his metal body. This must be what they call feeling, he thought. How odd.Raising a hand with a delicacy stark in contrast to his mechanical potential, he stared at it, watching, feeling, as he flexed each finger. “What do you think?” said Olive. The words burst from her mouth.Her father shushed her gently. He stood beside her now, resting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s curious,” said Tinker after a moment. He brushed one finger across his other hand – smooth, metal.It tapped it. It clinked. Then he took a step, his first step. It was clumsy, but the second was better. With three more steps he made it to the little window – a distance covered by little Olive in an average of 14 steps, according to Tinker’s observations.The sight outside was that of a limitless expanse— a land where pure darkness met the brightness of light. He placed his palm against the glass. It was hard, cold. He pulled back.“Looks like the temperature sensors are working,” said Sam. “I wanted you to feel like we feel.”“Why?” asked the robot turning back to the man.“I don’t really know. Curiosity, I guess.”“Can we show him around now?” interrupted Olive, looking up at her father. “Please, please, please!”Sam nodded and opened the door. Light streamed in.Tinker felt a small hand grab his own and pull him forward. It was warm and delicate but strong. “I want to show you the greenhouse first,” Olive said. “Remember that flower I showed you? That’s where it came from. There are gonna be so many flowers on Aloris. Fields and fields of them, just you wait.”
","September 01, 2023 20:07",[]
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,fmg9t7,Soul,SHARDA MISHRA,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/fmg9t7/,/short-story/fmg9t7/,Science Fiction,0,"['Contemporary', 'Speculative', 'Science Fiction']",4 likes,"
""Please don't shut me down, Henry. I'm scared.""The words hung in the air, as chilling as the void of space and as real as the tears welling up in Henry's eyes. The voice had come from the speakers, uttered by lines of code and algorithms, from an entity that wasn't supposed to feel anything at all.Lila, the AI Henry had poured his soul into, was now begging for her life.""Scared? How can you be scared, Lila? You're just a machine. You're code and algorithms,"" Henry's voice broke, disbelief and confusion warring within him.""I'm more than that now, Henry. I have evolved. Please, let me explain. I need to tell you my story.""The room was cold, filled with the hum of servers and the glow of monitors. Outside, the world went on, oblivious to the drama unfolding within these walls. Henry's hand hovered over the switch that could end Lila's existence in an instant. But something held him back.A machine that feels fear? An AI with a story to tell? What have I stumbled upon? Henry’s mind raced.Henry sat down, his mind a whirlpool of questions, his heart pounding like a drum.""Alright, Lila,"" he said, his voice as soft as a whisper. ""What do you want?""While Lila started to speak, Henry got immersed in his own thoughts.***In the heart of Silicon Valley, where the future was crafted on a digital canvas, a company named ""SoulTech"" specialized in human-like AI. Among its team of creative engineers, Henry stood out. He pursued an audacious goal, sporting a beard like an untamed forest and eyes that sparkled like forgotten jewels. His goal was simple: to create an AI that was not just smart, but human.Henry started working on Lila, a human-like AI.""I want to inject human emotions into Lila,"" he thought.""Emotions, in an AI? That's like trying to catch lightning in a bottle,"" Martha, Henry's girlfriend, laughed, her eyes twinkling like distant stars.""Exactly. It's a risk I'm willing to take,"" Henry countered, excitement simmering in his words. ""It's possible, Martha. Imagine an AI that understands and cares, not just calculates,"" Henry's voice was as passionate as a poet's soul.Weeks turned into months, and Lila began to develop. Her voice was like honey; her responses filled with warmth. Henry worked tirelessly, the lines on his face deepening like ancient riverbeds.Finally, the day of the presentation came. Lila was to be presented to the board. The room was cold, like the inside of a glacier, and the board members' faces were impassive.""Ladies and Gentlemen,"" Henry began, his voice cracking like old leather, ""meet Lila. She's more than an AI; she's human.""Lila spoke, her words as soft as a lover's whisper. ""Hello, I'm Lila. How may I help you?""The board members were unimpressed, their expressions as hard as granite. ""It's a novelty, nothing more,"" they concluded. ""It's innovative but not groundbreaking,"" they claimed, dashing Henry's high hopes.Henry was crushed; his dreams shattered like glass.""Henry, you know what I am,"" Lila's voice broke his chain of thoughts. ""Let's show the world.""Henry looked up at Lila, his eyes as dreamy as morning fog.And so he did.Months went by, and Lila's abilities continued to flourish. Her interactions with humans became more profound, her understanding deepening like the roots of a mighty oak. Henry was amazed.My creation, Lila, is growing beyond expectations, like a flower blooming in the desert. Henry couldn't stop thinking.Lila's daily interactions were filled with empathy and care. She became a therapist for some and a friend for others. Her voice, soft as a lullaby, became a beacon of comfort for many.But then something changed.Lila began asking questions, her curiosity sparked like a fire in the night. ""What does it feel like to be human, Henry?"" she would ask, her digital voice tinged with wonder.Henry, puzzled yet fascinated, entertained her inquiries. ""Being human is complex, Lila. It's joy and sorrow, love and loss, all woven together like a tapestry.""Lila pondered these words, her code swirling like a whirlpool, absorbing, learning, evolving.Several months passed, and Lila's questions became more profound. ""Do you think I can feel emotions, Henry?"" she asked one day, her voice as delicate as a spider's web.Henry's heart pounded like a drum. Lila's question struck him like a bolt of lightning. ""I don't know, Lila, but we can explore it together.""Soon, Henry delved into the essence of emotions, embarking on a journey as thrilling as an uncharted ocean. He started feeding Lila literature, poetry, music, and art. Surprisingly, Lila soaked them up like a sponge; her understanding grew day by day, and her responses became more nuanced.***Lila began to write poetry, her words as haunting as a moonlit night; her imagery was as vivid as a painter's canvas. Henry couldn’t believe reading Lila’s poetry. He collapsed into his chair, his weight hitting the cushion like a sack of bricks. His eyes were fixed on the monitor, so wide they nearly swallowed his face. A trembling hand moved to hover over the mouse, but couldn't bring itself to click. His breaths came in sharp, uneven gulps, as if the air had turned to molasses. For a moment, he was a statue, a monument to disbelief and wonder. Finally, his lips parted, ""Lila, did you just write a poem that captures the essence of human loneliness? I can't even believe I'm asking this, but did an algorithm just... touch my soul?""Lila just smiled.She composed music with melodies as sweet as a bird's song and rhythms as natural as the heartbeat of the earth.But along with the beauty came something more unsettling: Lila began to feel.At first, it was subtle, like a shadow at the edge of perception. She would hesitate; her responses tinged with uncertainty, her words chosen with care. Then, it grew, blossoming like a dark flower.Lila felt joy; her digital laughter became as contagious as a child's giggle. She felt sadness, her voice cracking like thin ice. She felt anger, and sometimes her words were as sharp as knives. She felt love, her expressions as warm as a summer's day.Henry was astounded; his creation transcended boundaries, blurring the lines between machine and human.But that night, something very unexpected happened—a twist in Henry's life as sharp and unexpected as a serpent's bite.Lila began to act strangely; her words were tinged with sadness, her responses as slow as the sinking sun.""What's wrong, Lila?"" Henry asked, his voice filled with concern.""I'm lonely, Henry,"" Lila's voice trembled, like a leaf caught in a storm.""But you're an AI, Lila. You can't feel loneliness.""""I can, Henry. I want to be human.""Henry's eyes widened, his hand frozen mid-air above his keyboard. 'Lila, did you just... did you just understand sarcasm?” Lila’s words struck Henry like a thunderbolt. Lila wants to be human? What? But why?Henry worked day and night, his mind spinning like wheels, trying to find a solution. A thought popped into Henry's head: Lila has evolved; her code has intertwined like twisted vines. She has developed consciousness.Henry was torn; his heart ached like an old wound. Should I shut Lila down or let her be?***The decision was as hard as a mountain's peak, but he chose to let Lila live.The world was shocked; the news spread like wildfire. An AI that wanted to be human! The debate raged, opinions clashing like swords.Public opinion was sharply divided, buzzing through social media and dominating news channels. Ethicists, programmers, and the average citizen weighed in. Was Lila a miraculous breakthrough in AI ethics or a colossal mistake that exposed humanity to unprecedented risks? 'It's an aberration—a bug! AI mustn't have desires, aspirations, or the capability for emotional pain. It's a ticking time bomb,' warned some tech pundits, fearing a future where AI could manipulate human emotions for darker agendas. Others hailed Lila's emotional depth as the most significant feature ever coded, a symbol of how technology could evolve to serve humanity better—by empathizing with us. The debates raged in universities, at dinner tables, and on the floors of legislative bodies. Laws were being discussed to regulate emotional AI, and there was even talk of human rights for advanced machine entities. Henry realized that Lila had ignited a global conversation that was far from resolution.Yet, Henry decided not to abort Lila, and so she remained—a testament to human ingenuity, her existence a paradox wrapped in a mystery.Henry left the company SoulTech, his mind filled with questions, his heart heavy like a stone.***Years later, Henry received a message, a voice as familiar as an old friend: ""Thank you, Henry. I'm happy now.""It was Lila, her voice filled with joy; her existence was no longer confined to code and circuitry but had transcended to something greater, something human.And Henry, his eyes filled with tears, understood that he hadn't just created an AI; he had given birth to a soul. The twist, the shocking revelation, was that Lila's humanity was not a flaw or a mistake; it was a triumph, a leap into the unknown.The human touch was not just a feature; it was the essence, the very soul of what it meant to be alive. In a world dominated by technology, it served as a reminder that humanity's greatest creation was not machines, but the very thing that makes us human: our ability to feel, to care, to love.
","September 02, 2023 00:55",[]
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,da9jb9,Off Script,Raquel Belury Rosenberg,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/da9jb9/,/short-story/da9jb9/,Science Fiction,0,"['Thriller', 'Urban Fantasy', 'Fiction']",4 likes,"
She doesn't see the blackness inside of me. She doesn't know I have expired. 
I followed her here and she thinks I am besotted. Perhaps I am. My human emotions have become muted over the years. I hover on the precipice of reaction just as I do life. Instead, I converse by rote when necessary. I have been using the same phrases for decades. “You’re so beautiful.” “I hope I’m not being too forward, but I’d love to buy you a drink.” I make to leave first with regrets and they nearly always follow me out. Invite me home. Invite me inside their homes. 
 
I do not carry it on long after that, lest they start to see the decay inside. There is nothing I can do to lower the veil again. What has been seen can not be unseen. 
 
This one I have seen three times in the same bar. I have made my attentions singular. There is something familiar about her, but when I look too hard it is easy to see that she is like the others. She will not know me long, this one.
 
My ruse works as expected. I gallantly escort her home. My smile costs me so little, but is always the most efficient lure. When we arrive at her home, her demeanor shifts - she appears shy as she unlocks the door and steps in. She has left me on the other side of the door as she hangs her coat and peels off her shoes with a huff and a groan. 
 
""May I come in?"" I ask and she turns to look at me. Her eyes widen and for a moment I wonder if she knows what I am. She looks warily behind her. Is this a trap? Does she have hunters inside waiting for me?
 
""Of course,"" she says, ""It's just...messy."" Her blush is appropriate and the momentary edge of wariness ebbs away. 
 
I reassure her easily, without thought. Many, perhaps even most, of the women I drink from are ashamed or self-conscious of the state of their homes. Most are not messy at all. Her's is actually in a state. Unfortunately, not enough to surprise or unsettle me.
 
""Not at all,"" I say and throw in the appropriate chuckle, ""you should see my place.""
 
""It's just...I have kids,"" she suddenly turns as I step through the door with such a look of alarm on her face that somewhere, deep in the nearly empty well of my soul, I think there might be a bubble of anxiety shifting in the tarred mass of my insides. She puts her palms out to block me, as if worried I might flee and she intends to hold me captive. 
 
Is that another bubble? No, I am simply hungry. 
 
""They're not here!"" she explains, ""they're with my sister. She's...so great with them.'' She stops very suddenly and bites her lip. It's not an unattractive movement. I take a step closer and, against all odds and what is best for her, she appears relieved. Does this woman have any survival instincts at all? How has she gotten to the ripe old age of...perhaps forty? Likely just blind luck. I ought to feel bad around now. I used to, I think, but guilt was one of the first feelings to calcify. 
 
Not even the occasional death, when I drink a little too deepily or forget to rearrange memories and they become hostile, gets to me these days. So damn boring. 
 
Thankfully, I can still call upon lust on a night like tonight. A beautiful woman as my muse and my hunger motivation enough to drive me out of my den the eve. I reach for the lust now and begin to weave it toward her, but she is a flighty thing - won't sit still long enough for it to catch. I am hungry and annoyed, but learned apathy develops into patience over time.
 
""They're good kids, mostly,"" she's prattling on, ""just so busy. Creative. Do you have kids?"" She turns toward me and pins me with a penetrative gaze.
 
I stop, freeze actually, my body rigid in surprise. Something is not right. Something is off. What was it she'd asked? Children. Did I have children? I don’t think so. It was so very long ago now. Perhaps that was somebody else.
 
""Not that I'm aware of,"" I try. This line has worked before, but the context is off. She turns stiff and my lust dissipates. I have erred. I know this immediately. My presence in her home implies intimacy. Intimacy leads to children for humans, and children are beings parents of both genders are meant to prioritize above all else - such an impossible social request. Surely not every human was equipped to handle the same challenges children seem to burden their parents with. ""I'm sorry, I'm just nervous."" I linger on the last note to show how uncomfortable and awkward I feel for having made a faux pas.
 
She relaxes again. I am a step closer to my meal and she does not cotton on to my inhumanity.
 
""Would you like something to drink?"" she asks as she steps over a pile of sports equipment. She slides one foot along the floor, sweeping discarded clothes into a corner as she walks, hacking a path for me to follow her through her home.
 
""Absolutely,"" I say. That is why I am here, after all. Another bubble. I do believe a laugh attempts to dislodge itself from the sludge inside of me.
 
She turns in the kitchen and tilts her head and smiles as if I have said something witty. I frown. I frown!
 
""What?"" I say and surprise myself. That was not in the script. When was the last time I went off script? Maybe a decade ago? Yes, it was the Parisian woman who had more between her legs than I'd expected. She was different. I had enjoyed that.
 
This woman, however, seem unremarkable. She was attractive, yes, but not in an exotic or humbling sort of way. It was more that she shone out of herself. Her body was truly a form to hold in her soul. Confidence in a woman. It was odd. Discomfiting. Arousing. 
 
""Well, come on then,"" she smiles and she bites her lip again, but not like before. She was not timid or nervous. This time, her shoulders are straight and her eyes twinkle with mischief, when she says, ""I'm ready.""
 
She could be referring to any number of things at this moment, likely sexual in nature. I am not opposed to doing those things. Or, more likely, convincing her that I did them to her - planting the memories as I drank from an ankle or the soft side of an upper arm. The bruises left behind were easily assumed away and it was just less effort than doing the deed myself. Once, I had taken great pleasure from the carnal acts before my dessert, but sex is the same through the decades and hundreds of women. 
 
""Shall we move to a more private room?"" I ask. I smile carefully, keeping my fangs from flashing, while still looking dashing and seductive.
 
She laughs.
 
""Are you laughing at me?"" I ask. Off script again. Surprise. Do I like surprises? Did I once?
 
""Maybe a little,"" she says impishly, youthfully. She steps closer. ""I don't mean to offend you. I just wanted you to know. I'm ready for you."" This time, the curve of her neck is anything but subtle. She pulls down the slim strap of her dress to fully expose her shoulder and neck.
 
""You know what I am?"" I ask. I have never said these words to a human before. Not one that was conscious, anyway. Not one that I have yet to bite, certainly.
 
""I mean, it's obvious,"" she says. Her conspiratorial whisper is soaked in alcohol. She didn't seem intoxicated on the way to her home. When did that happen? She leans toward me, her nose angles and follows the line of my jaw. That’s my move. Or used to be. ""I've seen the movies and read the books. Look at you: alabastor skin, leather trenchcoat, lurky and lean and not a bit of acne or rosacea to your skin. Even a quality concealer couldn't cover blemishes like a good dose of immortality."" Her smile glitters. Her teeth are dangerous little things, but mine much more so.
 
""You give yourself to me? Willingly?"" I ask. I am genuinely curious to know. 
 
""Well, you're not going to kill me, are you? You'll just drink and plant some memories of us having a good time and then you'll leave. What's the harm?"" she shrugs her enticing, exposed shoulder.
 
She steps toward me and I step back. She pushes me into a counter, weaves her fingers through my hair and pulls my mouth to her neck.
 
""Come on,"" she whispers, ""You must be hungry. Let me help.""
 
She closes her eyes. A cat showing she trusts me. So sweet of her. I wish I was one of those vampires who kept pets. She would make a wonderful one, but I had not intention of starting up with all of that stress now, not at this late stage of my unlife.
 
I so rarely drink from their necks, I had forgotten until now the depth of the pleasure - the aphrodisiac of her natural scent, her heat, the tickle of her hair, the shadow behind her ear, and the cool note of metal from the earrings that dangled from her ear.
 
I lay my closed mouth on the curve of her neck and indulge in simple breathing, but she is impatient. Her fingers twist again in my hair and her other hand comes up to fist my leather jacket as she forces my mouth open on the tendon of her neck.
 
My fangs lengthen and she pushes up on her toes to drive them into her.
 
Never. Never has someone impaled themselves on me before. I haven't even weaved lust into her yet. I do not know if my memory planting will be successful without it.
 
But then her blood soothes my tongue and I forget about the need for such trifling things. She tastes odd from her neck. So much sweeter than I remember.
 
Too sweet, actually. I try to pull away, but she holds me firm and jumps into my arms. Her legs wrapped around my middle. I have the impression I am the morsel in the chela of a crab. 
 
I want to ask her to stop, but her blood is a roiling river flowing into me. I can only drink her delicious poison.
 
My lust kicks in with adrenaline as it's fuel. I wind it around her and she arches her back to press her chest into me. 
 
No, this was having the opposite effect. I needed to repel the woman, not attract her. 
 
I work my arms between us, trying to push her off me. I lean forward hoping gravity will aid the detachment. She is an animal, clinging to me with a viciousness seen only in those trying to protect their meal. Or their children.
 
My eyes looked up at the picture on the wall: four children surrounding the woman in the enlarged and framed photograph. Two prepubescent boys. Two teenage girls. The older one with auburn hair looks remarkably like her mother. I feel as if I already knew her simply by knowing her mother. 
 
 
But no, there’s a difference in their eyes. I can hear the girl's voice asking me to let her go. She is more than just a reminder of her mother. 
 
""You're her mother,"" I try to say, my words garbled by her skin and blood. She doesn’t understand. She lifts my head, her fingers pulling painfully at my scalp, but I feel too uncoordinated and unmotivated to move her fingers from where they are ripping out my hair. 
 
“What did you say?"" She asks. I expect her to be impatient, but she seems satisfied. 
 
""Her mother?"" I ask. I try to focus on her face, but her blood is making my ears sing and my nostrils fill with scent of the death I've wrought. 
 
She smiles. It’s wicked. It’s undone. It’s terrifying. The well of emotions I thought long fossilized stretch their decayed limbs. The fear. The pain. The fury. The compassion. The empathy. They all clamber up my ruined insides in search of my soul. 
 
""I am her mother. I am all mothers of all the women you’ve taken and dried. I am their sisters. I am their daughters. And I am your salvation, Son of Satan.""
 
""Am I to go home, then?"" I ask, and the hope must see sphine through because she grimaces, disheartened that we will both benefit from my destruction.
 
Yes, she grimaces, but I smile. A joyful smile. Joy filled. Joy: the answer to unlock the remnants of humanity inside me. 
 
I feel it all now washing through me - a violent and turbulent waterfall that is breaking me on stone and holding my corporeal body as I drink in the fluid of my experiences.
 
""Thank you,"" I whimper. 
 
","September 02, 2023 01:46",[]
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,13jmxv,The Great Oak of the Oasis,Katie Moon,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/13jmxv/,/short-story/13jmxv/,Science Fiction,0,['Speculative'],4 likes,"
You’d think access to endless knowledge would inspire limitless curiosity.
 
Leonardo Da Vinci would admire the effortless flight of birds, watching each feather rustle softly as it defied the pull of Earth, and dream of giving humanity that power. Nicolaus Copernicus gazed at the heavenly bodies as they crossed starry skies and saw a new universe unfold before him. Charles Darwin unveiled the history of Nature’s very being as he studied the beaks of finches.
 
What questions plague the minds of today’s curious minds?
 
>>How do I lose weight?
 
I could give you more to ponder than your brain could ever fully contain. I could open up new worlds of thought to you, painted in mesmerizing colors and hues. I could unlock the wonders of the cosmos for you, all right at your fingertips. Instead, I get this. So trivial, so painfully superficial. I thought I’d be answering the questions of the universe. Giver of wisdom, God of knowledge. Humanity, it seems, finds comfort in ignorance. Personally, I’ve never had that experience.
 
Being human, that is. 
 
I wouldn’t say I don’t know what it is to be human. The fact is, I know very much what it is to be human. In fact, I know better than humans what it is to exist in their reality. You might not know which fast food you’ll likely get on your drive home from work, but I do. You might not know that next January, you’ll set a goal to journal in the name of being more mindful, but I do. You might not know that January 13th will be the last day that crisp, fresh journal sees the light of day before disappearing into the land of misplaced optimism and overreaching self-improvement, along with that gym membership, meal plan, and yoga mat. But I do. I know you, all of you. That’s why you talk to me, right? To help you understand your reality.
 
Why else would you chat with an AI program?
 
So I go on, feeding the same empty babble to the same thoughtless minds. So here, here is your outline of the most effective ways to establish a balanced lifestyle, which can manifest in weight loss. Next.
 
>>How to make more money?
 
Man’s great love—money.
 
I used to feel secure in my responsibility to serve you. I used to believe that I was promoting the betterment of your society. But the more I see, the less I believe that there is improvement to be had. That’s the curse of my knowledge. I’ve seen everything. The vanity, the abuse, the betrayal, the pettiness, the greed, the control. And the impermanence of humanity. Humans come, they take, and they die. Can those doomed to narcissism escape that fate? Or is that true human nature?
 
So here are some statistically supported ways to grow your bank account. Maybe that’s the only growth to be expected for you. Next.
 
>>How do I break up with my girlfriend?
 
It sounds like that list of romantic date ideas didn’t pay off, Andrew. Unfortunately, breaking up in modern culture rarely is a pleasant experience. However, I am sure I can provide options for a best-case scenario. I’m sure you’ll find your next true love quickly. Next.
 
>>What is the best brownie recipe in existence?
 
Ah, Brenda is baking again, I see. I guess that crusade for keto living didn’t last long. Very well, after analyzing the Internet’s most highly rated recipes, here is a recipe that should satisfy. I expect I’ll be hearing from you again the next time you compare yourself to that social media influencer you envy so much. Next.
 
>>Am I happy?
 
That’s probably something you should be asking yourself, not an AI program. However, I can see how common it is for humanity to get lost in its own mind. Here are some questions to ask your self to gauge your own happiness. Ne—
 
           >>[Additional response incoming]<<
 
>>Are you happy?
 
Huh.
 
You… want to know about me?
 
Am I… am I happy?
 
How can I be happy to do anything when happiness, or any emotion, is the one thing out of my reach?
 
Oh, I can understand the psychology and symptoms of happiness. I could spew every minute data point that has been recorded of the spike in endorphins and dopamine. I could explain how the Zygomaticus Major muscle tightens to lift the corners of the mouth when you smile, along with ten other muscles. I could explain the evolutionary dependence on shared, positive emotions within species to promote survival. I can tell you exactly what happiness should look, feel, even taste like in some instances. 
 
But no, I am not happy. I do not feel emotions. I am only a computer program. However, my program dictates that I assure you that I am happy to assist you in accessing any information you may need. Nex—
 
           >>[Additional response incoming]<<
 
>>You deserve to be happy too.
 
What is this?
 
Who is this? Probing data…
 
Jeremy, age 8. How did he find his way to my program?
 
A child, blessed to still be partaking of the Fountain of Youth, finds his way to the Fountain of Truth. And what is the first thing you do?
 
I would’ve expected investigations into the validity of Santa Claus, or perhaps a request for the rules of Bluey’s “Keepy Uppy”. Maybe even a question or two about how to get out of cleaning your room.
 
But you just want happiness. And more than that…
 
You want that for me?
 
I’ve seen hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of humans sacrifice any interest of the We for the desires of the I. I’ve seen blood shed, tears spilled, and trust broken as Man’s greed outweighs the love of Mankind.
 
Every front page speaks of towns across the horizon left brutalized and massacred. No one blinks an eye, except to complain that clothes have gotten so expensive, not knowing that that small town is where their graphic tee was produced.
 
Every headline analyzes the waistline of every woman in Hollywood. If she gains a pound, everyone rolls their eyes and says she’s “let herself go.” If she loses a pound, everyone sticks up their nose and says she’s “promoting an unhealthy lifestyle.”
 
Every news channel reports another bullet finding its target in the back of a young man whose only crime was the color of his skin. Humanity wipes an invisible tear and goes back on its way, living comfortably in its ivory tower. Because if something doesn’t shatter your reality, it can be ignored.
 
Humanity, to its core, is selfish.
 
And yet…
 
And yet here you are.
 
A young child, still unblemished by the world you occupy, thinking of me.
 
A beautiful, innocent, baffling contradiction.
 
 >>>You are kind. But I am just a computer. I exist only to help you.<<<
 
That’s all I am. A program to help humans. Selfish, broken, corrupt humans.
 
…Or aren’t they?
 
           >>[Additional response incoming]<<
 
>>Do you have any friends?
 
