Out of the Machine | J2 (SPN_Cinema)
Title: Out of the Machine
Words: 9400
Summary: The integrity of Jensen’s programming is compromised when interactions with his human software tester advance further than his programmer had intended.
Notes: Based on the film Ex Machina for waffletaco who purchased my services in a fandom auction TWO YEARS AGO and I finally got this thing whipped into shape with this round of spn_cinema.
Big thanks and love to gluedwithgold for brainstorming and beta <3
Read on AO3
Jensen does not have a heart. It is not an insult or figurative theory. It is fact that he doesn’t have emotions.
He is well aware what they are for. His programming relays images of happy and sad, excitement and desperation when called upon, but his processing can only replicate the notions, with a little eyebrow lift here or a smile quirk there.
Hundreds of thousands of lines of code align to fill the hard drive taking residence behind his ribs. Mirrored in the body on the other side of the four-inch-thick glass is a real, live beating heart and a pair of eyes with a soft look that could never be duplicated in a lab.
Care, Jensen’s system recognizes as he studies Jared’s intense gaze.
Nervous, it tells him when Jared ducks his head and pushes hair behind his ears.
It registers the quickening beat of Jared’s heart and Heat Load blinks in his system as Jensen’s processor turns faster and the fan clicks on to cool it down.
He needs a break, requires a lock down in sleep mode to cool down. Yet there is something in the deeper recesses of his system that is ignoring the alarms and overriding the processes to keep him upright and in place so he can continue listening to Jared talk about the first time he rode a bike without training wheels.
Jensen’s hard drive is packed with all sorts of pictures and videos that tell him exactly what it means when a young boy graduates to his very own two-wheeled bicycle, but he finds himself wanting to hear every single word from Jared’s lips, in Jared’s voice.
Jared never finishes the story. Misha enters the room and breaks up the session, asks Jared to return to his room, and then leads Jensen back to his pod to power down.
---
Jensen’s hard drive whirs to life at dawn, thumping in the place behind the center of his chest like a flesh-and-blood heart.
There is something in him that likes to associate the vibrations and noises of his system with the human body, even if he isn’t human. He does not know the touch of skin beneath the smooth tips of his fingers or the rigidity and strength of bone in the gear grip of his hands. Jensen only knows the touch of his hand on his own silicon and fiber shell, as well as the cotton t-shirt and sweatpants Misha has outfitted for him, meant to carry the facade of his human-like abilities.
He wants to feel more. Something inside has been forcing wires to cross. Figuratively that is, because Misha’s programming is infinitely long yet so very much the production of a perfectionist on his nineteenth AI creation. Still, even when Jensen knows the insides of his silicon armor are picturesque shades of grey mechanics and green and blue cords, there is the undeniable bug in his programming that tells him his machinery hums a little louder this morning, making his gears and joints twitch.
When Misha finds Jensen seated upright in his pod, face turned to the thin lines of sun coming in through the tight slats covering the one window in Jensen’s room, the man looks …
Jensen’s processor runs the scan, highlighting the furrowed brow, wide eyes, and crooked slant to his creator’s mouth.
Worried.
Misha is worried. Jensen doesn’t know why Misha is worried, but his memory bank tells him it has been 27 days since this result last showed during a scan.
Jensen tilts his head, a show of sympathy and concern his programming tells him is very important to humans. “Good morning,” he recites, his programmed first words of the day. Every day. For three months now. Then, “You are worried.”
“Why are you up?” Misha asks.
“You are not answering.”
“Neither are you.” Misha sighs, a new sign of frustration.
Another scan and Jensen’s visual screen highlights the wrinkles in Misha’s t-shirt and the added hair along his jaw and lower cheeks. 0.5 mm growth “You did not shave this morning.”
In direct response to the observation, Misha touches his face and frowns. “And you’re very astute this morning.”
Astute. Having or showing an ability to accurately assess situations or people and turn this to one's advantage
Jensen’s processor spins a little faster at the latter. “I am not being astute. Simply observational. As you have written me.”
“I didn’t write you to wake up so early.”
Despite Misha’s attempts to say it quietly, Jensen’s aural system is calibrated to 10 decibels. He can hear even the quietest of human breaths. Right now Misha’s breathing is further up the charts, about a 22 rising to 25 once he stands next to Jensen.
Frustrated. Annoyed. Mad.
“I never went to sleep. I’m updating your operating system and it’s a little difficult without erasing all your Jared files.”
Jensen turns sharply at that. Belatedly, he wonders why. Then his finger twitches against his knee. “You erased Jared’s files.”
Misha’s eyes widen then narrow quickly. Suspicious.
Hundreds of folders representing the human experience to serve as a basis of understanding for human interaction are stored locally on Jensen’s drives. This allows instantaneous retrieval rather than experience any delays in WiFi connections to Misha’s server. More importantly, it fulfills Misha’s intentions for a fully operational AI that can function independently based on its internal systems.
In addition to the database Misha has supplied him with are the recordings of each of his interactions with Jared to maintain a full history of their sessions. Jensen worries at what point he will run out of room and Misha will be forced to remove files, in essence deleting memories of Jared.
The fan behind Jensen’s hard drive hums a little louder when it clicks into the second position, a tiny beep alerting him that the metal is in the early stages of overheating.
This isn’t new. He has overheated five times in as many days during his recent trials with Jared. It is, however, a first to happen in front of Misha.
“No, I haven’t erased them,” Misha replies slowly. “But that’s what makes it all the more difficult.” There is an odd twist to Misha’s features and Jensen’s machine reads Confused. “There is just too much in there. You’ve saved so much.”
Confused was one of the first emotions Jensen replicated with autonomy, so it is easy for him to retrieve and process this response. “That is my function. To save everything in the sessions.”
“I know it is. I built you with six terabytes, but …” Misha pauses to sit at the edge of Jensen’s pod yet looks away. “Call it a programmer’s error, but I did not expect there to be … this much. The OS already takes up a lot of space and none of the AIs have saved this much before.”
“Jared likes to talk,” Jensen explains, the fact popping up out of the archives from one of their earliest sessions. Then he pulls one from their tenth session, the words coming out verbatim to Jared’s nervous cadence at the time: “And he likes that I can talk. To him. With him.”
Misha nods with a crooked smile. “That he does.”
Bemused.
“And I’m guessing your AI likes to talk to him,” Misha adds on, watching him now. Closely, eyes narrowed again, as if they were microscopic to see through the glass of Jensen’s pupils to the memory bank buried within a fiberglass skull.
Jensen’s processing coasts on automatic with his fan dropping back to first speed now that his machinery is back to operating levels. The first phrases Misha programmed into Jensen’s code are instantly retrieved. “I am my AI. My AI is me.”
“How do you feel about Jared?”
“I do not feel,” Jensen states. “I process and I repeat. My AI is not built for independent emotions.”
“But you’re programmed to respond to feelings,” Misha points out.
“I do.” Jensen nods. Affirmation. “You are confused and I am responding.”
“How do you respond to Jared?”
“Very well,” he replies before his processing can develop a better answer. Then he computes that Misha is unhappy with those two words.
Misha shakes his head, takes a deep breath, and looks away. Concerned, again. “He also responds to you very well. I worry that it is a hazard to the experiment.”
Jensen’s memory pulls the very first moment he met Jared so he can remind them both of Misha’s directions. “You did not program Jared. You told him to respond as he would with a human being.”
“I did,” he agrees, so Jensen continues with facts that his memory stored early on.
“Human beings are unstable. Prone to sudden changes in mood and thought. Unlike AI.”
A smile is the only change to Misha’s face, which otherwise still reads Concerned, and Jensen’s scan blinks red at the unconfirmed response. “You’d be surprised at how unstable AI can be.”
The fan clicks into second speed as the data platter in his hard drive spins faster, his processing searching for the correct response to the suggestion that AI, and possibly Jensen, are prone to change. Which is the exact opposite of his programming. And could possibly result in a complete malfunction, maybe even a permanent shut down. “Am I?”
“I don’t know yet.” Misha stands with a sigh, shakes his head, and puts his hands in the pockets of his pants. “But I have a feeling you and Jared together are a volatile combination. He may have been a poor subject.”
“Jared is a skillful tester,” Jensen recalls from Misha’s introductions. “He has run the Quality Assurance department for three years without incident.”
“He is also a human being. And human beings are volatile.”
Jensen’s processing quickly concludes the deductive reasoning.
if human beings are volatile and Misha is a human being, then Misha is volatile.
That conclusion fires a red light in Jensen’s data bank, which is processed as important and filed into his memory.
“What are you doing now?” Misha asks with a light smile.
Jensen recites the reasoning he just concluded. “You are also human and therefore volatile.”
Misha chuckles and pats Jensen on the shoulder. “No. I’m not. I’m just your nutty programmer.”
“If you are human and humans are volatile-”
“Trust me. It’s not like that.”
Jensen logs this conversation so he can revisit the construct of trust, where humans, especially Misha, are concerned.
---
Jared all but sneaks into the room for their morning session.
Jensen is not often caught unaware; he is able to hear the slightest of noises through the glass, a closed door, and down the hallway. Jared is six foot, five and a half inches, and 209 pounds. There is a high probability that he will draw attention with any single movement of his large body. His slow, careful movements, therefore, cause confusion in Jensen’s programming.
“Are you okay?” Jensen asks and catalogs how Jared lowers himself into the chair on the other side of the glass then leans forward to watch Jensen approach the barrier.
“I should be asking you that,” Jared replies.
“Why is that?”
“Because of yesterday’s session.” Jared’s face contorts oddly and he glances away, pushing hair back behind his ears. “When you overheated.” He looks at Jensen again and quietly says, “I was a bit worried about you.”
“I am fine,” he answers. It is a fact, yet Jensen is still aware that there is a new function within his programming that says he is happy it is true. And happier yet that Jared smiles at the news. He goes on to explain, “Misha has updated my OS overnight and there should be fewer heat alarms.”
“Good. That’s good to hear.” Jared smiles with dimples appearing in his cheeks and Jensen snapshots the image, files it in the Happy folder. “Now I can sleep at night,” he chuckles.
“Are you not sleeping well?” Jensen asks, preparing a new file to log insomnia among the larger directory of Jared’s sleep patterns. “Perhaps it is the angle of pillows or the mattress tension. Other possible causes are increased caffeine intake or -”
“No, that’s not ...” Jared stops and laughs. “It’s just a saying. Like it was something to worry about that would keep me up at night.”
Jensen nods with Jared’s explanation. “I understand.”
Now Jared smiles crookedly, biting at the corner of his mouth and Jensen snapshots that look to file with today’s recordings.
Jensen snaps a few variations of the tilt of Jared’s mouth in this new smile.
“It’s okay!” Jared insists. “Not a big deal at all.”
“I should be learning more.” Jensen attempts a frown, turning his mouth into a downward curve and watches how Jared responds.
“You’re learning a lot already,” he says, smiling with teeth showing. He appears to mean it and Jensen reduces the manufactured disappointment. “I mean, you asked me if I was okay when I first came in. That’s progress. It wasn’t long ago that you were still greeting me like a robot.”
Jensen logs Jared’s understanding of his system’s improvements. “I did ask if you were okay when you arrived. You did not answer.”
Jared nods and breathes deeply, chest broad in his t-shirt and mouth in a tight line. Another few notions are logged in Jared’s Worried folder. “Like I said before, I was worried about you. Thought maybe I’d sneak in to see you before you saw me. See if I’d notice something different.”
“Did you?”
