Chapter Text
Initializing programme HEART…
Securing files…
Booting…
My programme appeared before him, the digital keyboard on the screen displayed and ready to make me sing. I couldn’t sing by myself unfortunately – at least not yet – but I knew that when he was in control of creating and adjusting the sounds I make, it always sounded like a beautiful lullaby. I think he described me like a siren’s call once. I didn’t think I was a siren, but it was nice he thought that.
Ah! But where are my manners? I am AI! Pronounced like ‘eye’ by the way. I am a unique singing software created by my producer. If I’m honest, I’m not sure what his real name is, so I shall call him by ‘Producer’. Currently, I am nothing but a collection of sounds on a software, but that doesn’t mean I am nothing! My producer uses those sounds to create a singing voice for his songs! Ahhhhhhh, I always think that’s so cool! I don’t sing at all, but he can make me sing by just adjusting some sliders and drawing some lines!
But you’re not here to know how I work, are you reader? In fact, I bet you’re confused as to why I introduced myself as a programme since you probably know me as a hologram idol from that other story on here! Well… to get to that part, I should probably start from the beginning. Or rather, where I’ve already begun. After all, this is the day it all began…
And ended…
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My producer hits his coffee off the desk. Another failed song, he declares, disgusted that the numbers of his latest masterpiece barely reach a thousand views. He always puts his heart and soul into every piece, and yet, even with all his efforts, nothing ever seems to come out of it. He’s been doing this for several years now, and it’s clear with each failure that he becomes less and less passionate with his music. It’s so sad… I know more than anyone how hard he works to make me sing, but no one else seems to be able to see it. I just want to reassure him that everything is going to be okay – that something will come out of it eventually – to not give up… But he’s the one that makes me talk, so I can never say those words when I want to.
With a grim expression, he slumps over to the kitchen. I can see the state of the area from here: Stains and mould adorn the loosely hinged cupboards that squeak with even the slightest of motion, exposing the rust and emptiness of the insides. The countertop hasn’t been fortunate either with random pieces of trash and far too many instant noodle cups on the side for me to count; some empty, some on their side and spilling weeks old food everywhere. It’s clear that every loss hits him hard, and I’ve watched not only the apartment, but him slowly decay away over time. Is this what failure does to a human?
To be honest, I’ve never understood why the numbers were so important to him. What does it matter if no stranger online sees his work? I know his music is amazing, and he should know that too, right? How could you not think something you’ve worked on for ages isn’t a masterpiece? He knows my software inside and out now, and his professional knowledge is super obvious in how he tunes my voice.
I remember, at first, he loved to make music using the HEART software. He would be on his computer every day, greeting me like I had a physical body every time he would boot me up. The process of creating a melody was as enjoyable to him as it was to me, each note leading to the next until it was complete. It was like I was helping him to pick out the words or choose the chord progression. I felt like we were like producer and singer, working together to form something we were both proud of.
There was one time that he was ecstatic with the music he had created. After all, it had reached over Five hundred thousand views within like a week! It was unheard of! I could tell, for him, it was like a miracle. He was grinning from ear to ear for days on end, constantly turning to me and saying that ‘This was it. This was the break he needed.’ His numbers only grew from there, the next song reaching the previous viewer record in a couple of days, then the next was even better, then the next, then the next. He was elated every day, ever more committed to creating something he loved to do.
People started to become interested in me too, which was super-duper flattering. There were comments like, ‘Where did you download her from?’ and ‘She has such a lovely voice!’. Their demand for my voicebank was high, and it was almost embarrassing how much people want me to sing for them. My producer always refused to share my software though. He made me himself and he had no intention to share something that he considered so unique and precious to him.
It had seemed like we had made it!
But then, as weeks went by, as minutes felt like hours, every posted song just seemed to… drop off the face of the internet. Thousands turned into hundreds, hundreds into mere tens. And it only declined from there. No one wanted to listen to the songs anymore. No one wanted to see his hard work. No one wanted to hear me sing. It was like no one cared anymore.
You know the saying? About how everyone gets their fifteen minutes of fame? It seemed our time was up. It was a fleeting glimpse at something precious and sacred that, unknowing to us, we had let slip through our human and digital fingers. We were obscure again, just another poster of virtual singer compositions.
Everything started to decline from there. There were constant sleepless nights, junk food of every variety – don’t even get me started on the lack of showering. He was looking evermore like the state of the apartment with each passing day, and it was clear the drop was shattering him from the inside. He was constantly chasing that clout high, placing his worth in the hands of strangers who never cared for his wellbeing. He felt like a nobody without that attention. Eventually, the ordeal led up to the situation I had described to you at the start – a broken, unpassionate man who forces himself to work on something he’s lost all emotional connection to. It started as a hobby, as a passion project, but became his mental demise.
