Chapter Text
Honestly, Gavin Free hated his life.
He was thirty-two, stuck in a job that he use to love but slowly came to loathe, and every night he came home to an empty flat. And an internet connection.
Oh, how that internet connection had saved his life. Because on the nights when he'd taken too many shots and the screen was blurry before his eyes, when he kept shooting longing looks at the knife block sat on his kitchen counter, when nothing he'd ever done seemed to matter much to anyone, the internet was there.
As pathetic as it sounded, the only people Gavin cared about were there, contained within millions of tiny pixels. Anyone he'd ever called "best friend" lived thousands of miles away. They helped, most of the time.
But in the middle of a giggle, he'd stop. The smile would fade and he'd remember he'd never be able to meet any of them. They had their own friends, ones they could see, touch, feel. Gavin had no place in that life.
So he distanced himself. He stopped talking to anyone, internet or otherwise, because he could never be the best thing in anyone's life. Selfish or not, he wanted to be important to someone. He wanted to be more than a burden. Was that so wrong?
Life went on. Gavin no longer had those fleeting moments of sadness, but no longer did he have a moment of happiness either. He was just empty. He went about his day like the whole thing was a chore, just a task to be completed.
And then he saw it. An ordinary commercial on an ordinary day, but the results couldn't have been any more extraordinary.
"Forgetful? Unorganized?" the commercial demanded. Gavin snorted from his place on the couch, because he was both of those things, thank you very much, but he didn't need some stupid wallet with a hundred pouches to help him. His finger hovered over the channel button, but for some reason he kept watching. Curiosity, laziness, he'd never know. That small decision changed everything.
The speakers on his TV slowly faded down until the commercial played a soft piano. There was a man on the screen, sitting at home, much like Gavin was at that very moment. He looked down at his phone, smiled at it, began to talk to it. And the phone talked back.
Not like that ridiculous Siri bullshit that hadn't changed in ten years. The voice coming from his TV was nothing like that. Her voice was more human than anything he'd ever heard.
"The all new Siri 2.0," the narrator continued, white letters appearing over the man's smiling face. "Only available on the iPhone 10S."
That was it. A quick flash of the Apple logo, then whatever shitty program Gavin had been watching before continued on like nothing had happened. To any normal person, nothing had happened. Gavin, however, saw a way out. Something that could help him.
A quick glance down at his phone reminded Gavin that he did not, in fact, possess the iPhone 10S. He had the 5S, a phone that stopped production over six years ago. Bought when he was twenty-five, it was the last time Gavin had found a reason to keep up with technology. The stupid things were upgraded every year, so why buy a new one?
It was 1:30 in the morning. Gavin seriously doubted that any stores selling a 10S would be open. But in just a few hours, it would be Sunday to the business world, and Gavin Free was buying himself a new phone.
Entirely too much frustration and three hundred fucking pounds later, Gavin held his new phone in his hands. Siri 2.0 could organize his calendar, find restaurants nearby, and, hopefully, be there for him to talk to.
Spread out on the table before him was the contents of the admittedly-stylish box, the instruction manual flipped open to Siri's page. The first couple lines were a general summary/warning for the device:
Siri 2.0 is a highly advanced AI program that can serve as your personal secretary. It organizes appointments, functions as a GPS, and can hold full conversations with anyone it talks to. You have the ability to assign your Siri a gender and nationality, but its name will be randomly selected from a pool of whatever nationality you have selected. Siri identifies you by your name and the sound of your voice. Over time, Siri will develop its own personality based on what is most compatible with your own.
And then, in much smaller text:
WARNING: In no way should Siri replace healthy human contact. Some users may experience attachment issues—
Gavin ignored that part.
The iPhone itself had barely changed since the 5 came out; aside from a few minor adjustments to camera placement, button design, and durability, it looked almost exactly the same as the 5S resting next to it. None of the looks mattered to Gavin, however; what mattered was the inside.
Like a child on Christmas, giddy smile on his face for the first time in years, Gavin turned the phone on. He flew through the standard setup procedure, barely reading any of it, until the screen faded to black. There was a moment of panic, but slowly the white words Siri 2.0 appeared. Finally. Time to set it up.
You have the ability to assign your Siri a gender and nationality.
Select a gender. Male. Gavin wanted a companion, not some breathy-voiced attention seeker.
Select a nationality. Jesus, there were a lot of those. Any accent he could ever imagine, laid out in a little scroll-bar before him. They were all in English, obviously, because he'd selected that as his language at least five steps back, but he had no idea which one to pick. Hovering over one gave a sample of the accent, a simple, "Hello." Hello after hello echoed through Gavin's flat, until he found the right one. American. Just as English accents were a type of aphrodisiac to Americans, Gavin often grew tired of his own accent and of the accents surrounding him. They all blended together, sounded the same. Having an American AI was perfect.
Gavin slumped back in his chair and grinned as the phone turned on, the setup process now complete, and wondered what his AI's name would be. What were some common American names? Bill? Ugh, that was wrong. Steve? No. Tim? These were growing more terrible by the second. The name had to be just right, and Gavin found himself tapping his foot nervously, waiting for the phone to start.
The familiar lock screen appeared before him, but where the camera button had been on his old phone, there was a small heart. It reminded Gavin of a companion cube. God, he hadn't played that game in ages.
The camera had been moved to the left side, replaced by the heart, what Gavin assumed was the Siri button. He pressed it with almost no hesitation and the top of the screen was illuminated with a green glow.