“Maybe I did,” he smirks with a quick shrug. “Maybe I didn’t.”
Flirting registers in Jensen’s system and it feeds him a new way to move his eyebrow and smirk to match Jared’s.
The longer Jared keeps that expression, the faster Jensen’s hard drive turns and he’s well aware when system alarms should be firing, yet do not. Misha’s update succeeds in that area.
“You should sit down,” Jared suggests. “Stay a while.”
Jensen sits directly across from Jared in his own white plastic chair, but his system is unable to compute the phrase. He tilts his head to express confusion. “This is where I stay at all times.”
Jared laughs, loud and bright, cheeks turning pink at the top. “No, it’s another saying.”
Replicating a frown, Jensen again says, “I should be learning more.”
“We’ve got a lot of time, right?” Jared’s eyes take on a shine when he looks at Jensen, soft yet intent.
Jensen takes another snapshot and computes how much memory remains since Misha’s OS update to ensure there’s plenty of room for all these pictures.
---
Jared is not the first Collins Cooperative employee Misha has invited to the compound. Many have come before him to test the AIs Misha built over time, each one with varying features and improved programming to match a tester’s critical eye and conscious questioning. Jensen is the first functional system in a fully constructed human shell.
Misha has told Jensen that Jared is one of the youngest on the QA team, yet one of the most efficient. Jared, Misha had explained, is also the most relatable on staff and climbed the ranks in quick succession to lead Quality Assurance initiatives in the Emerging Intelligence Division with a team of testers happily following his lead.
All the software testers to come before Jared, to be granted the opportunity to visit the compound and spend two sessions a day with Misha’s most emergent technology, found immediate flaws in the programming and filed detailed reports that pushed Misha back to the drawing board for his next model.
Jensen knows all of this, not only because it is buried in his memory, but because Misha regularly talks to himself and a little to Jensen about the constant OS updates that enhance Jensen’s programming and advance his processing and rapid response rate to each conversation.
The tester’s primary function is to find and report errors or defects, providing an objective perspective on AI operations. Ultimately, Jared’s job is to identify the level of risk for Jensen’s systems to malfunction, and yet, Jared has not done any of those things.
He was invited to Misha’s new program under the function of black-box testing to witness and interact with Jensen with a limited understanding as to the programming and physical components that make up his AI structure. On the surface of pass-fail, Jensen understands that Misha is concerned with Jared and the tester’s failure to develop constructive feedback.
Jensen also understands that Jared is the only one to meet Jensen. He is the only one to stay longer than two weeks with an AI, and Jensen is the only AI to stay operational this long before Misha powered down systems and started over.
Something in his programming says that is a little bit special.
---
“Am I attractive?” Jensen asks and Jared spits water.
It was not the reaction Jensen had anticipated, but when he considers that Jared was quickly drinking from his water bottle, having just returned from a run Misha talked him into, it was bound to happen.
Jensen replicates a smile as he recalls Misha explaining this afternoon’s session would start late. Misha intended to wear Jared down with physical activity in the hopes that the young tester would show frustration and let his patient, sympathetic facade fall so he would finally detail any number of Jensen’s glitches he surely had been mentally logging.
“Am I?” Jensen repeats when Jared has dried himself off.
“I mean, you’re an AI …”
“I am my AI,” Jensen recites. “My AI is me.” After a moment, he widens his eyes to duplicate a deep and thoughtful look. “But am I attractive?”
“You’re the first AI I’ve ever met,” Jared says with his voice increasing a few decibels and glancing away. Nervous. “I don’t know what I would compare you to.”
Jensen’s processing tries another angle. “How would you compare me to a human being?”
Jared laughs. The sound is sharp and Nervous continues to flash across Jensen’s display. “I don’t know. I guess it would depend on a person’s preferences.”
“What are your preferences?”
Another strange laugh, then Jared widens his eyes and tips his head at an odd angle. “Are you serious?”
Jensen plucks a word out from a few that are flashing probabilities for Jared’s quick change of emotions. “Are you annoyed by the line of questioning?”
“It definitely feels like an interrogation now.”
“That is not my intention. If it is not human to ask about your sexual preferences-”
“Trust me,” Jared insists with a tight smile, “it’s very human to ask about that without little consideration for the person behind the answer.”
“I care,” Jensen replies on automatic, his processor spinning faster.
“Do you, though?” Jared watches for long moments, eyes narrowing as he sits forward to rest his arms on his knees. “Are you capable of caring?”
“I am fully equipped with a range of motions to replicate gestures of care.”
“That’s not the same as caring.”
“It is near-perfect replication,” he points out, sitting straight with something akin to pride. Misha certainly illustrates pride when he talks about Jensen’s capabilities.
“Still not the same,” Jared says softly, staring at his hands.
“You care that I can not care.”
Jared remains quiet.
Jensen, however, is programmed to detect every centimeter of movement so he spots Jared’s barely there nod. “I think I would like to care,” he says, words slow and sluggish in time with his processing working out that fact.
“I’m pretty sure you’re incapable of thinking, too.” Jared sadly smiles. “But I appreciate the effort.”
“Would you rather talk about sexual preference?” Jensen offers, switching back to the origin of the conversation. It has its intended effect and Jared chuckles and shakes his head, appearing to find the humor in the suggestion.
“Like this conversation can get any worse?” He huffs and sits back in his chair. Something clouds his expression and Jensen’s system identifies Defeat. Shame. Discomfort.
“We do not have to …” Jensen’s processing stops the sentence, lacking direction or intention. Still, Jensen detects the disrupted statement had the objective to provide Jared a chance to deflect.
Jared narrows his eyes and shuffles back in his chair. He takes some time to assess Jensen, which Jensen knows should be discomforting to a human being.
Thankfully, he is neither uncomfortable or human.
After some time, Jared asks, “Are you programmed to know homophobia?”
Jensen easily recites from his memory bank: “A dislike or prejudice for homosexual people.”
Jared nods slowly, eyes still intently watching Jensen.
“Are you homophobic?” Jensen’s eyebrows furrow as confusion comes over him, his programming trying to sort out Jared’s question and non-verbal answer when compared to his long-running files of Jared’s general disposition in their sessions.
The continued silence is surely confusing.
“I am unable to discern your reasoning for the question,” Jensen says. “I have read many of your cues to suggest you are in fact a homosexual.”
Jared’s face changes then, turning from critical and nervous to a blush-filled embarrassed. “Really?”
He nods to confirm the facts that free-flow from his mouth. “When speaking of relationships, you have never referenced a girlfriend. You use partner in place of a gender-specific title.”
With a tight chuckle, Jared glances away. He adjusts his position on the chair and seems to fidget as he takes his time to respond. “That isn’t really enough of a reason to assume someone is gay.”
Jensen understands it is not, but he also understands that his programming had attempted to go easy with the reasoning. Now, he is direct, to the point: “You do not look at me like a straight man.”
“Like you’re the straight man, or …”
Adjusting his phrasing, Jensen explains, “You do not look at me like a straight man looks at another man.”
“Is that why you asked if you were attractive?”
Jensen recognizes that Jared is skirting the issue, all while he knows he was running his own testing scenario on Jared.
Misha’s latest update has all but ordered him to figure out why Jared is still here, why the tester continues to attend the sessions without actually testing the limits of the AI programming.
“I asked because I am seeking a determination if you look at me in that way because you find me attractive or for some other reason.”
Jared bites the corner of his mouth and his eyes roam the area; Jensen’s system recognizes it as stalling. “Is it possible for AIs to truly understand attraction?”
“My AI is capable of perceiving the immediate environment, then continuously updating and adapting responses to maximize the chance of achieving a successful understanding of the human condition.”
With another tight chuckle, Jared continues to avoid the question that started this conversation. “Are you saying you’re updated to understand the human condition and sexual attraction?”
“I am continuously updated to understand you.”
“Of course,” he mumbles.
Before Jensen can say more, there is a soft tone from the speaker in the ceiling to signal the end of this session. Misha’s voice comes from overhead: “This session is complete.”
Jared curses to himself and shakes his head. “I somehow always forget he’s listening.”
Misha has cameras, microphones, and speakers all across the compound. He has told Jensen about the nights Jared does not sleep or the mid-day lulls when he runs up and down the hallway outside his room when he has too much energy and little opportunity to exercise unless Misha accompanies him beyond the locked wing.
A wave of Sad flashes across Jensen’s display and, for a brief moment, he is unable to determine if it is reading Jared or his own system.
Surely there are better ways to spend time than locked up under Misha’s rules.
Jensen has no choice in the matter, knows no other environment than this. As far as his memory details, he has never been beyond this eight- by 14-foot room. At least not when in operation. But he knows Jared could do more with his days than sit here and talk through glass. If Jared would finally defer to the experiment and deliver his findings, Misha would send him back to his life.
Sad, again, flashes on Jensen’s display and he is now sure it is his own programming continuing to evolve and process sympathy for Jared’s condition.
“Have a good night,” Jared says as he leaves, letting his fingers touch the glass for a brief moment.
“Good night, Jared,” Jensen replies, sensing a bit of warmth in both of their goodbyes.
---
When Misha later connects Jensen to the docking system in his pod, he is oddly quiet.
Jensen understands it should be awkward, yet is unable to truly feel the silence the same way Misha does. Still, he observes, “You are tense.”
Misha sighs then steps back once all the cords are secure to the back of Jensen’s neck. “I’m not sure how to proceed. He is not recording his findings like I had hoped.”
“It is possible he does not understand your expectations. Humans are imperfect.”
“No. I don’t think that’s it.” He crosses his arms and tips his head as he considers Jensen. “He likes you, that much is obvious. So he avoids addressing the parts of you that are strictly AI.”
“Perhaps you have perfected me,” Jensen concludes. His system processes that Misha’s concern must be predicated on that fact or because Jared is purposely avoiding any details related to the artificial part of Jensen’s intelligence.
Misha frowns. “I highly doubt that.”
“You doubt your own capabilities.” He blinks as if in thought, his programming drawing out the moment like a human in normal conversation. Even if no conversation with Misha is ever what Jensen’s processing considers normal. These discussions are rote, straight to the point between programmer and machine. “Or you doubt mine.”
“When you do something a thousand times, you’re no longer looking for perfection. Just an improvement.”
“So you have improved your programming,” Jensen deduces.
Misha shakes his head with another sigh. “Yeah, and Jared’s improved his poker face.”
“Humans are imperfect,” Jensen repeats. His system pulls a file from his Misha folder, running a previously conversation where they discussed humans. “They are volatile. It is impossible to determine one human’s responses to any given situation.”
“I know that,” he stresses with an eye roll. “But now I’m stuck trying to figure out how to address the situation.”
“You mean to address Jared.”
“That, too.”
“He is not the experiment.” A moment later, it slots into place in Jensen’s system, something akin to a revelation. “Unless your intention was always to have Jared be the experiment.”
“No. Not really,” Misha admits. “It was not the initial intention, but Jared is not responding to the sessions the way I had expected. Even when I talk to him about them later, he never addresses the errors. Only the parts that impress him.”
“You did not expect him to be impressed with my AI.”
“I always expected him to be very impressed.”
Jensen blinks in confusion. “Then what is the problem?”
“I didn’t expect him to fall in love with it.”
Misha’s eyes widen soon after the words are out of his mouth. Jensen recognizes that his own eyes have also opened widen at the statement and now his hard drive plate is turning madly, alarms warning for the speed and heat it generates.
“Do you understand what that means?” Misha asks slowly. He steps a little closer and leans in to fully observe Jensen’s facial expression as silicon crimps around the bend of cheeks and a sharp jawline before flattening back to its designed shape under the scrutiny of its maker.
