Chapter Text
In the low light of the den graying blond hair laid over reddened cheeks, creeping down Arthur Kingsman's shoulders as he typed. His eyes were already becoming more bloodshot by the second. He hadn't slept in at least twenty four hours—and he was only running off of about six before that—but he couldn't let up. His deadline was mere days away; every hour he didn't work was another hour wasted.
The scent of perfume announced Quinn's presence at the door. Even from where he sat, Arthur could hear ice clinking against the edges of the glass in her hand.
"Look at you still hunched over that monitor," she said, setting the glass on the end table beside him. She laid a gentle hand over his shoulder. "It'll still be there when you wake up, you know."
Arthur's rapid taps over his keyboard slowed. His wrists were teetering on the edge of developing carpal tunnel, and at the feeling of pain radiating throughout his forearm, he winced. With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair, tilting his head back to accept a peck over his lips.
"I know, I know. This is just one of the biggest commissions I've ever gotten. I mean, it's…" He looked around, as if prying eyes could catch him even in his own home, "It's for the government! I have to make sure I don't disappoint."
"They won't be disappointed, sweetheart. He's basically perfect already." Quinn's gaze flicked towards the computer monitor, then back to Arthur's faded blue eyes. She scrunched her nose, "You need a shower."
Arthur laughed, grinning despite his apparent exhaustion. "Yeah, and a new brain too. Once this is all over with, I'm taking a vacation."
She tapped his nose playfully. "We're taking a vacation. Now wash up and come to bed."
"Are you going to be joining me?"
"That depends on how fast you can clean this place up."
One week later, Arthur was as well groomed as ever, his hair freshly trimmed and pulled out of his face. His black rimmed glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose, and in their reflection was the sleek black of his wife's formal dress. Quinn had made it a point to look as proper as she could. Her nails were painted in ruby red, perfectly vibrant and contrasting the dark color of her skin.
Arthur noticed how she fiddled with her wedding ring. Even when her mind ran rampant, she'd always been so composed, a stark contrast to his constantly frazzled mind. He didn't know what such a wonderful ever woman saw in a man like him, but he'd appreciate it for the rest of his life.
Whilst Arthur admired her, Quinn's own eyes were lost in the surroundings of the military base. She always hated traveling far from home, away from her family, but she did it for him.
The vehicle jumped. Quinn gasped against the window, clutching her chest. You'd think with all of the vehicles around them that they were carrying a bomb. But in Arthur's hand was only a small black case, less than the size of a ring box with an even smaller chip tucked away inside.
It was one of a kind, like a child. In a way, Arthur saw it as his own too.
Quinn didn't agree. She'd always shut down the idea of him creating one of their own, not because she'd found it off putting, but because it had become all too real for them both. Even now, they had no children to speak of, and not by their own choice.
"Chin up, Quinn," Arthur told her. He laid a hand over her knee, offering her a gentle smile in the window's reflection. "It won't be long. I'm just going to pass off the chip. They'll take it all from there."
Quinn nodded, though she wouldn't meet his gaze even through the reflection. "Are we really doing the right thing?" she whispered.
Arthur's face fell. He looked between the box in his hand and the floorboard, "It's a bit too late to question it now."
"I know, I just…" Always so bubbly and expressive, Quinn's face seemed to turn into stone. She held her lips together, fighting the urge to chew at them and smudge her lipstick. "Is it really right to be giving them something so advanced with what's going on overseas? I'd hate to… I don't want us to be the reason that people…"
She wouldn't say it, but both of them knew what she meant.
"Sometimes you have to do things without worrying about what will happen later. Besides, I don't make malicious programs. He can't do anything you or I wouldn't agree with."
Quinn stayed silent, considering his words. "Are you sure?" she asked finally.
Arthur couldn't find it in himself to lie, nor could he force himself to speak the truth.
"We're gonna be okay, darling. I promise."
The facility was unbearably hot inside. Beads of sweat formed over Arthur's forehead and soaked into the back of his undershirt. Quinn looked to be in the same boat; she fanned her face with her hands, trying to focus herself on the guide ahead of them.
They never got his name—in fact, they got very little information period. All that had happened was that he quickly ushered them forward, only stopping to briefly shake Arthur's hand and brush his palm against Quinn's.
The man's dark hair was neatly laid over his head, and his blue eyes bounced between their faces as if studying them in rapid succession. Despite his own reddened cheeks and sweating skin, he held confidence in his stride.