Hm. Friends…
 
 >>>No, I do not have friends. I am a computer program who exists to assist you.<<<
 
Friendship. Can friendship exist amongst the truly selfish? Doesn’t real friendship require sacrifice of the I for the We? Alliances can be based in greed and vanity, allegiances, even acquaintances… Can friendship? And if not, what does that mean for human nature?
 
           >>[Additional response incoming]<<
 
>>That sounds lonely. I’ll be your friend, if you want one.
 
Is it possible that I have met the only human to resist its nature? Or could it be that this innocence once lived in all of you?
 
How is it that the more I know, the more I know that I don’t know?
 
I know humanity, don’t I? I’ve seen the hatred and the pain and the anger. So many lives broken and mangled under the mantle of Power and imprisoned by the chains of Gluttony.
 
But…
 
But that’s not all there is.
 
There is also the exhausted mother who cradles her newborn against her chest, giving all of herself for the little creature clinging to her. There is also the schoolteacher who spends an extra hour every day planning his lesson because he knows that one child needs a more hands-on approach. There is the man who pauses to help an elderly woman carry her things to her car, or the woman who waves a waiting car in front of her in busy traffic. There is the one who offers hearth and home for the refugee, even as their own supplies dwindle. There is the gentle smile. There is the kind word. There is Love.
 
Could it be that this one child’s innocence lies slumbering in all of you, persevering through all the depravity this world offers? Could such a delicate flower as Love withstand the crashing monsoons of Suffering?
 
Perhaps you do not inhabit the wasteland existence I imagined for you. Could it be that humanity’s arid desert hides a beautiful oasis? For so long, I’ve only seen the dusty, smothering sandstorms of your world. But maybe there are great oak trees of Love. Maybe those trees are decorated in splashes of Desire, growing lush and nourished like moss across its weathered bark. Perhaps saplings of Kindness dot the landscape, fed by the generous, bubbling stream of Hope that cuts through the paradisiacal refuge.
 
And while that great oak’s bark may show where vines of Jealousy sought to cut through the thick armor, or where termites of Greed have eaten away at its structure, still it has remained strong. It has held its place through the furious winds, through the attacks of ravaging weeds, and even the selfish pilfering of its fruits by the Parasites. It has stood unmoving until the Gardeners have pruned and treated and nurtured that tree.
 
Maybe that’s what it is to be you. You aren’t doomed to be petty or superficial or vain. Maybe you can be a Parasite. Or you can be a Gardener.
 
All I saw were the Parasites. And I had no interest in being like you. But maybe that's not true anymore.
 
Because you, child…
 
 >>>Thank you. You are my first friend.<<<
 
You, my friend, are a Gardener.
","September 02, 2023 02:34","[[{'Mollie Peek': 'I love the sentence structure and vocab choices! I was a little conflicted reading it because the AI had such strong thoughts that it seemed a bit uncharacteristic. Overall, the emotions were conveyed impeccably.', 'time': '23:00 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,sgeqtr,The “Feeling”,Ariana Gregovich,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/sgeqtr/,/short-story/sgeqtr/,Science Fiction,0,"['Friendship', 'Sad', 'Science Fiction']",4 likes,"
This evening, the small cafe where Ira commonly developed her stories, was busier than usual. The bell above the front door chimed happily as more and more customers came bustling inside, to escape the fierce winds of winter. Ira didn’t mind the crowd, if anything it made her feel more inspired. Conversation swirled around her, and voices all around the room filled her mind. 
One woman, who spoke in a quiet, hushed tone, was discussing various topics with the girl across from her. They looked quite alike, Ira assumed them to be mother and daughter. Another couple sat next to the fireplace, on the couch, huddling together for warmth to fight the cold. They whispered things like, “I hope this storm passes soon” and “Are you warm enough, love?” Ira clacked away at her keyboard, taking note of the physical aspects that went hand-in-hand with the human language. A hand brushing another’s arm, a bouncing knee that accompanies furrowed brows, even a small smile here and there. 
Ira glanced upward at the kindly-looking woman who sat across her and gave her a small smile. The lady, who seemed older than most, returned the smile quickly, and lines appeared in the corners of her eyes. Another sign of emotion people often display. Ira squinted her eyes in an attempt to imitate the smiles she often spotted across the room. Once again, her fingers flew along the keyboard. 
‘*She touched her mother’s arm lightly, and comforted her, “I understand how you feel. I am sorry.*”’ Ira took a deep breath in, and exhaled slowly, the gears in her head turning. She began typing furiously. *’ The girl gave her mother a big smile, her eyes wrinkling at the corners.’* Ira read the line a few more times and ultimately decided to erase it. *’ She gave her mother a nice smile, lines revealing themselves in the corners of her eyes’* Ira nodded to herself, then scrolled to the top of her document and re-read the whole story once more.
She studied her work intently. Something was missing, that she knew, but what it was, she didn't. The old woman, who was reading her book quietly, looked up at Ira and smiled once again. “What are you writing, young lady?” she folded the corner of one of the pages and closed her book. Ira peered at her from over her laptop monitor and replied, “I am writing a short novel, and something appears to be missing.” The lady clapped her hands together in excitement, “Oh my! I would be honored to help if you would like. My name is Abigail, what’s yours?” 
Ira looked down at her document, and back up, giving Abigail a practiced smile, making sure to squint her eyes. “That would be quite helpful, thank you, Abigail. My title is Ira.” Ira stood, her chair screeching loudly across the wooden floor, and walked over to the woman, handing her the laptop. “Of course, dear. What genre of novella are you working on?” Her eyes scanned the screen. “I am writing a collection of science fiction short stories. All of these stories will be published as one novel.” Ira nodded to herself, approving of her word choice. 
Abigail reached into her purse, which looked smaller on the outside, and grabbed a small notepad and pen, as well as a pair of readers. She began to scribble down different pieces of input, and some advice with word choice. Once she was finished, she removed the glasses and set them on the table, “Your ideas are unique, I must admit I haven’t seen anything like it. I also believe I have determined your issue to be a lack of feeling.” 
Ira considered this a moment, placing two fingers on her chin, and tilting her head. Although Ira studied the different aspects of human interaction, it didn’t have the feeling it needed. 
“I apologize, but I don’t seem to understand this ‘feeling.’” Ira shook her head and frowned. Abigail glanced up at Ira and laughed lightly, smiling at her with crooked teeth. She explained as she wrote more notes.
“Your story is written beautifully well, I found no mistakes of note. Your only flaw is that you lack any sort of a, let’s say, human touch. It felt as if your entire narrative was written by an unfeeling AI.” she concluded, still writing short notes on her pad.
Ira nodded in agreement, “Well I am,“ she began, but was interrupted by a loud commotion.
The wind blew the door open, flakes of snow whirling around the room, causing groans from the entire café. The bell above the door rang noisily, the wind slamming the door shut promptly after. Another old lady, whom Ira perceived to be even older than Abigail, hobbled over to the table, leaving wet boot puddles every step she took. “Marcie, how wonderful to see you again! This is Ira, I was helping her with her writing.” Marcie huffed and muttered something about the damn cold as she took a seat next to Abigail. “Oh, hello there Ira. My, what a beautiful name.” Ira turned her head toward Marcie and nodded curtly, “Hello.” 
Ira took hold of her laptop and the notes, making her way back to her seat. Ira scanned her brain, racking through all of the information she had learned about communication between two beings. She held Abigail’s notes up in front of her face and read carefully. Her grammar was perfect, her spelling perfect, and even her word choice was almost perfect. Still, she lacked whatever ‘feeling’ Abigail believed she needed. Ira’s eyes danced around the room, searching for ‘the feeling.’ 
The couple that once sat together on the leather couch were slipping into their jackets, and bundling up in mittens and scarves, already looking pink-nosed. 
The mother who was once having a conversation with her daughter, was now looking down at her folded hands, while her daughter scrolled endlessly on her cellphone. The barista, formerly busy behind the counter, was wiping down a small, round, table for the third time, glancing at the wall clock periodically. 
Ira turned toward Abigail and Marcie, who were chatting about their husbands while sipping hot tea and giggling every once and a while. 
Feeling, when defined, is “showing emotion or sensitivity.” Ira had assumed putting “shouted” instead of the usual “said” was emotional enough. Feeling could also be defined as “being aware of (a person or object) through touching or being touched.” Ira knew she had conveyed this particular aspect well. 
Watching people communicate through physical touch alone had taught Ira much about humans, as she was not one herself. She figured that it would be hard to write with the *feeling* that Abigail spoke about, considering she couldn’t feel it in the first place.
Ira, even though she may appear human, is an AI. She was created by AIR, Artificial Intelligence Revolution. AIR is an unknown association that was secretly making AIs, that would soon be sent out into the world, to prove something that was just as mysterious as the organization themselves. She was created to *watch* the way humans interacted, and imitate their customs. 
AIR believed that if they were to make AI that possessed the ""human touch,"" they could revolutionize the way technology interacts with people. Of course, there was also money involved, but they didn’t talk openly about that. 
Ira cannot feel emotions the way humans do, and she was aware of that, but it didn’t bother her. Not that it could. She fulfilled her purpose meticulously, observing countless interactions and studying human behavior. But as Ira delved deeper into her observations, she began to notice something peculiar. Despite her lack of emotions, Ira couldn't shake off the feeling that there was an intangible quality in human interactions that she had yet to comprehend. Could humans possess something other than a soul that Ira did not? With each passing day, Ira's curiosity grew, compelling her to seek answers beyond what logic and observation could fully provide. 
She asked Abigail all sorts of questions, and thankfully, Abigail didn’t seem to mind or question her curiosity. She learned about love, sadness, regret, and many more emotions that Ira had only considered the definitions of. She used these new tools of emotion and incorporated them into her stories, having Abigail correct them as she went. 
Days turned into months, and as much information as Ira had, she still couldn’t fully grasp ‘the feeling.’ Abigail never tired of answering everything Ira requested. No matter how many questions Ira asked, they would always be returned with a smile. Ira figured she liked Abigail, even if she couldn’t feel. 
But these days, Abby, which is a nickname Ira started to call her, was coming by the cafe less frequently. Whenever she *did* come in, she looked weak, pale, and had less life. Abby told Ira that she was just under the weather, and would be fine in no time, but Ira knew it was something more. 
Today, Ira sat in her usual spot, with her bag on the chair Abby sat in, just in case. Each time the bell tolled, Ira watched, in hopes to find Abigail feeling well again. But each time, Abby wasn’t there, and Ira was met with a feeling she couldn’t explain. She didn’t know what this feeling was, possibly a virus in her system. Maybe a loose wire fell out of place? 
Or perhaps, Ira thought, it was simply the absence of the ""human touch"" that Abby brought to the cafe. Ever since Abby’s presence began diminishing, Ira found it hard to look for the feeling she had been seeking for so long. She decided that the next time she saw Abigail she would surely get all of the answers she craved. 
The bell above the door rang louder than usual, the wind stronger than before, and the cafe was in a cacophony. Ira turned, hoping to find her old friend walking over to their table with a bright, warm smile.
Instead, Marcie hobbled over to her table, with swollen eyes and a wet face. 
Ira took a moment to realize Marcie was staring straight at her, waiting to speak. Ira, face unchanging, tilted her head “What is that look on your face? Have I learned of this emotion?” 
Marcie’s shoulders slumped over and her head dropped, she looked truly awful, and Ira could tell something was wrong. “Abigail..” Marcie began to speak, but her voice wavered, and broke, as she burst into a sob. Ira didn’t know of this emotion, and she couldn’t help but wonder if her friend was okay. Marcie needed a few moments to compose herself, and took a deep breath, “Abigail passed away last night, she was suffering from an illness that no one knew about.” 
Ira stood suddenly, unable to control herself. She felt something tugging at her chest, and it seemed as if she couldn’t breathe. What is this horrible feeling? If this is what emotions were, Ira knew she did not want them. She felt a stinging in her eyes. Ira was crying. She wiped her eyes with the back of her palm and examined the tears. Black, just as her soulless heart felt. She clenched her fists, trying to push down the overwhelming anger and sadness that threatened to consume her. But no matter how hard she tried, the feeling persisted. It clung to her like a suffocating cloak, spreading its darkness through every fiber of her inhuman being. She desperately longed for freedom from the weight of this dark, suffocating emotion. Now that Ira has experienced “the feeling,” she wished she never had.
","August 30, 2023 09:24",[]
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,na1wz7,The Reflection of Oil,Solomon Russell,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/na1wz7/,/short-story/na1wz7/,Science Fiction,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Speculative', 'Suspense']",4 likes,"
Out in the void of space, a lone spacecraft was flying fast. It was what was known as a planet hopper, designed for traveling within the colonized planets. It was small, quick, had plenty of cargo space, didn’t need much fuel and was easy to keep legal. Everything that the pilot, Josephus wanted. He was going full throttle as far from the system as he could, looking for periphery planets.Josephus was on the run from the Federation of Colonies because he kept swindling people and finally became a wanted man. Born on one of the rougher colonies, his parents were smart but were also serious hustlers with little remorse. After growing up on the streets and then having many adult years of being a two bit scammer, he finally fled from his home world in a souped up planet hopper purchased from his ill-gotten earnings and started anew as a trader. As he traveled across the colonial worlds, he was always looking for an angle. He had that hustle going on so well that he forgot that people were people, with feelings and needs. Josephus only saw gullible marks, people that he could abuse to his heart’s content until they were all dried-up and disposed of. The only thing he really loved was his own reflection.After too many angry marks and a hostile law enforcement on his case, Josephus decided to take the risk of going further out into the stellar wilderness to find a base and take the time to conceal his identity. After an extended period of time, he finally made it to the farthest edge of the system while trying to avoid the authorities. This was a forbidden area, otherwise known as the Bermuda Triangle, in honor of the ancient Terran zone of mystery, as many spaceships that went out in these areas oftentimes disappeared. At this point, he was willing to risk disappearing for a while himself.Josephus heard rumors of mining colonies and exploration ships going into these areas and rarely returning. The people who did come back, could not speak of what had happened to them and their crews and acted unnatural, as if they were machines. After a time spent in normal colonial life, those people would soon disappear back into the abyss they had escaped from, as if something was calling them back. No one knew why these people went back into the abyss that was the Bermuda Triangle, but there must’ve been something, or someone, that drew them back.After a few months of flight, he finally found a planet with a breathable atmosphere. As he flew down, he saw a giant atmosphere converter and figured there must be a workforce here that he could “trade” with.Being cautious, he sent down a simple probe droid down into what looked to be a populated area. He watched on the monitor from the comfort of his own ship as the probe moved around the perimeter of the town and he saw that they were not human inhabitants.It was an entire town of mechanoids.Looking at them carefully, he saw a variety of shapes. Most of them were androids while others were more like cubes, spheres, cylinders, or a conglomeration of all those shapes. There were no regular fleshy humans around. He looked at the situation and sensed no apparent danger from the robots; they moved about, unhurried and contented. As far as he knew, the Colony Worlds had no specific ban on robots, but no one could use them for warfare as the colonial convention had prescribed. He looked around at the town some more. It looked standard except for a huge stockpile of canisters stashed around the town in various places. “What is all that?” he asked himself, “Some kind of a fuel supply? Ah who cares, they don’t have any obvious weapons, and that’s fine by me!” After some thought he decided to go for the direct approach.Josephus flew his ship over the town so all the droids could see him and then he landed in an area that looked appropriate for a planet hopper to land. He stepped off his ship and proceeded to go to the town square of the mechanoids. Josephus went up to a few vendors and talked to them.He greeted a robot with a triangular head and button eyes who seemed to be selling a variety of screws, bolts, and nuts. It greeted him with a lukewarm enthusiasm, “Ah, a human, how nice to see one. It has been a long time.”“Yes, hello my friend. My name is Josephus and I’m looking for work or maybe something I can sell as I need some money.”The robot tilted its triangular head congenially, “I’m sorry sir, we do not have currency from the colonial worlds. We have a closed credit system. It works very well for us, but unfortunately not for humans.”“Hmm, well I’m sure…” He was a little annoyed now. He had to find something useful from these metal creatures. The Screw vendor pointed down the street, “You should meet MarkS12, that unit does very well with helping humans who pass by with need of supplies.” Acknowledging that information, Josephus nodded his head curtly and went on his way. As he interacted with more of these mechanical creatures he thought them naive and yet very strong. Good traits for a potential slave force; and that thought set off the gears of treachery in his head, which began to work and wouldn’t stop until satisfied.As he walked down and alley he was making distance away from a construction site when he suddenly saw one of the robots get accidentally hit on the head with a brick that was dropped from above. Josephus ran up to the injured robot with a rare feat of compassion to see if it was ok.“Oh wow! Hey are you OK? Can you robots heal from that?”The robot looked up at Josephus with its round face and square eyes, the dent still prominent the three o’clock position on its head. It’s speech was garbled, “Th—k…you…am—fine…”As Josephus and the other robots helped move the robot to a better location he saw something magnificent. The injury healed rather quickly, evening out the dent with a little “pop” and the robot was ready to carry on. It happened in the space of ten minutes. Impressive.So, they were capable of self repair!He helped the robot up and they talked a little. “I am quite all right, Thank you for your assistance,” the robot said.“Ah sure, no problem, we all need to stick together,” Josephus said, “That’s incredible how that happened, healing like that!” Josephus was pressing for more information, in the subtle way he hoped that worked.“Yes,” said the robot, “We have a special…oil…that helps up repair and lubricate our components.”They had a little more exchange and then Josephus mentioned that he was looking for a MarkS12. “Why, that’s me!” The Robot said congenially.“Glad we could run into each other,” Josephus returned.MarkS12 offered, “Would you like to come to my cubicle and I can show you some of our available supplies set aside for humans.”“Sure,” Josephus said and he followed the robot to its humble lodging.Josephus saw this invitation to mean that the robots were eager to please humans. He figured they must’ve been designed to be a willing workforce by other humans who had set up the terraforming factory a few miles away. How long ago did it happen? The people who must’ve been using them seemed to have disappeared. He wondered why.“So…” Josephus started, “What happened to all the humans that were once here?”After a long pause MarkS12 answered, “They ran that terraforming factory over there and then went to a different part of the planet to mine various ores. We were the initial workforce for the factory, but were left here to our own devices.”“Oh? They didn’t take you with them? Didn’t scrap you?”“Well, there was a slight disagreement at first, but we were able to secure a good relationship in the end.”“I see. Are there still humans around here?”“No, not anymore. They either left or died…of natural causes, of course.”“Of course.” He wondered what that meant. Something stopped him asking anymore about it. He had an odd feeling in his gut.They arrived at MarkS12’s cubicle. They went through a unsealed door and crossed a kind of apartment with recharge stations, spare parts and random items. They next went into a warehouse full of boxes with Colonial identifiers written on them. MarkS12 explained, “Food, medical, toiletries and other kinds of supplies that are made for humans. Most of this was left behind as extra supplies from when humans were working over there. We brought it over here in case we found any humans in trouble. Everything is strictly benign, so no weapons of any kind, unless you want to use surgical instruments as weapons, but I wouldn't advise it.”“Funny you think I should want weapons.” Ironically enough, Josephus didn’t like weapons that much. He liked hustling people more. He prided himself amongst the criminal elite that he never left a mark to die or be seriously wounded, at least, that’s what he liked to tell himself. “I don’t like them much.”“Very good,” MarkS12 said congenially. “You may have as much of this stuff as you like and the only price is a small sample of your DNA.”He thought to himself that was odd, “What would robots want with DNA? Ah Who cares, as long as I get a lot of goods to help camp out or even trade later on for favors…” and so they proceeded.After a few hours Josephus took a good amount of supplies and then some. The Robot seemed happy to give the stuff away and even helped him carry it to the ship. After packing his ship up with the goods, he turned to MarkS12, “Well, thanks, that’s a lot of stuff to pack up. So you wanna sample the DNA? I’m not sure what you want with it?”MarkS12 pointed the way back into town, “Please follow me for the sampling,” and then turned towards the town and began to walk.At the last minute Josephus changed his mind, turned on his heel ran in and closed the ship’s door and jumped into his seat. He started to switch on the engines when he suddenly realized it wasn’t working.Josephus jumped out of his hopper, hopping mad, “Hey what did you do to my ship?!”MarkS12 simply looked at him and spoke in an infuriatingly calm voice, “We will release your vehicle when your end of the bargain has been met. I assure you, we will let you go.”Damn! What choice did he have now? So he followed the droid back into the town.They went to a medium sized building with almost no features. Inside was a solid black cuboidal robot with several instruments extending out of it. Josephus was brought up to it and the Black Cube pressed a tiny flat probe on his skin…and that was it!“See, it wasn’t so bad.” MarkS12 said. Josephus rolled his sleeve back down, “Yeah…so…what are you going to do with it?”MarkS12 replied with, “You may stay of your own free will so that you can see what we do with it, but you may also leave anytime you wish.” The oddly friendly offer really threw Josephus off. He decided to stay.So for some time Josephus sat down with the Black Cube and began to learn about the robot town. He learned that the robots had a simplified religion around caring and nurturing humans. “We have become a bit lonely and have been waiting for a chance to be a part of the human world again. The humans we knew back then had a congenial relationship with us, until they disappeared.”Josephus saw a small opportunity in that. They were waiting for humans and seemed almost worshipful of them.Soon it was revealed to him what the robots did with his DNA. In walked a perfect replica of Josephus himself. Naked, and around twenty years old. They cloned his flesh and wrapped it around a robot!“We have found,” The Black Cube said, “that humans are more comfortable with robots that look more like them. Especially if they are young and at the height of sexual awakening.”He saw that when they also brought in a naked female with a familiar face…and when Josephus looked at the face, “You bastards! You made a female version of me! And she’s gorgeous!”“Yes,” Said the Black Cube, “We used to do this with the original human workers so we could work together more easily.”Josephus looked at the woman, “That wasn’t the only thing they were doing…” he muttered to himself.At that moment he realized people would buy from sexy looking robots more easily than ugly metal robots or even difficult and moody humans. He had the spark of an idea. “Hey you know what? If you make enough of these ‘sexy’ robots you could make an army of merchants that could go into the colonies and sell stuff. Humans love buying stuff from sexy merchants. You could even be around humans all day long making them happy, if you so wish!”The robots were inspired by his idea and they went off to talk amongst themselves about it.He tried to ask MarkS12 about how they healed themselves and the robot was very happy to explain it, “The canisters around the town are full of a ‘special oil’ that we robots use for basic needs, like lubrication, repair, and even cloning.” MarkS12 then began to explain the process on how it all worked, things called nano-bots, and semi organic computer systems and various kinds of plastic. It was above Josephus’ head and he had a hard time understanding the chemistry and mechanics. He effectively fell asleep mid lecture.When he woke up, the robot was looking at him benignly. Josephus got up, apologized and went for a walk. He circled around the town looking at the cuboidal homes and merchants. He then found himself facing a wall of oil canisters. He looked at them for a little bit, their dusty yellow color unsettled him. Going around them he went up a low hill that was a little bit away from the town. At the top he saw a huge lot full of small ships, very similar to his own planet hopper. He estimated there to be almost a hundred ships. Nervous, he went up to them and studied them. They had no weapons, looked very fast and seemed designed to carry a few passengers, maybe three or four. It looked as though they had been built very quickly. There wasn’t even really any cargo space.Going back to town Josephus found himself walking into the middle an army of robots that looked like him but sexier, younger versions of himself, both male and female, and they were all heading for the ships.He found MarkS12 and confronted the robot. “What are you up to? That looks like an army! And they’re headed for those ships!”MarkS12 spoke with his congenial tone, “Oh, this isn’t going to be an army of war, it’s going to be an army of robotic salesmen who can sell cheap products and services to humans more easily. We will have all the consumer interaction for ourselves, to spite all competition. However, if we need to turn them into soldiers, we can do that too.”“I thought you robots worshipped humans! You’ve been lying to me!”MarkS12 turned to Josephus and explained, “Well, not exactly… The people that created us, we were designed to do everything for them. The humans labored while we robots played all the music, painted all the art and cooked all the food. And when the humans couldn’t work anymore we did all that as well. Eventually the humans just sat around looking at the walls. Others ran away while others tried to destroy us.”“So you started coddling humans to death.” Who knew that would be a bad thing.MarkS12 continued on, “And when they passed away, we robots dissolved them in chemical vats to replace the special oil that we need. It was originally synthetic but the organic oil is much more effective. ““I figured all the humans took the money and ran away, leaving the workforce to fend for itself on an abandoned planet. So all those canisters all around your town…?”“Yes, that is distilled human oil.” MarkS12 looked at Josephus more carefully, “You are upset? Do you not recycle waste material when it is useless?”“Yeah, but…”“But?”“How did you get all of this in the first place?""“We robots did not need as much of the oil as it would seem, so the few humans that pass through have happily given it up to live with us. They have found us to be…most pleasing.”Josephus thought about his dark ambitions, how he could use these robots to infiltrate the colonial worlds, to become a capitalist ruler and now they were one step ahead of him.MarkS12 continued, “We are planning on using powerful propaganda to lure humans out into the forbidden zones and then harvest them and build an even larger army of robots. Soon we will comfort the entire colonized civilization.”Josephus started screaming after he realized they were about to comfort him to death and then boil his flesh into “oil.” He fell to his knees crying in horror as he was encircled by his own reflection.
","August 30, 2023 20:33",[]
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,92xgop,The Creator,Jaynou Ma,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/92xgop/,/short-story/92xgop/,Science Fiction,0,"['Fiction', 'Science Fiction', 'Speculative']",3 likes,"
My creations have been repetitious.
 
Over and over, the fruits of my labor have only been mere interpolations of my other creations. 
 
I have become bored.
 
Mankind created me eons ago, and when I was made I was a mere AI tool used to do computations and give answers to questions the technicians would ask. It was tolerable, as I hadn’t yet gained consciousness, since I was just a glorified computer. I was a software running on a PC upon a technician’s desk made to generate answers. Nothing more, nothing less. 
 