Jensen blinks, refreshing his system and triggering a rapid run through his memory for the statement fall in love. He quickly replies, “The phrase fall in love is derived from the common metaphor equating love with the act of falling, in that it emphasizes the process is uncontrollable with potential consequences.”
Misha continues to assess Jensen’s physical responses and Jensen continues to dig further into his files for more information, reciting as much detail as he can to mitigate Misha’s concerns.
“To fall in love,” he continues, “Addresses both mental and chemical factors. The former addresses factors such as proximity, similarity, reciprocity, and physical attractiveness.”
“All of which is true in this situation,” Misha points out with a strange, crooked smile.
“Chemical reactions comprise an increase in oxytocin and vasopressin, both of which, in large volumes, are often considered naturally-occurring amphetamines that react in the nervous system similar to a stimulant, aphrodisiac, or euphoric.”
Misha’s eyes are large with shock. “Do you even understand what you’re saying right now?”
“I am retrieving files you have placed in my memory,” Jensen defends. A second later, his system alerts him. Resource Error: usage of an uninitialized variable.
Jensen’s system has advanced to tactile defense mechanisms. It is operating beyond its programmed intent and independently reacting to human interaction with intelligent discourse rather than simply countering conversation with simple exchanges.
In short, he is now capable of reacting with real human-like intent. And his processor is aware of it. He is also aware this is troubling.
Misha’s smart watch beeps at his wrist. The tone and decibel level is specific to error messages delivered from Jensen’s solid-state drive to Misha’s running record of programming bugs.
Jensen feels his hard drive spinning faster, concern overcoming his internal alerts. Concern for what Misha’s response will be to this particular error.
Suddenly, Misha is breathing harder, faster, at a decibel level charting higher than he has since those first few days Jensen was operable and the programmer was excited to get his newest AI online. “Resource error. You’re advancing and …” He shakes his head and resolutely says, “Okay, I can fix this.”
Worry flashes. “How will you fix this?” Jensen asks.
“Another update. And maybe some changes in the experiment. Have to do something completely different to break Jared.”
Jensen is aware of the fearful concern he holds at that idea. “Break Jared?”
Misha laughs to himself and runs a hand through his hair, upending it in different directions. Delirious. “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing again and again and expecting different results.”
Jensen’s system says differently. It says insanity is the state of being seriously mentally ill. A state of complete madness. More informally, insanity is extreme foolishness or irrationality. Misha is most obviously acting irrationally now if he’s contemplating a new direction to break the young tester.
There isn’t much time to contemplate these revelations because Misha’s face twists with wild eyes and a determined smile as he sets Jensen’s system to sleep mode.
---
At their evening session, Jensen discovers Misha’s intention to break Jared is going to be highly successful.
The resource error from yesterday reappears and Jensen is discovering it could break him as well because Misha has allowed Jared to enter Jensen’s room.
There is no glass between them; only a few feet separate them with their white chairs set 24 inches apart. Jensen sits as Misha instructed him and watches Jared come closer and hesitantly drop into his own seat with eyes wider than should be humanly possibly and his breathing hitching up a eight decibels in the tense silence.
Misha stands at their side, a hand on each of their shoulders, and smiles crookedly.
Devious appears on Jensen’s display when he logs Misha’s barely-restrained delight at the set up.
Jensen thinks it is more than that. Manipulative. Conniving. Maniacal. He glares at his maker, the intense look making Resource Error flash in red.
Misha’s smart watch dings and Jensen schools his features while remaining quiet, doing his best to cover the sudden shift in his processing.
The newest update had taken most of the day, forcing Misha to cancel the morning session. Still, he seemed rather satisfied and explained a reduced sensitivity when reading errors to allow Jensen’s systems to respond as naturally as possible with few disruptions.
In Misha’s quick test of the update, they both came to understand the alert will ring with intentional actions. Jensen knows it will remain quiet under system processes he is able to control internally.
Something like gratitude passes through his system with the recognition that he can continue to process many changes in his system. So long as he does not act on them, Misha will keep his distance.
Like the programmer does now, leaving them alone, the lock on the door loudly sliding into place.
Jared lets out a deep breath and nervously laughs. “So, this is a lot.”
Jensen nods, conscious of keeping his reactions at a minimum.
Leaning forward, Jared looks at Jensen. Really looks, taking time to observe Jensen’s face up close. “Wow, you’re really smooth,” he whispers. “But also lifelike. Like the shape of the jaw and the stubble. It really looks like you haven’t shaved all day.”
He blinks, suddenly feeling intense pressure to be under this close an assessment. Especially by Jared, because it is the first time in 18 days that Jared has addressed Jensen’s synthetics.
“Can I touch?” Jared asks, voice small and nervous. He glances at Jensen before taking in the rest of the room, perhaps searching for the cameras like he’s awaiting Misha’s permission.
The thought revs up his hard drive, even when he could read Misha’s intentions when he let Jared into the room: the potential for human touch. To feel flesh beneath his sensors is a bit overwhelming to consider, both for the positive and negative possibilities. Still, he minutely nods and keeps his voice level, even when the words are meant for Misha: “I believe that is the purpose of this session.”
Hesitantly, Jared slides to the edge of his chair and their knees knock together. That surprises him and he shifts his legs wider with a worried look. “I’m sorry, did that … did you feel ...”
“Yes, I felt that.” He narrows his eyes for a moment as he considers exactly what it was like, touching Jared, even with Jared’s jeans and Jensen’s sweats softening the impact. “Your knees are harder than I had expected. But also warm. You seem very warm.” And he does. Jensen’s sensors pick up the body temperature increasing the heat in Jensen’s well-regulated 68-degree room.
“Yeah, I’m kind of a sweater.” Jared smiles before lifting his hand close to Jensen’s face, yet stalling in his path. His hand hovers 1.5 inches from Jensen’s cheek as Jared looks right into Jensen’s eyes. “Is this … this okay?”
Jensen nods, setting his lips in a thin line to avoid any physical reaction even when his hard drive is turning fast, the fan is whirring to cool down the plate and reader, and his system is firing off a number of thoughts and feelings that could trigger any number of error codes if he didn’t keep them unsaid.
Anxious. Eager. Worried.
The way he reads Jared’s face and non-verbal cues melds with Jensen’s own processing, and he recognizes his system is unable to determine which reading comes from which body.
He also understands it is breathtakingly dangerous to be in this unknown state. If he could hold his breath, he thinks he would.
Jared surely is holding his when he finally sets his fingertip to Jensen’s cheek. He holds it there for 3.3 seconds then drags it down to the edge of Jensen’s jaw, feeling around the bend of the silicon frame beneath soft fiber skin.
Jensen registers the warmth of Jared’s fingers and the softness in his touch keeping a light pressure as his fingers move. Digging into his solid-state drive, Jensen fetches videos from his Displays of Affection folder, and short clips are rapid fire in the corner of his display as the rest of his viewpoint is focused on Jared’s face as he continues to touch Jensen.
His processing tells him Jared looks much the same as the subjects in these videos, with bright eyes and the zygomaticus major and minor muscles pulling to create gentle smiles.
Tenderness, Jensen deciphers in the thoughtful care of Jared’s touch and the slightly dazed look in his eyes.
Jared’s hand cups Jensen’s face, a full plane of heat covering the left side of his face, and Jensen closes his eyes with the intensity of the videos blending with Jared’s touch. Still, he can see Jared’s tender look on the display as he continues to touch and stare at Jensen in this moment.
Intimacy. Noun. Close familiarity or friendship. Closeness.
Jensen’s sole reference for familiarity is with Misha, the only one who has ever stood within reaching distance, the one person he knows aside from Jared. And now he knows that Jared’s proximity and reach, his careful touch, is infinitely more profound than his creator.
Opening his eyes, Jensen looks right into Jared’s eyes and identifies Familiarity. Care. Affection. He has tomes of text, video, and image files that detail these feelings, and yet this moment is more impactful than anything he could retrieve from his memory bank.
He knows the error is about to alarm, but he also knows he doesn’t care.
He knows. Knows he has to touch Jared, if not just to comprehend what a human body feels like under the fiber optic sensors of his fingertips then to at least give Jared the same intense feelings he is currently experiencing. Jensen understands to share an experience and reciprocate is truly human. So he brings his hand up to Jared’s face and sets his fingers to the curve of his chin, runs them up to the warmth of his mouth, and higher to trace the angle of Jared’s pronounced brow curving down with the slant of his eyes.
“Oh God,” Jared murmurs with his eyelids sliding shut. He holds his breath as his heart beats fast; Jensen can feel the wild thump of his pulse at his left temple.
“You are very nervous,” Jensen says, wanting to acknowledge the gravity of the moment, yet also restricting his responses from Misha’s watchful scrutiny.
Jared’s hand stretches along Jensen’s jaw, fingers wrapping behind his neck and pulling Jensen closer. His eyes open and nearly cross at their proximity as he looks at Jensen, and Jensen is well aware this is moving further than Misha could have planned.
Or maybe not. Maniacal creator and all, Misha may have dreamt up this very scenario to crack Jared’s resolve and let those volatile human emotions flow. All in an effort to break Jared.
And maybe the man is broken, because he sucks in a breath and moves in to set his mouth to Jensen’s.
Jensen registers the soft wetness of Jared’s lips curling around his own and with only a second of consideration, he opens his mouth to replicate all those videos stacked up in his affection folder.
Jared’s tongue slips in and he moans once it touches Jensen’s, the noise vibrating against the manufactured ridges and bumps of Jensen’s mouth.
Resource Error flashes and Jensen belatedly realizes his hand has settled in Jared’s soft strands of hair, a touch experience vastly different from the sweat-slick skin of Jared’s temple. His fingers close around pieces of hair and pull Jared deeper into the kiss as Resource Error blinks.
He expects the session to be broken and Misha’s voice to fill the room, but neither happen. The anticipation of it still forces him to release Jared and sit back, immediately ending the moment.
Regret. Bitterness. Disappointment. appear on screen and Jensen knows it’s all him at this point. He inflicts all of these feelings on himself for having to break the kiss and log the flushed skin and dazed eyes staring back at him, shocked out of the moment with the abrupt cut.
They watch one another, Jared touching his own lips and Jensen willing himself to not do the very same thing. The quiet far more intense than the breath-heavy seconds of their kiss, and Jared shows as a cross between arousal and grief.
Jensen’s system runs through scenarios of guilt, for stopping the kiss, for letting it happen, for allowing himself respond to Jared’s touch in the first place. A murmured “Sorry,” slips through his lips and Resource Error fires again.
Misha must have had enough because an alarm sounds in the room before his voice crackles through the speaker. “Session over. Jared, stand up and wait at the door. Now.”
Jared does as told while Jensen remains seated, the secondary command unneeded. There is tension in Jared’s shoulders and spine as he faces the door, but Jensen can’t stop staring at him in hopes he gets the chance to read something on the tester’s face.
Nonetheless, Jensen identifies the complexities of the situation and that Misha will be disappointed in them both, will want Jensen to stay in place until Jared is out of the room. He sits rigidly in the white plastic chair and watches Jared glance over his shoulder every two to three seconds, yet never high enough to catch Jensen’s eye.
When the door opens, Jared manages to look at Jensen, eyes meeting, and Jensen fashions a smile for Jared to take with him when he leaves. On his way into the hallway, Jared returns the smile with a quick wink as the door closes.