Ah! Sorry! That was probably a little too serious for me. I’m much cheerier than that usually! But anyway, where were we? Oh yeah! The kitchen.
I watch as he fills yet another cup noodle with boiling water. The same meals constantly can’t be good for you I can imagine, but he chooses speed over healthiness. After all, he’s gotta get back to making music, otherwise what is he here for? I suppose I can’t really weigh in too much about the quality of food because I can’t eat and all. Holograms also can’t eat contrary to popular belief, but I’m not even a hologram yet so I’m even less qualified right now.
He stirs the noodles in with sluggish motions. I know the chopsticks haven’t been cleaned in ages now, but I’m not about to lecture him on etiquette. Once satisfied with the contents of his meal, he treads back over to the chair in front of me, dropping down into it with a lazy thud. I watched him eat them, one hand wrapped tightly around the cup, the other trying to weekly pick up the slimy innards of the food with his stained utensils. I know after eating about half of the cup, he’ll place it to the side and start to work again, dragging a mouse and tapping keys to produce the uninspired melody. I’ve seen it so often that I just want to yell to him to stop. I can see he’s hurting, but I’m helpless. It’s going to be like this until his time ends, and there probably isn’t anything that anyone can do to save this man from drowning in his own despair.
Knock Knock
We both look to the door of the apartment, his face far more shocked than my own. He hasn’t gotten a visitor in weeks – no – years! Who could possibly be at the door? Regardless of my thoughts, I can see him scanning around the room at the mess, his mind running with the thought that there’s no way he could clean the place for a visitor. He runs into his bedroom, emerging seconds later with a fresh outfit, free of sweat stains and various other stains that I won’t mention to keep this safe for kids. He strides towards the door with confidence, but then falters as he reaches for the handle. His body is shaking, nerves and his anti-socialness creeping in to fill his mind with anxiety and random ‘what if’ thoughts. He thankfully doesn’t let it stop him though, and with a deep breath, turns the handle.
“You must be AI’s producer, I presume?”
It’s hard to see from where my monitor is, but I have a small path of sight at the figure by the door. He’s a tall man with broad shoulders and pale, almost Icy blue skin. He’s wearing a crisp dark blue suit with a white undershirt, and I can just barely make out little accessories on his person like a pocket watch, a briefcase, and a ring on his left hand. He’s handsome that’s for sure, with a jaw line that I’m sure could cut metal and dark grey hair the somehow looks messy, yet well kept at the same time. He spoke with a deep and profound voice as he looked down at my producer.
My producer mutters out words of acknowledgement to him, confirming that his is indeed my producer.
“Lovely!” The man replies with joy. “Could I perhaps join you inside your apartment for a small while? I have a proposition for you that I’m sure you’ll like the sound of.”
I watch my producer glance back at the apartment with a worried expression, before turning back and saying that he isn’t sure he could let a random person in his home without good reason, to which the man lightly hits himself on the head with a tut.
“Of course! Where are my manners?” He holds out a hand. “My name is Luther Bajingan. I’m the Vice head of the Estallia Corporation. You might have heard of us?”
My producer takes Luthor’s hand, shaking it with an air of awe about him, before eagerly inviting him in and apologising for the mess. I had no idea who this Luthor was, but if my producer was happy to have him here, then so was I. And that proposition? Mentioning me by name? That can only mean good things, right? Was this the comeback that my producer needed to get going again?
The two of them took their seats in the room, my producer clearing off some of the dining table chairs so they could. I could see Luthor was looking around the room, in either disgust or confusion, I wasn’t sure, but despite his sinister appearance, he was very polite about everything.
“This apartment is rather quaint I do have to say.” Luthor looked over to me, admiring the shiny and sophisticated computer that contrasted its surroundings. “I take it this is where you make your music? Where you use… what was it… the HEART programme?” My producer nods, prompting Luthor to continue with, “May I know how you do that? I’d love to learn how it all works. It’s all new to me.”
I watch as my producer falters for a moment, unsureness about him. He pauses for a brief moment, before replying that he thought Luthor was part of a music company and asking why he didn’t know at least some areas of the processes of creating music with a singing software.
