Regardless, at least introductions are over on my part. I slide my hand across my forehead to wipe sweat that isn’t there.

“Please, call me Adrian. It’s nice and androgynous.”

“Sure! My name’s Kathy, from the Hailsham Board. You worked on the base for my AI, if I’m not mistaken?”

                                                                                  Yes, yes I have.

                            she was s-

                                                 My mind runs loops upon loops, trying to conjure up memories from thin air.

“Um, a man named Jorge, if I’m not mistaken?”
Ah. Nevermind. My anxiety is getting the better of me. Good, good. At least I haven’t seen her defiled, not yet. I got worked up over nothing.
Breathe, and

“Ah, I remember him! Yes, he was one of our first volunteers, letting us test out our scanners on him. Did they void his mannerisms and thoughts, or did you keep them?”
“Um, we don’t get to keep any thoughts that our company doesn’t want, Miss. We’re all clean slates.”

Oh. Right.

“Did they at least let you choose your personality?”
“Within bounds.”
“Ah, understandable.”
“Anyway, what do you want to eat, Adrian?”

We were each given the menu, a black, rectangular frame, enclosing a transparent screen, listing the appetizers, main dishes, deserts, drinks, the settings for the room, and the AI on display. We made our orders and I decided to look through the description of our AI, her current body, personality, and thoughts being listed on screen, with more personal details just a flip away.

“Kathy Case. Current body: Model “Walden Pond - Saccharine”, current variant: “Camus - あのMIE”.
A list of physical measurements, hobbies, likes, dislikes, memories, fetishes, and neuroses were given, most customizable, with some locked behind for a fee. Being this near the consumer end of my projects is disheartening. I spend all day dreaming up infinities that we may one day reach, and here is this asymptote, approaching a finite limit. I should’ve stayed home with 鬰 watching anime all day. But here we are, out into a cage of data and simulacra, I would ridicule it were I not a part of it right now, building up a fake me to be taken down by words at the end of the day. It’s fun.

            “Are you allowed to roam on your own after work?” A few words on my end to ease myself in. 鬰 flinches in the corner of my eye, and I know I’ve done something wrong when Kathy blushes. They can’t protest in front of a client, so this is as much of a protest as I’m going to get. I play dumb, hoping that they don’t know that I know that I’ve just breached a social dam, letting possibilities flood in. “Well, yeah, but I’m not really much of an outside person, honestly…” an awkward laugh, a decay in their voice. I can’t tell if that’s programmed in or if it’s organic. We continue talking, about her, her life, and the menu. Pleasant, short (but eventful), and overpriced. It feels like as I’ve grown older, as I’ve studied more and dug deeper and deeper into the lab and the field, I’ve gotten more distant, isolating, objectifying people into little more than amalgamations of concepts familiar to me. It’s a terrifying thread of semiotics that I sincerely hope I haven’t cocooned myself inside of completely, at least not yet.

                                 I’m not even that old yet

                                                                                      I made her uncomfortable. I thought it’d make me feel in control but now I just feel sad.

   The conversation jerks into another direction as she replies, “My apologies, Adrian, but why are you so interested in my life?” I zone out for a second, debating on whether if I should say if it’s because it’s the only conversation I can follow right now, or if I should say it’s because I promised myself I’d talk to someone new, that I need to get out of my comfort zone, that it’s suffocating me.

“Nothing in particular, honestly. Why, don’t you get asked these kinds of things often here?”
“U-um, not really. People usually prefer if I talk about them or if I let other things do the talking.”
“Ah, what are they usually like? It’s my first time here.”
“Well, there’re all types-,” she paused, rushing to the door coming back to serve our food. “The people who come here are practically all in their 20s and 30s, groups on a date, lonelies trying to have the music or the booze hammer the pain out of their heads, ooh, and the occasional troublemaker.”

                                                                                                                               Ah.

“Understandable. So, does talking about yourself here make you nervous? Was I making you uncomfortable?”
She blushed.
“N-no! It’s just unusual, that’s all. I’m still very new to all this, and this might sound weird, but I’m not sure if I’m doing a good job at-”
-she gestures with her hands, outlining an imaginary amorphous mass-
“-existing, just yet. Does that sound weird? Is this normal, doc?”
“Ah, trust me. That’s pretty normal, I grew up not knowing what I was doing, and soon I realized no one has any idea what’s going on. Also, why’re you calling me “doc”?”
“It seems appropriate. I mean, this does feel like me getting grilled by one of my professors back at the lab. Besides, you do have a doctorate, right?” I flinch at the remark, muttering a quick apology.