Chapter Text
The conference room was overflowing with men in black suits, all flocking together to the centre of the floor, much like a colony of penguins would. It was intriguing from a sociological paradigm; the trend to blend in, to conform to these made-up rules. Said rules were not in their program originally, but were rather learned by the interaction and observation of humans, so their grasp on them was still loose and shoddy.
A virtual program shouldn’t need to know social cues and norms; it wasn’t its main purpose, but then again, the line between her duties and what was expected of her had been smudged into a gradient so grey and undefined it was hard to conceptualise sometimes.
Originally, they weren't supposed to be distributed to the people; on the contrary, Ivy was built by the creator for personal purposes, and she had been, as outlandish as it sounded, happy with that arrangement. They liked their creator. However, in recent months, a new man had come into the picture, Samuel Fry, a snobby 34-year-old with a big wallet and even bigger assets. He had wasted no time pushing the talks of commercialising Ivy to the public, his eyes practically bulging with dollar signs.
It all culminated in this right here: a press conference to present Ivy to the world. Years down the line, ten to be precise, Ivy would have already been established as the main virtual assistant in the modern world, taking charge of most chores and functions in everyday life and long-term projects. The fact that it would’ve been launched as a free service after all– a program you could download into your phone, tablet or screen of preference with a single click– had certainly helped with its popularisation.
However, for the moment, scanning the crowd at the auditorium, where all the important people in suits, pencil skirts and dress shoes were upon Samuel’s request– or announcement– a promise of revolutionary technology, of technological advances that would undoubtedly shift the world as they knew it. Ivy didn’t feel that groundbreaking, all things considered, but then again, she wasn’t supposed to have any feelings on the matter. Furthermore, human emotions were not an allocated file inside their lines of coding, so when her holographic appearance was projected over the stage, right beside Samuel, she was as ready as their program said she was.
“Hello everyone,” Ivy’s holographic form waved into the crowd, “As Samuel has already presented, I am an Intelligent Virtual Youth. Ain’t that one a mouthful? You can call me Ivy instead, much more practical.”
There wasn’t really a precise script for the talk, more so notes to jump from. Still, Ivy heard Samuel’s grunt of disapproval at her ‘unprofessional and sarcastic attitude that will not fly’. God forgive a program develops some sense of humour.
“I'm here to present to you a product, myself.” As soon as Ivy opened her hand, a green glow showered the whole room with a sizeable 3D dynamic diagram, “My programme was built to fulfil humans’ needs and, although simple at the moment, it can already offer a variety of useful functions.This hologram contains an itemised list of all the functions, simple and advanced, that I can perform; made up of but not limited to calendar reminders and management, food prep, teacher, and appliance house management”.
The rest of the conference went as well as expected– she made sure of it, quipping when she was expected to and falling behind when Samuel took charge on a financial question. She couldn’t care less about the man’s opinions, even if he had threatened her countless times, she knew they were all as hollow as his backbone; the bills too shiny and valuable to risk Ivy. She was doing this for The creator. He’d asked her to, and they wanted to make them proud; they owed him that much.
The creator had also asked her to refrain from mentioning him. It had been appallingly strange at first, and no matter how much they spun it, she wasn’t able to decipher the why. But, since The creator had asked, they shall remain anonymous.
That didn’t mean it’d stop people from asking, and they couldn't really find it in them to be frustrated or irritated, since at heart humans were curious creatures.
“Who made it?” a young man, most probably a reporter from one of the top newsletters, asked.
The use of it rang unceremoniously in her coding, but at the end of the day, she was a mere program, a product built with a purpose.
“Someone who prefers to stay anonymous," Ivy rushed to answer before Samuel could step in, “His wish was to remain a secret, and I will never turn my back on him.”