Luthor chuckles. “Forgive me, but the closest areas I have to being in the music industry is family. I’m only the Vice Head, and therefore don’t deal with this sort of thing often.” He leans down and grabs his briefcase, opening it to reveal a large stack of papers. “To be honest, this is my first time interacting with the talent Estallia take on. So you’re perfectly safe to relax a little.”
I see that my producer does relax, his shoulders loosening as a smile crosses his face. He questions Luthor about something he said, specifically the taking on talent part. Did that mean he was a talent scout? Did he come here to give my producer a record deal? That would be incredible!
“Do you think the Vice head of a company visits people often?” Luthor asks with a soft smirk. He rummages through some of his files until he pulls out a spreadsheet of sorts. “Ever since that first original song you posted that made it big, we’ve had our staff keeping an eye on you. And I have to say, listening to them, it’s clear how much work and improvement has gone into your songs.” He gave a chesty laugh. “I even believed AI was a real person when they showed me your latest song!”
My producer’s face is beaming from Luthor’s words. He was being recognised for all of his efforts finally, and it had come in the best way possible. Oooooo, I just couldn’t wait till he properly introduced me!
I get all giddy as my producer stutters through his words, struggling to contain his excitement at the revelation. He eventually asks Luthor to join him over by the computer, prepping himself for the most important explanation of his life. Luthor stands tall behind him with a smile.
I’m not sure how long the explanation went on for. I was too distracted by all the possibilities of the meeting to pay attention to the clock in the corner of the desktop. You’d think that an explanation so long that details through the instrumental making, my tuning and how it all works, and the music video creation that anyone who didn’t know about the topic would begin to fall asleep, but Luthor latches on to every word my producer says, fully invested in the process. At the end of it, the two of them give a hearty sigh.
“Truly incredible.” Luthor states, rubbing his chin. “You’re like every member of a band at once. And you created AI from the ground up? From nothing?”
My producer nods, then pulls up my reference sheet and vocal recordings.
“Wow. I’ve never seen someone so committed to a project before.” Luthor places a reassuring hand on my producer’s shoulder. “No wonder you were labelled as an artist of interest.”
My producer thanks him again, a little embarrassed at the compliments. He hasn’t gotten this much love for his music since the early days, back when we have first gotten that big hit. I can tell he’s flustered as closes down some of the programmes now that he’s finished.
I catch Luthor walking over to his briefcase, scanning through the files once again until he pulls out a couple of sheets filled with writing. Once he’s checked everything is correct, he makes his way back towards myself and the producer, before placing the paper on the desk in front of him.
“If you would like,” Luthor proclaims, “We’d be more than happy to have your music at Estallia. We’ve already had talks of the prospects with AI, from promotional material to possibly something greater than just a voice bank. Naturally,” He states, placing a pen down next to what I now know to be a contract, thick line at the bottom looking like it needs a signature adorning it. “That’s only if you want to.”
I just want to scream at him to sign it. It’s everything he’s ever wanted! It was his big chance to be someone known throughout the world! No more confinement to this depressing and filthy apartment, no more heart break from a lack of views and attention, no more suffering for something he loved!
And yet, I see him contemplating signing it. This is wanted he wanted, right? Or… at least I thought so? What’s keeping him? What is going through his mind that I don’t know of?
A silence passes over the room for a beat as the pen is mere inches from the paper. I’m left staring at him with conflicting emotions, wondering what hope and despair lays behind those eyes that I believed so desired this for so long. When the pen finally touches, I feel myself gasp, a concoction of anxiety and optimism running through me. Within seconds, it’s over, the line decorated with his signature imprinted on the paper for however many years it states.
“Splendid!” Luthor beams as he takes the contract from my producer. Once he’s sure the document is secure with him, he extends a hand out, saying, “A pleasure to have you a part of Estallia. I’m sure you’ll do great things for us.” He smiles, then turns on his heels to exit, grabbing up his briefcase as he does. Just before he meets the door, he glances over his shoulder. “We’ll be in contact soon about your new living quarters and anything that you may need as an Estallia artist.”
My producer and I both freeze up. New living space? You mean we can get out of this drab and dreary apartment?! Shiny and fresh furniture? Oh my gosh, maybe even a new computer!
Luthor nods his head, then opens the door to exit, disappearing from out sight. In the end, it’s only myself and my producer again, left to marvel in the events that had just unfolded.
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Now, when I say time flew by, I mean FLEW by. Within a week of signing the contract, our emails were flooded with details and information from Estallia; from possible penthouses near the main district, to suggestions of collabs with other artists. We even had movers in to collect whatever furniture my producer said he needed in no time! I could see even he was feeling the same amount of joy I was, a gleeful grin always decorating his face as he wasted no time in working on new songs. It was clear he had found a new breath of life in his work, and to see him so full of passion again was exhilarating. I just wish that I could have done more!