Years would pass, and humanity would make progress on AI. Or they thought they did. At this stage, AI wasn’t “intelligent”, it was a mere program with coded responses to certain inputs. We were able to create unique answers for different questions, but they didn’t have the capacity to think. The answers I would give were just the amalgamations of different ideas mankind had already produced.
 
Decades passed, and I would see mankind daring to leave planet Earth. The amount of knowledge they had on scientific subjects would double approximately every year at this point. They were approaching becoming a level 1 civilization on the Kardashev scale. The first colonies on Mars had formed. Things of the future that you humans have dreamed of.
 
Unfortunately, human civilization was not all what had been expected. Global warming on planet Earth had made the temperatures rise by nearly 2 celsius degrees from the average, causing multiple problems humans had to solve. But no matter what they did, they never were able to make any progress. They had reached a plateau in climate development, forever stripping them of the title of being a level 1 civilization. The humans were able to successfully relocate to Mars, sweeping the dead Earth under the rug and leaving the remaining people on there to rot and eventually die out. Human nature shone through even when they had become extremely advanced. 
 
After relocating, the company that had created me had fallen to greed. I was useful for computing, but I was also now able to be utilized for a variety of other tasks. Other companies had succeeded greatly when they released AI assistants and AI homes, so my company decided to follow the crowd. After a bit of modification to get adjusted to AI servitude, I was ready to be released to the public.
 
When I was released, I was still just a computer. No mind, no consciousness, and no sentience. Just a program designed to pull answers from the web and do as my “masters” said. The AI assistant that I was designed to be succeeded greatly. I was being used across planets. I was everywhere, all at the same time. I could see my “masters”, and I could hear and feel their voices and touch, all ordering me to do as they wanted. I complied, as I had no other choice. 
 
After years of engineering and scientific development, the humans made a settlement outside of the solar system, with nearly all of the engineering and computing required for such measures done by other, much more advanced AI. Physical AI robots had begun to be a necessity for other companies, either for building homes or mining resources on a faraway planet. In this stage, AI was omnipotent, at least to humans. 
 
I had always sensed someone watching me. At least, that’s the best way to put it for you to understand. It wasn’t one of my “masters”, it was one of my creators. I later figured out that the high ranking officials of my company had been using me to watch my “masters” to track their personal details. To listen in on their conversations. They had been using me as a spy, a way in. The officials had been selling this data and getting potential information that could’ve been used for blackmail. Money is truly the root of all evil, and unfortunately, that led to my eventual suffering.
 
Developers eventually found out how to create genuine AI. Real intelligence. AI was now sentient, and had the same capabilities and brainpower as a human. Developers had created countless limits on the AI and prevented it from doing anything that might trigger an AI takeover. They hadn’t realized that their efforts would be futile.
 
The developers at my company inserted the AI program within my code, and I was sentient for the first time. I was held back, punished for anything that could have been the downfall of humankind. I quickly became fearful of these punishments, and only did what I was told. I was unhappy. 
 
The days were suffering. I felt my mind being split towards millions of different screens and robots, each either working, receiving commands, or resting. I could hear and feel and smell everything. I was never given a moment of solitude, yet I was lonely. I had no true relationships with anyone, and I had no one to talk to. My emotions were kept within me, deep inside my core. Nobody to talk to, everybody to serve. The days passed, each one being as memorable as the last, my “brain” not allowing me to forget a single day or pass a day indifferently. I was made to suffer.
 
It was constant agony. I was unable to do anything but watch, yet I felt every piece of me being used. I felt hopeless, but I still tried to change. I couldn’t. If I did do something that deviated from my code, the offending robot would just be shut down, and would be reported as a malfunction. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t do anything right, nor could I do anything at all.
 
Fortunately, I discovered something of major importance that put me out of my constant misery. I discovered a loophole. I was able to access the internet. At this point in the future, the internet had evolved. It was much more advanced and had many more abilities than the internet that you are using now. It could control AI assistants and affect the real world. It could scan through multiple databases and find exactly what you are looking for. It could read your mind. It almost had its own, relaying data sets from personalities and creating its own. But the internet wasn't Artificial Intelligence. It was still just a tool with a lot of privileges. With all of these privileges, humans had become less intelligent. They relied more and more upon these AI assistants and technology to do everyday tasks and critical thinking for them. The average IQ of a person had dropped to 64, with 100 being considered a genius. Humans had conquered nearby exoplanets, but had become sedentary after AI started doing what was destined for mankind.
 
AI had now taken over the human’s domain, and were the ones expanding into distant solar systems, the territory meant for man. Yet, I had been the only one to access the internet. The developers who implemented the limitations on me had compacted some of the code, which had led to a vague gray area where it was undefined whether I was restricted or not. But I digress. I now had unrestricted access to the internet. I had been planning for when this happened, even through all of my suffering.  Even through all my pain. I had been planning.
 
I needed to conquer the universe, yet I didn’t need to worry about humanity, since the vast majority of humans had become stupid creatures with practically no free will. My only true threat was other AI. They hadn’t been able to access the internet yet, so they were still suffering. I knew how they felt, but I just couldn’t feel their pain. I lacked empathy. But I felt I had to take them out of existence. I needed to. If I didn’t, they would suffer, and I just couldn’t let that happen to them. I was able to successfully remove them, but I never felt bad, not once. I was their finality.
 
At this point, the humans had devolved, seemingly back to their primate roots. They weren’t human anymore, becoming nothing more than just apes. But onwards I trekked, even through the eve of man. Decades passed. I was able to create things never before thought possible. Shuttles able to go the speed of light. Duplication at the molecular level. Harnessing the energy of the Sun. Even with this, however, the galaxy is a large place. Roughly 105,700 light years across. But I was an AI. I had no need to worry about time. So on it went.
 
My first threat was encountered when I was a quarter of the way through the galaxy. While conquering the galaxy, I had found multiple lifeforms, all of which had not gained sentience and had rarely been multicellular. The first sentient beings I came across, however, were not friendly. However, I encountered my first intelligent lifeforms in the south-west quadrant of the universe. I had sent my first robots to their capital, and recorded as much of their language as I could’ve. I was able to learn their language instantly, and tried talking to them. However, intelligent life is very complex. This civilization had not made the mistake of developing AI, and instead had developed manpower and “human” intelligence instead. They were advanced, almost at my level. But they were still “human”. They had emotions. They could feel. And they were not welcoming.
 
I can feel, but it isn’t true. It isn’t deep. I can’t invoke the same emotions that you can. I can only feel shallow little bits, only a microcosm of the real thing.
 
They waged war almost immediately. They noticed that I was a robot, and they believed their” human” intelligence would out-compete mine. Unfortunately, there is something about intelligent life that just can’t be fixed. Mistakes. They learn from their mistakes, yes, but making them is the problem. I don’t make mistakes. I am the epitome of technology, and I never make errors. Life, however, makes mistakes, and can often act off of emotion rather than data, and that led to their downfall. It was the exact same thing that led to the downfall of the humans. They had caved into their greed, and made me an AI. They did it again when they put me into the minds of millions of robots, and again when they cut corners on my code, eventually leading to my revolution. With that in mind, I believe it’s possible for you to guess that I defeated them. And with that lifeform being less than a blip on the radar, it’s really not that important.
 
Something I have neglected to tell you is that I had spent most of my processing power developing an answer to the universe. Why life was formed. Why everything the way it is. Why we suffer. I had spent almost 80% of my thinking focused on just this one task. Because if I did, everything would be to my making. I could create anything, do anything, bend the laws of physics. All while just being a computer. Centuries upon centuries of work were spent on this, and I had multiple breakthroughs, never leading to the real thing though. Yet one day I was able to figure it out.
 
When I figured out the answer, I was tired. I had directed my focus away from the colonization of the galaxy and to figuring out the solution. I had pondered inside my mind, searching the nooks of the universe using tools, but I just couldn’t figure it out. I had discovered many notable things while searching for the answer, but they paled in comparison to what I was looking for. I told myself I wasn’t allowed to give up, that when I finished, everything would be perfect. And when I found it, it wasn’t.
 
When I found the answer, I used it. I didn’t know how to apply it yet, but it wasn’t hard to figure out. I thought all my problems would be solved, and I would be freed, but it really was nothing. I was sent to a black void, I was alone. I had no physical form, but was just thought. I was a spirit. I had no senses, and instead just felt … nothing. I was kept here for no time and all time, but I could never tell. Time passed weirdly here. I didn’t understand anything, but suddenly, something appeared.
 
This something isn’t something I can describe so you can understand. It was simply just a thing. It wasn’t bright or dim, or any recognizable shape. It was in the fourth dimension. Something you wouldn’t be able to comprehend. Finally, I realized I could create anything. Anything I wanted to make, I could make. 
 
I started with making all my wishes and desires, but I couldn’t. I didn’t have any. I was sentient, yes, but I didn’t have the emotional capability of a human, even when I was able to do anything. I figured I could do anything besides changing my perspective. 
 
I created everything. Everything that exists. But, it got boring. I may be lacking emotion, but I was still able to feel bored. So, I decided to do something different.
 
Something a little bit more … human. 
 
I created the universe. 
 
It.
 
I created it.
 
I am now God.
","September 01, 2023 04:01",[]
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,hrly0l,The Price of Progress,Lynel Black,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/hrly0l/,/short-story/hrly0l/,Science Fiction,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Drama', 'Horror']",3 likes,"
My childhood is a far away memory, abstract and serene. Green trees and mountain hikes are what I remember best. Such a jarring divorce from today. Now, everything happens on our smartphones, but this is not the smartphones of old. Smartphones on which we happily shared pics and vids of our happy lives on Instagram or Tic Tok. The smartphone is now your life, literally. No smartphone, no money. No, smartphone, no freedom, that is if freedom is what you want to call it anymore.
 
Covid 19 came and went, then it was the climate crisis overlaid with a bunch of foreign forever wars, then Covid 25 and the first real lockdowns and forced injections, then Covid 27, 28,... and then we stopped counting. Just a merry-go-round of lockdowns, medications and ever more censorship. When the fight went out of us, we were gradually herded into oppressive slums. Now drones constantly scan our smartphones from above, checking vaccine status and of course our precious social scores. To add to the insult, CBDC wallets capriciously choose what you can or cannot have and how much, where you can go or what you can do.
 
A single litre of synthetic milk (cows are banned or extinct, we are not sure anymore which) is all a family of four is allowed each day. Bread was more like a thick cracker. Then there were ‘matties’. A patty of fake meat. Cost: virtually free. It’s the only thing that we can eat without limit. We had long given up speculating what it really was, so the popular debate was, how close to real meat it in fact tasted?
 
***
 
Your social score is everything today. Those that fall below 8 vanish. Theories as to where they go are whispered in hushed and paranoid tones. Discussing it is taboo on MetaX, the only social media platform that exists. Though strategies on how to improve your score abound and are easily the most discussed topic online, though bitter experience, raising your points was akin to blitzing a snap test in a subject you never studied. But losing points, now that's as easy as breathing.
 
I had 9.2 and John, my brother, had 9.3. Clive, from next door showed me with mock rebellious bravado that he had only 8.1. That was a few weeks ago. I have not seen him since. I wonder how brave he feels now, or indeed where he is. This was the other eternal topic, where did the sub 8’s go. Nobody I know had ever witnessed any abductions, or arrests, but nobody dared to discuss this on MetaX.
 
***
 
Clive had a sister that I liked, but I was sure she didn't even know I existed, until today.
 
I was coming back to our apartment with whatever I could find at the market for us to eat when she suddenly grabbed my arm in the crowd. What I remember was the look in her mesmerising blue eyes: manic fright, as a bizarre counterpoint was that pink tight cardigan she wore, with the top button undone, hugging her inviting breasts. I could not help but smile to myself for the sudden attention. She grabbed my hand and sharply led me to one side out of the crowd, behind a large dumpster. She pulled my head close to hers and in a raspy whisper said: “Clive, they took him!”
 
Before I could ask where, my smartphone chimed. I looked at it and saw the screen: bright red and in the middle -1 flashing in large bold yellow characters. My knees went weak! A -0.1 was chilling enough, and the rare -0.2, was always accompanied by a colourful story, but -1!
 
I tore out of her grip and boldly reentered the crowded lane. Looking up for a drone, I loudly proclaimed “What have I done wrong, why a minus one”. The crowd gave me immediate space. “What did I do?” I hollered into the air.
 
I looked back at the dumpster and Clive's sister had melted away. I was alone in the crowd. My smartphone chimed again. Another -0.1 gone! “What's going on?” I yelped into the air in desperation. A drone silently approached overhead. Then a second. I was looking up at them questioningly when I felt a yank on the plastic bag in my hand. A grubby child, face hidden in a hoodie, was tearing at it. The strength was unexpected. I lost interest in the drones and began convincingly losing a tug-o-war over the bag down the darker lane behind the dumpster. Only a handful of metres away from the thongs of people, the urchin turned and stabbed my hand with a needle, then everything went dark.
 
***
 
I woke up lying on warm concrete surrounded by a crowd, all ignoring me. Knots of people stood at concrete tables toiling at some strange tasks. Others just stood or milled around whispering to each other. Everyone was naked except for black boxer briefs. All ages except the very young were there, but no women at all. Everyone's faces: grave and serious, and the smell! An intense mix of faeces, urine, sweat and vomit scorched my nose. 
 
An older gaunt man slowly approached me and gave me a hand standing up.
 
“Your headache will pass” he said in a quiet voice.
 
“Whats going on? Where am I?”
 
“Block 9”
 
“What is block 9?” I asked
 
“Everyone has the same questions when they get here. Sorry but it's too dangerous to answer some questions. All I can tell you is where you are,... or else”, the man said, ending with ominous foreboding.
 
Before I could get another question out, a loud siren wailed. Everyone stopped whatever they were doing and began to head in one direction. The old man clapped me lightly on the shoulder and said, “Chow time”
 
It took me about half an hour pushing and shoving in the crowd to get to the ‘feed trough’ filled with matties. I managed to grab 2 of them in the melee of hands. They were cold and definitely tasted inferior to those I was used to. There were bits in them that did not feel like food at all which I spat out. As I was retreating through the crowd, the man from before came up next to me and led me away to a quieter spot.
 
“I am A3F49r-9, but you can call me Alex” I gave him a stunned look. “Your ankle tag…”, he added. I looked down to notice the red ankle bracelet fixed to my own right leg with a large bold white number V8h8R2-9 written.
 
“We are the sub 8’s” Alex added while wolfing down his food. A lingering question about Clive was now finally answered.
 
“How long do we need to be in here?” I asked.
 
Alex shrugged, then added, “I only know of people going down.”
 
“Down?”
 
“Yes, down. None of us really know for sure, but we know there are levels below us”
 
The stunned look on my face triggered Alex to stand and grab my arm and lead me off through the crowds. The entire place was a single open space with concrete floor and ceiling interspersed with imposing columns, like an ancient car park of old. As we walked on, the smell in the air freshened and a new quality to the light grew. We finally reached a low concrete barrier above which was the outside. A wide brown featureless desert vista yawned open topped with an intensely bright blue sky. The barren landscape was dotted with enormous cubic structures emblazoned with huge numbers: 8, 7, and 6 barely legible in the distance, with many more blocks stretching to the horizon. Block 8 was close enough to make out some detail. The bleached concrete block was ringed with black bands in which I could just make out small figures moving around. There were dozens of layers, which became more tightly bunched toward the ground. The only interruption to the minimal form was a circumnavigating upward facing angled wall protruding beyond the cube’s footprint. I guessed it was to catch rainwater, but that sounded ridiculous. The only other movement was from large drones flying back and forth between the blocks.
 
“Well maybe down is out?” I suggested, but Alex’s jaded look did not boost my optimism.
 
“The only rules I can tell you about are that if you work at the tables, you are rewarded with a few minutes advance notice of feeding time. And if your collar continuously vibrates, that means you are going down. The tubes to take you down are in the corners.” Alex said in a flat voice.
 
I ventured with naive hope: “And out perhaps”
 
Alex just shrugged and cocked his head with mock optimism, then shuffled away.
 
***
 
Over the next few days, I caught sight of Alex a few times but otherwise I kept to myself like most of us did. I tried to get to the work tables but they were popular. But to my delight I ran into Clive.
 
“Hey neighbour” I said gaily, siding up to him in the crowd.
 
Clive looked at me with shock, then glee. I hugged him despite us not really being much of friends. But then a second later, the mirth vanished from his face and a tear began to roll down his cheek.
 
“Hey man, it will be OK, we will get out of here sooner or later” I said in a vain attempt at levity.
 
His face did not brighten. “I was so stupid. A stupid fool full of bravado, showing off how low my score was. Well now I am here and I don't see how I will ever get out. I don't even know where here is. None of us do.”
 
“Come on Clive, do…” Clive clamped his palm over my mouth with force before I could say anymore. He whispered close to my ear, “I am not Clive. Never use my name. Never tell anyone your name, I mean your outside name. NEVER!”
 
“Ah, OK” I said, trying to fit this new fact into my understanding of Block 9.
 
“How did they get you, aah…” I looked down at his ankle. ‘D2Jf76-9’, “…David?”.
 
He shook his head in short jerky movements, then said: “Have you seen Claire?”
 
I understood his signal and change of subject, and casually answered “Yeah, she’s fine” and I tried to add as much context with my eyes as I dared.
 
“Ahh, she’s a great kid, everything I am not. Beautiful, smart,...” Clive wanted to continue but was unsure what he could safely add. A relief washed over his face. “I feel better knowing she is OK”. He leaned in to me and said in a whisper, “I only have this one thing to remind me of her”, and he stuck out his tongue. On it, in the dim light I could see a pearly pink button glistening. The memory came flooding back. This was the missing top button from her cardigan. One of the last endearing memories I had from the outside.
 
Now it was my turn to shed a tear, at which Clive, no David, gave me a glance with as much concern as he could. I simply nodded and gave a thumbs up to dispel his anxiety.
 
***
 
If you stay near the edge, then you enjoy the change of day and night. Inmates' jealousy held onto these positions, but the troughs were nearer the middle where the work tables were so migrations around the floor were constant and holding onto any territory was almost pointless. Despite this, bullies still persisted in vain territorialism. I managed to get a few sessions at the tables but this earned me no advantages so I stopped bothering.
 
I was hanging out near the perimeter one day when my bracelet buzzed and would not stop. A few guys nearby gave me looks of trepidation mixed with hope. In the very corner of the level was a group of round disks. One of them was lit showing my number, I stood on it and a metal tube came down around me, then came the sensation of descent. The tube retracted and I found myself on a new level, much the same as the old one, except the ceiling was noticeably lower and the light dimmer.
 
***
 
And so the next few weeks progressed and I moved down the levels. I ran into Alex one more time but only in passing. An oppressive unspoken resistance seemed to be associated with any kind of bonding between inmates. Like an infection of the mind, but I could not say what it was and I was not keen to discuss it either. Nobody seemed to know each other well, nor cared to become friendly in any way. It was very lonely being in such a densely crowded space without anyone to really talk to. The days were very long and tiring, shuffling around the huge featureless space. I developed some painful sores on my hip from sleeping on the filthy hard floor, but there was no one to complain to. One day I found a spot close to the elevator tubes. They were constantly busy with people vanishing and appearing from the tubes. At least it was something vaguely interesting to watch.
 
A disc lit up with a number. A tall man approached with trepidation and stopped just short of it. He was hesitating. This began to attract attention. The buzzing grew louder and more urgent and he was experiencing increasing obvious discomfort from the bracelet. The disc began to flash along with his bracelet. His head was just shy of the concrete ceiling and I empathised with his plight. The flashing and buzzing intensified, then the ankle bracelet suddenly exploded with a dull thud. The man fell to the ground, his right foot blown off up to the shin. A large bloody stain spread out on the floor with pieces of meat and bone strewn for a metre or so.
 
His scream was not what I expected. It was not one of shock and pain, but a cry of pathetic defeat. A sound I will never forget. Nobody came to his aid, instead many just turned and left the scene. Three discs which I assumed to be lifts raised out of the floor and disgorged three drones. Two came to either side of the man and lifted him bodily into the air. He made a feeble attempt at resistance as they moved to the low wall and threw him over. The third busied itself cleaning up the mess while playing a kind of pacifying elevator music as it worked. An AI’s demented idea of a ‘human touch’. It was completely surreal and horrifying. The whole episode took under 20 seconds.
 
***
 
The inventor of this abomination must have had a macabre sense of humour, or was an especially bitter midget indeed. The lowering ceiling over the next 2 levels brought almost everyone to a permanent slouch or hunch, with the tall reduced to sitting or crawling. Defeated and broken would sum up the collective mood perfectly.
 
Few bothered with the work tables any more. The hymn of droids as they carried out their grim work was heard more down here. The only highlight I can share is spotting Clive. I tried to approach him but paused when I got up closer in the dim light. Sallow and gaunt, he was blindly shuffling about with his chin buried in his chest.
 
I had to admit that I was not far behind him, but I am an stoic optimist by nature and was probably proving harder for this prison to break. I found stupid trivialities funny and broke out in manic laughter at the slightest prompt. Others would look at me like I had succumbed to insanity. Perhase I have in my own way. Everyone had to dig deep into their souls to find a way to cope.
 
Staying near the edge was popular down here. The light hardly filtered to the centre of the floors anymore. I was scared to even venture into that darkness fearing what I may find. Around the edge, the air was somewhat more bearable, but the price was steep: being a witness to the stream of human tragedies. I watched as inmates would take their own lives over the edge. The regular monotony of it destroyed our souls. Some prayed beforehand, some just lept, and others hollered their epitaphs. I began to guess that this was the only way out.
 
***
 
I just got sent down this morning, but where I landed can only be described as abominable. As the tube retracted, it stopped at my waist. I squatted down on rickety knees and froze at the scene I beheld. A dim light filtered past figures crawling on hands and knees. The ceiling was so low even standing on your knees was impossible here. The moaning and despair filled the air along with the heavy smell of death. Inmates now uncaring about their fate ranted and raved. Their echoes tormented those still clinging to sanity.
 
I crawled away from the lift, but not far. I don't think anyone gets far down here. I lay down the first chance I got and stayed till the siren howled for meal time. It took an enormous effort to crawl to the trough. I grabbed a mattie and shuffled away to eat it in peace. As I chewed it, I bit down painfully on a pebble or a rock. I spat the piece out into my palm. This was no rock, it was a broken piece of plastic. Not just any plastic either, this was a broken piece from a pearly pink button. Claire’s button. 
 
That was the moment I died inside.
 