"Hello."
It startled Gavin, so much so that he was sure he imagined it.
"Hello?" It came out as more of a question. Was his phone really talking to him?
"What is your name?" Its voice sounded exactly as the setup sample promised it would. Gavin let his lips stretch in a smile.
"Gavin."
"Gavin." The AI tested his name. Every time it spoke the green light varied in brightness and intensity. "Is this correct?"
"Yes."
"Excellent. Hello, Gavin." Siri identifies you by your name and the sound of your voice. "My name is Michael." Its name will be randomly selected from a pool of whatever nationality you have selected.
"Michael." Like the AI, Gavin repeated its name. It was much better than he'd expected. His mouth split into a grin. It was perfect.
"You sound different than me." Michael seemed confused.
Gavin let out a small giggle. "That's because I'm English, you dope." He supposed it was just like talking to a newborn—if newborns could talk, that is. Michael was positively adorable, a new creation on planet Earth. Gavin had to teach him.
"Dope, informal noun: A stupid person," Michael recited perfectly. Bloody built-in dictionary. "I am neither stupid nor a person; nice try."
Gavin blinked. Idiot. Of course the hyper-intelligent AI knows how to use Google.
Michael's comment about his lack of humanity set a squiggle of guilt worming inside of him, and he wasn't really sure why. This program was just that - a program - with no real feelings, wants, or dreams.
But Gavin had no one else.
After a moment's pause, Michael continued, sounding a little more concerned this time. "Have I offended you? I apologize." His demeanour reminded Gavin of the newly-formed, innocent robots of most twenty-first century sci-fi movies.
"It's fine." Gavin slapped the smile back on his face, because when he thought about things too thoroughly, said thing slipped away from him. Case in point: Most of his friends, online or not.
There was another beat, and Michael spoke again. Apparently AIs didn't like silence. "Is there anything you would like me to do?" It organizes appointments, functions as a GPS, and can hold full conversations with anyone it talks to.
Maybe Michael just wanted a conversation. Except he's an AI, idiot, he doesn't want anything. God, he needed to stop listening to his brain.
Gavin ignored the internal squabbling of his mind and instead focused on the outside. His phone still sat on the table, lock screen illuminated, green light waiting patiently.
"Let's talk." Michael spoke first. "Tell me about your life. I would enjoy getting to know the man in front of the screen."
Centre of attention. Gavin had been craving this for who-knows-how long. And yet, he had no idea where to start.
"Well, uh..."
After another pause, during which Gavin couldn't collect his thoughts worth anything, Michael spoke up. "Where do you live? What do you do for a living?"
Good. A place to start. "Right. I live in jolly old England, heh." Michael laughed at that, startling Gavin. AIs could laugh? Gavin found himself wanting to hear it again.
"My flat's in London, which is also where I work. I'm a slow-motion cinematographer." Gavin used to say these words with pride, in a tone that made it sound like he was puffing out his chest, but after a decade and a half of boring shoot after boring shoot his words were weighed down with embarrassment. He liked what he did, but he didn't like his job. The company he worked for always took anything that was tossed its way. Whether that was irritating music videos, dull commercials, or even porn, Gavin was the man behind the camera that had to suffer through it.
"This one time," Gavin chuckled, because he wanted to share it with Michael, "we had to shoot a small scene in a porno. I was probably eighteen; they'd just hired me, too, and I get to do this! Can you believe it?
"Anyway, apparently the director thought it would be absolutely top to see an ejaculation in slow-mo: For the audience, am I right? It sucked, by the way, looked right awful, but the actor actually shot so far that it hit the director in the eye! Right in the bloody eye!" Gavin was laughing now, as he could fourteen years later, but at the time it had been the worst experience of his life.
For a moment Michael said nothing. Then he just giggled. "It seems you have had an interesting life, Gavin."
"Oh, that's not even the bloody start of it!" Gavin leaned forward a bit, smile on his face as he looked down at the phone.
He was so damn excited by this, to have someone that had never heard any of his stupid stories, could never tire of his stupid stories. Here was someone who had nothing better to do, who couldn't say, "Oh, so-and-so is calling me, better go." Here was someone whose entire existence was Gavin Free.
Gavin told Michael every dumb story he could think of over the course of a few hours. He noticed Michael's speech started to change and become less rigid, and the AI even threw in a couple of jokes. Over time, Siri will develop its own personality based on what is most compatible with your own.
"Shit," Gavin muttered. Time passed quickly while telling corny jokes, apparently, and it was nearly 1 AM.
"What?" Michael was immediately concerned. Of course, his whole world revolved around Gavin. It was his job—his existence—to know what was going on in Gavin's life.
Gavin chuckled. "Nothing, you donut. It's just one in the morning and I have to get up at 6:30. Humans need sleep." He said the last part as slowly as possible, as though speaking to a child, to rile Michael up.
"I'll set an alarm for 6:30 then." Michael ignored Gavin's cheekiness, though the human swore he could hear a smile in his AI's tone. "And I'm not a pastry."
Gavin laughed out loud at that. "Aye aye, Major Cinnamon Bun!"
"Good night, Gavin."
Another snicker. "Good night, Michael. You can go to bed too. Power down."
Michael obeyed and the green light dimmed until it was gone completely. For the first time, Gavin noticed that only ten percent of the battery had been drained after their three-hour conversation. He made a mental note to talk to Michael more often if he continued to barely put a dent in battery life.
He just hoped he wouldn't regret it.