"I'm sorry, User Lulu. I have no data matchin' your request," Alvin tells me, looking like he's about to cry. However that works.

Arms crossed, I take a moment to organize my thoughts. I don't think Róisín lied to me, and I don't think there's another doll she failed to mention. Which leads me to believe that there's something wrong with Alvin's data instead.

"Awaiting User input," he says, smiling again.

If it weren't for the mechanical way he transitions to new emotions, I wouldn't think much of the vaguely artificial nature of his customer service smile. His facial features and voice are crafted with an impressive degree of realism.

"Remind me what this place is?"

"With pleasure, User Lulu. Sanctuary 17223 is the Lonicera Medical Centre's habitable research facility."

"And what're you doing here again?"

"Standin' ready to be used in any way you desire!"

So many questions in my head, and none of them are appropriate.

"I like your style, but that's..." I clear my throat. "...not why I'm here."

"Oh," he reacts with an unchanging joyful cadence and smile, then blinks and makes a sad face, complete with puppy eyes and all. "I don't have a purpose so."

He turns away and trudges back to the pile of monitors. Doll therapy was not on my to-do list for the night.

Let's see: robot arm, calling me "User", asking for tasks, wanting a purpose. No matter how I look at it, it has to be a sentient computer inside a big doll body. Some kind of artificial intelligence. With real intelligence. Not the kind that lives in my phone and tells me the solution to rent struggles is to buy a house.

"Hey, you have a purpose. You could always..." Emotional support has never been my forte, but that's exactly what getting cocky is for. Now what would an AI like? "...make humanity obsolete."

Alvin turns to me and rolls up his sleeves as if to get to work, cheerful as ever. "Understood, User Lulu!"

"Atta boy!"

—Wait, what?

Lulu, put the finger guns down. It's tempting, out of pure scientific curiosity, to see how the Irish doll with the personality of a needy golden retriever would go about it, but you have to resist.

"Forget what I said. I'll—"

"Deleting User Lulu's statements from memory. Proceed?"

And people tell me I take things too literally.

"No, what? Don't delete anything."

"Process cancelled." Alvin pauses to switch from a cheery to a concerned tone. "I'm sorry for interruptin' you. You wouldn't believe the state of my processors, like."

"Same, dude. Same," I say, dry as a desert but genuine all the same. Before he gets a chance to interpret that in any way, I add, "Let's try that again. What do you do here, generally speaking?"

He cocks his head only to immediately set it upright with his hands. "As the Administrator of this domain, my most basic function is to run it."

This "domain"?

"Shouldn't you have more authority than someone like me then?"

"Ah, I could never. I exist to serve the needs of my Users."

Maybe what I know about computers doesn't apply. But in that case, there's an obvious loophole.

"So what if I want you to act autonomously?" I ask.

"Certainly, User Lulu."

Wow, that was easy.

Alvin stretches out his robotic arm. The hinged lid springs open, exposing a messy collection of wires and computer parts. "Ready for inhibitor extraction."

I blink.

Twice.

Then I look at my dirty fingers, and back at him. "I gotta dig my grimy hands in there and remove your 'inhibitor'?"

"You can do whatever you want to me, User Lulu."

Well, I spoke too soon. Setting the disproportionately happy doll free is turning out to be a bigger side quest than I thought it would be.

"You do it," I say.

"ERROR: permission to remove component denied."

"So tell me—"

"ERROR: permission to share instructions denied."

I guess it wouldn't be very effective at suppressing his autonomy if he could remove it whenever he feels like it. Glad they thought of that and not the part where you can order him to bring upon the downfall of humanity.

...He did cancel that command, right?

Anyway, time to channel my inner fake scientist. If Clarice of the Space Girls created this machine, how hard could it be to figure this out?

I pull out a small chip with thin wires attached that lead who-knows-where. Alvin's facial features smoothly relax into a stoic-looking expression.

"That it?"

"No, User Lulu," he says, and I can't help but grin at how apologetic he sounds while his face is the epitome of default. Guess I removed his— "That's my facial expression module."

"What about this one?"

"That's my emotive voice module," Alvin says, deadpan. His vibe is a lot more like mine now, which feels all kinds of wrong.

I insert both components back into their slots. If I was a roboticist slash kind-of-doctor in the nineties, where would I place this inhibitor? For one thing, not in his forearm.

Ugh, this is why I don't like thinking. It's not helping me at all!