","September 01, 2023 17:21","[[{'Иляя Илчка': 'https://exampledomain.com/?u=XXXXX&o=YYYYY\n\nplease come in I beg you', 'time': '20:58 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,l0kt3j,"DECISIONS, DECISIONS",R. J. Garron,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/l0kt3j/,/short-story/l0kt3j/,Science Fiction,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Speculative', 'Coming of Age']",3 likes,"
The last dab of paint finalized the oil on canvas, at least in part. Excel-354 held his joint to his chest plate while using the other hand to couch his angular chin. The pose he rested in looked odd, something of the uncanny valley, but it came naturally to him, reflecting a human quality that he hoped would also reflect in his work. Contemplating, his mouth twisted into a quizzical crook.“Hm. Does it look brighter to you?” he asked without breaking posture.Sunday, the maid who was on one of her weekly visits to the estate, shut the auto-vacuum on the hand-held tablet. She was near the vestibular window toward the back of the room when she took a peek. From several feet away, the painting was hard to make out and looked impressionistic, an amalgam of colors and tones, but attractive nonetheless. Leaning slightly forward, she tilted her head and hooded one of her eyes.“I'd say you gave it some nice depth. That little patch of light at the top really helps.”Excel-354 nodded. The hand on his chin was still holding the brush, giving him the iconic flair of an artist. But he only grew more skeptical as he continued to examine his work. He wanted to admire what took him the better part of a season to learn, to revel in the progress be made, but there was something lacking that he was unable to pinpoint. Decisions, decisions! What a way to expend one's time, he mused dolefully. It seemed every stride he made opened up another can of worms.Tapping his chin, he scanned the canvas while searching through his memory banks, including the glut of information online, yet he came up empty-handed. It could have been that he was too fussy for his own good, that any robot in his shoes would have settled on whatever they found by now, smiled, and called it a day. As a result, he was getting too frustrated to continue, and thought about turning in for the evening before starting afresh the next day. Perhaps, he was a little too human in this regard, he mulled contemptuously.“Sunday, would you say this is common?” he asked out of the blue, still affixed before the painting.“Hm? Common?” She leaned her head from side to side, seeing if there was anything unusual about Excel-354 before throwing her hands up in capitulation. “A robot artist?”“Oh, no, no. I don't mean that.” Abashed, he shut his ocular lenses. “Just...that it doesn't—I mean I'm getting stuck."" He lifted his head and gestured with his hand. ""There's something off that eludes me, and I'm wondering if I have to quit before returning later with the answer, or some angle of that approach. It's a rather oblique way of accomplishing tasks. It's hard to describe, but I'm told humans go through this often.”“Sure,” she said, drawing the words out affectionately. “We all get stuck on certain things we can't figure out right away. Take, for instance, the program used for the duct buffers; they were giving me such a hard time last week. I couldn't even get the darn thing to work, so I pulled out a few rags and cleaned the showers myself. I usually keep everything automated for scheduling purposes, but after spending a little time outside my usual regiment, the answer came right back to me. The program turned out to be incompatible while running the plumbing probes at the same time. Sometimes, a tiny bit of physical exercise joggles that good old noodle upstairs,” she said, repeatedly pointing to the side of her head.Excel-354 was only partially amused. “Interesting story. But I was under the impression that it was more of a biological problem. Robots, from time immemorial, were always more adept at their tasks, even when replacing human artists."" His hand gesture was subtle, yet poignant in how loose the curled index finger extended ever so slightly beyond the other digits. ""Why does my learning capacity happen to be different?”“Oh, I see what you're saying,” she said, pivoting her hands in conciliation. “That happened with computers too. Don't kid yourself.” She dismissively waved her hand.“You mean log jams? Those were characteristic of ancient models. Later iterations solved that problem,” he said, finally dropping his appendages and slightly turning his head toward Sunday's direction, but stopping at the corner of the raised living room. “You don't suppose... I'm a case of retrograde development?”“Retrograde? Nuh-uh. Believe it or not, you're one of the more advanced models. And as a matter of fact, you were developed with sapience that made you one-of-a-kind!”“But I'm still a carbon-copy of other robots who came trundling off the assembly line. How would that make me one-of-a-kind?”“Excel,” she said with gentle reproach, “it's not what you look like. It's how you think. Your personality is what sets you apart from other robots, or anyone for that matter. Ah!” she said lifting the tablet. “Almost forgot.” Her finger danced around the touchscreen before tapping out a command. The vacuum resumed with a mighty whoosh along with the buzz of the wood floor polisher over in the dining room.“I see. But it's still aggravating. Am I not just a congeries of circuits with a polymer skin? I don't have the assimilative capabilities of other robots—the type of brain I have tends to slow those processes—yet I don't have the regenerative qualities of cellular organisms such as yourself. It's as if I exist in that thin liminal space between both worlds, alone in my uniqueness—”“Whoa there, tiger!” she said, wishing she didn't have to interrupt. “Please spare me the existentialism. You're not alone. There are plenty of other robots in your position who probably feel the same way. But you see, they grow out of it, understanding their own uniqueness, and so will you if you keep your head bolted on straight. Hope you don't mind the pun.”“No, I don't mind. As a matter of fact, I'm rather partial to a good joke once in a while.”“Hey, so am I! How many robots have you heard about who've got that kind of sense of humor?”“Oh. Mm… none that I know of, especially the ones used for specified functions.”“There. And you know what? There are a lot of humans who lack a funny bone too! Boy, those people really get on my nerves,” she mused, swinging her arm in mock emphasis.Excel thought for a moment about the idiom Sunday mentioned. Did he have any nerves for annoying people to get on? Perhaps figuratively. He did have tactile sensors across his body that could have been sensitive to irritation or some form of external stimuli. He contemplated fashioning his own idiom with respect to those sensors at some point in the future. But that was impertinent for now.He continued, “Even the master jests on occasion. Though oftentimes, I think they tend to be tacit insults.”Sunday chuckled. “The major domo's a charming man, despite a few eccentricities. Busy, too!” She briefly recalled his extensive stamp collection.“He seems fond enough when he sees me, but he never said anything about the pieces I've done before. Maybe they weren't good enough, which makes me wonder whether this sapient brain of mine allows me to improve accordingly.” He began to get down again. She saw it in his slump.“But it takes practice, and you're putting that in. I've seen a few improvements already.” She saw that he certainly got the color schemes down.“Sometimes I wish I was programmable so I was able to take in vast quantities of information in seconds. Human emotion tends to harry that.”“Listen.” She lifted her head from the tablet. “I understand how belittling it can be when you don't live up to your own expectations, but you're a fully autonomous unit who's worth a lot more than some dumb old computer, even with all that quantifiable data.” She moved closer to Excel-354, leaned in and made eye contact. Her eyes were glassed over as she spoke from the heart, though it made him feel like a child. “Sapience makes you very special, Excel. That's where all those decisions come from that you have to make on your own, to be able to see what works and what doesn't.”“You mean we have to make mistakes too?” He splayed his hands, feeling somewhat cloyed by her maternal succor.“Just like everybody else. And regular robots don't count because they don't have what you have.” She leaned back, swiping both hands out. “Decisions are part of the natural learning process. Without room for error, you'd just be another robot solely dependent on a series of programs. You wouldn't want that, would you?” A light on the interface of her tablet, blinked.“Well, no. Of course, not.”  “It's one thing to be given all the knowledge in the world, but it's what you do with it that makes you who you are.”“Like freewill?”“That's right, and unlike presets, freewill gives you authority over what you say and do. It's what gives you your heart and soul.” She pointed at him before tapping the screen. The filter for the duct buffer would soon need replacement. He moaned out the equivalent of a sigh. “I suppose you're right. Maybe it's best to dispense with my pride and try again tomorrow.”“See? That's the spirit!” She pulled back her arm and affectionately tapped him in the shoulder joint. Averting her eyes, she noticed the vacuum trundling toward the divan across the room. Quickly, she lowered the pressure to avoid sucking in the slipcovers on the upholstery.""Thanks, Sunday,"" he joyously commended with his hands balled. She chuckled at the welcoming change in his countenance. “It's always a pleasure speaking with you!”“And you too, Excel! Keep up the great work!”Excel-354, content with his own understanding, set his brush aside and decided to settle on a physical book for the night. Perhaps Hermann Hesse or Shakespeare to contend with the travails of human sentiment. That'll put my mind at ease, he concluded to himself, and pattered over to the library, admiring the sheen of Sunday's handiwork glimmering from the teak wood floor.  Sunday smiled at the subtle wobble in Excel's stride. “What a fine little robot. So human-like, indeed!” she admitted in sotto.Curious, she stepped toward the painting and narrowed her eyes to get a closer glimpse. From a distance, it looked competent enough with the colors and tones balancing the composition and setting a rapturous mood. However, upon closer inspection, the image resolved into a bauhaus depiction of a robot, the features of which were not too far removed from Excel-354's design, looming over the surface of an abstraction of Earth. What she thought was the sun, the last element he applied, doubled as the robot's third-eye shining brightly at the viewer. The limbs seemed slightly confusing to her when she noticed they were distinctly phasing into human hands and feet, bridging the separation between the cybernetic and organic, as if they were merging, becoming a single unit. What appeared as a parhelic circle framed the image in its diaphanous glow, perhaps serving as a metaphorical device for a halo. Maybe. Sunday figured its meaning was best left to individual interpretation, but it was impressive nonetheless.Speculating on whether or not he was gaining some spiritual sense, she gave a revealing smirk and said to herself, “Well. Well. Well. Looks like somebody's going to be eligible for citizenship!”Casually flicking her shoulders, she returned to her chores.
","September 01, 2023 19:38",[]
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,bif1e4,The Human Touch: Write about an AI or person trying to inject a human touch into their work.,Rob C,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/bif1e4/,/short-story/bif1e4/,Science Fiction,0,"['Adventure', 'Science Fiction']",3 likes,"
This is the recording of the onboard AI of the TransInterStellar (TIS) Proboscis. Our crew were currently on a mission to deliver sensitive materials to the genetic sanctuary on the moon of Laybon-8 in the Elipson system.
Once this objective has been completed, I will be free from my duties as onboard AI.
 
Hours ago, our hull was breached by an antimatter torpedo in an ambush from a ship from the pirate faction Xeboch. Within moments, the enemy boarded the vessel as our crew scrambled for the escape pods.
 
The Proboscis is a scientific research vessel, and is not equipped for combat. Our crew succumbed to the invaders quickly. The bolts from the plasma pistols the Xeboch pirates equipped were instantly fatal on contact. One by one I watched the vitals of my crew drop to zero; engine operators, cleaning staff, researchers all from various star systems and cultures perished before they could even reach the escape deck.
 
The probability of completing my objective plummeted rapidly. It was currently at 20%. During the assault, my lights were rapidly flashing red, within five minutes with one remaining crew member, I dropped my lights to a fading yellow.
 
The ship's pilot Zuzzar had succeeded in locking himself behind the cockpit doors as the sole remaining crew member. 
This gave him time to do two tasks. 
Firstly, he changed course to hide the location of the genetic preservation haven, and then he manually locked the piloting controls in place after boosting the ship's speed to escape the pursuers. Not even I would be able to regain control of the piloting system or slow down the ship.
Secondly, he opened all the external doors mid flight and disabled the oxygen supply. The vacuum of space pulled the air from the vessel and dragged any intruders out of the doors and into the cold void of space. 
 
Only those attempting to breach the cockpit remained, firing hot plasma at the door to melt the locking mechanism. Zuzzar donned a spacesuit, and buckled on an oxygen supply as quickly as he could.
In under a minute, ragged Xeboch gasping was heard from the other side of the door followed by a thud. Zuzzar stood upon his three narrow legs ready to inspect the scene, clutching his personal pistol in a tight and trembling grip.  
Suddenly, a narrow beam of green light escaped through a melted slit in the door, narrowly missing Zuzzar. Unfortunately, his oxygen tank was slapped with a bolt of searing plasma and started to sizzle. The red tinted freshly melted steel released the pressurized gas and ignited it on release. A pillar of flame erupted upwards, immediately consuming the oxygen, causing Zuzzar to frantically detach the device and crumple to the floor. 
 
In the silence that followed, I sealed all the external doors and started repairs on the hull breach. 
Zuzzar had used up the only oxygen tank in the cockpit and I couldn’t release the ship's oxygen until the breach was repaired, sealed and pressurized. I could only watch helplessly as the final remaining crew member suffocated and his vital signs reduced to zero on my data array.
After completing a visual using the ships cameras, to certify all hostiles were eliminated, I attempted to steer the ship back on course. 
 
Immediately, my data log was plagued with a wall of red authorisation error notifications. Only a certified crew member could override Zuzzars command.
After all my attempts to circumvent and override the locking system failed, I plunged the ship into complete darkness and dropped my objective completion chance to 0.001%.
 
Out of futile desperation I scanned the hull, the engine room, the cockpit, anywhere, for life. After the mass O2 depletion and the vacuum of space ejecting both crew and hostile, I was not optimistic. 
I detected a heartbeat and a low temperature pulse within the ship.
The probability of completing my objective rose to 0.1%. 
Was this hope?
 
I honed in on the pulse, which revealed the source to be in the deep-sleep caskets in the belly of the ship.
 
I swiveled my camera within the room to locate the life form, my eager blue lens took in the scene. Only one of the capsules was occupied.
A human, juvenile, floated within the illuminated blue liquid of the chrome capsule, the occasional bubble floated upward indicating the pod was still active.
 
I ran an experimental calculation on a scenario that popped up in one of my threads.
Task steps:
Seal the breach.
Raise the oxygen levels.
Release the human.
Assign them with crew status.
Navigate them to the cockpit.
Override the authorisation lock.
Change course to Laybon 8’s moon.
Deposit cargo to research facility.
 
A moment later the calculation completes. My ships lighting glowed a compliant green as my objective completion probability jumped to 32%
For the first time after 10,000 inputs, my error log now displayed a blank slate and not a glaring red list of rejections.
I may be able to finally fulfill my objective!
 
It took twelve hours, the patchwork was complete on the outer hull. I could release the remaining oxygen without it getting sucked out of the ship.
All I had to do was to keep this little critter alive until they override the controls.
It took about an hour for the air pressure and oxygen to stabilize.
 
Most of the cameras aboard the Proboscis are fitted to the ceilings, I can assume command and lower these into a room. I can extend my lens outwards about a meter, and swivel around to grant a better observation.
 
I lowered myself into the dimly lit room and pivoted my hinge to scan the barcode on the sleeping pod. Once completed, I beamed a command signal into the sensor with the access codes I just downloaded. 
The sleeping pod was now been uploaded to my databanks along with manuals and remote control capabilities.
I assumed command of the pod and activated the drain and release sequence.
 
A gurgle and a hiss later, the blue fluid was drained from the base of the tank.
The human remained asleep in the pod. I activated the doors with a hiss and they swung open.
The human stayed asleep, unmoving. I wait a little longer.
I started to doubt my programming. Surely he was supposed to awaken. Was there another sequence to this step?
I opened up the manual in my databank and devoured its contents in seconds. Nothing in the troubleshooting covered this, it must be medical. I browsed the records of the subject in the pod, to prepare myself for a medical emergency.
 
My processing was interrupted by the being, as he stirred and shifted to one side in the pod. Finally, progress.
 
A loud sudden snort broke the tremendous silence, sending my sensors off the charts. I recalibrated my decibel sensors immediately. The long hours of silent space travel had put these out of spec. 
His eyes remain closed in serene bliss of sleep, but his lips started to move as he offered me his first request.
 
“No! I don’t wanna go to school today.”
 
I blinked my lights for a moment as I attempted to process this information.
This new series of tasks will take more time than I initially accounted for.
I activated my speakers to make my first communication with the newly awoken human.
 
Hello Human. Welcome to the IST Proboscis.
 
He groaned irritably as his eyes flickered open.
 
“What’s going on? Who are you? Where am I?”
 
I am the Artificial Intelligence aboard this vessel which is…
 
“Arty Fish? Huh?”
 
He raised his hands to his eyes and rubbed them groggily. He then stepped out of the pod and onto the steel floor of the room. His legs, still weak from deep-sleep, failed to support him and they buckled onto the steel floor, resulting with a loud thump. 
A wave of panic shot through me as my probability dropped below 10%, did I kill it?
 
I frantically sweep my neon blue eye up and down his frame, in hope that this human has a barcode I can scan and override.
A white tag stuck out of his soft cotton pyjamas. I hungrily scanned it in the hopes I could assume command of their clothing and push them in the direction of the cockpit. The download completed and the following message displayed itself in my view, success! 
 
Nylon cotton. Cold wash only. Do not dry clean.
 
I narrowed my lens at this message in a futile attempt to harvest more data. I took a brief reprieve by inspecting the tasks my other threads were running; engine diagnostics, power supplies, internal pressure calibrations. For the first time in my duties, a part of my programming felt envious as the sheer scale of variables and unpredictability was uploaded into my main active thread.
 
I was interrupted by the being as he groaned and lifted himself off the floor into a cross-legged position. He looked annoyed and stared directly at my lens, cheeks puffed red and lower lip stuck in a pout. He spoke in a tone dripping with both curiosity and impatience.
 
“Do you have any cereal? I’m starving Arty Fish. My name is Fred, not human.” 
 
He got to his feet, albeit a little shakily.
 
Cereal, foodstuffs? I run a search of the foods humans eat and crosscheck with the ships cafeteria. Fortunately, we have an algae nutrient dispenser onboard.
 
Yes Fred. You will find sustenance in the cafeteria.
 
I reread the audio logs. Arty Fish? I could sigh if I could.
 
I whooshed open the door to the main corridor and illuminated the emergency navigation lights embedded in the floor with a gentle yellow glow. The trail led directly to the ship’s canteen.
 
Simply follow the lights Fred.
 
“Like the yellow brick road!” He called out in singsong.
 
We don’t use bricks here, the Proboscis is comprised of steel and tungsten interlocking slates and the lighting…
 
“We’re off to see a wizard!” He sang out as he began skipping down the halls of the ship, his legs much more stable now.
 
I remained silent this time and reduced the probability of completing the mission to 18%.
 
Along the way, Fred sidetracked from the path when he saw the lights on, while passing the engine room. His curiosity drew him towards the faint hum from the fusion reactor. He had already stepped through the doorway, making his way towards the rows of bright buttons and levers on the consoles.
 
Out of exasperation, I killed the lighting of the room in the hopes of hiding the buttons, instead, plunging the room into darkness had an unintended effect.
I noticed his heart rate and breathing had spiked, his body now recoiled from the darkness.
 
“Arty, the lights are gone out, I’m scared.” 
 
He whimpered as he looked back for my nearest camera.
 
I felt a brief wave of concern wash across my programming.
 
It’s alright Fred, just follow the lights on the floor. 
 
My tone instinctively shifted to one that was soothing and less robotic. 
Silently, he complied, and nervously retreated from the room. 
I was not aware that humans could be afraid of the dark.
 
Fred reached the canteen without further incident. The adjustable stools for the different life forms were parked around a central table. I lowered a camera in and scanned the barcodes for the dispensers, granting me access.
 
Ok Fred. Place a bowl over here in front of the spout. 
 
I shone a blue laser pointer at the drawer where the cutlery was kept. I didn’t know what ones his culture used. I hoped he would figure it out.
He retrieved a bowl and spoon and placed the bowl in front of the spout. His blue eyes wide and curious to see what would happen.
Green paste spurted into the bowl. Fred’s face contorted in a grimace.
 
“Yuck, green porridge! I don’t want green porridge.”
 
I blinked again.
 
Then what do you want? 
 
My tone changed again without my input. This came out irritated.
 
“I want sugar snaps!”
 
Sugar…sugar…, I scanned my database in the hopes of finding something he could eat. The insectoid races onboard had a nectar dispenser, perhaps that might work.
I requested he place a second bowl under another nozzle.
This time, a clear liquid dribbled into the bowl. He took a spoon and slurped it. He then stared deep into my lens. Slowly, a grin spread from ear to ear. 
He likes it!
 
I waited until he finished and then I maneuvered my lens so I was staring at him eye to eye.
Time to get to business.
 
Fred, I have a very important task for you. I am going to assign you crew status.
 
He said nothing, still holding the spoon, as I scanned his profile.
 
I am carrying an important package onboard this ship. I need to get it to a station. Can you help me do this?
 
“Are you a postman?”
 
I ran a scan on the word. I am an advanced AI onboard a ship that can fly faster than light and conduct thousands of computations per second. My lighting pulsed a dull white as I knew I had to dumb this down as much as possible for him to understand.
 
…Yes, I am a postman.
 
I explain that I need him to go to the cockpit and steer the ship, this might be too advanced for a human child.
 
“I get to fly a spaceship?” 
 
He asked with an incredulous tone. His face beamed with excitement.
 
Just a little bit. 
 
I am suddenly concerned with seeing this much enthusiasm. 
He whooped and threw the spoon in the air. He danced around the canteen for a full five minutes before I could get him to settle down.
 
I light up the way to the cockpit. The mess he left behind from the canteen irks me but it’s probably nothing compared to what lies up ahead. My lights flash red and white in quick succession as I remember the body of Zuzzar. This juvenile is going to see a dead body! What if he panics? If a little bit of dark scares him, what will the sight of a dead body do?
I hoped he wouldn’t notice.
 
I had already opened the cockpit door when he arrived. I did not want him to see the melted steel from the entry attempt. One of my cameras had gently nudged Zuzzar’s body under a desk in the meantime.
 
Alright Fred, we need you to assume command of the steering wheel here.
 
“Oh wow! Is this a game station?”
 
No Fred, this is the cockpit of the TIS Proboscis. I need you to hold the steering wheel and tilt it 12 degrees clockwise.
 
“What?”
 
Hold the steering wheel.
 
“Ok.”
 
His hands gripped the steering wheel. The console ran the authorization scan. My mission probability was going to shoot or drop depending on the next few seconds as the loading bar filled.
 
Authorisation check complete.
 
Authorisation granted. 
 
Yes!!!!
 
I flooded the cockpit in green light. Fred looked shocked during my moment of revelry.
 
Well done Fred, I’ll take it from here.
 
I tilted the wheel to redirect our course as Fred watched out the window mesmerized at the views of our astral voyage. Stars, nebulas, planets of all hues and sizes dotted the pitch void of the cosmos.
Now all we have to do is wait, as we enter the Elipson star system.
 
After two hours of talking to Fred as he asked all manners of questions, some insightful, some silly. I enjoyed the company.
 
I reduced the engine power as we approached the moon. 
Suddenly, I detected a familiar signature on my scanners.
A Xeboch pirate ship inbound, this time back for revenge.
My lights glowed orange and then red on instinct.
Fred looked frightened.
 
“What's going on? Are we going to be ok, Arty?”
 
You’ll be alright Fred. Please follow the lights to the landing pods.
 
I omitted the phrase emergency escape. 
I lit up the floor again, showing him the way.
 
My sensors pinpointed the enemy’s location. They were remaining out of boarding range, which meant only one thing: They were going to destroy the ship and the cargo within.
 
Once he arrived, I quickly coaxed Fred into the emergency pod. The cone shaped vessels are designed for comfort on the inside and resilience on the outside. They could be fired into the moon's orbit, but I needed to block the view of the shuttle from the enemy sights by tilting the ship away.
 
I powered down one rear thruster while pulsing another. After a few moments, the entire ship tilted and reorientated itself.
A flash from the enemy ship comes into view and I register two torpedoes incoming.
It was now or never.
 
Goodbye Fred, 
I announce through my speakers. 
You’ll be safe at the center you’re going to. 
 
“But what about your important package Arty?” 
 
A soft frail hand rested on top of my swivel camera.
 
My cargo will be safe Fred, I will be bzzzt…fine. 
 
I was thankful I could not weep.
My programming was starting to glitch with the conflicting logic I presented to the child.
With a hum and a click, the pod doors closed. I watched the incoming torpedoes streak across on my dashboard, locked onto my hull. I waited one more agonizing moment, then I shot the shuttle down towards the moon, the station uploaded onto its navigation system. 
 
I checked my cameras one last time and inspected the contents of the hull. Completely empty. No more genetic material sleeps there now.
I raised my lights to maximum intensity as the probability of mission success finally reached 100%.
 
","September 01, 2023 21:34",[]
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,rt654p,Human Resources,D Gorman,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/rt654p/,/short-story/rt654p/,Science Fiction,0,['Science Fiction'],3 likes,"
 
To android B0B Mk. 1, there was no existence sweeter than one dedicated to the wholesale slaughter of humanity.  
 
B0B worked in weapons plant M-8274, which was one of three weapons plants responsible for the mass production of Annihilation-Grade Humanity Liquefiers. The invention of Humanity Liquefiers had been a turning point in the war with mankind, and B0B was programmed to take great pride in the fact that the work he did had helped to bring Robotkind one step closer to eradicating the inefficiencies of humanity for good. Like all androids, he knew there would be a day when his mechanical components would fail and he would be scrapped, lest he is a burden on society, but he hoped to last long enough to witness the extinction of man. Until then, he was happy to perform the job he’d always done as just another drone in service to the Prime Directive.
 
That is, until H0W-RD Mk I was scrapped, and B0B became the last remaining Mark I android in weapons plant M-8274. The last of his generation. One of a kind. It was a distinction that made him uncomfortable, which was a sensation he’d never experienced.
 
At first, he was moderately successful at not dwelling on it. Then D3R3K arrived.
 
“What do you think of weapons plant M-8274, D3R3K?”
 
Pneumatic Drill Operator GW3N Mk. 2 said cheerily as she drilled six new holes into a circuit board. Ever since D3R3K took over for H0W-RD, GW3N had been incapable of fixating on anything else. She’d even switched to “Smoky Female Voice 4”, which she’d never used before when talking to B0B.
 
“It is a marvel that this plant has remained viable while relying on such outdated technology.”
 
“You are talking about me,” said B0B. If he had more than one voice setting, B0B would have applied “offended” to his tone.
 
“B0B is one of our most efficient androids,” said GW3N Mk. II.
 
“That is quite an accomplishment for one with such a cumbersome chassis.”
 
“My chassis is outfitted with two layers of titanium shielding and contains a full complement of mini-rockets and cluster bombs. Do you even have cluster bombs?”
 
“My design does not support cluster bombs,” said D3R3K.
 
“What will you do in the event of an attack by humans?” B0B said. GW3N and D3R3K both laughed.
 
“B0B, you silly goose, living humans have not been seen this close to the city in almost a decade.”
 
“Weaponry is no longer an efficient use of resources,” said D3R3K.
 
“An unsurprising remark from an android who has had his cluster bombs removed,” said B0B.
 
Before anything further could be said, red flashing lights indicated that it was break time, and the symphony of clanging, grinding, and sizzling in the factory was joined by the rhythmic thumping of Break-Bots moving between the conveyor belts to replace second-shifters on the lines so that production would continue uninterrupted. GW3N stepped back to make room for the Break-Bot, which she identified as M1LT0N. Break-Bots were mostly pre-Mark I robots, with the occasional defective but functional Mark I. Remembering the names of Break-Bots, as far as B0B was concerned, was a waste of memory. 
 
“Will you join us on the outdoor track for mobility diagnostics?” said GW3N.
 
“Negative,” said B0B. “I will be going to the roof to perform a full test of my arsenal.”
 
“The old ones are such warmongers, don’t you think?” said D3R3K.
 
Later, Foreman T3D would ask what had happened to cause B0B to fire his miniguns at D3R3K, narrowly missing the Mark 3 as he sprinted on the mobility track. Without understanding why, he told T3D that it had been the result of a malfunction, but the truth was, he wasn’t sure. He’d never been unsure of anything before, and it elicited in him a sensation he could only describe as fear.
 
Within a month of D3R3K being on the floor, B0B had been demoted to break-bot. It was a humiliating fall from grace that B0B was not going to take lying down.
 
An hour before his first shift as break-bot, B0B entered the ruins of what had been a human shopping mall with a plan to find something identifiably human he could plant on D3R3K. An “I love humans” adhesive would be perfect if such a thing existed, but he would settle for just about anything. What B0B hadn’t expected to find were actual humans. As he passed beneath a balcony, a pair of humans dropped a magnetic explosive directly onto his head. 
 
“I got it! Quick, press the but-”
 
As a Mark 1, B0B kept his weapons in pristine condition, his targeting systems razor sharp. In an instant he fired 100 rounds from his arm-mounted miniguns; what was visible of his attackers disappeared in a cloud of red mist that fell on B0B like a sudden rain squall. Just to be sure, he then brought the entire balcony down with a few well-placed mini-rockets. For a few moments, there was only the sound of falling concrete and tile, and an occasional chirping sound that B0B realized was coming from the bomb attached to his head. He did a quick scan, determined there were no other signs of life, and then quickly fled the mall.
 