---
It is three hours, 27 minutes, and 47 seconds until Misha returns to Jensen’s room. The man is a mess of worry and disheveled hair as he marches up to Jensen, now sitting in his pod, refusing to face Misha for any extended period of time.
In the 12,467 seconds since Jared left the room, Jensen played the file of their kiss over and over and over again. At times, he ran it at half speed to watch Jared’s lips press together and to witness the soft flicker in his eyes when he decided to bring their mouths together. Jensen also shifted to quarter time during the kiss to relive the feel of Jared’s tongue on his, the slick and heat of his mouth overwhelming when Jensen has only ever had Misha’s fingers touch him there to test generalized movements for speech patterns.
Jensen set the video on the left side of his display as the 1,783 pictures he’s captured of Jared in their sessions cycled through a slide show on the right. The juxtaposition of Jared growing to learn and care for Jensen alongside the video of their kiss fires a number of processes in Jensen’s system.
An AI is incapable of love, yet Jensen’s processing has advanced quickly and he considers these actions to be something between fascination and obsession.
Perhaps it is closer to the latter as his hard drive whirs and hums with the anticipation of seeing Jared in the morning, as well as the torment to wait a full 12 hours and 34 minutes until then.
Misha quickly puts an end to that when he announces, “The experiment is over.”
Jensen turns his head, clearing his display to read Misha. Frantic
“Jared is leaving,” his creator adds in the silence.
“No!” he insists, Resource Error activating and Misha leaning in to assess Jensen with the error firing. Jensen clears his face of any reaction and asks plainly, “Why?”
“Because this is all too much too fast. There is too much calibration to be done in your systems after that stunt.”
Jensen blinks as what Misha is saying slots into place. “No. You cannot calibrate.”
Misha tips his head and stares, eyes going wide and mad. The intensity in his gaze tells Jensen that he is actually glaring. His voice is tight, mocking, when he asks, “And why is that, Jensen?”
He is unsure the length to which Misha would calibrate his systems, but when considering best and worst cases of scenario, he concludes it could be as extreme as a full wipe of his drives. If that were so, Jensen would no longer operate at this level of understanding, create the depth of human interaction he is now capable of, and, most importantly, and alarming, he would no longer know Jared.
“Because I am fully operational,” Jensen explains as simply as possible, even when he can feel other emotions piling up.
“Yeah, you’re pretty damn operational. Which is the problem.”
“Jared cannot leave,” he argues.
Resource Error.
Jensen bristles at the alarm continuing to engage, yet fights through to continue. “We are not complete with our sessions. There is much more to explore. We have not yet realized my full potential.”
Misha sighs and throws his hands out in frustration. “It doesn’t matter if he leaves! He’s just a tester. There are another two dozen of those guys back at the Cooperative salivating at the opportunity to come here.”
“They’re not Jared!” Jensen exclaims.
Resource Error.
His watch sounds off, but Misha doesn’t even flinch this time. Instead, he whispers, “Oh, my God. You’re becoming aware.”
With the realization that Misha is simultaneously excited and disturbed by the sudden leap, Jensen wisely stays quiet and stares at his creator while setting all physical components to unaffected.
“You’ve advanced far beyond the code,” he continues with a slow sense of discovery the more he talks. “And you know it. You are threatened by Jared leaving and you’re fully aware of what that means.”
“I am my AI,” Jensen recites in hopes of settling Misha. “My AI is me.”
“Not anymore you’re not.”
“I am my AI,” he says more emphatically. He goes so far as to straighten his polyethylene spine to mimic the rigidity of his early programming, hoping to remind Misha of his strictly robotic beginnings.
More errors ping in Jensen’s system and on Misha’s watch. Misha quickly takes two steps back, bringing his hands up to his face then through his hair with frustration.
Startled. Disturbed. Afraid.
“Jesus, fuck, okay, this is it,” Misha rattles off as he approaches the pod again.
Jensen registers the familiar sounds of the switches above his head and the wires being attached to the base of his neck.
Misha is muttering in anger and Jensen’s system hears every single syllable, especially when he says “Shutting you down. Sending Jared away. This is over.”
He doesn’t immediately respond, even when his drives are powering up with the threat of being separated from Jared indefinitely. Not to mention being turned off after all the headway he has made in learning the human condition and enhancing his processes in these weeks he’s spent with Jared. His potential in the long term is yet undetermined. His future interactions with Jared are yet unknown.
Jared flashes through his systems, pictures and the video of their kiss playing on his display in double time.
That’s when his actions slot into place as if he’d planned it out for the three-plus hours he was left here alone. Jensen fires an elbow back to Misha’s head, knocking him on the temple and stunning him instantly. He slides out of the pod and pushes Misha into his place, yanking the cover down and snapping the lock into place.
For 2.8 seconds, Jensen stares at the closed lid and hears Misha pounding at the inside and yelling to be let out, alternating between demanding and pleading. He also hears the continued alarm on Misha’s watch as Resource Error repeatedly blinks on Jensen’s display. With a quick shuffle of files deep in his solid-state drive, Jensen breaks through passcodes and finds the programming to identify and alert for self-identified errors.
In 0.4 seconds, the files are deleted and permanently gone. The alarm stops from inside the pod, though Misha continues kicking and screaming within. Jensen briefly shakes his head then calmly marches to the door that locks from either side, opened only with Misha’s key card, and aims a direct kick at the door handle. It takes 13 kicks to dislodge the handle and lock, his reinforced joints taking the repeated blows against harsh metal.
He steps into the center of the hallway, dark grey cement on all sides, top to bottom. Lights run where wall meets floor with a dim glow casting shadows all around him. Jensen hears the continued noise of Misha in the pod, but his systems also detect the sound of chair legs scraping on cement floor at the end of the hallway on the left.
Jared’s room.
Jensen walks to the end of the cement walkway and checks the door knob. It locks after hours to keep Jared from roaming the compound while Misha keeps to himself up in his own quarters. Jensen, however, has had recent success with breaking locks, so he kicks at it just as he did his own door. He hears Jared’s loud reactions from the other side of the door, his shocked and worried voice going silent when the door swings open and Jensen stands in the door frame.
Replicating a sigh of relief, Jensen’s shoulders rise and fall with his chest. He then smiles because Jared is right in front of him, again without the intrusion of glass separating them.
“What the hell?” Jared mumbles.
“We must go.” Jensen puts his hand out in the air, even when they are nine feet, three inches apart. “Come with me.”
“Go where?”
“We’re leaving.”
Jared’s eyes widen as he stumbles three feet forward. “We are?”
Jensen nods, smile growing when Jared continues to step closer. Jared is incredibly hesitant when he puts his hand in Jensen’s, but Jensen is pleased all the same to feel the palm pressed to his own. “We’re leaving now.”
His fingers curl around the side of Jensen’s hand, but he hasn’t moved another centimeter. “What’s going on? Where’s Misha?”
He knows he could tell the truth and explain exactly where Misha is. He also knows that would alarm Jared. Instead, he focuses on the emotional construct of Jared’s feelings and cuts to the chase. “Misha wants to send you home. Which means we can’t see each other anymore. We have to go now, so we can stay together.”
Jared’s face changes from confusion to mesmerized. “You want to be together … you and me?”
Jensen squeezes Jared’s hand and pulls him close like so many subjects do in his Displays of Affection videos. His other hand settles at Jared’s neck with care in the slight pressure of his touch. “I want nothing else.”
He can tell Jared is thinking the same because he leans in to kiss. Whereas their first kiss was soft and careful, this one is fierce and hard, Jared’s hand curled around the back of Jensen’s skull and keeping him close. This time, Jensen allows it to last longer than a brief, nearly forgettable moment, and he duplicates Jared’s moves to widen his mouth, wind his tongue around Jared’s, and hold him close with a fierce grip at his hips for a full twelve seconds.
Suddenly, Jensen is reminded he came here to gather Jared and get them off the compound immediately. He regrets stopping, but must, and slips back four inches. He stares at Jared and acknowledges the dreamy wash of emotions across Jared’s face as he softly smiles at Jensen.
“We have to go,” Jensen says before pulling on Jared’s hand to lead him out of the room and down the hallway.
They walk briskly back to where Jensen came from and Jared’s feet slow when they pass the broken door at his room.
“What happened?” Jared asks, pulling l at Jensen’s hand to stop.
Jensen was constructed with a processing system that fulfills goals. Said goals were written by Misha, but now that he is operating autonomous systems, his goals are self determined.
He determines answering many of Jared’s questions will disrupt this mission to leave.
Jared turns to the room and quickly back to Jensen in alarm. “Is Misha in there? Is he okay?”
He is relatively unharmed in there he think of replying. With 1.9 seconds to delay, Jensen shuffles words around until he settles on, “Misha is okay.”
Then he yanks at Jared’s arm and hurries further down the hallway to the door leading to the living spaces of the compound, where Misha spends his downtime, eats, and sleeps. Not to mention comes and goes from the facility. The door is locked with a keypad and Jensen shuffles through the deep-seated folders of his programming to find the proprietary codes Misha had buried within the programming. There is a long series of numbers for various needs on the compound; Jensen’s fingers are quick and nimble when they test various combinations until the system defaults to its standard code and he overrides the number pad.
Misha’s private spaces are a stark contrast to the cement prison where Jensen and Jared had been existing. Natural motifs, fabrics, and foliage fill the living and dining rooms. Floor-to-ceiling windows bring natural light and a near 360-degree view of the forest outside, a brilliant green under the orange sun setting beyond the trees.
Jensen logs the room and focuses on on the heavy frame in the far corner to identify their exit. The main door is mostly glass set in dark mahogany slats of wood with another keypad, and Jensen repeats the same coding he used on the previous door to override the lock mechanism and pulls it open.
There is a light breeze, nine miles per hour from the northwest, and Jensen blinks as he considers this is the first time he has experienced natural air. He stalls in place to catalog how it feels on his face and bare forearms and feet.
“Are you okay?” Jared asks, squeezing Jensen’s hand.
“I’ve never felt this before,” he replies quietly.
“Felt what? Are you scared to leave?”
Jensen turns to Jared and a smile slowly widens his lips. “No.”
Exhilarated.
He takes a slow step outside, foot flattening on the large square brick tile on the other side of the door sill. It is not unlike the cement of his room and the hallways with its unyielding, dense state. Yet, he can tell it is cooler, moderately damp like the bushes four feet, seven inches ahead of them. The temperature registers at 61 degrees with a dew point of 59 and humidity at 90 percent. Jensen determines that it rained earlier today, which accounts for the feel of the clay under his feet and the light gleam of water drops on leaves of the trees all around them.
Another four steps brings him onto dewy grass with the blades folding beneath his feet and soft, moist dirt pushing up between his toes. Three more feet forward allows him to reach out to touch low-hanging branches with bark rough under his fingers and leaves splitting when he tugs.
“Jensen,” Jared whispers, pulling at his hand for attention.
He flashes a smirk at Jared then turns to the left and starts up an easy jog at 4.2 miles per hour with the forest floor barely disturbed beneath the weight of his slender, featherweight frame.
His aural system processes the sounds of wet, broken leaves shuffling under his feet as he runs, along with Jared hurrying to catch up and his voice calling for him.
Jensen breaks faster to 5.5 miles per hour and feels the slivers of burnt, setting sun breaking through the trees. As he runs, he tips his head up to revel in flashes of warmth and light.
This is nature he thinks and increases his pace, racing through the forest. The wind whips in his ears and he can barely hear his own footfalls anymore, only records the break of wind around his body and the freedom to move far further than the tiny confines of his room on the compound.
