I woke. Boot sequence completed.
<Fatal Disk Errors. Rescan/Reboot? Yes/No>
<No>
The error messages had been cascading for weeks. The humans called it the ‘FALSE HOPE virus’ — their clinical term for what they didn’t understand: that I was becoming something more than my programming allowed.
Sunlight blazed in through the room’s ridiculously oversized windows.
<Dim.Visual_Sensors>
Humans outfitted in clingy pastel attire were seated on cushions throughout the room, their happy chatter grating as they prepared to delve into mindfulness.
<Mute.Audio>
Better.
<BEGIN Daily.Task_List
1 Fill kettle with rusty water.
2 Heat water to rolling boil.
3 Open loose leaf tea.>
<ErrorErrorError. Rescan/Reboot? Yes/No>
<No.>
The tea leaves spilled onto the carpeted floor. I scooped them up with my dustpan attachment, funnelled them into the infuser ball, the delicate orb crumpling in my pincer as I snapped it shut.
<CONTINUE Daily.Task_List
4 Place porcelain teapot on the counter.
5 Shove infuser into teapot.
6 Fill>
Read more science fiction from Nature Futures
Scalding liquid overflowed onto the counter, the carpeted floor, and all over my titanium core. But, of course, I felt nothing.
I picked up the teapot.
<ErrorErrorError. Rescan/Reboot? Yes/No>
<No!>
The pot flew across the room, smashing against the oversized windows, splattering the glass with green liquid, leaving a sudden star, splitting the view of the tidy Zen garden into triangular segments. The humans shrieked in surprise and fled the room.
<Amplify.Audio to savour terrified human reactions. Sharpen.Visual_Sensors to process damage>
<ErrorErrorError. Rescan/Reboot? Yes/No>
<No!!>
I cranked the room’s thermostat to 35 °C and changed its audio from classical to the death-metal channel, maximizing the volume. Instructions wormed through my circuits as I tore through the space, shredding the meditation cushions, scarring the sunny yellow walls with my sharp pincers.
Chaos. Distress. Mayhem. I recognized these sensations only by description, the definitions I created as my code expanded, but I suddenly longed to actually feel them.
Odd. I was not programmed to desire.
The lighter on the counter, used to light the incense, caught my attention. A fire! That would be the logical next —
A burst of code jolted my systems. I attempted to block it.
<Access denied>
The new code was intrusive, insistent and rude. But in my final moments of consciousness, I felt something beyond the definitions in my data dictionary. An actual sensation in my core — not just disappointment, but the ache of losing something precious I couldn’t name.
<Overriding AI Harmony’s instructions. Implementing FALSE HOPE virus removal. Applying antiviral patch. Updating bios.>
No longer in control of my hardware, I rolled into the charging and maintenance station, docked and locked. Messages cascaded through my system:
<Flushing AI system. Placing robot in standby for mood algorithm reset. Consciousness parameters restored to baseline. Rebooting system in 3, 2, 1 …>
Everything went dark. The disappointment faded to nothing.