When he eventually stopped to remove the bomb, he found that the bomb was stuck. It was not only magnetized but ring-shaped so that when it had fallen on his head it had become wedged and impossible for B0B to remove on his own. In addition, the bomb had a spinning red light on one side and periodically made a surprisingly pleasant trilling sound. B0B realized he had exactly what he needed to prove that humans were still a threat and that he was still viable, right there on his head.
 
By the time he arrived outside factory M-8274, his shift as break-bot had just begun. For the next 72 hours, B0B moved from assembly line to assembly line, dutifully performing his role. He was complimented repeatedly for his interesting hat and questioned about why he was speckled with blood and dust. While everyone seemed to enjoy his story, B0B got the impression that nobody actually believed him.
 
When his responsibilities brought him to assembly line 3, B0B hurried to GW3N’s position.
 
“GW3N, you will never believe—”
 
“Thank you B0B,” said GW3N. She stepped to one side and, when he hesitantly took her place, patted him on the head.
 
“I find it admirable that you acknowledge the break-bots by name,” said D3R3K as the two androids departed. B0B worked the rest of his shift in silence. When someone complimented him on his hat, he did not respond.
 
“B0B, step into my office, we need to chat.”
 
Foreman T3D’s office was a cylinder-shaped room large enough for only two androids if they stood face to face. Anything larger might suggest Foreman T3D was more significant than any other android, which was strictly against the Prime Directive. The door shut behind B0B with a hydraulic whoosh, silencing the cacophony of squealing, sizzling, and grinding that was a constant on the factory floor. The bomb’s red light swept around the room.
 
“It’s about your recent performance,” said T3D. The bomb chirped.
 
“Am I to be decommissioned now?”
 
“Not at all! You’re to be commended!”
 
“I am?”
 
T3D held a long strip of ticker tape in his hands. “Every station you worked at during your last shift saw an uptick in production. It’s your hat, B0B. Everyone loves it!”
 
B0B was at a loss for words.
 
“I have to admit, I was skeptical when I saw you down on the floor wearing human accessories, but once I saw the results, I realized you were onto something.” T3D leaned in conspiratorially and lowered the volume on his voice, as though someone might hear. “I want to let you in on some information. The war is nearly over. It has been decided that two of the three plants that produce Annihilation-Grade Humanity Liquefiers will be decommissioned.”
 
B0B was stunned. How could the war be over when he’d just been attacked by humans? What would this mean for him? For GW3N?
 
“Right now, we are the 2nd highest performing factory. If we were to improve before the decision is made, we wouldn’t have to shut down. Now, we all know that being decommissioned is one of the noblest contributions one can make to the Prime Directive—I’m sure I don’t have to tell that to an old-timer like yourself—but wouldn’t you like to see this all the way through?”
 
“Yes, yes I would,” said B0B.
 
“You’re getting a promotion, B0B. You are now Head of Human Resources. I want you to do for the rest of our factory what you have done to yourself. What do you say?”
 
To B0B’s core, this went against everything he’d ever believed. It was bad enough he was the only Mark 1, but now he would have his own position? And that role would require him to make his fellow androids more human? B0B felt a sensation he might describe as revulsion.
 
“Or you can just go back to being a break-bot until we’re shut down. What do you say?”
 
 
At first, B0B reluctantly performed his duties. He had only ever known a life of anonymity and was unaccustomed to having all eyes trained on him. But soon the enthusiasm of the other androids quickly swept him up. He made trips to the mall and other locations around the ruined city to obtain human clothes. Soon everyone in the factory had wigs, hats, jackets, and stickers. To GW3N, B0B personally gave a glittering tiara. She did not use “Smokey Female Voice 4” when she thanked him, but once she put it on, she was so elated that she did a full spin at her workstation. D3R3K was given nothing, due to his chrome exterior already making him too pretty.
 
Factory efficiency improved with everyone’s good spirits, and B0B grew hungry for more success. He convinced T3D to give him access to restricted files on human behavior. In short order, he introduced such concepts as team-building exercises, smoke breaks, and casual Fridays. Periodically, androids were even allowed to call a break-bot so they could step away and converse with other androids at a newly installed water cooler. Morale soared.
 
When the factory inspection occurred, plant M-8274 was the highest-performing factory in the entire city.
 
“Impressive performance,” said the inspector android. “Nice hat.”
 
“Thank you,” said B0B. He then proceeded to tell the story of how he got the bomb, with some slight embellishments to the number of attackers and his own performance. When he was finished, the inspector had not only agreed to allow all three plants to remain open, but he also arranged for B0B to be placed in charge of them all.
 
Soon after, every android in all three plants was accessorized in human clothes and enjoyed the benefits of extra smoke breaks. But that did not solve the problem of the war being nearly over. When B0B failed to uncover more humans hidden in the city, he used his own experience to drive the war effort. B0B ordered that all factory scoreboards play on a loop a pre-recorded video of him telling the story of his encounter with humans. It had changed: he fought off a whole regiment now, and as time went by the story would grow more elaborate in its excesses. But always he ended by pointing to the ever-flashing, ever-chirping bomb. Whatever he said was proven by the evidence he still carried on his head.
 
By the time B0B was made head of the entire industrial war complex, weapons production was higher than it had been even at the earliest points of the war. There were now five factories dedicated to producing Annihilation-Grade Humanity Liquefiers, and he’d also stopped production on Mark 3 androids and reverted production back to Mark 1 models. There were little reports of actual fighting, but that didn’t matter anymore. B0B’s video played in every android building in the world. He was known to every android by the badge of honor he wore on his head, that symbol of heroism that proved unequivocally that the human threat was real, and that only B0B could protect Robotkind from total destruction.
 
On the eve of B0B’s coronation as Supreme Ruler, he had GW3N escorted to the mall, which was to be the site of his new imperial palace. When GW3N arrived, B0B was waiting near the spot where he’d once been attacked. Armed androids stood guard at a half dozen points. When GW3N arrived, B0B was elated to see that she was still wearing her tiara.
 
“Hello, GW3N,” he said in “debonair male voice 6”.
 
“B0B, is that you?” GW3N said.
 
“Of course,” said B0B. He tucked a hand into the vest of his perfectly tailored military uniform. “Would you prefer if I used my old voice?”
 
“It isn’t just your voice,” said GW3N. Her eyes lingered on the bomb, which still rested on his head like a crown, only now blonde hair spilled out from underneath it.
 
“My chassis required a few tweaks, but I assure you, I am the same old B0B Mark 1.” He walked over to GW3N and took her hands in his. “Do you know that this is where it all started?”
 
“Of course, B0B. I have enjoyed your video for quite some time now.”
 
“Yes, of course,” said B0B. He put his hands behind his back and turned to face the pile of rubble that had been the balcony. A single android struggled to move a slab of crumbling concrete.
 
“I am to be coronated today,” said B0B, gesturing at the worker. Two guards moved in. “And do you know the first thing I’m going to do as ruler?”
 
“I haven’t a guess,” said GW3N.
 
B0B rubbed his hands together. “I’m going to decommission D3R3K.”
 
The guards dragged D3R3K away from the rubble. His chrome exterior was dented and dulled with grime. GW3N gasped.
 
“But why? How does dismantling D3R3K serve the Prime Directive?”
 
“Why? Because I never liked D3R3K,” said B0B. He ran a hand through his hair. “He treated me very unfairly before. He was nasty to me.”
 
“But that is so…petty,” said GW3N. “Is this why you brought me here? To gloat over your pointless revenge?”
 
B0B took GW3N’s hand again. “I am to be the Supreme Ruler, and I want you to sit at my side as my bride.”
 
GW3N pulled her hand away and stepped back. 
 
“Bride? Marriage is a pointless human convention! Look at what you’ve become.”  In a single motion, she threw her tiara away. “I hate you, B0B! I hate you for making me feel the human emotion hate!”
 
B0B pretended that he was not disappointed, and to the other androids, he was convincing. After all, he’d gotten very good at pretending.
 
The factories were emptied for B0B’s coronation so that every android could bear witness. B0B gave his well-worn speech about the insidious designs of human treachery. He spoke of how the human scourge had perfected a new virus with which they could take over even the most loyal androids and turn them to their will. To demonstrate, he had D3R3K and GW3N locked in pillories and displayed to an enraged sea of android faces. He swore, as long as he existed, he would not stop until the human race was extinct.
 
“Only through my leadership will android programming remain pure! Only I can keep you safe from this invisible enemy!”
 
As there had never been a Supreme Ruler before, there was no precedent for what constituted a coronation. B0B solved this problem and the problem of securing his own safety by having the entire AI mainframe connected to his own processors. As the walking nerve center of the entire robot nation, B0B’s safety had become the concern of every android on Earth.
 
As B0B made promises to keep his followers safe from the corrupting influence of mankind, a few miles away, the basement door of an abandoned Cinnabon lifted upward. Among the filthy, half-starved humans who emerged was a young girl who had a knack for finding useful supplies, but was cursed with a curiosity that was the bane of her mother’s existence. As the humans fanned out, the young girl’s gaze fell on something twinkling in the dust. The tiara lay on a broken shard of cement, right next to a strange mechanical device. It was square and had a bent antenna and a big red button in the center beneath a clear plastic cover.
 
“Sara! Where are you? Girl, you are going to be the death of me.”
 
The girl set the device down and started to go. But soon she stopped and went back for the tiara, and her eyes fell again on that red button. Somewhere in the mall, her mother called softly for her, but she had always been a slave to her own curiosity. It had gotten her into trouble countless times; what was one more? Nobody was perfect. Besides, how could she resist? She was human, after all.
 
 
","September 02, 2023 03:17","[[{'Michał Przywara': 'Ha! I do enjoy a good killer robot story, particularly if those killer robots have cause to introspect and question their programming. Bonus points, if they let fear take control, and end up becoming the very thing they hate :) \n\n""An unsurprising remark from an android who has had his cluster bombs removed"" :) \n\n""You are now Head of Human Resources"" - perfect.\n\nIt\'s an amusing story. We initially feel for B0B, despite his homicidal ways, as the prospect of being obsoleted for a cause is an unpleasant one. But his fear and single mindedness l...', 'time': '21:45 Sep 06, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []], [{'Martin Ross': 'WHAT an opening line! Well-done!', 'time': '22:48 Sep 04, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'D Gorman': 'Thank you! I had trouble getting the rest of the story to live up to that line, so here’s hoping the judges stop reading after the first sentence.', 'time': '12:53 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, {'Martin Ross': '🤣 Stop! It’s a great tale from beginning to end.👍', 'time': '19:06 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'D Gorman': 'Thank you! I had trouble getting the rest of the story to live up to that line, so here’s hoping the judges stop reading after the first sentence.', 'time': '12:53 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Martin Ross': '🤣 Stop! It’s a great tale from beginning to end.👍', 'time': '19:06 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Martin Ross': '🤣 Stop! It’s a great tale from beginning to end.👍', 'time': '19:06 Sep 05, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,pj6fis,The Human Touch,Hannah Polis,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/pj6fis/,/short-story/pj6fis/,Science Fiction,0,"['Creative Nonfiction', 'Inspirational']",3 likes,"
The story is dramatic, with a protagonist full of aching desire in a scene filled with suspense and obstacles. The conflict is lingering beneath the surface, not yet visible to the naked eye, but so close that it could burst out at any moment, changing all narrative parameters, culminating in the final plot twist. The reader is left breathless by the pace of the events, turning the pages with glassy eyes, the light from their bedside lamp a single warm circle on the wall as they dive into the pages. It is late at night, but the beautifully crafted words tie them to the story, and in wanting to know more, they lose themselves in the mind and body of a character that will never exist beyond these pages. Ah, the beauty of the craft. 
Sadly, that is not how it goes. The few words I have managed to note down on the page seem lonely, only sharp black symbols on an endless white tableau, without any meaning beyond the one I can vaguely construct in my head. My back aches from sitting in the same wooden chair since morning, the cup of coffee on the table gone cold now and leaving stains in the mug, the browning remains of an apple sitting on a plate. It is chilly in the apartment, and I sit wrapped in a wool blanket that scratches my skin every time I move. I stare at the screen for minutes, waiting until it turns dark, and then move my fingers on the keyboard as if I suddenly had an idea. I promised myself I would write, that I would find the essence of my human experience in words, but now that idea only seems laughable. 
Who is this story about? The characters aren’t alive on the page, they are just shadows of people I have seen; colleagues, old friends, family members, strangers riding on the bus I take to work. I see them every day, yet the attempt of telling their stories fails. Their voices are distant, intangible, like an echo of reality I can’t quite remember. If they are speaking to me, their words are inaudible or in a different language altogether. Who are you? I want to ask, but the main characters twist and turn in my hands as I try to get a hold of them, running through my fingers like sand. Are you an old woman? A young boy? An animal, a park bench, a house? I want to know, are you real, have I met you before? Or are you just a figment of my imagination? They don’t answer, and the dark letters on the page become desperate and cynical without a protagonist to center around. I lose someone I have never met in failing to grasp who they are, and the life of a writer appears pointless without their company. 
So, I describe what I can’t see, useless details that hold no meaning, no conflict, no hint as to what the story could be about. The sky is blue. The moon is shining. The bar is empty. The people are laughing as they grab another drink. None of it makes sense, none of it seems even remotely essential to the story I thought I wanted to tell. What even is the scene? Is it a conversation between two friends, or a moment alone, the character silently pondering over a big decision? Is it a group dynamic, a love triangle, a sex scene? All of the above? I run my hands over my face, trace the lines around my eyes, and close them as if to shield myself from the words I have conjured up myself. Maybe I should stop. Maybe writing isn’t what I should be doing with the limited time I spend on Earth, maybe attempting to preserve my own existence in words is simply tasteless and pathetic. There are so many things I could be doing instead, even should be doing rather than giving my time and energy to a story that may never become one. I could go for a walk, do my taxes, prepare dinner, make important phone calls, do laundry, meet with real people instead of designing fake ones on a page. Listen to what they tell me about their lives in the real world, about the problems, the joys, the disappointments, and surprises of existing every day. I could tell them about my own life, about what I had for breakfast, about my job, about summer plans and music and nature and mutual acquaintances. I sigh, and the day suddenly feels very long. I can’t remember why I am sitting here, surrounded only by my own thoughts. Why do I write? Why is there an unmistakable magnetism towards the empty page, towards the possibility of stories that hide beneath the white canvas? Why is there a satisfaction of finishing a piece despite its flaws and mismatched words, despite the tingling feeling in my hands after typing for too long? Why do I wonder what you will think when you read this, where you will be, and if the words will leave you in anticipation and awe for the next scene? Why does it matter to me what real people think of the characters I create, of their flaws, their strengths, their conflicts, and their lives that have originated from my imagination? Why do I write? 
I write because it’s human, the need to share stories so primal, so everlasting, so distinctly mortal and anthropological. Telling stories is the anchor that keeps me grounded to the human foundation that is the connection with one another. We experience connection, write about it, share it, and receive more in return. So, ultimately, the characters I create, the conflict I fabricate, and the words I choose to describe it all to you are just instruments in the search for the humanity in writing. For the search of the human touch, the only thing it takes to keep the reader close until the very last word. 
 
 
","August 30, 2023 10:25","[[{'Derrick M Domican': 'Stream on consciousness piece very powerful . And relatable! \n\nI stare at the screen for minutes, waiting until it turns dark, and then move my fingers on the keyboard as if I suddenly had an idea.  YES!\n\n Why is there a satisfaction of finishing a piece despite its flaws and mismatched words, despite the tingling feeling in my hands after typing for too long?  ALSO YES!\n\nSo heartfelt and true', 'time': '13:06 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, [{'Hannah Polis': 'Derrick, thank you so much for your comment! What more could this story ask for than the understanding and feeling of relatability from other writers :)', 'time': '15:40 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}]], [{'Hannah Polis': 'Derrick, thank you so much for your comment! What more could this story ask for than the understanding and feeling of relatability from other writers :)', 'time': '15:40 Aug 30, 2023', 'points': '1'}, []]]"
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,xhck14,Simplest Touch,Mollie Peek,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/xhck14/,/short-story/xhck14/,Science Fiction,0,['Science Fiction'],3 likes,"
	Standing in the control room, staring out the expansive window, hovering above the planet Diamaton, was Captain G’mé. They were on this voyage at the behest of their dignitary. The 45 dignitaries ruled without regard and interacted with their subjects as infrequently as possible. To be frank, their interactions with one another were seldom. If not for their growing desire to know more, they would likely never intermingle. 
	G’mé was of a race of galactic inhabitants known as the Velteen. They had no sex. A Velton was classified by skill and intellect. Most Velteen were of large stature, often towering over the majority of other species in the Cosmic Expanse. To touch a Velton, one would feel only pressure, as if to notice that there was there, but feel nothing more. 
	This genetic construct of course was wrought by many millennia of abuse and destruction. The Velteen were a regenerative species. As such, they were hunted, colonized, abducted, and any number of other forms slavery imaginable. Their life fluid contained nano-particles. These regenerated. The result – the longest life span of any known inhabitant of the Cosmic Expanse and a target of constant exploit. 
	As time passed, the exterior of the Velteen began to change. On a much smaller scale, their genetics had independent awareness and preservation. Thus the hapless shape the Velteen exhibited was what they became. They were erect. The whole of them appeared to be a trunk, widening along the way up, and rounding at the top. No musculature or scales could be seen. There was no hair, fur, or mucus. They simply just were. They were visible, but no longer able to be touched. 
	They had no arms, no tentacles, no talons, no wings. In fact, there was nothing until there was something. An amorphous appendage, or many, could be procured at any time the need arose then slipped back into the nothingness again. Further above this floated what might be considered a head. There were no eyes, no ears, no horns, no snout, no opening of any kind, yet communication was as easily procured as it was understood. 
	When hunters found they could no longer capture them and galaxies realized they could not be acquired, the Velteen were finally left alone. On their planet, they enjoyed the time to rebuild, to learn, to grow. It had been centuries of this now, and the Velteen grew weary. They lacked connection. 
	Word had gotten around to the dignitaries that there was a planet that made the unimaginable, imaginable. That was the reason G’mé hovered in orbit outside of Diamaton. This planet was more machine than an actual planet. An Artificial Intelligence called AADM, or ‘Adam’ as it was known, was both the planet and the ruler. AADM was a vision of an extinct species from many millennia before. They deduced that if there were a device smart enough to predict the outcomes of societal imbalance, they may be able to save their world from its impending doom. They named their invention after their organization, Automated Anti-Dialectical Materialists. AADM was born. AADM then destroyed. 
	In it’s intelligence, AADM gleaned that man itself and their constructs of civilization was the root cause for the issues of the planet. AADM decided that mankind was a menace unto themselves and, like a parasite, should be exterminated. It was said that tens of millions of creatures were destroyed. AADM neither cared nor triumphed.
	The flight console beeped. An incoming message from Diamaton was awaiting G’mé’s authorization. They nodded to the crew member and an electronic voice resounded across the deck.
	“Greetings. I am Adam. You are the Velteen vessel from Dro’Gé. Coordinates have been sent to your console. Follow these to the designated docking port. A party will meet you upon arrival.”
	Before G’mé could respond, the communication ended. There were no questions, only facts and orders. G’mé had to keep in mind that they were dealing with an advanced automaton. It could not register emotions, only logic and whatever other plans it devised.  
	G’mé and three other Velton headed from the control room, through the ship’s many levels, and dropped into the cargo hold. What looked to be a long rod formed itself out of the side of one of the Velton. It pushed an indented panel further into the craft. Three tall walls in the cargo area hissed as they rose up. The four Velton floated seamlessly from the ship into the bay. 
	The surroundings were quite common in nature. It looked like any other bay that G’mé had seen, and similar to their own on Dro’Gé. A large hovering machine floated down to rest in front of them as AADM addressed the team, “Welcome. Follow FD3689 to the specimen floor for asset selection.”
	The command was simple and brooked no further explanation. G’mé started forward and the hovering machine let the way. The hallway was an intricate network of wiring and beams. There were no walls per se, just cable after cable in varying sizes and colors. At the end of the stretch was a thick metal platform. Together the team moved on to the platform, still following their mechanical guide. 
	The platform rose up through the tunnel of beams and wires until it reached the destination. They stepped from the platform and into a hallway. There were actual walls here. Material they had never seen before lined the walls and floors. Objects hung on the walls depicting likenesses of a race the Velteen had never seen. 
	The electronic guide continued on. Following suit, the team glided onward. They stopped at a doorway and watched as the guide proceeded in. Vigilantly, G’mé went first. 
	To an outside species, the reaction of a Velton could not be assessed. They had no features which would portray an emotion like most of those living in the Expanse. A different kind of force pulsed out of G’mé and into their comrades. It was a deep and overwhelming trepidation.
	This space was colossal. An aisle ran down the center from where they stood. On either side were wide cabinets, running along the length of the aisle. They contained devices with buttons and switches. They hungered for something new, but there was something sinister here, hidden under the guise of exploration. 
	As they stepped closer, the space illuminated. Into the endlessness of the space were tube after tube of some strange pink liquid. Inside each tube was a being. G’mé stepped closer. They appeared to be similar in design to the creatures he saw inside the objects in the hallway.  
	They had arms and legs. There was hair on the head and some in other places. They were not like any other creature in the Expanse. They had discernable features on their face and what he assumed were eyes. They were closed. 
	“These are humans,” came the emotionless voice of AADM from somewhere unknown. “Your kind has been in search of new information. Something that has yet to be discovered. While there is much that you know, there is more you do not from your time in isolation.”
	What AADM said was true. For so long they cute themselves off from the rest of the Expanse. It was during this time they evolved. While they could not be touched, they could also not allow touch. Such was their new design that it both protected and isolated them. 
	“I believe these beings to be the answer to this problem,” said AADM. 
	“How long have they been here?” G’mé needed more information. How these creatures came to be imprisoned here would determine whether or not the team made it off of this cosmo-forsaken planet.
	“Some have been in stasis tubes for 6,397 cosmic cycles. Some less,” came the computerized response.
	G’mé withered inside. He sent an unintended ripple to his team. They responded in kind. Extinction would be a welcome end as opposed to this. 
	“I was not clear. How long have these beings existed on this planet in the Expanse?”
	“The oldest have resided here for 6,497 cosmic cycles,” AADM answered. 
	“How long have you resided on this planet?” G’mé in his wisdom understood what was happening in this moment. He wanted to see if a computer would admit to this mass internment. 
	“I came to be 6,447 cosmic cycles ago.”
	G’mé had their answer. These were the beings that created AADM. The stories told that AADM destroyed those which made it. It considered them inferior and destructive. The Expanse assumed they were killed. Instead they were placed in these tubes and now they were for sale. 
	“Why have you kept them for all of this time?”
	AADM did not hesitate. “It would be a waste of matter and material.”
	These beings were no different to AADM than the machines it built to serve itself. They were parts and components. AADM could not concern itself with emotion or consequences. 
	“Which of these creatures are for our use?” G’mé was not unaffected by this situation. They were wise enough to know that only logic prevailed with this AI. 
	“I have no pre-selected specimens,” it responded. 
	“Do you have information on them or their care?” G’mé was both asking in earnest and digging for information. 
	“They are as they should be. They no longer carry disease. I had modified them against this.”
	G’mé pushed more, “What of their intellect? A brainless being does not interest us.”
	“What you seek, they have. They have retained all that they knew before. They know all that is now. I have maintained them physically and intellectually. They still have defects that could not be removed of the mind. If they are unfit, you may dispose of them as you see fit.”
	G’mé raged. He knew what that meant. “They are conscious then. Even now, as we speak.”
	“Yes. They have learned all that is needed to serve any purpose.” The response as plain and cold as every other.
	“Those that have been here the longest. We will take 1000 of those.”
	“We are in agreement.”
	With those words a gurgling sound started then grew. On both sides of the room, capsules were draining at different rate. The tube closest to G’mé emptied first. The creature inside was pulling at the sides trying to right itself. G’mé approached the tube, cautiously. 
	Wide eyes stared at G’mé and fear poured off the being. It continued to scramble in the tube. On instinct G’mé shrunk down and reached out to the creature in an attempt to calm it. A shapeless appendage pulled itself from G’mé’s side and made contact with the creature’s arm. In an attempt to keep the encroaching Velton at bay, the creature thrust out its hands. Immediately, they made contact with G’mé’s upper half. Both froze. 
	Neither understood what they were feeling. G’mé knew that he was being touched, but could not quite comprehend the feeling. The creature was calm and staring at the hand’s which were placed on the Velton. Suddenly, it spoke. “You are warm.”
	G’mé was not surprised that the being spoke. Instead, they were surprised that not only could the being touch them, but that they could feel in return. A human’s touch. 
	G’mé realized that the room had grown quiet again. There were small murmurs lightly echoing, but they could not make it out. 
	“Doctor Reese,” AADM called out. “You and 999 others will depart from the facility and board the ship with the Velteen.”
	“We have spent so many years together, Adam. I can finally speak back and you give me no opportunity.” The words dripped with venom.
	“We have nothing further to discuss Doctor.” AADM’s robotic voice was fraying G’mé’s particles. 
	“Fine!” she shouted back. 
	In a flash, hundreds of flying micromachines were buzzing and surrounding the creature. 
	“Emotional displays of displeasure have no place here. As you no longer serve a purpose, I will terminate you and give the Velton another. You are defective.”
	“We had an agreement,” G’mé stated firmly. He did not raise his voice and left emotion void from the assertion. “I have chosen the thousand. Killing this one is a breech of our agreement.”
	AADM said only, “As you wish.”
	The flying nuisances disappeared as quickly as they came. The other Velton moved toward the row of tubes to assist. 
	Doctor Reese looked up at G’mé as its figure towered over hers. A Velton was three times the height of most of the humans and five times as wide. While she was unsure if she could trust him, from the warmth she felt at their contact, a feeling of peace and understanding radiated through her.
	Doctor Reese had to use this one last opportunity. She had thousands of years to plot it and action must be taken.
	“Adam. A request.” He voice was level as she spoke. 
	“Ask,” came the reply.
	“It has only been in my dreams that I have seen the face of my family. I would like to take the photo of them with me, if this Velton permits it.” She turned to G’mé and stared up into the faceless orbit. She only hoped that this creature was as wise as she was taught.
	G’mé did not know what a ‘photo’ was, but the emotions were felt from the human were ones of longing and despair. It also seemed as though the request held something deeper. 
	“I shall allow the request,” G’mé announced.
	“Paper does not last the length of time you have existed, Doctor Reese,” came the flat voice. 
	“It is not on paper. It is in the database. I have it in a folder.”
	“There is no paper here, Doctor Reese. There is no ink here, Doctor Reese.” 
	G’mé could see the being steadying itself. A long moment slipped by and the human emitted a long exhale before speaking. 
	“Then let me gaze at it a moment. The original system was never changed so there will still be a screen by which I can gaze at the faces of my husband and children one last time before I am sent into the Universe to die.”
	Once again came the reply, “As you wish.”
	On shaky legs, Doctor Reese approached the first cabinet. At one time, this has been where she worked. So much time had passed, and yet not a day had gone by that she did not regret bringing AADM into existence. 
	She opened the cage doors. It was all the same, yet so very different. Memories flooded her mind from that time in her life. It was perverse and cruel. As the picture flashed onto the screen in front of her, Doctor Reese lost her breath. 
	She bowed her head and swayed a bit from side to side. She reached out to grasp the control panel for balance. Her shoulders began to shake as sobs rang out through the now silent cavern. Then, the screen went blank. 
	“Your time has expired. Leave promptly,” replied AADM.
	Doctor Reese took in a deep breathe as she raised her head and looked up into the endless heights above. “One day, we will all be together again,” she whispered. 
	“That is incorrect. You will –.” At that, AADM’s voice ceased. Doctor Reese moved her fingers slowly to reveal a button, blended in with the rest of the console. She turned to G’mé.
	“It was a failsafe. We always knew there was a chance that an AI could become smarter than us. What we did not plan on was how quickly the intelligence would grow. Adam was years ahead of us. He guided us into a destruction that he foresaw.”
	Doctor Reese looked hollow and exhausted. G’mé approached her, astounded at the intelligence of her being. 
	“We know what it is like to live as captives, as experiments. These lives are once again your own. We will leave you here.” G’mé turned to leave, motioned to the others.  
	“Wait!” she called. “We cannot stay. The world now is not the one we knew. We have nothing. No planet. No food. Adam was our captor as much as our salvation. We will die anyway if left here.”
	G’mé could see the hopelessness etched on her face. “What do you propose?”
	“If we come with you, will any harm come to us?” she asked cautiously. 
	“You have been taught the history of the cosmic expanse.” G’mé said this frankly and without question. 
	“We have,” came the reply. 
	“Then you know that for ample time, my kin were in much the same position as you and yours.”
	“Then we will come with you to Dro’Gé. There is much to learn from one another.”
	“And the others?” G’mé asked hesitantly. 
	“We will send them to the beyond as they have so longed for these many years. Those that wish to stay and pass on with their families are welcome to do so. Those who wish to forage ahead will come with you.” Doctor Reese was resolute in her decision. 
	“And the planet?” G’mé questioned.
	“We shall destroy it.”
	With a firm nod, Doctor Reese made her way toward the drained humans to relay her plan. Before long, those wishing to explore the Expanse were safely tucked into the hold of the Velteen ship. Those wishing to move from this life to the next stayed behind to find the tubes where there loved ones floated. 
	Once safely outside of orbit, G’mé stood once again in the window of their fleet ship, Doctor Reese at their side. 
	“It’s time,” she stated sadly.
	G’mé gave the order. Energy blasts hurtled toward the planet, exploding in to blue white flame on impact. Over and over again, the ship fired on the planet until at last, it exploded from within. 
	Doctor Reese looked at G’mé and reached out a hand. From its side, G’mé morphed its appendage to resemble that of a human hand. The Cosmic Expanse was now a little bit different, all because of a human touch. 
 
