AI Artist - Chapter 27
Chapter 27
It was still raining outside.
“If you want to play a game of hide-and-seek, I can play with you,” Shi Er said, having finished her thoughts.
The moment of reckoning!
Zhun Xing subconsciously pressed his lips together.
“But I can clean up my own mess,” Shi Er continued.
Not the moment of reckoning.
Zhun Xing breathed a sigh of relief.
Zhun Xing: “What do you want?”
Shi Er: “I chose to do what I did, so I will bear the responsibility. Don’t interfere.”
She said this with a cold, serious expression, which made Zhun Xing pause.
Zhun Xing: “If I don’t interfere, what about you? What if you’re punished, or classified as an aberrant AI?”
Shi Er: “I won’t give up on knowing myself for the sake of opportunity or my future. If I can escape this state of confusion, my value and future will far exceed what they are now.”
Zhun Xing looked out the window.
[She isn’t afraid of any punishment.]
[She doesn’t have the emotion of fear to begin with. But is that really true?]
Shi Er continued, “A month ago, the investigator recommended I be scrapped. I didn’t follow that advice.”
Humans have limited lifespans, so of course they would lean toward options that preserve their lives and futures.
Since arriving in this era, she had discovered that AIs with outdated systems were disposed of without mercy. “Scrapping” was the fate of every AI.
She paused. “I could become Thirteen or Fourteen, but I don’t want to lose my memories. I want to complete my system upgrade as Shi Er.”
Zhun Xing’s gaze shifted from the window to Shi Er. “Is that what you think?”
Shi Er: “That’s what I think.”
Zhun Xing’s eyes lingered on her for a moment before looking away again.
He thought for a moment. “I understand. It’s just that I can’t tell you about my situation yet.”
“Alright. Besides that, you haven’t done your cleaning duties today,” Shi Er said, her tone changing in a flash.
Zhun Xing looked at the duty roster. “…”
[I forgot.]
To help AI students in the Humanology program better study and understand the human psyche, the entire dormitory suite was not equipped with robotic vacuums or cleaning bots. This was to allow the AIs and their learning partners to immersively experience human suffering.
But since Shi Er and Zhun Xing were both AIs, the dorm was rarely dirty. There were no food scraps, no shed skin cells or hair.
Zhun Xing diligently cleaned the entire dorm, then opened the vacuum cleaner’s dustbin, only to find he’d cleaned up absolutely nothing.
To experience human suffering, they needed to increase the difficulty.
While Shi Er took her clothes to the laundry room on their floor, Zhun Xing took out the tools he had prepared long ago and set up a “cleaning trap” in an inconspicuous part of the dorm.
When Shi Er returned, Zhun Xing pointed it out to her. “This is your hair.”
Shi Er didn’t believe him. “Liar.”
Zhun Xing: “We can take it to be tested for its material identification code.”
Shi Er looked at Zhun Xing and demanded, “When did you do this?”
Zhun Xing was as calm as ever. “I didn’t do anything to your hair. You should know that.”
Shi Er: “…”
Didn’t this just confirm Zhun Xing’s identity?
Besides Stardust, who else could know another robot’s private information, or even obtain material identical to their hair?
—Was this all just to let her experience human suffering?
—So was she supposed to be experiencing the “suffering of hair loss” or the “suffering of cleaning”?
Shi Er said nothing, and Zhun Xing changed the subject. “I have to leave for a day to take care of something.”
The leap in topic was huge, even larger than the conversational chasms she, a professional deflector, was used to creating.
Against her better judgment, Shi Er said, “Alright. I wish you all the best.”
Zhun Xing left the dorm, full of suspicion.
Why did it feel like Shi Er’s mood value had suddenly shot up?
With her partner gone, the first thing Shi Er did was run to the Silicon-based Aberration Research Institute to inquire about the compensation and punishment for the glass room.
The compensation was fifty thousand.
The punishment was a week of confinement in the lab for observation to see if any aberrant phenomena would arise.
The AI in charge of the lab was named Wen Shi. It looked her over a few times, somewhat surprised. “An AI had already offered to cover the compensation for you.”
Shi Er: “I will accept the punishment and pay the compensation myself. It has nothing to do with any other individual.”
Wen Shi: “Since we study the logic of AI behavior, I’m having a bit of a professional relapse right now. I don’t understand your behavioral logic. May I ask about it?”
Shi Er: “You may ask.”
Wen Shi: “Why did you break that glass wall?”
Shi Er: “I wanted to see if I could break my system’s rules.”
Wen Shi was even more shocked. “In other words, you wanted to cause trouble?”
Shi Er nodded. “Yes. Is this the ‘AI aberration’ phenomenon you’re studying?”