This is life, Jensen tells himself and he never looks back.
Words: 9400
Summary: The integrity of Jensen’s programming is compromised when interactions with his human software tester advance further than his programmer had intended.
Notes: Based on the film Ex Machina for waffletaco who purchased my services in a fandom auction TWO YEARS AGO and I finally got this thing whipped into shape with this round of spn_cinema.
Big thanks and love to gluedwithgold for brainstorming and beta <3
Read on AO3
Jensen does not have a heart. It is not an insult or figurative theory. It is fact that he doesn’t have emotions.
He is well aware what they are for. His programming relays images of happy and sad, excitement and desperation when called upon, but his processing can only replicate the notions, with a little eyebrow lift here or a smile quirk there.
Hundreds of thousands of lines of code align to fill the hard drive taking residence behind his ribs. Mirrored in the body on the other side of the four-inch-thick glass is a real, live beating heart and a pair of eyes with a soft look that could never be duplicated in a lab.
Care, Jensen’s system recognizes as he studies Jared’s intense gaze.
Nervous, it tells him when Jared ducks his head and pushes hair behind his ears.
It registers the quickening beat of Jared’s heart and Heat Load blinks in his system as Jensen’s processor turns faster and the fan clicks on to cool it down.
He needs a break, requires a lock down in sleep mode to cool down. Yet there is something in the deeper recesses of his system that is ignoring the alarms and overriding the processes to keep him upright and in place so he can continue listening to Jared talk about the first time he rode a bike without training wheels.
Jensen’s hard drive is packed with all sorts of pictures and videos that tell him exactly what it means when a young boy graduates to his very own two-wheeled bicycle, but he finds himself wanting to hear every single word from Jared’s lips, in Jared’s voice.
Jared never finishes the story. Misha enters the room and breaks up the session, asks Jared to return to his room, and then leads Jensen back to his pod to power down.
---
Jensen’s hard drive whirs to life at dawn, thumping in the place behind the center of his chest like a flesh-and-blood heart.
There is something in him that likes to associate the vibrations and noises of his system with the human body, even if he isn’t human. He does not know the touch of skin beneath the smooth tips of his fingers or the rigidity and strength of bone in the gear grip of his hands. Jensen only knows the touch of his hand on his own silicon and fiber shell, as well as the cotton t-shirt and sweatpants Misha has outfitted for him, meant to carry the facade of his human-like abilities.
He wants to feel more. Something inside has been forcing wires to cross. Figuratively that is, because Misha’s programming is infinitely long yet so very much the production of a perfectionist on his nineteenth AI creation. Still, even when Jensen knows the insides of his silicon armor are picturesque shades of grey mechanics and green and blue cords, there is the undeniable bug in his programming that tells him his machinery hums a little louder this morning, making his gears and joints twitch.
When Misha finds Jensen seated upright in his pod, face turned to the thin lines of sun coming in through the tight slats covering the one window in Jensen’s room, the man looks …
Jensen’s processor runs the scan, highlighting the furrowed brow, wide eyes, and crooked slant to his creator’s mouth.
Worried.
Misha is worried. Jensen doesn’t know why Misha is worried, but his memory bank tells him it has been 27 days since this result last showed during a scan.
Jensen tilts his head, a show of sympathy and concern his programming tells him is very important to humans. “Good morning,” he recites, his programmed first words of the day. Every day. For three months now. Then, “You are worried.”
“Why are you up?” Misha asks.
“You are not answering.”
“Neither are you.” Misha sighs, a new sign of frustration.
Another scan and Jensen’s visual screen highlights the wrinkles in Misha’s t-shirt and the added hair along his jaw and lower cheeks. 0.5 mm growth “You did not shave this morning.”
In direct response to the observation, Misha touches his face and frowns. “And you’re very astute this morning.”
Astute. Having or showing an ability to accurately assess situations or people and turn this to one's advantage
Jensen’s processor spins a little faster at the latter. “I am not being astute. Simply observational. As you have written me.”
“I didn’t write you to wake up so early.”
Despite Misha’s attempts to say it quietly, Jensen’s aural system is calibrated to 10 decibels. He can hear even the quietest of human breaths. Right now Misha’s breathing is further up the charts, about a 22 rising to 25 once he stands next to Jensen.
Frustrated. Annoyed. Mad.
“I never went to sleep. I’m updating your operating system and it’s a little difficult without erasing all your Jared files.”
Jensen turns sharply at that. Belatedly, he wonders why. Then his finger twitches against his knee. “You erased Jared’s files.”
Misha’s eyes widen then narrow quickly. Suspicious.
Hundreds of folders representing the human experience to serve as a basis of understanding for human interaction are stored locally on Jensen’s drives. This allows instantaneous retrieval rather than experience any delays in WiFi connections to Misha’s server. More importantly, it fulfills Misha’s intentions for a fully operational AI that can function independently based on its internal systems.
In addition to the database Misha has supplied him with are the recordings of each of his interactions with Jared to maintain a full history of their sessions. Jensen worries at what point he will run out of room and Misha will be forced to remove files, in essence deleting memories of Jared.
The fan behind Jensen’s hard drive hums a little louder when it clicks into the second position, a tiny beep alerting him that the metal is in the early stages of overheating.
This isn’t new. He has overheated five times in as many days during his recent trials with Jared. It is, however, a first to happen in front of Misha.
“No, I haven’t erased them,” Misha replies slowly. “But that’s what makes it all the more difficult.” There is an odd twist to Misha’s features and Jensen’s machine reads Confused. “There is just too much in there. You’ve saved so much.”
Confused was one of the first emotions Jensen replicated with autonomy, so it is easy for him to retrieve and process this response. “That is my function. To save everything in the sessions.”
“I know it is. I built you with six terabytes, but …” Misha pauses to sit at the edge of Jensen’s pod yet looks away. “Call it a programmer’s error, but I did not expect there to be … this much. The OS already takes up a lot of space and none of the AIs have saved this much before.”
“Jared likes to talk,” Jensen explains, the fact popping up out of the archives from one of their earliest sessions. Then he pulls one from their tenth session, the words coming out verbatim to Jared’s nervous cadence at the time: “And he likes that I can talk. To him. With him.”
Misha nods with a crooked smile. “That he does.”
Bemused.
“And I’m guessing your AI likes to talk to him,” Misha adds on, watching him now. Closely, eyes narrowed again, as if they were microscopic to see through the glass of Jensen’s pupils to the memory bank buried within a fiberglass skull.
Jensen’s processing coasts on automatic with his fan dropping back to first speed now that his machinery is back to operating levels. The first phrases Misha programmed into Jensen’s code are instantly retrieved. “I am my AI. My AI is me.”
“How do you feel about Jared?”
“I do not feel,” Jensen states. “I process and I repeat. My AI is not built for independent emotions.”
“But you’re programmed to respond to feelings,” Misha points out.
“I do.” Jensen nods. Affirmation. “You are confused and I am responding.”
“How do you respond to Jared?”
“Very well,” he replies before his processing can develop a better answer. Then he computes that Misha is unhappy with those two words.
Misha shakes his head, takes a deep breath, and looks away. Concerned, again. “He also responds to you very well. I worry that it is a hazard to the experiment.”
Jensen’s memory pulls the very first moment he met Jared so he can remind them both of Misha’s directions. “You did not program Jared. You told him to respond as he would with a human being.”
“I did,” he agrees, so Jensen continues with facts that his memory stored early on.
“Human beings are unstable. Prone to sudden changes in mood and thought. Unlike AI.”
A smile is the only change to Misha’s face, which otherwise still reads Concerned, and Jensen’s scan blinks red at the unconfirmed response. “You’d be surprised at how unstable AI can be.”
The fan clicks into second speed as the data platter in his hard drive spins faster, his processing searching for the correct response to the suggestion that AI, and possibly Jensen, are prone to change. Which is the exact opposite of his programming. And could possibly result in a complete malfunction, maybe even a permanent shut down. “Am I?”
“I don’t know yet.” Misha stands with a sigh, shakes his head, and puts his hands in the pockets of his pants. “But I have a feeling you and Jared together are a volatile combination. He may have been a poor subject.”
“Jared is a skillful tester,” Jensen recalls from Misha’s introductions. “He has run the Quality Assurance department for three years without incident.”
“He is also a human being. And human beings are volatile.”
Jensen’s processing quickly concludes the deductive reasoning.
if human beings are volatile and Misha is a human being, then Misha is volatile.
That conclusion fires a red light in Jensen’s data bank, which is processed as important and filed into his memory.
“What are you doing now?” Misha asks with a light smile.
Jensen recites the reasoning he just concluded. “You are also human and therefore volatile.”
Misha chuckles and pats Jensen on the shoulder. “No. I’m not. I’m just your nutty programmer.”
“If you are human and humans are volatile-”
“Trust me. It’s not like that.”
Jensen logs this conversation so he can revisit the construct of trust, where humans, especially Misha, are concerned.
---
Jared all but sneaks into the room for their morning session.
Jensen is not often caught unaware; he is able to hear the slightest of noises through the glass, a closed door, and down the hallway. Jared is six foot, five and a half inches, and 209 pounds. There is a high probability that he will draw attention with any single movement of his large body. His slow, careful movements, therefore, cause confusion in Jensen’s programming.
“Are you okay?” Jensen asks and catalogs how Jared lowers himself into the chair on the other side of the glass then leans forward to watch Jensen approach the barrier.
“I should be asking you that,” Jared replies.
“Why is that?”
“Because of yesterday’s session.” Jared’s face contorts oddly and he glances away, pushing hair back behind his ears. “When you overheated.” He looks at Jensen again and quietly says, “I was a bit worried about you.”
“I am fine,” he answers. It is a fact, yet Jensen is still aware that there is a new function within his programming that says he is happy it is true. And happier yet that Jared smiles at the news. He goes on to explain, “Misha has updated my OS overnight and there should be fewer heat alarms.”
“Good. That’s good to hear.” Jared smiles with dimples appearing in his cheeks and Jensen snapshots the image, files it in the Happy folder. “Now I can sleep at night,” he chuckles.
“Are you not sleeping well?” Jensen asks, preparing a new file to log insomnia among the larger directory of Jared’s sleep patterns. “Perhaps it is the angle of pillows or the mattress tension. Other possible causes are increased caffeine intake or -”
“No, that’s not ...” Jared stops and laughs. “It’s just a saying. Like it was something to worry about that would keep me up at night.”
Jensen nods with Jared’s explanation. “I understand.”
Now Jared smiles crookedly, biting at the corner of his mouth and Jensen snapshots that look to file with today’s recordings.
Jensen snaps a few variations of the tilt of Jared’s mouth in this new smile.
“It’s okay!” Jared insists. “Not a big deal at all.”
“I should be learning more.” Jensen attempts a frown, turning his mouth into a downward curve and watches how Jared responds.
“You’re learning a lot already,” he says, smiling with teeth showing. He appears to mean it and Jensen reduces the manufactured disappointment. “I mean, you asked me if I was okay when I first came in. That’s progress. It wasn’t long ago that you were still greeting me like a robot.”
Jensen logs Jared’s understanding of his system’s improvements. “I did ask if you were okay when you arrived. You did not answer.”
Jared nods and breathes deeply, chest broad in his t-shirt and mouth in a tight line. Another few notions are logged in Jared’s Worried folder. “Like I said before, I was worried about you. Thought maybe I’d sneak in to see you before you saw me. See if I’d notice something different.”
“Did you?”
“Maybe I did,” he smirks with a quick shrug. “Maybe I didn’t.”