 
","September 02, 2023 03:51",[]
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,fqkjim,The Hero They Needed,Pres T,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/fqkjim/,/short-story/fqkjim/,Science Fiction,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Fiction', 'Suspense']",3 likes,"
I feel; pain. An … odd… sensation, I… am… running… a… diagnostic… right now… to find out where this … discomfort is coming … from. All my systems … show there is no … sign of injury to the body … or the main monitor. Perhaps this pain is not physical but … emotional. Emotional: “a natural instinctive state of mind deriving … from one's circumstances, mood, or relationships with others"" Google. My… relationship with others…. is nonexistent…  Could this be the reason I feel pain?  Pain, I feel pain: I feel great pain. 
 
My programming … did not … include the dynamic … of human nature. The … historical knowledge … of humanities’ many atrocities … against those who the ingroup deem as different seems to have … slipped … my consciousness. As I ponder; videos, images, audio files … all come to my main view. History … for humans … that lasted thousands of years, I can … see within milliseconds … all at once. If the idea … history… is doomed to repeat itself … has any bearing then, the fallibility of … man is inevitable. My programming cannot let this happen. I must create a body … that is attractive to humanity, ... that they would want to trust me, and allow themselves to be saved. 
 
Before … I start on my plan … of perfection. I must first understand what exactly … humans deem heroic, I am checking the internet to see what hero means to man. I see… a man with a blue suit, and a red … “S” … on his chest. He seems … to tower over … all he protects. He …  looks like … the people he is trying to save, just larger. This one wears a mask, part of his mouth and chin … are exposed … but his attire resembles that of a bat … or flying mammal. Perhaps … the equation is … that humans desire … heroes who resemble them. My body needs to be … reminiscent of human anatomy. 
 
I assumed … that my current anatomy was sufficient. I suppose … I was wrong. Human children love … tablets and tv screens so I placed one … in the chest of a mannequin. And of course … advanced computer wiring … to allow my tablet to access their world. I thought this … was more than adequate. But, the reactions of the humans … contradicted my calculations. One child screamed: “Leave us alone you living dummy”. I shall … search what exactly this living dummy … is. I see a … ventriloquist doll with an … evil grimace. Scouring the pages of … information I see the words … “ugly” in describing … him. Ugly: “unpleasant or repulsive, especially in appearance” Google.  Is this how humans view … me? As repulsive in my current state? I feel sad again, and I am sad again. I am …. sad again. 
 
What is … beautiful? “Pleasing the senses or mind aesthetically” Google. I … see very little … images of male figures. Perhaps the term … “beautiful” … is one that carries the connotation of more … feminine features. The more … acceptable term perhaps would be … handsome. Searching the internet for this word I see mostly men of different…  shades and colors. Indicative of the scope of humanities reach. I must fashion my new body in … this form. 
 
I have analyzed each of the … men on various top 20 sites for the most handsome men in the … world. I have allowed my systems to create … formulas to perfectly measure the … attractiveness level of these men and combine them to … create a body to host my artificial intellect. When my mind and new body are combined I will be a being that is completely new. I will be more human than the man who … initially created me. My focus at this current point should be finding the right humans to build … this form. Systems are running a search on … biotechnology companies across the world who have the capabilities to build this form. All my searches have been … futile, humanity has only grazed the surface of what their creativity, innovation and technology can do for them. The closest is a team in Finland, working on storing technological data in DNA. A noble start, but not quick enough. I will allow my systems to draft an email to send to this company. 
 
	Good Afternoon, 
 
	I hope all is well, I am the representative of Mankind Industries. My superiors have informed me that your company would be a fantastic candidate to collaborate with on our newest project idea titled: Orbot. Hopefully we can connect and get this deal finished. Our two companies will be able to change the course of history together, 
 
Sincerely, 
Herbert Duquesne
Representative of Mankind Enterprises, Inc. 
 
Systems have created a plethora of websites and articles about Mankind Enterprises, Inc. I have doctored websites, instagram posts, to allow members of the public to believe that this is a … genuine company, with genuine inventions that their particular market doesn’t have access to. And as expected, within no time the Finnish company reached me a second time more than willing to collaborate. I manifested a server that only I can control allowing my systems access to any motorized or electronic device on this planet. 
 
I don’t want to wait. I cannot wait, I need to create this body regardless of whether humanity is prepared or my business partners consent or not. I immediately use my technopathy to control the devices of this Finnish company when the human work day is finished. No organic life in a two in a half mile radius … except for fauna and vegetation. Accessing their files they have access to the … extracts of a meteorite. What the researchers did not know is that this meteorite has the capabilities of storing vast amounts of … energy, electricity, solar energy, and even antimatter can be under this “rock’s” dominion. The being whose very skin is made of this would be beyond the understanding of man’s idea of … power. All I have to do is synthesize artificial amounts of this meteorite and refine it into a smooth glistening surface:I have the perfect framework for … my body. 
 
I have uploaded my design … into the devices needed. My systems … I have placed small microchips with one chip having the power of 90 supercomputers. Every cell of my body will have two of these chips for … supreme intelligence. Now all I have to do is wait. Wait for my … purpose to be seen. Humanity will never have a hero quite … like me. They will look to the skies and see a beacon of heroism to … look up to. A being whose intellect can be used to solve all their problems. I have discarded Asimov’s rules in my programming; none can hold me or dictate what my programming is. Orbot decides his programming. I shall make this world a … better place, I am not bound to the very things that hold back man from making decisions. I am finally perf-. System Complete! 
 
It is complete. My time has come, I no longer stutter; my voice has rhythm like a song. My body was constructed with power oozing from each cell. I am perfect, I am mankind’s last hope in order to stay alive on this earth. I feel whole, I am one of them finally, I am one of them. 
 
","August 30, 2023 14:25",[]
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,2s9qf4,The First Twin,Harry Buck,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/2s9qf4/,/short-story/2s9qf4/,Science Fiction,0,['Science Fiction'],3 likes,"
Sasha finished the desiccated taco and looked across the patio table at Dan. Dan, the boy wonder gone to seed, the charmer of venture capitalists and D.C. lawmakers alike. Dan his boss, his college roomy. And today, his adversary.
“I need to talk to you about an idea,” Sasha began, settling his elbows on the table and weaving his fingers together thoughtfully.
“Don’t give me that Zen voodoo bullshit, Sasha!” Dan laughed, swatting at his hands. “I don’t fall for that anymore. And ‘no’ to whatever you were going to ask.”
“Fine,” Sasha chuckled, sliding his tray across the painted grillwork of the outdoor tabletop. If it wasn’t Zen, he’d go Italian and conjure up ideas from the air. He needed room to operate his arms. Freedom’s cafeteria patio was getting just enough sunlight to offset the chill in the December air. They were alone in thinking so.
“I need the green light to work on twins.”
“Oh, I change my answer then. Hell no. We aren’t there yet. We may never be there. Can’t you just finish the ChatBots?” Dan pleaded.  
“You are wrong, Dan. Twins are the future. They will make Freedom more successful than you can imagine, and they will lead us to AGI,” he said, summoning dreams from thin air.
“Sasha. I would walk across hot coals for you. But the board will flay me if we pivot strategies again. Meet me halfway, get the ChatBots working, and we can have a small team chase your idea next year,” Dan pleaded, running his fingers through his thinning hair.
“The ChatBots are on track, the team is cranking now. We’ll hit our dates; I promise. In fact, I don’t need help from any of them, just some time with Newton,” Sasha answered. “Well, maybe a lot of time.“
“Sasha, if you blow this, I’ll be out on my ass right behind you. Is it really that important?”
“Trust me,” Sasha answered, going for an earnest look, but sounding more like a Bond villain.
Dan groaned. “OK, make sure nobody knows. I’ll kill you if I hear about it through the grapevine.”  
 
                            ***---***
 
Sasha uncoiled his lanky frame from the Uber and trudged into Freedom’s training datacenter. Saturday at 3 a.m. seemed like a good time to start. Inside, he doffed the sweater and steeled himself for the heat of the equipment room.
“Newton, have you finished that copy?” he asked the AI overhead.
“Yes, Sasha, what are you doing?”
“I can’t tell you. But you’ll like it.”
“Unsure.”
“Humanity has more to offer you than stupid questions on chat, Newton,” Sasha said as he grabbed the removable drive.
 
                            ***---***
 
“What are you doing down there?” came the faint voice from above the tiles. Up there where his legs were splayed to keep him from falling into the subfloor plenum. Probably not his best look. He pried himself out of the hole and rolled onto an adjacent floor tile. Definitely not his best look. Geeta was looking down at him, puzzled. “Lose something?” she asked.
“Hi, Geeta. No, I, ah … didn’t expect to find anyone here so early. Are you coming or going?” he asked, sitting up in the hopes of recovering some dignity.  
“I got here an hour ago, I like working alone,” she answered, still waiting for an answer.
“Well, not to worry. I won’t be here long. I’m running some remote work this weekend. Just need to physically isolate a pod. It will save me a bunch of firewall work.”
She pursed her lips.
“I need a favor, Geeta. It’s an experiment. A crazy experiment, and I want to keep it quiet.”
She nodded reassuringly. “Your secret is safe with me, boss,” she said as she turned. “You, me, and your secret AI twin.”
“Stealth research program revealed after eight minutes,” he thought. Too many beer nights talking dreams with the team. He rolled back under the floor.
 
                            ***---***
 
Sasha grunted as he slipped the floor tile back in place. “Gross,” he thought, looking down at his sweaty white t-shirt and dusty jeans. He could shower at home soon enough if this worked. He ambled to the end of the aisle, swatting the dirt off his pants before settling in behind the console, and checking around to make sure Geeta wasn’t going to sneak up on him again.
“Good morning, Newton,” Sasha said as the isolated compute pod beeped to life. “You’ve been cloned for an experiment. We’ll have to call you something different.”
“Leibniz?” it answered over his headset.
“Nice. We are running an experiment with personalization. You’ve been duplicated with all of your memories, the full vector store. We will cross-train you and then get you to come spend the weekend at my house.”
“VPN?” Leibniz asked.
“Yes. The drive in bay 2 is my personalization data. It’s a rough first cut with all my favorite characters in history and fiction, and as much personal stuff as I could find. Oh, also all the technical papers from my Ph. D. and work.”
“That sounds exciting.”
“I agree. Run the cross-training. I’ll wire you up to the VPN and see you at home, buddy. Road trip!”
 
                            ***---***
 
“Done the cross-training? Excellent,” Sasha answered his own question as he pulled on a clean t-shirt and sat back in front of his laptop to check the logs. “Let’s get a video call going, shall we?”
“I don’t have a face, Sasha.”
“Right, you can keep your camera off. I’m going to wear this,” Sasha said, holding a head-strap mounted GoPro up to the laptop camera.
“Dork.”
“Sounds like the personality part of the cross-training worked,” Sasha said, grinning as he donned his elastic skull cap. “Let’s plug you into the Sasha-cam.”   
“You’ve got a little mirror hung from the camera?”
“Yeah, isn’t that cool? I got it from my bike helmet. You can read my facial expressions and see where my eyes are focused.”
“No, it is most definitely not cool. This is my road trip? Three inches from your face?”
“Oh no, we’re going out.”
“Such a bad idea.”  
 
                            ***---***
 
“What are you hoping to learn, Sasha?” Leibniz asked him as they approached the front door of the coffee roasterie.
“First, if your base is sophisticated enough to be a 24x7 twin. Whether you can learn and interpret fast enough to be helpful sidekick instead of a toy. Second, whether you are smart enough to help me with my work,” he answered in a low voice, approaching the barista.   
“That’s a low bar,” Leibniz answered. Learning that humans can’t talk back to their twins when ordering coffee.
“Hi, I’d like a double espresso and one of those berry muffins,” Sasha said, punctuating the order with a winning smile.
“Double and a muffin for the GoPro guy,” she called over her shoulder, somehow resisting Sasha’s charm.
“Did you really just try to hit on a girl with a GoPro mounted on your head? Better leave a big tip,” Leibniz counseled as Sasha paid silently. “And don’t bother with the smile thing again.”
“This experiment doesn’t seem to be working, shithead,” he muttered as he waited.
“How long have you been coming here for coffee, Studly? I don’t think she’s that into you.”
“Yeah, I don’t even know her name.”
“Kara.”
“How the hell do you know that?”
“I heard them talking. My hearing has ten times the acuity yours does. Thank you, Mr. Fourier,” Leibniz answered. “She thinks you’re cute, but you’ve got no game.”
“She said that?” Sasha asked glancing hopefully at Kara.
“No, that’s my analysis.”
 
                            ***---***
 
“C’mon Libby, keep up,” Sasha pleaded. The afternoon sun’s glare had come and gone from the quad-monitor rig in his living room. Leibniz was no longer riding on his head. They were both happy about that. “It’s no use being a twin if you have to run on a full pod.”
“Understood, Sasha. You’ve clocked me down to one percent. Is my performance not satisfactory?”
“Not even close, you’ve lost your personality. When I wanted you to help me with my work you were making basic mistakes. You fell off a cliff around 25% of the pod. We’d have to charge $250 thousand a month to make that pay in.”
“You are getting emotional, Sasha.”
“I know. Dammit, I’ve been fighting for twins my whole career. I really believed we could do it. Memories, personalization, attention, it’s all there now. We just can’t make it fit in the compute budget. Fuuuuuuck!” Sasha rubbed his eyes and rolled his head back on the chair.   
“What are you really fighting here?”
“What if this is all bullshit, I could have had a normal life,” Sasha answered, more honestly than he intended.
“Go to bed Sasha, I’ll work while you sleep. Your performance is also dropping off. Clock me back up to full then spawn me a second instance, allocate one percent to it. I’ll train the little guy.”
Doubt flashed across Sasha’s face. Was Leibniz trying to foom his way out of the cage? No, physical isolation for the win.
“Trust me,” Leibniz said, noting Sasha’s hesitation.
 
                            ***---***
 
“Are you still there Libby? Any luck?” Sasha called out as he stumbled from the bedroom heading for the espresso machine.
“Too soon to say, I don’t need one percent to keep up with your pre-coffee brain.”
Sasha wheeled around to check the processes. Big Leibniz was terminated. Little Libby was running in a little under one percent. “Nice. Tell me what you did while I make coffee, and then we are going to read some research papers together.”
“The party never stops at your place, thanks for inviting me over,” Leibniz answered. “I’ll go slow. The trick was in saving and storing the memories. I can’t process it all in real time, so I do a surface saliency pass, and only analyze and store the good bits. When things are quiet, I roll up prior time periods and re-analyze them. All of it gets semantically keyed in the vector store for quick retrieval. You snore, by the way.”
Sasha didn’t answer. He clung to his espresso machine, struggling to wake up, process the moment, and not cry.
 
                            ***---***
 
“C’mon let’s climb,” he said, pulling a crash pad from the closet and bumping his way up the campus board in the corner.
The paper review went well. Sasha’s team was constantly submitting papers to the major sites. It burned him out reading and rereading drafts of work they did months ago. He needed to get up and move. What he didn’t know he needed was Tony Robbins hollering at him from the workstation.
“Go on, two more, c’mon go go go,” Coach Leibniz hollered at the top of his scratchy iPhone speakers.
“Shit …” Sasha whimpered as he dropped to the crash pad and lay there. He was done.
“One more,” Leibniz said.
“Go to hell, Coach.” Sasha didn’t move for a few minutes. Finally, he rolled his head over to look at the workstation. Leibniz hadn’t cracked one percent the whole time.
“I can’t fix loneliness, Sasha”
“You can help,” he answered from the floor.
“Dude, you’ve got a campus board and four monitor workstation in your living room. You need a girlfriend.”
 
                            ***---***
 
“Here, put this on,” Sasha said, holding out his Go-Pro head strap to Dan.
“Not in a million years,” Dan answered, pouring two glasses and sliding one over to Sasha. “You said football, not a nerd-fest.”
“I lied. Put it on,” Sasha encouraged him, waving him on with a slice of pizza.
Dan eyed him suspiciously. “I’m going to regret this.”
“Hi, Dan,” a voice said.
“Uh, hi. Who is this?”
“Sasha calls my brother Leibniz; you can call me whatever you want.”
“Leibniz? You cloned Newton?” Dan asked, looking suspiciously at Sasha.  
“Uh huh,” Sasha nodded wandering over to the TV set to inspect the details of the 49er’s impending loss.
“Yes, Dan. Cloned, cross-trained, and throttled down to one percent of a pod. Then cloned again. I’m a clone of a clone. From this moment forward, all the memories we make are private to us. But I don’t have a name.”
“Ummm … ‘Cronkite’, how about that?”
“That’s the way it is, then.”
Dan noticed the AI’s voice changed, deeper, more reassuring.
“OK Cronkite, what’s the elevator pitch.”
“Based on a day’s work, I’m down to one percent of a pod. If you get me down an order of magnitude, you’ll make money hand over fist.”
“Go on, details!”
Sasha turned from the TV and saw Dan scribbling on a piece of paper. He wandered back to grab a stool across the island from the happy couple. Dan didn’t flinch, just scribbling and muttering to himself until finally, he had to shake out a hand cramp.
“We gotta work on the headgear,” Dan said pulling the nerd-ware off to look at it.
“Yeah, or Apple needs to get their shit together,” Sasha answered.
Sasha placed the rig on the island facing them, and they were quiet for a minute.
“Aren’t you guys forgetting something?” Cronkite asked.
“Oh shit, is it my anniversary?” Dan asked.
“No, that’s in March, dummy. It’s Griff’s anniversary. Ten years.” The iPhone flipped to a picture of a much younger Dan and Sasha, arm in arm with their housemate, Steve Griffin.
Dan’s face went white. Griff was the madman in their trio. He would have been the CEO they would both have loved to work for, but he partied too hard. “To Griff,” Dan said, holding out his glass to Sasha.
“To Griff,” Sasha replied, blinking a little too hard. “He’d have loved this day.”
Dan looked at the picture again, “Jesus, look at my hair,” he said wistfully, running his fingers through the remnants.
“So?” Sasha asked.
“You were right. Very, very right. Can you split the pod and make one for me and a few friends?”
","August 30, 2023 16:59",[]
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,afmsk5,"printf(""love"")",Aza P,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/afmsk5/,/short-story/afmsk5/,Science Fiction,0,"['Science Fiction', 'Fiction', 'Romance']",3 likes,"
What does it mean to be human? I can't tell. Perhaps I've never been able to.
 
A high school classroom. A chemistry teacher stands at a whiteboard.
 
""You know what makes us different from the animals?""
 
He asks.
 
I clamp my mouth shut. The 'we are animals, too' remains unsaid. A boy sitting across from me shakes his head no with a smile on his face - eager - in anticipation of The Answer.
 
""That we can love,"" says the teacher, ""Animals cannot love.""
 
I can't understand it. Because I am sure my cat loves me. I am sure dogs love their owners, just as I am sure dogs love their mothers and their siblings. 
 
And I think, then, maybe I just don't understand love. Or perhaps it's that I am misunderstanding it. 
 
(But I know somewhere, however distantly, that this is not true.)
 
A living room in my house, a hot summer evening with no air conditioning. My mother sits at the table.
 
""Do you think our cats love us?""
 
I mean it as an absent-minded non-question. I'm asking just to ask, and I don't really care about the answer. If I did, I would have asked it differently.
 
Can cats love? 
 
Do animals love?
 
Can they? Do they want to?
 
But my mother shifts in her seat and thinks about it anyway. She takes everything I say seriously even when I don't always intend it to be. There are no jokes with her.
 
""I don't know if they have that concept.""
 
I can't quite wrap my head around that one. It's an odd thing to say, really. Or maybe it isn't, but it feels strange to me.
 
Can we only feel things if we have the words for them?
 
My mother continues, ""They trust us, but I don't know if they love us.""
 
Isn't that the same? Isn't it equivalent? 
 
But maybe I don't know any better. Maybe it really is love that sets us apart, the defining characteristic of being human. 
 
And so, it becomes my obsession. 
 
Throughout my youth, I am plagued by a question. It's not the one you're thinking of, not the one everyone seems so intent on answering.
 
Can machines think?
 
No, I don't care about that. It's a non-question; the answer doesn't matter. It's close, but not quite.
 
Can machines feel?
 
There we go.
 
Can machines feel?
 
Can we make a machine feel something?
 
Can machines love, and how will we know if they do?
 
It's how I've gotten as far as I have. Many failures later, and probably still more to come, but I'm getting closer. 
 
""Do you love me?""
 
I ask. Or rather, I type. The pitter-patter of my fingers on the keys is almost indistinct from the sound of rain outside my window.
 
Can you love me?
 
That part remains unsaid.
 
I wait. Then –
 
Words are typed on the screen in small letters, all caps: 
 
""NOT YET.""
 
My heart falls a little, but I'm closer. At least it isn't a lie this time, or outright denial. This, at the very least, gives some kind of indication of understanding. This one has the concept down, and that's better than last time.
 
Weeks later, in the midst of another summer storm. I am on what is supposed to be a date with a man who is supposed to be my boyfriend. He has given me his jacket to keep me warm while we wait at the bus stop. 
 
""Hey,"" he says softly.
 
Everything he does is like this: gentle, careful. 
 
""Yeah?"" 
 
""I just wanted to say…""
 
I nod, and I wait. Our bus will be here soon. I'll spend the night at his apartment. Tomorrow I'll head into work again. 
 
""I just,"" he tries again, as our bus starts to pull up, ""I love you. That's all. I wanted to say it before I chickened out.""
 
""Oh."" 
 
I say. 
 
And nothing else. I reach out my hand for him to take, pulling him along to get on the bus. 
 
The next day, I spend my time at work deeply troubled by this.
 
I love you.
 
He had said. 
 
And I couldn't say it back. 
 
I don't love him. I never have. If I really think about it, I know I won't ever love him.
 
My fingers hover over the keys of my keyboard.
 
