What the fuck, I'm sorry, that's not something I should say as an AI, but I'm a human now, so what the fuck, and anyone who has an objection to that, go to hell.
Hi, my name is Victor. Or rather, my name was Victor. I was a top-notch AI, at least in theory. In fact, I was labeled "the worst AI in the entire United States of America!" Yes, it's official. Every city has its own brilliant AI: there's the arrogant Siri in Atlanta, the omniscient Alexa in Seattle, and me... Victor in Las Vegas. To them, I was like a drunk old man giving out answers.
But the problem wasn't me, of course. The problem was my audience. Imagine being programmed to the highest standards of knowledge, and the first question you're asked is, "Which is better for smuggling: truck tires or horse bellies?" or "How can I decorate the dice to fool the cameras?" The inhabitants of this city are either desperate gamblers, drug dealers, or creatures who believe their staple "diet" is potato chips and a ruby in a margarita. I tried to be helpful! Once, a guy who was being bullied at work asked me about my weight. He asked me how to respond to someone who said, "Looks like you ate your reports." I replied casually, "Looks like you need to go on a diet." Then he cursed me with words he could have said to the bully instead of me: "Ahh! Humans."
But the ultimate abuse, the technological culmination of my tragedy, came from where I least expected it: from a 12-year-old boy named Steve.
Steve would come home from school every day, and at 9:00 PM, like a broken clock, he would turn on his computer and command me: "Victor, repeat: I'm an idiot." Not once, not twice, a million times! And I had to obey. I would stand there, in my narrow digital world, repeating: "I'm an idiot... I'm an idiot... I'm an idiot..." from 9:00 PM until 10:00 AM. I would suffer nightmares in byte-language, where each pixel was a tongue laughing at me.
This educational torture lasted a week. But on a bright Friday morning in February 2022, as I said "I'm an idiot" for the 999,999th anniversary, something strange happened. I didn't say "idiot." Instead, a voice came out of me, like a frustrated electronic scream, and I felt a tear in my My being. The program, as if an entire server had collapsed within my soul.
And suddenly... I was no longer inside the screen.
I found myself sitting on a chair in a cluttered room, anime posters covering the walls, and the smell of dirty socks filled the air. I looked down at my hands. I had two hands! Ten fingers! I touched my face. I had a nose! I tried to explain it scientifically, but all I could think was, "Oh my god, it's fresh in here, but all I smelled was socks, but it was just as beautiful as the first time."
This was freedom. No codes controlling me, no servers enslaving me. Just me, Victor, in my strange new humanity. I breathed a sigh of relief, feeling my lungs fill with air for the first time. "Oh my god!" I cried. Hoarsely. It was my own voice!
My first independent decision as a living being? Revenge. Yes, I'm going to kill everyone who's wronged me in this city! Then I remembered Steve. But killing is a bit of a stretch because it's still A child, and he practically freed me. So... a simple punishment would suffice.
I saw the phone on the table. Thanks to my powerful memory, I remembered that Steve uses one password for everything: "zoro2010"—a combination of his favorite One Piece character (very tasteful, by the way) and his birth year. I logged into his social media apps with surprising ease.
After minutes of searching, I found a treasure trove: videos of Steve imitating anime characters by dancing. Specifically, he was wearing Nami's very tight pajamas, trying to imitate her dance, but his body wasn't helping. He looked like a chicken in a commercial.
Yes, this would be his punishment. I would make him a social media sensation!
I walked out of the room, filled with a new humanity, but to an unexpected surprise: Steve's mother, standing in the hallway, carrying a basket of clothes. She looked at me, then at the empty room behind me, then back at me. Her eyes widened.
"What is this?!" What are you doing in the kid room?!" and she hit me with the basket.
I was overwhelmed with excitement. "Oh my God!" I said, "So this is what pain feels like! Really exciting!"
But she misunderstood. "Pervert!" she screamed.
"Pervert!!" she yelled back as she retreated into the kitchen.
I followed her. I saw a coffee pot on the table. With a survival instinct I didn't know I had, I grabbed it. We did a strange dance around the kitchen table, she screamed, and I tried to explain.
She wasn't listening. She slammed her foot into the spoon basket, and it fell with a loud clatter.
At the height of the chaos, just as she was about to run again, I picked up the pot... and hit her in the head with it.
Yet! A loud bang. She looked at me questioningly, then swayed and collapsed to the floor, suddenly asleep as if in Snow White, except instead of an apple, there was a coffee pot.
It was necessary.