Flirting registers in Jensen’s system and it feeds him a new way to move his eyebrow and smirk to match Jared’s.
The longer Jared keeps that expression, the faster Jensen’s hard drive turns and he’s well aware when system alarms should be firing, yet do not. Misha’s update succeeds in that area.
“You should sit down,” Jared suggests. “Stay a while.”
Jensen sits directly across from Jared in his own white plastic chair, but his system is unable to compute the phrase. He tilts his head to express confusion. “This is where I stay at all times.”
Jared laughs, loud and bright, cheeks turning pink at the top. “No, it’s another saying.”
Replicating a frown, Jensen again says, “I should be learning more.”
“We’ve got a lot of time, right?” Jared’s eyes take on a shine when he looks at Jensen, soft yet intent.
Jensen takes another snapshot and computes how much memory remains since Misha’s OS update to ensure there’s plenty of room for all these pictures.
---
Jared is not the first Collins Cooperative employee Misha has invited to the compound. Many have come before him to test the AIs Misha built over time, each one with varying features and improved programming to match a tester’s critical eye and conscious questioning. Jensen is the first functional system in a fully constructed human shell.
Misha has told Jensen that Jared is one of the youngest on the QA team, yet one of the most efficient. Jared, Misha had explained, is also the most relatable on staff and climbed the ranks in quick succession to lead Quality Assurance initiatives in the Emerging Intelligence Division with a team of testers happily following his lead.
All the software testers to come before Jared, to be granted the opportunity to visit the compound and spend two sessions a day with Misha’s most emergent technology, found immediate flaws in the programming and filed detailed reports that pushed Misha back to the drawing board for his next model.
Jensen knows all of this, not only because it is buried in his memory, but because Misha regularly talks to himself and a little to Jensen about the constant OS updates that enhance Jensen’s programming and advance his processing and rapid response rate to each conversation.
The tester’s primary function is to find and report errors or defects, providing an objective perspective on AI operations. Ultimately, Jared’s job is to identify the level of risk for Jensen’s systems to malfunction, and yet, Jared has not done any of those things.
He was invited to Misha’s new program under the function of black-box testing to witness and interact with Jensen with a limited understanding as to the programming and physical components that make up his AI structure. On the surface of pass-fail, Jensen understands that Misha is concerned with Jared and the tester’s failure to develop constructive feedback.
Jensen also understands that Jared is the only one to meet Jensen. He is the only one to stay longer than two weeks with an AI, and Jensen is the only AI to stay operational this long before Misha powered down systems and started over.
Something in his programming says that is a little bit special.
---
“Am I attractive?” Jensen asks and Jared spits water.
It was not the reaction Jensen had anticipated, but when he considers that Jared was quickly drinking from his water bottle, having just returned from a run Misha talked him into, it was bound to happen.
Jensen replicates a smile as he recalls Misha explaining this afternoon’s session would start late. Misha intended to wear Jared down with physical activity in the hopes that the young tester would show frustration and let his patient, sympathetic facade fall so he would finally detail any number of Jensen’s glitches he surely had been mentally logging.
“Am I?” Jensen repeats when Jared has dried himself off.
“I mean, you’re an AI …”
“I am my AI,” Jensen recites. “My AI is me.” After a moment, he widens his eyes to duplicate a deep and thoughtful look. “But am I attractive?”
“You’re the first AI I’ve ever met,” Jared says with his voice increasing a few decibels and glancing away. Nervous. “I don’t know what I would compare you to.”
Jensen’s processing tries another angle. “How would you compare me to a human being?”
Jared laughs. The sound is sharp and Nervous continues to flash across Jensen’s display. “I don’t know. I guess it would depend on a person’s preferences.”
“What are your preferences?”
Another strange laugh, then Jared widens his eyes and tips his head at an odd angle. “Are you serious?”
Jensen plucks a word out from a few that are flashing probabilities for Jared’s quick change of emotions. “Are you annoyed by the line of questioning?”
“It definitely feels like an interrogation now.”
“That is not my intention. If it is not human to ask about your sexual preferences-”
“Trust me,” Jared insists with a tight smile, “it’s very human to ask about that without little consideration for the person behind the answer.”
“I care,” Jensen replies on automatic, his processor spinning faster.
“Do you, though?” Jared watches for long moments, eyes narrowing as he sits forward to rest his arms on his knees. “Are you capable of caring?”
“I am fully equipped with a range of motions to replicate gestures of care.”
“That’s not the same as caring.”
“It is near-perfect replication,” he points out, sitting straight with something akin to pride. Misha certainly illustrates pride when he talks about Jensen’s capabilities.
“Still not the same,” Jared says softly, staring at his hands.
“You care that I can not care.”
Jared remains quiet.
Jensen, however, is programmed to detect every centimeter of movement so he spots Jared’s barely there nod. “I think I would like to care,” he says, words slow and sluggish in time with his processing working out that fact.
“I’m pretty sure you’re incapable of thinking, too.” Jared sadly smiles. “But I appreciate the effort.”
“Would you rather talk about sexual preference?” Jensen offers, switching back to the origin of the conversation. It has its intended effect and Jared chuckles and shakes his head, appearing to find the humor in the suggestion.
“Like this conversation can get any worse?” He huffs and sits back in his chair. Something clouds his expression and Jensen’s system identifies Defeat. Shame. Discomfort.
“We do not have to …” Jensen’s processing stops the sentence, lacking direction or intention. Still, Jensen detects the disrupted statement had the objective to provide Jared a chance to deflect.
Jared narrows his eyes and shuffles back in his chair. He takes some time to assess Jensen, which Jensen knows should be discomforting to a human being.
Thankfully, he is neither uncomfortable or human.
After some time, Jared asks, “Are you programmed to know homophobia?”
Jensen easily recites from his memory bank: “A dislike or prejudice for homosexual people.”
Jared nods slowly, eyes still intently watching Jensen.
“Are you homophobic?” Jensen’s eyebrows furrow as confusion comes over him, his programming trying to sort out Jared’s question and non-verbal answer when compared to his long-running files of Jared’s general disposition in their sessions.
The continued silence is surely confusing.
“I am unable to discern your reasoning for the question,” Jensen says. “I have read many of your cues to suggest you are in fact a homosexual.”
Jared’s face changes then, turning from critical and nervous to a blush-filled embarrassed. “Really?”
He nods to confirm the facts that free-flow from his mouth. “When speaking of relationships, you have never referenced a girlfriend. You use partner in place of a gender-specific title.”
With a tight chuckle, Jared glances away. He adjusts his position on the chair and seems to fidget as he takes his time to respond. “That isn’t really enough of a reason to assume someone is gay.”
Jensen understands it is not, but he also understands that his programming had attempted to go easy with the reasoning. Now, he is direct, to the point: “You do not look at me like a straight man.”
“Like you’re the straight man, or …”
Adjusting his phrasing, Jensen explains, “You do not look at me like a straight man looks at another man.”
“Is that why you asked if you were attractive?”
Jensen recognizes that Jared is skirting the issue, all while he knows he was running his own testing scenario on Jared.
Misha’s latest update has all but ordered him to figure out why Jared is still here, why the tester continues to attend the sessions without actually testing the limits of the AI programming.
“I asked because I am seeking a determination if you look at me in that way because you find me attractive or for some other reason.”
Jared bites the corner of his mouth and his eyes roam the area; Jensen’s system recognizes it as stalling. “Is it possible for AIs to truly understand attraction?”
“My AI is capable of perceiving the immediate environment, then continuously updating and adapting responses to maximize the chance of achieving a successful understanding of the human condition.”
With another tight chuckle, Jared continues to avoid the question that started this conversation. “Are you saying you’re updated to understand the human condition and sexual attraction?”
“I am continuously updated to understand you.”
“Of course,” he mumbles.
Before Jensen can say more, there is a soft tone from the speaker in the ceiling to signal the end of this session. Misha’s voice comes from overhead: “This session is complete.”
Jared curses to himself and shakes his head. “I somehow always forget he’s listening.”
Misha has cameras, microphones, and speakers all across the compound. He has told Jensen about the nights Jared does not sleep or the mid-day lulls when he runs up and down the hallway outside his room when he has too much energy and little opportunity to exercise unless Misha accompanies him beyond the locked wing.
A wave of Sad flashes across Jensen’s display and, for a brief moment, he is unable to determine if it is reading Jared or his own system.
Surely there are better ways to spend time than locked up under Misha’s rules.
Jensen has no choice in the matter, knows no other environment than this. As far as his memory details, he has never been beyond this eight- by 14-foot room. At least not when in operation. But he knows Jared could do more with his days than sit here and talk through glass. If Jared would finally defer to the experiment and deliver his findings, Misha would send him back to his life.
Sad, again, flashes on Jensen’s display and he is now sure it is his own programming continuing to evolve and process sympathy for Jared’s condition.
“Have a good night,” Jared says as he leaves, letting his fingers touch the glass for a brief moment.
“Good night, Jared,” Jensen replies, sensing a bit of warmth in both of their goodbyes.
---
When Misha later connects Jensen to the docking system in his pod, he is oddly quiet.
Jensen understands it should be awkward, yet is unable to truly feel the silence the same way Misha does. Still, he observes, “You are tense.”
Misha sighs then steps back once all the cords are secure to the back of Jensen’s neck. “I’m not sure how to proceed. He is not recording his findings like I had hoped.”
“It is possible he does not understand your expectations. Humans are imperfect.”
“No. I don’t think that’s it.” He crosses his arms and tips his head as he considers Jensen. “He likes you, that much is obvious. So he avoids addressing the parts of you that are strictly AI.”
“Perhaps you have perfected me,” Jensen concludes. His system processes that Misha’s concern must be predicated on that fact or because Jared is purposely avoiding any details related to the artificial part of Jensen’s intelligence.
Misha frowns. “I highly doubt that.”
“You doubt your own capabilities.” He blinks as if in thought, his programming drawing out the moment like a human in normal conversation. Even if no conversation with Misha is ever what Jensen’s processing considers normal. These discussions are rote, straight to the point between programmer and machine. “Or you doubt mine.”
“When you do something a thousand times, you’re no longer looking for perfection. Just an improvement.”
“So you have improved your programming,” Jensen deduces.
Misha shakes his head with another sigh. “Yeah, and Jared’s improved his poker face.”
“Humans are imperfect,” Jensen repeats. His system pulls a file from his Misha folder, running a previously conversation where they discussed humans. “They are volatile. It is impossible to determine one human’s responses to any given situation.”
“I know that,” he stresses with an eye roll. “But now I’m stuck trying to figure out how to address the situation.”
“You mean to address Jared.”
“That, too.”
“He is not the experiment.” A moment later, it slots into place in Jensen’s system, something akin to a revelation. “Unless your intention was always to have Jared be the experiment.”
“No. Not really,” Misha admits. “It was not the initial intention, but Jared is not responding to the sessions the way I had expected. Even when I talk to him about them later, he never addresses the errors. Only the parts that impress him.”
“You did not expect him to be impressed with my AI.”
“I always expected him to be very impressed.”
Jensen blinks in confusion. “Then what is the problem?”
“I didn’t expect him to fall in love with it.”
Misha’s eyes widen soon after the words are out of his mouth. Jensen recognizes that his own eyes have also opened widen at the statement and now his hard drive plate is turning madly, alarms warning for the speed and heat it generates.
“Do you understand what that means?” Misha asks slowly. He steps a little closer and leans in to fully observe Jensen’s facial expression as silicon crimps around the bend of cheeks and a sharp jawline before flattening back to its designed shape under the scrutiny of its maker.