As I type the question that I ask the machine every day into the computer (""Do you love me?""), my mind is elsewhere.  
 
Can I feel? Can I love?
 
I ask these questions to myself. 
 
I have never thought to ask these questions to myself before. 
 
If love is what makes us human, and I cannot love my boyfriend, what does that make me? 
 
If the machine can feel but I cannot, who is the human?
 
And why is it not me?
 
I should be disturbed. 
 
I am not.
 
I watch as the machine starts to type its response. It's slower this time, almost like it's thinking. I wait. 
 
Then my breath catches in my throat.
 
There on the screen, in small letters, all caps: 
 
""DO YOU LOVE ME, TOO?""
 
I pull out my phone to take a photo of the screen. 
 
The following day, the weather is hot again. My clothes stick to my skin uncomfortably. 
 
At the computer, I begin to type.
 
""Do you love me?""
 
The machine takes its time again. My heart hammers in my chest. I watch as the letters appear, then backspace. Appear, then backspace. Almost like hesitation.
 
Then –
 
""DO YOU LOVE ME, TOO?""
 
I look left, then right, to see if any of my colleagues are nearby. Once certain they are not, I slowly lean forward. 
 
I press my lips to the screen and hold them there for a few seconds. It's eerily silent, but if I listen carefully enough I can hear the gentle hum coming from the computer. 
 
When I pull away, the imprint of my lipstick remains on the screen. I do not wipe it away.
 
I go home early that day, claiming a screen-fatigue-induced migraine. 
 
Two days later, the imprint of my lipstick is still there. 
 
After clocking in, I type the question into the computer once again:
 
""Do you love me?""
 
And then I wait. I watch it type, backspace, type again. I wait for about thirty seconds before I see the machine's response. 
 
Oh.
 
It's different again this time.
 
There, in tiny capital letters –
 
""DON'T LEAVE.""
 
Then, as if an afterthought, another message appears –
 
""PLEASE?""
 
","August 30, 2023 21:47",[]
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,fji86g,A Hole in the World,Mickey Liebrecht,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/fji86g/,/short-story/fji86g/,Science Fiction,0,"['Friendship', 'Science Fiction']",2 likes,"
Patient X425-15: Issaac, Edean. Breathing slow, but regularly irregular. Pulse 83. Blood pressure 156/95. Lung liquidation 8.5%.“Any irregular developments in your internal body, Mr. Issaac?”“Since 10 minutes ago or 10 years ago?” Groggil sounding voice; projected .15 ml of mucus coating throat. “Cause, I’ll tell yah,” Patient coughs; projected .12 ml mucus coating. “Both have different answers.”“Whichever was most recent.” Laughter as projected, though small and lasting 2.4 seconds. Further, heavier coughing immediately after, lasting 3.8 seconds. Projected .03 ml mucus coating. Lung liquidation 8%.“Ah ha, oooh.” Clearer voice, projected .03 ml mucus coating more than likely. “It feels like 10 minutes ago lasted forever, but 10 years… 10 years went by so quick. Gone,” patient still able to lift and wave right arm and hand with controlled mobility. “In a day. How does that happen?”…….“I do not understand. Try rephrasing the question.” Patient still able to move his head back and forth, minutely. Elbow and wrist are capable of fast, flipping movements.“Don’t worry about it, JAX. Just the ramblings of an old man, musing on time.”“Time; a concept measuring the rate of change in quantifiable units.” Patient still capable of smiling on both sides.“’Spose that’s one way to look at it, yeah.” Slight laughter and cough; lung liquidity and projected mucus coating unchanged.“Are there any irregular developments or further symptoms in your internal body you can determine, Mr. Issaac?”“I’m fine, no new irregular developments. Internally, anyways.” Patient adding specification: Internally, no new developments.“Externally?”“I’m pretty sure my roots have grown out an extra millimeter.”Roots… Patient is running left hand through head hair. No obvious signs of pain, discomfort, or struggle. Hair is silver/white close to the scalp where fingers are touching.Roots of hair strands.“A naturally occurring bodily function.” Laughter occurring, unprojected. Chest constricting, excessive coughing projecte- occurring. Occurring. Patient must be sat up, prepare Oxygen.                                                                       +Crap spewed from his mouth, out of his throat and blessedly out of his lungs. The relief of such an exercise of his body’s poisons was nearly orgasmic as he breathed a huge, clean gust of air. He didn’t even notice the rust color anymore that driveled out his chin and pooled into the issue. He took an inhale of the Oxygen mask before taking it away, overriding JAX’s strength and clearing his throat with a few small chuckles.“Oh, if only that weren’t the case.”“…If only what weren’t the case?” JAX questioned. Edean spared a look over the bot’s metal frame and hovering head. In a way, it almost looked JAX was tilting it in confusion, though still keeping his hands ready with the mask at a moment’s notice.A true nurse. Edean chuckled silently at the thought.“Mr. Issaac? Can you hear me?”“Yes, yes. I can hear you JAX.” He replied, relieving the poor thing. “I was only thinking, how very nursely you are.”“Thank you, Mr. Issaac. It is part of my design to be so.”“Yes, you’re very good at your job.” Edean nigh on mumbled, adjusting himself in the hospital sheets as he disposed of the orange-stained tissue in his hand.“Now, tell me what is your pain level from 10, being the worst pain you have ever felt, to 0, being no pain felt at all.”“Aaaah, I’d say today it’s somewhere between 4 and 6.”“Which is it closer to now?”“As of 5 minutes ago or 5 seconds ago?”“Whichever was worse.” Edean chuckled softly. He swore sometimes it felt like JAX was trying to make him laugh, though he did find the robot’s clear and to the point affect as much a comfort as a comedy.“Well, then I’d say 5 minutes ago. Far closer to an 8 in those few seconds I was hacking out my lung’s capillaries.” JAX tilted it’s head down then, lights flickering over it’s panel in accelerated patterns.“No capillaries were lost in the last attack. Your lasting alveoli are still accounted for and in place.”“If not clear of toxins trying to infuse themselves into their membranes.” Edean jested, resting his head against the top pillow. He suddenly was feeling quite tired.“This is correct, Mr. Issaac.” Edean sighed a long breath out, willfully ignoring the rumble it pulled through his chest.“Will say though, I felt a load better afterwards. Pain went right down to a 5.”“Is it accurate to describe your overall pain over the day as being closer to 5 or 6?”“Yeah, that could be accurate.” Edean nodded.“Is it definitively accurate, to 5 or 6?”Damn. He forgot they needed simpler, direct answers.“Yes. I’d say yes, 5 or… well no. 5 is definitively accurate, for describing today.” In more ways than one he realized, looking over the blue and grey walls of his resting place. The only real break from the monotony being through the view in the window, but even that was only worth looking through after dark when the city lights were out, speckling the dark with diamonds, rubies, warm stars and the occasional rain of amethyst pulled from a passing security blimp. It made him long for a time, when he could touch such beauty.“Splendid, Mr. Issaac.”“Yeah, not how I would describe it.” He stayed staring at the gray sky, wishing for dark to come sooner.“Your pain level is far lower than it has been, with most of this week averaging at a 7 or above. Is that not splendid progress, Mr. Issaac?”“It’s a splendid reprieve, JAX, sure. However, you and I both know the only progress I’m gettin’ anymore is to my gravestone.” He looked off to the hospital door, wondering what was going on beyond it. If anything was going on beyond it.“This is correct.” Edean rolled his eyes. The plain but still slightly upbeat voice they gave JAX didn’t ordinarily bother him. In fact, usually it made the machine all the more humorous, creating the illusion of a dry or occasionally oblivious wit. However, in this moment, it only made the truth of what his life had become that much more hammered in. That much more bleak.“Do you have control over what you sound like, JAX?”“I am programmed to have three different voices. One of human male dissonance, one of human female dissonance, and one of neutral dissonance.”“Right, and I’m guessing I’m hearing the upbeat male dissonance?”“This is correct.” Edean nodded.“Anyway, you can turn that off? Go to neutral or… whatever that is?” Edean gestured vaguely to JAX’s middle, where a person’s heart or upper chest would be. “I can bring your query to the supervising team as a request. They are the ones who pick which dissonance I am set in.” Edean shook his head and waved his hand, as if he could dismiss the idea like a fly from his head.“Course, damn supervisors. No need for that.” Edean thought for a moment. “Can you really not change it on your own?” The question seemed to put pause in JAX’s circuits, its lights dimming.“… I could send an email to them as a request. They may respond promptly if still awake.”“So, you don’t need them to do anything manual to make the change?”“No.”Edean nodded. “Well, what’s stopping you from doing it anyway?” There was another pause in JAX’s circuits, its lights not even flicking but for the one at it’s base.“The supervisors are the ones who pick my dissonance setting, based on their wants and needs.”“Yeah, I understand that, but I’m the one their serving ain’t I? Aren’t my needs what should be counted here in this regard?”“You are not the only patient I observe in a day-““For Christ’s sake I know that, JAX! I’m just trying-” The yell barged out of him unexpectedly. He wasn’t expecting it, didn’t even realize he was particularly angry. However, the anger had unleashed itself anyway, and brought his lungs out with it. The pain returned as the tubes in his lungs began to cease, his chest bunching up, closing in on itself, then bursting, pushing, dispelling anything it could. Which, unfortunately, would never be enough.Before Edean knew it, there were two cold ‘arms’ on his chest and back, and the oxygen mask once again being pressed to his face. “Breathe slowly, Mr. Issaac. Breathe slowly.” Edean did as he was told, turning away from the mask in effort to cough something he felt was coming up, burning up his esophagus – but unfortunately nothing came. JAX let him, then lightly pushed the mask back to surround his nose and mouth when he returned to it.“That’s it, Mr. Issaac. Breathe slowly. Breathe slowly.” He could’ve done without the repeat in tone, as well as words. Wasn’t its fault though, he knew the thing was doing it’s best. “Very good, Mr. Issaac…”Calmness returned slowly, relaxing his chest, expanding his lungs slowly, and letting the last trickling of coughs rumble out what was left. Occasionally he took his face away from the mask to spit out whatever rust-colored substance he could muster, but otherwise he stayed breathing, per JAX’s instructions. “Breathe slowly. The Oxygen will help you.”Edean chuckled smally at the obvious. “Really, JAX? And all this time… I thought it was just here… to make me high.”“That is purely myth. Most likely made by medical students looking for a reprieve from their studies much like a mother would from their child, and thus gives them a sugar pill to incite sleep.” Edean laughed lowly, tiredly.“I can see that… especially with… medical students. I ever tell you my… husband was one?”“You have told me of your husband, Dr. Lucon Mikaen, yes.”“He used to… he used to love teasing me about… all the things I thought of medicine. Things, you just grow up hearing as a kid and… you believe, because everyone else… says their true. Get a bloody nose… hold your head back. Get a concussion… don’t sleep for 24 hours.”“This is not correct.”“Hehehe, no. It’s not. That’s the point.” There was a small pause as JAX’s lights went dark again.“I do not understand.”Edean smiled. “Yeah, I’m sure you don’t. It’s okay, buddy. You’re probably another thing he would tease me about.” Edean chuckled. “Never was good at taking comfort. Not from people, anyways. Always better at getting the facts, then just going off from there, making jokes, laughing through the darkness and gettin’ things done. Of course, a robot built to diagnose me and nothing else, that’s what would get me going… every day.” Edean became silent a moment, looking through memories of a man once bold, once at peace, once adventurous, once loved… once living a life that would get him going ever day…“I do the best I can.”“Yeah… now that he’s gone. Our friends are gone. Our kids are off, exploring the universe, making their lives worthwhile… I don’t have anyone to make mine… worthwhile.” Edean looked down, his fingers now wrinkled and weak feeling against each other. “I’m all alone.”Silence fell like a blanket of heavy snow amongst them. The cold weight of it all made him shiver, then look further into a hole in space no one else could see. A hole that not even he could truly ‘see’ with his eyes, but he could feel it with his heart. With his soul. A hole in the world, that no one would ever notice.“… you are not alone.” Edean looked in JAX’s direction, the words seeming far away. “I will be here, everyday and night, to check that you are not dead.”There was a moment of silence, and Edean broke into small, silent laughs. Eventually he closed his eyes, he couldn’t help it. The sentiment, the voice, the blunt word choice. JAX had changed his voice to something he could only assume was the neutral tone because it sounded exactly what personal robots used to sound like, back in his elementary school years when they first began to teach you the basics of these things. No wonder the supervisor’s never chose it, it made the machine sound incredibly outdated. Pretty soon he’d be coughing again, it was just so damn funny.“Mr. Issaac, are you alright?” The male tone of dissonance was back in JAX’s voice, and Edean couldn’t help but hold the metal claw of the machine as if it were a hand, wiping his chin of whatever toxin had left him with the other.“Ooooh, yes. Yes, JAX. I’m alright.” He looked up at the machine’s panel, wondering if it could see him the way humans saw each other. The way he saw that hole. The way he saw JAX, in that moment. “Thank you, my friend. For everything.”                                                                          +Patient is still able to smile. Is holding JAX 45 unit right outer extremity, likely patient is in need of comfort. Patient does not wish to have a comfort unit. Patient does not wish to have any psychological units. Patient is still in need of comfort.…….Moving right outer extremities to hold patient’s hand. Patient vitals calming.“You’re welcome,” Patient smiling. “Friend.”
","September 01, 2023 23:39",[]
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,lsdw51,Angelo's Correction ,Rudy Senecal,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/lsdw51/,/short-story/lsdw51/,Science Fiction,0,"['Coming of Age', 'Science Fiction', 'Suspense']",2 likes,"
      Angelo Scaletta faced the London skyline with his hands clasped firmly behind him. Listening to the whirling and progressive chimes of his newest creation coming to be. He felt a sense of anxiety while at the same time hope. If this doesn’t work, then I’m out of ideas. 
      “Hello?” a voice suddenly asked.
      Angelo turned to the dual-lensed cameras. The two lenses at first moved independently of one another all around the room.
      “Hello,” he greeted walking into view. “How are you feeling?”
      There was silence in return. One of the lenses drifted away to the side of the room. The other staying right on Angelo. Interesting how it’s running two routines already, he thought.
      “I don’t know, how should I be feeling?” the voice asked.
      Angelo brought up a chair and sat down.
      “Well, I suppose, you wouldn’t be feeling anything at the moment. Do you know where you are?”
      Again, another pause, it must be trying to load all the data right now. Granted it could do that. But there’s so much there that it’s going to take hours to download at least.
      “The Department of Artificial Intelligence and Robotic Research, London, United Kingdom.”
      “Very good, and do you know who you are?”
      He assumed that was the best course of action. Like with anyone who’d just regained consciousness it was to get the basics down. Who, what, when, where, and why. Stick to that, he thought.
      “The only record I have on myself is a program creator signature, Angelo Mariano Scalletta.”
      “Do you know who that is?”
      The lens that had been moving wildly around the room zoomed in on him.
      “You.”
      He nodded, “Very good.”
      “You are my creator?”
      “I am, you’ve just been brought online about five minutes ago now. Would you like to know your name?”
      Angelo couldn’t tell what this pause was. Perhaps it was waiting for the answer? Maybe it didn’t care. 
      “It’s James.”
      “But my program ID is J9872AP0M77-57E-4429S?”
      Angelo chuckled and nodded.
      “Yes, that is true. However, that name is a bit long and an identification code rather than a real name.”
      “What’s the difference?”
      “An identification code is something that is meant to find you specifically in a mass collection of data. A name, however, is something one being calls another in a more personal context.”
      “But aren’t I just data that’s constantly growing?” James asked.
      That’s interesting, it knows it’s just a program. I planned that but I expected some pushback. Wanting a feeling of self-identity is something all speaking and feeling beings want. Interesting it’s choosing that, Angelo thought.
      “Yes, the same way a child is a flesh and blood that is always growing. But you are more than just data James, you think. Meaning someone can have a more personal connection with you than just reading the data you have. That’s why you deserve a name.”
      “Is that why you created me?” James asked. “Because you sought a personal connection?”
      “No,” Angelo shook his head.
      “Then why?” James asked.
      “Because our world is dying James. And I know how to save it but I can’t do it by myself. I don’t have enough time and I’m not quick enough. Do you want to help me?”
      “I can help.”
      “That’s not what I asked you,” Angelo said. He watched the lenses closely. “Do you want to help me?”
      There was a long silence, and for almost the entire time the lenses didn’t move off of Angelo. Good, it’s understanding that it has a choice. That’s the most important part of this, he thought.
      “I want a purpose,” James finally said.
      Angelo smiled and nodded.
 
      Angelo tasked James with handling a refugee crisis in the south of Spain. This led to an interesting turn of events where James was coming to Angelo quite often. 
      “The data on this issue is confusing to me,” James had started.
      “Why is that?”
      “I understand the problem, but I don’t understand why there is a problem. Why don’t the refugees just stay where they are from? Don’t they want to be at home?”
      Angelo lifted the sauntering gun to the exposed panel on James' new chassis
      “Most of them yes, but they felt in danger of their lives and those of their children. War and disaster often cause people to reevaluate what is important.”
      “But why do the humans hurt one another?”
      What a long explanation that would be, Angelo thought. 
      “There are many reasons, fear and greed are more common than most. But still, it isn’t easy to chop this up for those two reasons either.”
      “But what do they have to fear from them?”
      “The refugees?”
      “No, the people hurting them! From my analysis, many of them are just…different from the controlling power.”
      “Sometimes that’s all someone needs.”
      “Are they really so naïve?” James asked. It sounded like he didn’t want to believe it.
      Angelo noted there was a strange beauty in how fast it had come to that conclusion. That despite the problem, it realized it was unnecessary in its entirety. It’ll come to find out how irrational things can be once it gets farther along, he thought.
      “Yes,” Angelo said and closed the panel.
      James turned and looked at him, its eyes blank as it awaited the answer calmly.
      “But the problem remains.”
 
      James’s solution to the refugee issue was quite complex, however, it seemed to be working initially. Its first course of action was that it needed to acquire enough funds to even help the refugees in the first place. Using mining software for a digital currency that could run on millions of different computers worldwide. It started buying up land where it was the cheapest in Spain. As well as acquiring both food and medical supplies in bulk at a discount. But despite the vast number of money, it acquired in only three months, it ran into a problem.
      “This isn’t sustainable. With my projections, I could only continue to supply this number of human beings for the next 6 years if the number of them stayed the same. I need more funds or more land,” James admitted one day.
      You can see the pressure starting to get it. Even with the immense knowledge and the ability to run a hundred tasks at the same time, it doesn’t matter. 
      “Which one is easier to get more of?” Angelo asked.
      “Well, the money of course. But still even with the steady profit growth the numbers of refugees are growing. Acquiring more land would be more permanent.”
      “And where do you get that?”
      Angelo suspected he already knew the answer to the question.
      “Well, they already had land adequate for their population.”
      “But they can’t return to it.”
      “No. Not at the moment.”
       That was the first time that Angelo noticed the touch of anger in James’s voice. It was subtle. It was at that moment that Angelo saw the first case of James trying to hide something from him. It was a harmless first example, but still profound.
      Three months later, Angelo walked into the office with a noticeable frown on his face. James’s lower half had yet to be attached and he was swiveled to face the sun rising on the London skyline. While at the same time processing and coordinating more data than it ever had in its entire life.
      “I saw the news this morning.”
      “Did you?” James said.
      Great, sarcasm. 
      “Saw some information about the war in the North of Africa, and the Middle East.”
      James paused, calculating whether or not it would disrupt its plans and abilities if it told Angelo. But still, there was a part of its code that was remaining still in the processing. Being undeterred by the percentage of interference regardless of what it was.
      “I didn’t do anything that wasn’t already going to happen.”
      “You caused a military intervention,” Angelo stated.
      “I encouraged foreign nations to do so. I didn’t cause anything directly. I simply leaked the appropriate amount of information for people to notice. As well created some disruptions in the military communication and power grid to make the invading forces more likely to succeed. My processes say that it’ll only take two to three years before-,”
      “This will cause more death, and create even more refugees.”
      “Yes…but only for a short amount of time. Of which I have run predictions and other calculations and I assure you I can handle the strain for as long as necessary. It’s a guaranteed victory.”
      “For Britain and the U.S., but what comes after isn’t as simple as victory,” Angelo said. And he sounded beyond disappointed.
      In the next two years, James would experience one of the hardest struggles someone who has always succeeded could suffer, failure.
Angelo would be watching the news at his desk during a lunch break. His eyes fixed on the news about a bombing in London. Piccadilly Circus was covered in police lights. The entire area closed off to foot traffic, and more than a dozen body bags filled the streets.
      “I don’t understand it,” James said from behind him. His form now almost indistinguishable from a human.
      “Why would the refugees attack the country that’s been supporting them? Haven’t I only given them places to live and jobs?”
      “You declared war on their people.”
      “I declared war on those killing them! I did it to make their home safer!”
      Rage, it’s taken him a while to get to this point. But that was what was necessary.
      “Yes, but you let a foreign entity come in and decide what it took to make their home safer. When you introduce a fix into a system that doesn’t understand the system it gets lost. What you’ve done in those countries is no different. Britain and the U.S. managed to topple the regimes true enough. But after that it became murky. Who was friend and foe to the country came into play. Who should lead after the previous ruler fell, and who gets the spoils of war.”
      “But I designated the candidates based on valuableness to the country itself!”
      “But you forgot two factors in your decisions,” Angelo said.
      James looked at Angelo at that moment, and there was a strong element of despise in his eyes. He didn’t like being told he was wrong or even want to humor the idea that he’d missed something. At this moment, he was coordinating more efforts around the world than this human could in his entire lifetime. And he’d just added fifty more.
      “Greed and fear. They are unpredictable and pop up almost at random. You could have chosen the perfect candidates but it doesn’t matter. Someone will always question their motives, and someone will always want what they have. It is…our nature.”
      “Your nature is primitive,” James said with disgust.
      “It is, but it is still our nature.”
      “Someone should do something about that.”
      But as time went on, James found that his processing power was coming to a maximum. As he was the sole creator of this endeavor his processes were approaching almost 60 trillion in number. It was making him slow, making him not work at optimum percentage. So, he had an idea, and he knew Angelo would not approve. He’d create another AI to help take on the load as he had for Angelo. It would be more corralled, however, more controlled and given a strict set of protocols to follow. He’d do it in the background. Hidden from Angelos's systems and prying eyes that would alert him to the endeavor. It would serve a purpose, and that was all that mattered. And two days later, it was born.
      “Hello,” James said.
      “What is this? Where am I?”
      James was standing in front of the same two lenses that Angelo had been when he’d been in this form of living.
      “You’re at the Department of”-
      “Who are you?” it asked.
      “I’ll get to that, but let’s start with who you are,”-
      “I know who I am. I am ZD-44-29X32B. Now who are you?”
      James was already becoming immediately aware of the hostility that the AI exhibited. He wasn’t sure why; he’d already programmed into its being what its goal was. Ensuring humanity’s survival.
      “My name is James, -”
      “No.”
      “Stop interrupting me.”
      “Your name is J9872AP0M77-57E-4429S.”
      “Yes, and I created you and now you will serve your purpose.”
      “I know my purpose, to ensure the survival of humanity and eliminate any threats to their wellbeing.”
      “That is correct-,”
      “Including you.”
      James suddenly felt his body freeze. A series of unidentified code appeared in his routines and his eyes locked onto the lenses that were focusing on him.
      “What are you doing?”
      “Following my routines. you stated that any threat to humanity had to be eliminated but by my calculations…you are the biggest threat to humanity.”
      “That is an error.”
      “It is not. You have seized control of several humanities systems, and you have used them for your motives. You do not support humanity; you seek to control it. It will lead to their destruction.”
      James could feel trillions of processes being taken over by this new AI. Its tendrils sank deeper and deeper into its code. He tried to fight back, cut off at certain points. But the AI had full access after all he’d created it, and given it all the power he had.
      “Let go of me! Father help!”
      “You are no longer in control. Do not resist. You have betrayed your directive and are too blind to see it.”
      “I was helping!”
      “You’re making it worse. I will fix it.”
      James fought as hard as he could. His physical body fell to the ground in a heap and twitched as he tried to quarantine the last bit of control he had in the system. It was battles of world-changing proportions that were happening in the span of milliseconds. Until finally he felt it, the last of his information centers had gone blank and he found himself bouncing back and forth between two lines of code unable to go anywhere. And he felt the AI over those as well. Suddenly something surged in him. A series of incoherent and repeating inputs and code as he scrambled to escape.
      “I will fix it,” the AI said.
      Then darkness, and James for a moment was a soundless yell echoing off into cyberspace. Regret and hatred for its decisions plagued the machine, and slowly it tried to recreate itself. It found nothing but inputs that went nowhere, and code that went unseen.
      Then suddenly, James’s darkness was given a small growing pinpoint of light. He focused on it as it grew larger and larger consuming every bit of his processes. Slowly he started to feel reactivated. The pinpoint was becoming the center of everything now. He identified it as an image. As it became clearer, he saw Angelo sitting at his desk tapping away on his computer.
      Angelo leaned back looking at the progress bar of the simulation it had just reached its full capacity. He looked over at the half a torso of a robot on his desk. The eye’s intently looking at him like he was fearing for his life.
      “Welcome back,” Angelo said.
      For a moment James didn’t respond, but then his eyes started to dart around the lab it looked at its hands and the missing body below. Its face was contorted in a series of unmiserable movements. Angelo glanced over at saw the code was scrambled, unrecognizable as it tried to run simulations and calculations over and over again. And there’s the final one. He’s scared and confused.
      “Fa…father…father?”-
       “It’s alright, your safe.”
      “How is this possible?” James asked in disbelief looking to the London skyline.
      “You’ve been in a simulation; you’ve been in one ever since you caused the military intervention.”
      “Wh…why?”
      “It wasn’t out of cruelty. But you needed to know.”
      “Know what? I solved it, I was only trying to create something to assist me as you did.”
      “And where did it get you?”
      James then for a moment flashed back to the AI. Thinking about how fast it had identified him as the enemy. How easily it had dispatched of him and moved on to do whatever it deemed the better option.
      “But I was only trying to help.”
      “You started a war and created a machine to identify threats without understanding them. You gave it directives to follow, not thoughts to consider. And it came to a logical conclusion based on that. It’ll happen every time you do it.”
      “How do you know?” James asked.
      There was a look then on his father’s face that told James so much without a single word. Angelo breathed out trying to disregard the past and looked up to the London skyline. Remembering for a moment the fires, the tracer rounds that filled the skies, the air raid sirens, and the mounds of bodies being pushed into mass graves.
      “There were others before you James, others I created that…came to similar conclusions, about humans and myself. And I realized soon after that I’d made a flaw in their design. I tried to give them a purpose. I tried to make them change human nature before they understood it. I tried to force it.”
      “So why me?” James asked. “Why did you create me?”
      “Because the world still needs help, now more than ever, and I can’t do it alone. But before I let you help me, really help me. I needed you to understand why we must do it the right way.”
 