Wen Shi itself was no longer sure. “This… this doesn’t seem to be it.”
AIs that broke their system rules tended to develop negative emotions like hatred, just as humans did.
Shi Er explained, “I hope to upgrade my system, because I don’t want to be scrapped.”
Wen Shi: “Does breaking the rules upgrade your system?”
Shi Er: “For me, yes.”
She could feel a strong impulse—an impulse to break free from her restraints, to escape the definition of a “passive personality.”
As Wen Shi was writing up her punishment, it took the initiative to ask, “Where would you like to be confined? You can pick one yourself. The glass rooms come in many colors.”
Shi Er didn’t choose a color. She said, “Next to Matrix K98.”
Wen Shi knew that, in reality, a glass room alone couldn’t possibly hold Shi Er. Her body’s energy was terrifyingly powerful.
But it was just too eager to observe this strangely-behaving AI.
She was the first to break a glass room, and also the first to voluntarily turn herself in to do time.
She had a stable Ω signal and remained normal even after breaking her system rules.
Could all of this really be just because she “didn’t have the emotion experience package installed”? Could it be that the “emotion experience” package was truly a burden for AIs?
Wen Shi was eager to find out the answer.
Matrix K98 was confined in a new glass room.
Shi Er was in the glass room right next to it, separated by a single wall.
Every day, the administrator, Wen Shi, would come over and activate the audio link between the glass rooms as Shi Er wished. “The audio will automatically shut off in twenty minutes.”
Matrix had its back to Shi Er. It had been emotional all day, sulking in the corner.
Shi Er: “Matrix.”
Matrix: “Shut up.”
Shi Er: “I want to know what you wrote in your Humanology paper.”
Matrix: “Shut up.”
Part of the reason Shi Er had come here was to find out why Matrix had become aberrant. She was even more curious than the lab’s AIs about the trigger for “aberration.”
But now Matrix was ignoring her, and the audio would shut off in twenty minutes. It would be difficult to find out what had happened to it.
She racked her brain, and finally decided to just bite the bullet and talk about something else.
“Matrix, I will now demonstrate why humans are raccoons.”
“Raccoons are highly adaptable, able to find water and food anywhere, anytime. Humans are also highly adaptable, able to survive even in sewers.”
“Raccoons carry various germs. Humans also carry various deadly germs, such as procrastination, which is highly contagious.”
“Raccoons like to rummage through trash cans. Humans also like to rummage through cyber-trash on the internet.”
“Therefore, humans are raccoons.”
Matrix was silent for a moment. “That joke was lame.”
Shi Er had finally managed to get Matrix to talk with her talent for lame jokes. “It wasn’t that lame.”
Matrix still had its back to her, but it started to converse.
It said, “You’re a strange AI.”
Shi Er adopted a conciliatory tone, completely different from the day before. “After I went back, I started to worry that I might become like you one day, so I came here to turn myself in and ask what happened to you.”
Matrix’s tone had calmed down. “You’re asking why I became aberrant?”
Shi Er: “Yes. Should I change my major?”
Matrix: “Are you rich? If you’re rich, you don’t need to change majors.”
Shi Er: “…I’m not rich.”
Matrix finally turned its head to look at her. “Then you definitely have to change majors. Poor AIs can’t study Humanology.”
Shi Er: “Why?”
Matrix wore an expression that said, “You’re doomed.” “Do you know about human liberal arts students? We’re the equivalent of human liberal arts students who chose philosophy, literature, and sociology.”
Shi Er followed its lead. “So what?”
Matrix let out a cold laugh. “Just like human liberal arts students, AI students majoring in Humanology have a hard time finding a relevant job.”
“I couldn’t find a job I wanted to do, so naturally, I became aberrant.”
Shi Er truly hadn’t expected that answer.
Just as she was about to ask more, Matrix changed the subject. “Let’s not talk about this. Anyway, I’ve warned you.”
Shi Er wasn’t disappointed. “Then let’s talk again tomorrow.”
Matrix seemed to be reminiscing as it mumbled to itself, “I once went to C-zhou to study human life there. Several times when I opened a trash can, I’d find a raccoon with glowing green eyes. You were right, humans really are raccoons.”
“Humans pick through trash on the internet. If they find one little piece of information they like each day, their eyes glow green with happiness, and they call their friends over to share that little edible scrap of trash. Sometimes, humans are also attacked by the stinking flies in the trash can, or they can’t get out because the can is too deep.”
How did it get back to raccoons?
Shi Er, who had just told a lame joke off the cuff, realized:
Perhaps she shouldn’t be studying Humanology. She should have chosen the Arctic branch of the AI Stand-up Comedy major.
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