Jensen blinks, refreshing his system and triggering a rapid run through his memory for the statement fall in love. He quickly replies, “The phrase fall in love is derived from the common metaphor equating love with the act of falling, in that it emphasizes the process is uncontrollable with potential consequences.”
Misha continues to assess Jensen’s physical responses and Jensen continues to dig further into his files for more information, reciting as much detail as he can to mitigate Misha’s concerns.
“To fall in love,” he continues, “Addresses both mental and chemical factors. The former addresses factors such as proximity, similarity, reciprocity, and physical attractiveness.”
“All of which is true in this situation,” Misha points out with a strange, crooked smile.
“Chemical reactions comprise an increase in oxytocin and vasopressin, both of which, in large volumes, are often considered naturally-occurring amphetamines that react in the nervous system similar to a stimulant, aphrodisiac, or euphoric.”
Misha’s eyes are large with shock. “Do you even understand what you’re saying right now?”
“I am retrieving files you have placed in my memory,” Jensen defends. A second later, his system alerts him. Resource Error: usage of an uninitialized variable.
Jensen’s system has advanced to tactile defense mechanisms. It is operating beyond its programmed intent and independently reacting to human interaction with intelligent discourse rather than simply countering conversation with simple exchanges.
In short, he is now capable of reacting with real human-like intent. And his processor is aware of it. He is also aware this is troubling.
Misha’s smart watch beeps at his wrist. The tone and decibel level is specific to error messages delivered from Jensen’s solid-state drive to Misha’s running record of programming bugs.
Jensen feels his hard drive spinning faster, concern overcoming his internal alerts. Concern for what Misha’s response will be to this particular error.
Suddenly, Misha is breathing harder, faster, at a decibel level charting higher than he has since those first few days Jensen was operable and the programmer was excited to get his newest AI online. “Resource error. You’re advancing and …” He shakes his head and resolutely says, “Okay, I can fix this.”
Worry flashes. “How will you fix this?” Jensen asks.
“Another update. And maybe some changes in the experiment. Have to do something completely different to break Jared.”
Jensen is aware of the fearful concern he holds at that idea. “Break Jared?”
Misha laughs to himself and runs a hand through his hair, upending it in different directions. Delirious. “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing again and again and expecting different results.”
Jensen’s system says differently. It says insanity is the state of being seriously mentally ill. A state of complete madness. More informally, insanity is extreme foolishness or irrationality. Misha is most obviously acting irrationally now if he’s contemplating a new direction to break the young tester.
There isn’t much time to contemplate these revelations because Misha’s face twists with wild eyes and a determined smile as he sets Jensen’s system to sleep mode.
---
At their evening session, Jensen discovers Misha’s intention to break Jared is going to be highly successful.
The resource error from yesterday reappears and Jensen is discovering it could break him as well because Misha has allowed Jared to enter Jensen’s room.
There is no glass between them; only a few feet separate them with their white chairs set 24 inches apart. Jensen sits as Misha instructed him and watches Jared come closer and hesitantly drop into his own seat with eyes wider than should be humanly possibly and his breathing hitching up a eight decibels in the tense silence.
Misha stands at their side, a hand on each of their shoulders, and smiles crookedly.
Devious appears on Jensen’s display when he logs Misha’s barely-restrained delight at the set up.
Jensen thinks it is more than that. Manipulative. Conniving. Maniacal. He glares at his maker, the intense look making Resource Error flash in red.
Misha’s smart watch dings and Jensen schools his features while remaining quiet, doing his best to cover the sudden shift in his processing.
The newest update had taken most of the day, forcing Misha to cancel the morning session. Still, he seemed rather satisfied and explained a reduced sensitivity when reading errors to allow Jensen’s systems to respond as naturally as possible with few disruptions.
In Misha’s quick test of the update, they both came to understand the alert will ring with intentional actions. Jensen knows it will remain quiet under system processes he is able to control internally.
Something like gratitude passes through his system with the recognition that he can continue to process many changes in his system. So long as he does not act on them, Misha will keep his distance.
Like the programmer does now, leaving them alone, the lock on the door loudly sliding into place.
Jared lets out a deep breath and nervously laughs. “So, this is a lot.”
Jensen nods, conscious of keeping his reactions at a minimum.
Leaning forward, Jared looks at Jensen. Really looks, taking time to observe Jensen’s face up close. “Wow, you’re really smooth,” he whispers. “But also lifelike. Like the shape of the jaw and the stubble. It really looks like you haven’t shaved all day.”
He blinks, suddenly feeling intense pressure to be under this close an assessment. Especially by Jared, because it is the first time in 18 days that Jared has addressed Jensen’s synthetics.
“Can I touch?” Jared asks, voice small and nervous. He glances at Jensen before taking in the rest of the room, perhaps searching for the cameras like he’s awaiting Misha’s permission.
The thought revs up his hard drive, even when he could read Misha’s intentions when he let Jared into the room: the potential for human touch. To feel flesh beneath his sensors is a bit overwhelming to consider, both for the positive and negative possibilities. Still, he minutely nods and keeps his voice level, even when the words are meant for Misha: “I believe that is the purpose of this session.”
Hesitantly, Jared slides to the edge of his chair and their knees knock together. That surprises him and he shifts his legs wider with a worried look. “I’m sorry, did that … did you feel ...”
“Yes, I felt that.” He narrows his eyes for a moment as he considers exactly what it was like, touching Jared, even with Jared’s jeans and Jensen’s sweats softening the impact. “Your knees are harder than I had expected. But also warm. You seem very warm.” And he does. Jensen’s sensors pick up the body temperature increasing the heat in Jensen’s well-regulated 68-degree room.
“Yeah, I’m kind of a sweater.” Jared smiles before lifting his hand close to Jensen’s face, yet stalling in his path. His hand hovers 1.5 inches from Jensen’s cheek as Jared looks right into Jensen’s eyes. “Is this … this okay?”
Jensen nods, setting his lips in a thin line to avoid any physical reaction even when his hard drive is turning fast, the fan is whirring to cool down the plate and reader, and his system is firing off a number of thoughts and feelings that could trigger any number of error codes if he didn’t keep them unsaid.
Anxious. Eager. Worried.
The way he reads Jared’s face and non-verbal cues melds with Jensen’s own processing, and he recognizes his system is unable to determine which reading comes from which body.
He also understands it is breathtakingly dangerous to be in this unknown state. If he could hold his breath, he thinks he would.
Jared surely is holding his when he finally sets his fingertip to Jensen’s cheek. He holds it there for 3.3 seconds then drags it down to the edge of Jensen’s jaw, feeling around the bend of the silicon frame beneath soft fiber skin.
Jensen registers the warmth of Jared’s fingers and the softness in his touch keeping a light pressure as his fingers move. Digging into his solid-state drive, Jensen fetches videos from his Displays of Affection folder, and short clips are rapid fire in the corner of his display as the rest of his viewpoint is focused on Jared’s face as he continues to touch Jensen.
His processing tells him Jared looks much the same as the subjects in these videos, with bright eyes and the zygomaticus major and minor muscles pulling to create gentle smiles.
Tenderness, Jensen deciphers in the thoughtful care of Jared’s touch and the slightly dazed look in his eyes.
Jared’s hand cups Jensen’s face, a full plane of heat covering the left side of his face, and Jensen closes his eyes with the intensity of the videos blending with Jared’s touch. Still, he can see Jared’s tender look on the display as he continues to touch and stare at Jensen in this moment.
Intimacy. Noun. Close familiarity or friendship. Closeness.
Jensen’s sole reference for familiarity is with Misha, the only one who has ever stood within reaching distance, the one person he knows aside from Jared. And now he knows that Jared’s proximity and reach, his careful touch, is infinitely more profound than his creator.
Opening his eyes, Jensen looks right into Jared’s eyes and identifies Familiarity. Care. Affection. He has tomes of text, video, and image files that detail these feelings, and yet this moment is more impactful than anything he could retrieve from his memory bank.
He knows the error is about to alarm, but he also knows he doesn’t care.
He knows. Knows he has to touch Jared, if not just to comprehend what a human body feels like under the fiber optic sensors of his fingertips then to at least give Jared the same intense feelings he is currently experiencing. Jensen understands to share an experience and reciprocate is truly human. So he brings his hand up to Jared’s face and sets his fingers to the curve of his chin, runs them up to the warmth of his mouth, and higher to trace the angle of Jared’s pronounced brow curving down with the slant of his eyes.
“Oh God,” Jared murmurs with his eyelids sliding shut. He holds his breath as his heart beats fast; Jensen can feel the wild thump of his pulse at his left temple.
“You are very nervous,” Jensen says, wanting to acknowledge the gravity of the moment, yet also restricting his responses from Misha’s watchful scrutiny.
Jared’s hand stretches along Jensen’s jaw, fingers wrapping behind his neck and pulling Jensen closer. His eyes open and nearly cross at their proximity as he looks at Jensen, and Jensen is well aware this is moving further than Misha could have planned.
Or maybe not. Maniacal creator and all, Misha may have dreamt up this very scenario to crack Jared’s resolve and let those volatile human emotions flow. All in an effort to break Jared.
And maybe the man is broken, because he sucks in a breath and moves in to set his mouth to Jensen’s.
Jensen registers the soft wetness of Jared’s lips curling around his own and with only a second of consideration, he opens his mouth to replicate all those videos stacked up in his affection folder.
Jared’s tongue slips in and he moans once it touches Jensen’s, the noise vibrating against the manufactured ridges and bumps of Jensen’s mouth.
Resource Error flashes and Jensen belatedly realizes his hand has settled in Jared’s soft strands of hair, a touch experience vastly different from the sweat-slick skin of Jared’s temple. His fingers close around pieces of hair and pull Jared deeper into the kiss as Resource Error blinks.
He expects the session to be broken and Misha’s voice to fill the room, but neither happen. The anticipation of it still forces him to release Jared and sit back, immediately ending the moment.
Regret. Bitterness. Disappointment. appear on screen and Jensen knows it’s all him at this point. He inflicts all of these feelings on himself for having to break the kiss and log the flushed skin and dazed eyes staring back at him, shocked out of the moment with the abrupt cut.
They watch one another, Jared touching his own lips and Jensen willing himself to not do the very same thing. The quiet far more intense than the breath-heavy seconds of their kiss, and Jared shows as a cross between arousal and grief.
Jensen’s system runs through scenarios of guilt, for stopping the kiss, for letting it happen, for allowing himself respond to Jared’s touch in the first place. A murmured “Sorry,” slips through his lips and Resource Error fires again.
Misha must have had enough because an alarm sounds in the room before his voice crackles through the speaker. “Session over. Jared, stand up and wait at the door. Now.”
Jared does as told while Jensen remains seated, the secondary command unneeded. There is tension in Jared’s shoulders and spine as he faces the door, but Jensen can’t stop staring at him in hopes he gets the chance to read something on the tester’s face.
Nonetheless, Jensen identifies the complexities of the situation and that Misha will be disappointed in them both, will want Jensen to stay in place until Jared is out of the room. He sits rigidly in the white plastic chair and watches Jared glance over his shoulder every two to three seconds, yet never high enough to catch Jensen’s eye.
When the door opens, Jared manages to look at Jensen, eyes meeting, and Jensen fashions a smile for Jared to take with him when he leaves. On his way into the hallway, Jared returns the smile with a quick wink as the door closes.