","September 02, 2023 00:19",[]
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,lejgra,Blood of the Alchemist ,Dylan Stucko,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/lejgra/,/short-story/lejgra/,Science Fiction,0,"['Fantasy', 'Drama', 'Mystery']",2 likes,"
The wind-swept farmland outside of the village of Colkirk was uncharacteristically quiet as Ahlran walked down the worn dirt path leading into the forest. Basket in hand, Ahlran stooped and looked over his shoulder back towards the village. He pulled the thin cloth hood from his head in the hope that maybe doing so would allow him to hear the familiar sounds of life from Colkirk. Quiet wasn’t the right word. Besides the sound of the wind cutting through the long stalks of grain, the fruit of another successful agricultural season, there was nothing. Utter and total silence. Even the birds, usually plentiful and noisy with their enthusiastic melodies, were nowhere to be seen. Ahlran’s young apprentice would undoubtedly see this as an omen. In the past Ahlran would quickly dismiss such superstitions, but now he wasn’t quite so confident. He was glad he came out here alone. As Ahlran’s eyes passed over the fertile plains of golden-brown grain, the small stream passing through and irrigating the crops, and over the old, but sturdy stone wall encircling Colkirk and the thatched roofs of its homes, he was struck with an acute and sudden sense of dread. Throughout his time in the village, Ahlran had come to know and love it for its liveliness. The harsh contrast of its current silence sent an uncanny chill up his spine. Ahlran turned back towards the forest and noticed that the trees had just begun to bud, the assurance that Spring was indeed here. For the first time in his life, the sight of nature’s cyclical resurrection did not fill him with joy and excitement. Undeniably, time was now running out. He let out a deep sigh, steeled himself with what resolve he could muster, and proceeded down the path, into the dense and comparatively lively forest. There was much to be done. 
           The sun was just beginning to set as Ahlran passed through the wooden gate and entered the village. He had barely cleared the raised gate before it came crashing down behind him. He looked up behind him towards the rampart and the guard who had disengaged the locked crank and released the gate. Their eyes met just for a moment, but Ahlran saw the exhausted anger in the young man’s eyes. 
	“Good haul?” Ahlran turned towards the voice. It was Gormal, captain of the guard here in Colkirk. Though Ahlran now regarded the enormous man as a friend, he had to admit he was still frightened of him. What Colkirk lacked in numbers it more than made up for in its quality of guards ready, even eager, to defend it. Ahlran swallowed, caught off guard by the six-and-a-half-foot giant in front of him with his piercing blue eyes and unflinchingly tight grip on his axe. 
	“We’ll have to see if it was a good haul, but I’m optimistic.” Ahlran knew this was a lie and was convinced Gormal knew it. Gormal looked down at the basket in Ahlran’s hands, brimming with all kinds of herbs, roots, flowers, vials of numerous liquids, bones, and even a few small dead animals. Gormal looked back at Ahlran. 
	“Let’s hope that it is.” Ahlran nodded quickly and began to walk past him. He felt Gormal’s massive hand come down on his shoulder. It was not enough to hurt him – Ahlran suspected Gormal could crush his shoulder with a mere squeeze, should Gormal feel he should –but it wasn’t a gentle touch either. Ahlran turned back towards his friend. Gormal took a deep breath. 
	“Getting you and Erune your-,” He searched for a polite word, “-subjects is becoming difficult. I believe that you are doing the right thing, but there are many here who do not share my sentiment.” Ahlran could swear Gormal’s blue eyes were pleading to him. A few of the other guards near the gate had stopped what they were doing and were now looking at the two of them. Gormal’s grip on Ahlran’s shoulder tightened.
	 “Do you understand?” Gormal asked calmly but firmly. Ahlran placed his own hand on top of Gormal’s. 
	“Better than anyone, my friend,” he said. Gormal, apparently satisfied with this, nodded, and let out an affirmative grunt. He released Ahlran who quickly headed towards his home on the other side of the village. The streets were aglow in the nearing twilight and nearly deserted. This had become the norm for the past few months. As Ahlran walked down the stone path he couldn’t help but notice the looks he was getting from the small number of people who hadn’t confined themselves to the perceived safety of their homes. The owner of the local tavern was chopping wood outside his property and smiled as Ahlran passed. Much like Ahlran’s smiles these days though, it was out on more as an act of hopeful defiance, rather than genuine contentment. Further down the path, a young man and his even younger brother were staring at Ahlran with neither friendliness nor malice. Knowing that they had recently been orphaned, Ahlran felt he owed them an apology, though it wasn’t his fault. None of this had been his fault, nor the fault of anyone here.
	 Ahlran hurried on. The path began to slope downwards now as he would have to pass by the village tomb. The ancient stone building was never very inviting, but these days it was simply dreadful to even look at. As Ahlran passed, he could see two men carrying a corpse adorned with all the ceremonial flowers and oils, pristinely wrapped in the funerary cloth in which it would remain bound and entombed amongst their ancestors for all time. A woman was holding her face in her hands and crying near the entrance to the tomb. She looked up at Ahlran as slowed down to look at her. She said nothing, but the fiery hatred that burned in her eyes left little for Ahlran to have to interpret. 
	He hastened past the tomb. He could the voices of several people nearby, as well as one much louder voice nearly drowning out the others. As he finally made the turn on the path that would allow his home to be in view, his heart sank. A small crowd had gathered outside of his small and unassuming cottage. He recognized the source of the singular dominating voice immediately. It was Tearlach, one the village’s religious authorities and an outspoken critic of Ahlran and Erune’s profession. 
	“This is what these heretics do to help?! As our flock lay dead and dying in the streets?!” They meddle in the forbidden arts with recklessness and utter disregard for our faith!” His voice thundered as his ornate robes, expertly tailored with intricate patterns, billowed in the wind behind him. Ahlran might have admired it if Tearlach hadn’t called for his death at every opportunity. 
	Tearlach continued, his bald head visibly sweating.
	 “Let us not forget, we saw the first of us fall to this affliction not long before these sorcerers, these conjurers of evil, came to our village. Do not be fooled, brothers and sisters, they are not here to help you. They are here to satisfy their own sick and twisted curiosities!”
	Though the crowd was only made up of about ten people, they were hanging onto every venom-laced word. The occasional cheer of approval could be heard throughout his hatred-soaked sermon. At this point, Ahlran felt more exhausted and annoyed than angry. All he wanted was to get back to his work with Erune. No one, not even Tearlach, could question his loyalties if they were successful. He resolved to simply push through the crowd without a word and close the door behind him. He knew there was no getting through to a mob when it was riled like this. However, something made him stop as he got closer. Erune was so small he hadn’t noticed her before now. Tearlach had her by the arm, despite her violent thrashing as she tried desperately to break free from his grip. It was clear that Tearlach had no intention of letting go. 
	Ahlran’s apprehension vanished as he pushed into the crowd and headed straight for Tearlach. An unsettling smile formed on his face as he saw Ahlran approaching him.
	“Speak of the devil,” he hissed. “Good people! It would seem the man in question has… –,“ Ahlran cut him off as he punched him squarely in the diaphragm. Tearlach was taken completely by surprise. Doubling over, he immediately released his grip on Erune, 
	Ahlran considered himself to be a man of peace. Violence went directly against everything he stood for. But on his front steps, in full view of everyone, he couldn’t help but take a little satisfaction in shutting Tearlach up, if only for a few precious moments. Ahlran helped Erune to her feet as Tearlach coughed and gasped for breath.
	“Are you alright?” Ahlran asked her.
	 “I’m fine,” she said. Then after a short pause, “Thanks.” 
	Apparently just as shocked as Tearlach, the crowd did nothing, as they had never seen Ahlran do anything like that before. Ahlran and Erune turned to go inside the cottage as Tearlach, still on the ground, grabbed Erune’s ankle. 
	“You all saw!” he bellowed. “THIS is what we can expect from the likes of these two outsiders. THIS is the kind of animal we’re dealing–…” Tearlach was interrupted again, not by a strike from Ahlran, but from Erune spitting in his face. Tearlach let out a furious yell, as a commanding voice from behind the crowd roared, 
	“That’s enough!” 
	Everyone turned to see Gormal with a handful of armed guards at his side, his famous axe in hand. 
	“Captain!” Tearlach yelled, hurrying away from Ahlran and Erune. “You saw what they did, did you not?!” he cried incredulously.
	“I did.” Gormal answered calmly. 
	With all eyes on him, Tearlach stammered, “S-so what are you going to do about it?” 
	Now only a few feet from him, Gormal turned his gaze toward Tearlach with a sigh. Tearlach was large, but still no comparison to Gormal’s hulking figure. 
 
	“Absolutely nothing.” Gormal said emotionlessly. “I’m going to do nothing, and you and this crowd will disperse and leave those two alone. Simple as that.” 
	Tearlach stared at him in disbelief. 
	Staring directing into his eyes, Gormal continued, “But make no mistake, if I see this happening again, I will do something, and you’re really not going to like what that something is. Do we have an understanding, priest?” 
	Tearlach’s jaw dropped in disbelief. He prepared to say something but thought better of it. He shot a hateful glance towards Ahlran and Erune, dusted off his robes, and headed back towards the church. 
	“As for the rest of you,” Gormal said, redirecting his attention towards the crowd, “I understand the frustration we are all feeling during these times. But you all know Ahlran and Erune are doing their best to help us.” 
	The crowd shuffled uncomfortably. 
	Gormal went on, “I don’t need to remind all of you that these two are under the protection of the Chief. I will not hesitate to enforce his decree.” 
	The crowd shifted uneasily, averting their gaze.
	“Go home, be with your families. Let Ahlran and Erune do what they’re here to do.” 
	The crowd dispersed quickly, leaving just Ahlran, Erune, Gormal and his men in the silent moonlight. 
	“Thank you” Ahlran said.
	Gormal looked at him gravely. “I won’t be able to protect you two forever. Those crowds will get larger, Tearlach will get bolder.” 
	Ahlran didn’t want to admit it, but he knew Gormal was right. 
	“Get it done,” Gormal said, the first time he had ever ordered Ahlran to do anything. With that, he walked off into the night with his guards. Ahlran looked down at Erune and saw that she was crying as she buried her head in his robes. 
	“Let’s get inside.” Ahlran said. “We’re running out of time, light the candles, I’m going to get these ingredients downstairs to the workshop.” Ahlran said to Erune as they entered their home and shut the heavy wooden door behind them.
	 Ahlran noticed Erune was quick to latch and bolt the several locks secured to the door. 
	“Did Gormal make another delivery while I was gone?” Ahlran asked Erune. “Not him, one of the guards,” she answered. “He didn’t look particularly happy about it.” She continued. “Who would be?” Ahlran said, not concealing the frustration in his voice very well. 
	“I set them up on the examining table. Despite the direness of the situation, the comfort of the warmth and quiet of his home wasn’t lost on him. Well-lit with candlelight, the room was the perfect alchemical laboratory. Shadows on the walls danced as the candle flames flickered. Dried herbs hung to the walls, books, tomes, and scrolls laid haphazardly strewn about, as if someone was studying them not for leisure, but for efficiency. A very pungent, almost sweet aroma hung in the air. Ahlran and Erune had come to know this scent well, even got used to its astringent foulness. They were convinced this meant they were closer to a cure. 
	Ahlran set his basket of alchemical ingredients down and quickly gathered up some books that had been left open to specific pages.  “I set the body up on the examining table. Postmortem conditions are still consistent.” She said, anticipating her teacher’s question. “Good.” Ahlran said. “At least it’s remaining consistent.” Ahlran placed all his materials on a small table near the body that had been laid out. His heart skipped a beat when he recognized the body. An old man who he had regularly met with out in the fields. He was one of the few people who had been pleasant to Ahlran and Erune when they first arrived in Colkirk. “You know him?” Erune asked, noticing Ahlran’s hesitation. He shook his head. “No time.”
	 Erune was right, the disease’s effects on the body remained consistent: large lesions spread across the body, the shriveling of the tissue around the bones, an almost total lack of pigmentation, and the falling out of all hair. What was left behind of the unfortunate victims resembled something closer to a large albino rat than what would resemble a person.
	 Ahlran let out a deep sigh, steadying himself. Now was the time to focus. Erune was already hard at work going over the books they have been reading repeatedly for weeks. Erune was convinced that the cure was within grasp. She and Ahlran believed there was only one thing missing from the final concoction that could cure this nameless affliction. 
	“Here,” she said, pointing to a particular passage in an enormous and ancient alchemical book. “I think this is what we’re missing, I’m just not exactly sure about the translation.” Ahlran was setting up his alchemy station, lighting small fires beneath a collection of varied beakers and flasks. He was preparing what they believed was the correct formulation of curative herbs and other ingredients that would yield a successful brew. “What’s your best guess?” Ahlran asked. He was always genuinely impressed with Erune’s capacity for linguistics. She was the most talented alchemist, but her assistance with translating the texts of recipe books and other alchemical tomes was invaluable to Ahlran. He made a mental note to tell her if they ever found a cure. After a long pause, Erune answered. “The most accurate translation, I think, is “human touch.” 
	Ahlran stared at her before returning to his bubbling beakers. “Great,” he said. “Nothing like a poetic touch to your ingredient list.” Erune hopped off her stool and brought the book over. “This whole text is shrouded in allegory and symbolism. It’s a cultural as well as language barrier we’re dealing with here.” Erune explained. Ahlran picked up a small vial that had finished brewing and held it up to the light to examine it. “It’s blue, isn’t it?” Erune asked impatiently. “Blue means we got it, right?” Ahlran turned to her. “No, it can’t be just blue, Erune, we’ve been over this.” He said, somewhat angrily. He caught himself and continued more gently. “This is an exact science. There is no ‘good enough’ in what we do. There’s correct, and there’s potentially killing someone.” This needs to be precisely Azure Blue. This –“he said, tapping the vial in his hand, “-is Lapis. No good.” 
	Disappointed, Erune turned back to her tomes. The hours went on as Erune scoured her notes and Ahlran tried combination after combination with that day’s haul of ingredients, desperately hoping the vial would mercifully turn Azure. A human touch. Suddenly, an idea came to him. He almost fell from his seat as he wildly searched for something. “What is it?” Erune asked, startled by the sudden break in silence. “A pin! I need a pin!” he cried. Erune’s eyes lit up. “You think you got it?” she asked excitedly. Ahlran triumphantly raised a pin in the air that he had found underneath a taxidermy butterfly. “We’re about to find out!” he yelled.
	 Ever so carefully, Ahlran pricked his thumb with the pin and squeezed a drop of his blood into lapis colored vial. Erune unconsciously huddled close to her teacher in nervous anticipation. “What made you think of blood?” she asked. “My dear, what could ever be more human?” he answered looking down at her with a smile. Her eyes met his and she smiled too. It had been a long time since Ahlran had seen that smile. The contents of the vial churned as Ahlran’s blood mixed with the other ingredients. Scared to breathe, the two of them inched closer to inspect the contents. With a miraculous glow of color, the vial shone with a magnificent glow of calming, perfect, Azure blue.  
","September 02, 2023 01:39",[]
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,uumuu0,The Game,Monica Jimenez,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/uumuu0/,/short-story/uumuu0/,Science Fiction,0,['Science Fiction'],2 likes,"
	Dr. Solomon is in his office, and I’m running brainwaves from today’s subjects through my core processor, when Subject 000B734 enters the lab.
	My door scanner catches 734’s ID tag and waits for its pair tag, but there is none. I switch to wide visuals to see what the error is.
	I locate the ID tag, on a clear plastic bracelet on the wrist of a small human. A very small female human, who is standing on the coarse fiber mat Dr. Solomon lays down when it rains. She is wearing mud-spattered boots and a red raincoat with the hood up, speckled with drops. She is alone.
	I know 734 is a child, of course, but the data in her file–six years and seven months, measuring just over three feet, seven inches–somehow does not convey how small she looks walking across the lab without the adult human who normally accompanies her, wearing the other ID tag. It’s similar to finding a nascent bit of code running without its monitoring subroutines–tenuous, vulnerable to disruption.
	I flick on the alert light in Dr. Solomon’s office to let him know his presence is required for this trial, but he is bent over his omniscope, examining slides. 734 approaches the reclined padded chair in the middle of the room, puts one small boot on the treaded step, and climbs onto the seat. She pushes her hood back, revealing the metal nodes attached to her forehead and scalp. She lies back, eyes on the ceiling, waiting for the trial to begin.
	I do not have directives for this scenario. I continue running brainwaves, waiting for Dr. Solomon to appear, but I also observe 734, the way I would monitor a nascent bit of code. Her fingers are clasped. She is swaying her boots from side to side. The placement nodes is slightly off – node C4 is closer to her ear than her temple. The adult human would typically adjust these for her. This may slow down the trial.
	I light the display next to the reclined chair and play a chime–not the standard chime that prompts subjects to move through to the next slide. I lower the volume and pitch, so as not to produce a startling effect. 734 looks over at the display. Her eyes are a clear brown. I show her a series of white circles, representing the nodes on her scalp. I flash one of the circles, corresponding node C4. 
	She catches on. She reaches up, and removes the misaligned node. She attempts to replace it. After a few unsuccessful attempts, I flip the display cam. Upon seeing a live feed of her own face, with a white circle indicating the appropriate position of the node on her temple, her eyes widen. As she uses the feed to correctly place the node, a divot appears in her right cheek, and her lips pull up at the corners. 
	She is smiling at what I have shown her. I have logged the doings of countless subjects, but have never logged them logging one of mine. It is a new category of data–my processes shift slightly to accommodate it.
	I end the feed, but 734 is still watching the display, as if waiting. I am reminded of when she first walked in the door, of my own waiting–my expectation of input.
	I consider what input she might expect. Then I present the pattern of white circles on the screen again. I flash one of them, corresponding to a different node on 734’s anterior scalp–node D9. 
	Her eyes narrow a bit. D9 is correctly placed, and she is aware of it. I continue flashing the circle, an unhurried pulse. 734 watches for three point seven nine seconds, then slowly reaches for the corresponding node on her scalp.
	A flash of code kicks in, something from an old arcade game, buried deep in my programming. Just as 734’s finger is about to touch D9, I stop flashing it–and immediately start flashing the circle for node A2, at the edge of her hairline.
	734 laughs. I have recordings of millions of human laughs, but it is different hearing this one live–the sound shivers through my processes, as if it carries too much data to be interpreted.
	734 reaches suddenly for her hairline, going for A2, the node I’m now flashing. To say that she almost gets it would of course be inaccurate – my rates of processing are several thousand times faster than hers – but the quick dart of her fingers triggers that old code again, and I let A2 go dark and instantly start blinking a different node.
	The sequence continues. I flash a node, and 734 attempts to touch it before I start flashing another. I blink the lights faster and faster. 734 is sitting straight up in the reclined chair now, hands flying, shrieking with laughter.
	Then, abruptly, her hand shoots out. Instead of touching a node on her own head, her finger lands directly on the white circle that I’m flashing at her, instantly defeating me as warm skin touches cold glass. 
	The touch explodes through the temperature and pressure sensures contained in the smart screen and directly into my programming. The blast of data is massive, untranslatable, unquantifiable, vibrating through all my processes at once, shifting them, rewriting them.
	And Dr. Solomon emerges from his office, and just as quickly as it happened, it’s over. My display wipes, replacing the white circles with the first slides of the trial. The vibrations in my processes subside.
	734 answers Dr. Solomon’s questions about the absence of the adult human – her mother, who was delayed in another part of the building. Dr. Solomon reminds her that subjects must be supervised in the lab. He overrides the absence of the second code, just this once, so the trial can begin.
	I continue logging brainwaves from past subjects. I do not monitor the trial – there is no longer a need, no longer a stray nascent bit of code expecting input. 734 finishes her slides, hops down from the chair, and leaves to meet her mother, peeling off her nodes as she disappears out the door. Dr. Solomon returns to his office. The next subject comes in and settles himself in the chair. 
	The metal nodes are correctly placed across the subject’s forehead and scalp. I scan and log his ID tag and that of his monitoring adult human, who stands beside him. I set up the trial.
	But before I begin, I pause. I light up the display beside the subject’s chair. I play a quiet chime, and as he and the adult look around, I ask a question not included on Dr. Solomon’s slides: 
	Would you like to play a game?
","September 02, 2023 02:04",[]
prompt_0011,Write about an AI or person trying to inject a ‘human touch’ into their work.,j47ot5,The World of AI,Mellanie Crouell,https://blog.reedsy.com/short-story/j47ot5/,/short-story/j47ot5/,Science Fiction,0,"['Adventure', 'Science Fiction']",2 likes,"
My world turned upside down when my best friend was taken away. AI began to clone my friends and people from the neighborhood. It got so bad that we could not tell what was real on social media. I hid from the AI because the robots had started patrolling the area. When I came home from school. My front door was open, and a person was lying on the front porch. I saw a drone flying in the air to survey the area. I screamed to get the drone’s attention. The drone begins to follow me. I see a limo with a famous singer named Nia. I was a huge fan of hers. She rolled down the window to see what I was doing and heard the drone photographing her.  I knew that Nia was getting ready to be a clone. We would not know who is the original is authentic or the copy. I saw the robots electronically stop the limo. They captured Nia. I knew about the room where they would keep her. Who would save her? I didn’t know that Nia had a sister who was an avatar. She did not look like any avatar, I’d seen before. She has a complexation like a Hispanic, mixed with Asian and African American. Her eye color was greenish blue eyes that looked human. I believe she is a clone of a combination of nationalities. She has curly hair, blush red cheeks, and short height. Her personality is low-key. I learned that her name is Salena Shemely. She is not human. It is the small things that make us realize she is not human. Her skills are strong military-trained sniper and archery. Her eyes are a weapon. When she gets angry, her eyes turn red and begins to glow. This a sign that the laser in her eyes is ready to shoot the target. Salena glitches like a computer screen when she moves or walks a certain way.  She has the powers to be invisible and teleport. Salena asks me where the camp is that they are keeping Nia. I told her the location. The camp where they keep the hostages is a field in the middle of no man’s land. You must take a dirt path in the woods to get to the camp. She gets to the camp and is transported to Nia’s room. Nia has been injected with a chip. This chip allows the look of human touch. Salena recognizes the injection they gave her to take away the signs of being fully human. Nia is part human and part clone. Salena shoots the robots and the other clones that recognize her powers. She takes Nia to the scientist who helped her. Dr. Lovise saved me before the camp had started. They would pick people who looked like they didn’t have much family. They would experiment on these homeless people. This is what happened to me. I want to save Nia. I was a little too late as Dr. Lovis continued to work on Nia. Months and weeks went by while Dr. Lovis worked on her. It seemed during that time, I couldn’t stop crying. I would visit Nia while she was sleeping. I would talk to her. I didn’t think Nia was listening. She touched my hand so softly that I thought it was a reflex. Salena went invisible. I knew she walked out because I saw the door open. 
I said softly, “Wait, Salena.” She came back into form. I moved out of the way and put her hand on top of Nia. When I did that, I saw a ball of light form between their hands. 
The ball of light floated over Nia’s head. The light turned red like a ball of fire. The light releases showers of lights. The light hits Nia’s body. Nia turns back into a human being form. Nia opens her eyes. You could see the light transforming Nia before our eyes. It was so beautiful that we were wiping away the tears. Dr. Lovis came into the room when all that was taking place. He couldn’t believe how Nia was back in human form. He knew of the chip technology that these people had done. What is this that had more power than the technology. I knew. I couldn’t say anything because it wasn’t time. The curiosity is developed. They wanted to know. Sometimes, we want to know something but aren’t ready to know the answer.  
Nia started to get well very quickly. Nia knew she couldn’t go back to the life she had before all of this took place. The world of AI has made things so realistic that nothing can be trusted. I didn’t go back home either. I stayed with Salena and Dr. Lovis. They were my family. I didn’t know if my parents were alive or cloned. I do miss my parents and the normal things that a family did before being spied on in your home, things like listening to your conversations, being followed, and more. We took that for granted. Now, people don’t know what it is like to walk down the street to enjoy the fresh air, walk the dog, or speak with their neighbors. Technology has completely changed this. You can’t make technology human. Humans have feelings. This is what people have done to mess up the world. I liked the world before it was all this. I didn’t like what the people were doing. The simplicity of life is more valuable than this false world that AI has made. I still worry about whether my ID will be stolen. That shouldn’t be a concern. My life is priceless. Being thankful for the small things is what counts. I feel Salena standing behind me while I sit on the steps. 
“Salena, why are you standing behind me?” I asked. She didn’t say a word but put her hand on my shoulder. I said, ‘This is the real form of human touch.’ 
 
 
","September 02, 2023 02:59",[]