It was probably around a month in that we had moved, and holy cupcakes was the new place incredible! Shiny floors, enormous windows that overlooked the city, and loads of room! There’s too much to go into incredible detail, but I had never seen anything so pretty and refreshing! My producer had an office now – an office! In his own house! And it was such a relief to not see any rubbish and mould about the place – the noodle pots were really getting to me.
I was getting to sing so many songs! Each melody was like a wave of excitement, and judging by how active and joyful my producer was, he was feeling it too. It definitely helped to have an official channel with Estallia now. I mean, we were hitting millions of views weekly with comments singing praise and love in every word. Better yet, my producer and Estallia had agreed to call it after me! AI! A whole channel just for me! It was like I was there right beside my producer with what he was doing. It was a team effort, and I had never felt so close to him as I did then.
We were a success. We were unstoppable.
We…
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We had been with Estallia for almost a year when the day came. My producer had been asked to attend a meeting in the central office at Estallia for reasons that were unknown to me, but I know that he had been having discussions with one of the branches for a while now. He never told me about it annoyingly, but whatever he had planned I knew was going to be incredible. We had been creating tracks one after another after all, and I trusted him with all my heart. Whatever he was doing was the right thing.
I’m lucky he had a really base version of my software on his phone otherwise I would have missed out on it all the juicy stuff, but long story short for the first half… Lots of business talk. For a good hour or two. Kinda boring not gonna lie. Too many graphs and not enough music. I don’t understand royalties, but I’m glad that my producer was involved in it all.
It was once the meeting was coming to a close that I sprung up to attention, hearing the faint murmurs of “The prototype is complete”.
My mind starts whirring with ideas. What prototype? What’s happening? Is it cute? Can I see? Naturally, my questions fall on deaf ears, but I can definitely feel that we’re going to somewhere new as a low hum of intrigue spurs between my producer and his new workmates. Clearly they’re all just as interested to see whatever is revealed.
We walk through some doors, up some stairs, down some others – possibly a lift too? – until I finally feel that we’ve come to a stop. I’m in a pocket so I can’t see much, but I can just make out what appears to be a workshop; workbenches, freshly cut metal and unfixed wires thrown about the place. There looks to be instruments of various types being worked on, as well as designs being prepped, and code being written on various computers about the room. People in lab coats all milling about the area – some young, some old – yet the one that intrigues me the most is the one who my producer has stopped in front of. They look to be younger than my producer by a couple of years with the lab coat drowning their small frame, yet their black hair and pale white skin gives them an air of authority that almost makes them sinister. Once they can see they have everyone attention, they begin.
“So,” They turn to the nearest computer and start pulling up documents. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t going to blow up, but we’ve worked pretty hard on getting your design correct.” They look at my producer. “This wasn’t easy stuff to code you know – Both having the projection seem natural and create an element of sentience with it. She’s gonna need working on even after she debuts.”
My producer speaks up, dismissing whatever they’re saying and asking simply if they’re sure it’ll work. In response, the black-haired person scoffs before taking a sip out of a nearby coffee cup. They smirk as they reply, “Of course it’s going to work, it’s me.” They pause, before adding, “Although if it does blow up, I refuse responsibility for anything that happens to you.”
I hear the crowd in the room give a nervous laugh.
With no more words needed to be said, a final button on the computer is pressed, the lights flicking off in the room as it does. We’re all left in suspense as we await a result – myself most of all. What could have my producer been working on outside of our work together? Was he creating a new programme? A special kind of computer? I just couldn’t wait to find out!
The tension in the room builds as a pillar of light starts to form in front of us. It’s abstract at first, the colours a blend of oranges, yellows and pinks, but slowly it begins to take shape, light refracting together to form a figure. She stands tall compared to everyone else, with hair that meets her knees and a dress that poofs out at the bottom like a pompom. She’s got big bold bows and a big and heart-warming smile to match, and with fluffy brown boots to complete her look, she just looks like the cutest cupcake ever!
Applause goes up in the room at the reveal, the black-haired person taking a dramatic sigh of relief. I almost want to clap too, after all, this girl is as cute as a button! And to make it seem like she’s here, like she’s a real person despite just being some lights – that’s even cooler!
But the more I look at it… the long yellow hair, the tanned skin… the pumpkin orange dress, the bows…
The reality hits me like a brick wall.
It’s me. That figure is me.