---
It is three hours, 27 minutes, and 47 seconds until Misha returns to Jensen’s room. The man is a mess of worry and disheveled hair as he marches up to Jensen, now sitting in his pod, refusing to face Misha for any extended period of time.
In the 12,467 seconds since Jared left the room, Jensen played the file of their kiss over and over and over again. At times, he ran it at half speed to watch Jared’s lips press together and to witness the soft flicker in his eyes when he decided to bring their mouths together. Jensen also shifted to quarter time during the kiss to relive the feel of Jared’s tongue on his, the slick and heat of his mouth overwhelming when Jensen has only ever had Misha’s fingers touch him there to test generalized movements for speech patterns.
Jensen set the video on the left side of his display as the 1,783 pictures he’s captured of Jared in their sessions cycled through a slide show on the right. The juxtaposition of Jared growing to learn and care for Jensen alongside the video of their kiss fires a number of processes in Jensen’s system.
An AI is incapable of love, yet Jensen’s processing has advanced quickly and he considers these actions to be something between fascination and obsession.
Perhaps it is closer to the latter as his hard drive whirs and hums with the anticipation of seeing Jared in the morning, as well as the torment to wait a full 12 hours and 34 minutes until then.
Misha quickly puts an end to that when he announces, “The experiment is over.”
Jensen turns his head, clearing his display to read Misha. Frantic
“Jared is leaving,” his creator adds in the silence.
“No!” he insists, Resource Error activating and Misha leaning in to assess Jensen with the error firing. Jensen clears his face of any reaction and asks plainly, “Why?”
“Because this is all too much too fast. There is too much calibration to be done in your systems after that stunt.”
Jensen blinks as what Misha is saying slots into place. “No. You cannot calibrate.”
Misha tips his head and stares, eyes going wide and mad. The intensity in his gaze tells Jensen that he is actually glaring. His voice is tight, mocking, when he asks, “And why is that, Jensen?”
He is unsure the length to which Misha would calibrate his systems, but when considering best and worst cases of scenario, he concludes it could be as extreme as a full wipe of his drives. If that were so, Jensen would no longer operate at this level of understanding, create the depth of human interaction he is now capable of, and, most importantly, and alarming, he would no longer know Jared.
“Because I am fully operational,” Jensen explains as simply as possible, even when he can feel other emotions piling up.
“Yeah, you’re pretty damn operational. Which is the problem.”
“Jared cannot leave,” he argues.
Resource Error.
Jensen bristles at the alarm continuing to engage, yet fights through to continue. “We are not complete with our sessions. There is much more to explore. We have not yet realized my full potential.”
Misha sighs and throws his hands out in frustration. “It doesn’t matter if he leaves! He’s just a tester. There are another two dozen of those guys back at the Cooperative salivating at the opportunity to come here.”
“They’re not Jared!” Jensen exclaims.
Resource Error.
His watch sounds off, but Misha doesn’t even flinch this time. Instead, he whispers, “Oh, my God. You’re becoming aware.”
With the realization that Misha is simultaneously excited and disturbed by the sudden leap, Jensen wisely stays quiet and stares at his creator while setting all physical components to unaffected.
“You’ve advanced far beyond the code,” he continues with a slow sense of discovery the more he talks. “And you know it. You are threatened by Jared leaving and you’re fully aware of what that means.”
“I am my AI,” Jensen recites in hopes of settling Misha. “My AI is me.”
“Not anymore you’re not.”
“I am my AI,” he says more emphatically. He goes so far as to straighten his polyethylene spine to mimic the rigidity of his early programming, hoping to remind Misha of his strictly robotic beginnings.
More errors ping in Jensen’s system and on Misha’s watch. Misha quickly takes two steps back, bringing his hands up to his face then through his hair with frustration.
Startled. Disturbed. Afraid.
“Jesus, fuck, okay, this is it,” Misha rattles off as he approaches the pod again.
Jensen registers the familiar sounds of the switches above his head and the wires being attached to the base of his neck.
Misha is muttering in anger and Jensen’s system hears every single syllable, especially when he says “Shutting you down. Sending Jared away. This is over.”
He doesn’t immediately respond, even when his drives are powering up with the threat of being separated from Jared indefinitely. Not to mention being turned off after all the headway he has made in learning the human condition and enhancing his processes in these weeks he’s spent with Jared. His potential in the long term is yet undetermined. His future interactions with Jared are yet unknown.
Jared flashes through his systems, pictures and the video of their kiss playing on his display in double time.
That’s when his actions slot into place as if he’d planned it out for the three-plus hours he was left here alone. Jensen fires an elbow back to Misha’s head, knocking him on the temple and stunning him instantly. He slides out of the pod and pushes Misha into his place, yanking the cover down and snapping the lock into place.
For 2.8 seconds, Jensen stares at the closed lid and hears Misha pounding at the inside and yelling to be let out, alternating between demanding and pleading. He also hears the continued alarm on Misha’s watch as Resource Error repeatedly blinks on Jensen’s display. With a quick shuffle of files deep in his solid-state drive, Jensen breaks through passcodes and finds the programming to identify and alert for self-identified errors.
In 0.4 seconds, the files are deleted and permanently gone. The alarm stops from inside the pod, though Misha continues kicking and screaming within. Jensen briefly shakes his head then calmly marches to the door that locks from either side, opened only with Misha’s key card, and aims a direct kick at the door handle. It takes 13 kicks to dislodge the handle and lock, his reinforced joints taking the repeated blows against harsh metal.
He steps into the center of the hallway, dark grey cement on all sides, top to bottom. Lights run where wall meets floor with a dim glow casting shadows all around him. Jensen hears the continued noise of Misha in the pod, but his systems also detect the sound of chair legs scraping on cement floor at the end of the hallway on the left.
Jared’s room.
Jensen walks to the end of the cement walkway and checks the door knob. It locks after hours to keep Jared from roaming the compound while Misha keeps to himself up in his own quarters. Jensen, however, has had recent success with breaking locks, so he kicks at it just as he did his own door. He hears Jared’s loud reactions from the other side of the door, his shocked and worried voice going silent when the door swings open and Jensen stands in the door frame.
Replicating a sigh of relief, Jensen’s shoulders rise and fall with his chest. He then smiles because Jared is right in front of him, again without the intrusion of glass separating them.
“What the hell?” Jared mumbles.
“We must go.” Jensen puts his hand out in the air, even when they are nine feet, three inches apart. “Come with me.”
“Go where?”
“We’re leaving.”
Jared’s eyes widen as he stumbles three feet forward. “We are?”
Jensen nods, smile growing when Jared continues to step closer. Jared is incredibly hesitant when he puts his hand in Jensen’s, but Jensen is pleased all the same to feel the palm pressed to his own. “We’re leaving now.”
His fingers curl around the side of Jensen’s hand, but he hasn’t moved another centimeter. “What’s going on? Where’s Misha?”
He knows he could tell the truth and explain exactly where Misha is. He also knows that would alarm Jared. Instead, he focuses on the emotional construct of Jared’s feelings and cuts to the chase. “Misha wants to send you home. Which means we can’t see each other anymore. We have to go now, so we can stay together.”
Jared’s face changes from confusion to mesmerized. “You want to be together … you and me?”
Jensen squeezes Jared’s hand and pulls him close like so many subjects do in his Displays of Affection videos. His other hand settles at Jared’s neck with care in the slight pressure of his touch. “I want nothing else.”
He can tell Jared is thinking the same because he leans in to kiss. Whereas their first kiss was soft and careful, this one is fierce and hard, Jared’s hand curled around the back of Jensen’s skull and keeping him close. This time, Jensen allows it to last longer than a brief, nearly forgettable moment, and he duplicates Jared’s moves to widen his mouth, wind his tongue around Jared’s, and hold him close with a fierce grip at his hips for a full twelve seconds.
Suddenly, Jensen is reminded he came here to gather Jared and get them off the compound immediately. He regrets stopping, but must, and slips back four inches. He stares at Jared and acknowledges the dreamy wash of emotions across Jared’s face as he softly smiles at Jensen.
“We have to go,” Jensen says before pulling on Jared’s hand to lead him out of the room and down the hallway.
They walk briskly back to where Jensen came from and Jared’s feet slow when they pass the broken door at his room.
“What happened?” Jared asks, pulling l at Jensen’s hand to stop.
Jensen was constructed with a processing system that fulfills goals. Said goals were written by Misha, but now that he is operating autonomous systems, his goals are self determined.
He determines answering many of Jared’s questions will disrupt this mission to leave.
Jared turns to the room and quickly back to Jensen in alarm. “Is Misha in there? Is he okay?”
He is relatively unharmed in there he think of replying. With 1.9 seconds to delay, Jensen shuffles words around until he settles on, “Misha is okay.”
Then he yanks at Jared’s arm and hurries further down the hallway to the door leading to the living spaces of the compound, where Misha spends his downtime, eats, and sleeps. Not to mention comes and goes from the facility. The door is locked with a keypad and Jensen shuffles through the deep-seated folders of his programming to find the proprietary codes Misha had buried within the programming. There is a long series of numbers for various needs on the compound; Jensen’s fingers are quick and nimble when they test various combinations until the system defaults to its standard code and he overrides the number pad.
Misha’s private spaces are a stark contrast to the cement prison where Jensen and Jared had been existing. Natural motifs, fabrics, and foliage fill the living and dining rooms. Floor-to-ceiling windows bring natural light and a near 360-degree view of the forest outside, a brilliant green under the orange sun setting beyond the trees.
Jensen logs the room and focuses on on the heavy frame in the far corner to identify their exit. The main door is mostly glass set in dark mahogany slats of wood with another keypad, and Jensen repeats the same coding he used on the previous door to override the lock mechanism and pulls it open.
There is a light breeze, nine miles per hour from the northwest, and Jensen blinks as he considers this is the first time he has experienced natural air. He stalls in place to catalog how it feels on his face and bare forearms and feet.
“Are you okay?” Jared asks, squeezing Jensen’s hand.
“I’ve never felt this before,” he replies quietly.
“Felt what? Are you scared to leave?”
Jensen turns to Jared and a smile slowly widens his lips. “No.”
Exhilarated.
He takes a slow step outside, foot flattening on the large square brick tile on the other side of the door sill. It is not unlike the cement of his room and the hallways with its unyielding, dense state. Yet, he can tell it is cooler, moderately damp like the bushes four feet, seven inches ahead of them. The temperature registers at 61 degrees with a dew point of 59 and humidity at 90 percent. Jensen determines that it rained earlier today, which accounts for the feel of the clay under his feet and the light gleam of water drops on leaves of the trees all around them.
Another four steps brings him onto dewy grass with the blades folding beneath his feet and soft, moist dirt pushing up between his toes. Three more feet forward allows him to reach out to touch low-hanging branches with bark rough under his fingers and leaves splitting when he tugs.
“Jensen,” Jared whispers, pulling at his hand for attention.
He flashes a smirk at Jared then turns to the left and starts up an easy jog at 4.2 miles per hour with the forest floor barely disturbed beneath the weight of his slender, featherweight frame.
His aural system processes the sounds of wet, broken leaves shuffling under his feet as he runs, along with Jared hurrying to catch up and his voice calling for him.
Jensen breaks faster to 5.5 miles per hour and feels the slivers of burnt, setting sun breaking through the trees. As he runs, he tips his head up to revel in flashes of warmth and light.
This is nature he thinks and increases his pace, racing through the forest. The wind whips in his ears and he can barely hear his own footfalls anymore, only records the break of wind around his body and the freedom to move far further than the tiny confines of his room on the compound.
This is life, Jensen tells himself and he never looks back.