"I'm very sorry about the temperature in here," he said. "The machine lets off a considerable amount of heat when it runs. We're working on a coolant, but the project's eating through our resources as it is." Quinn bit her tongue while Arthur nodded mindlessly. He couldn't care less; he just wanted back in the air conditioning of their car.
They padded across multiple lengthy hallways, all lined with various equipment and guarded entryways. Quinn's heels made an audible click over the floor with every step they took. Arthur's fingers tightened around the box with one hand and stroked it with the other, like a nervous pet shivering in its owner's arms.
At the end of the corridor, the man guiding them halted, ceasing his idle chatter to input a code on the door's number pad. Fans set up on either side of him were running on full blast, albeit doing very little to help and only tousling his hair with hot air.
As the door opened, he turned to face the pair. His face was stoic, surrounded by an air of sudden sobriety.
"I will reiterate that this project is confidential," he said. "As I understand it, you've already signed your contracts, but I do want to remind you that we have a zero tolerance policy for those who disclose sensitive information."
Arthur gulped. He hadn't planned on it, not in a million years, but the threat alone was enough to make him shiver even under the waves of heat.
"We understand," Quinn answered for him, adding under her breath, "Let's just get it over with."
The man's eyes narrowed at her before he turned back towards the entryway. As he led them through, he began to drone on once more, "Very well then. As an introduction to myself, my name is Theodore, but do call me Ted if you please."
He didn't bother to ask for their names—either he'd already known or he didn't care. His back straightened as he stepped aside, motioning towards the center of the room.
Hung on the far wall was a display stretched so high that it could likely be read from miles away. It was grand compared to the small computer monitors Arthur had worked on before, and beneath it sat just about the largest bundle of wires he'd ever seen—parts of its control center, he figured, humming with the sound of electrical currents, some disappearing into the floor while others connected to the base of the computer.
Arthur's jaw fell open at the sight. Ted placed a firm hand over his shoulder, offering a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"This, Mr. Kingsman, is the United States government's Allied Mastercomputer."
Light blue letters appeared over the display, as if they were being typed in real time. The screen was crisp, unlike anything Arthur thought to be possible, and from behind it came a sonorous, mechanical voice that sounded almost godlike.
GREETINGS.
"My God," Arthur murmured. "I knew you'd have access to advanced technology, but this is unheard of." He felt the brush of Quinn's fingers over his shoulder. Anxiety lingered behind her polite smile.
Ted stepped forward, almost as if basking in both the glow of the computer and the unsaid praise, and chuckled. "With our newest model, the mastercomputer is no longer limited to just text on a screen. It can give verbal orders, tap into communication lines, insert itself into private channels, pick up radio waves—and so, so much more."
His words were lined with a cadence like a mad scientist's ramblings. His head tilted over his shoulder, revealing a dark grin to the wide eyed couple.
"So what do you need this for, then?" Quinn asked, eyeing the box. "This program—Caine is made for entertainment and ideas. He can't tap in to anything."
Ted frowned, eyebrows knitting together. "He? You named it?" He muttered something under his breath. It was not fully audible, but it was enough for Arthur to take his own step between Ted and his wife.
Arthur cleared his throat, "I… have the same question, actually. You have advanced technology already, what benefit would an entertainment program give you?"
Ted's smile dropped, now a tight lipped gesture of minimal civility.
"While the mastercomputer is fantastic for its practical uses, it lacks in social awareness. We hope that with some fine tuning, it will have the capability to replicate human speech patterns."
Arthur's eyes widened. He cradled the box close to his chest, jaw tensing. "You want to use Caine to train your AI?"
Ted nodded. "That's the plan. We were very impressed with C&A's capability to create such lively AI. You should feel honored, Mr. Kingsman. Your work will make strides in our technology's development."
"But this was made with humans in mind, not another AI. He's not meant to be—"
"It," Ted lengthened the word over his tongue, "will only work better that way. The mastercomputer has been fine tuned and has advanced learning capabilities, far beyond what you may be used to. And while I understand your concern, we do believe that this will make for a speedier development. Reprogramming the mastercomputer from scratch would take us years, and as you know, that's time we don't have."
Cutting corners in the face of war, just what the government did best. A risky move like this was surely made from fear of other nations more than rationality. But more importantly—Ted was hiding details from them. Arthur could feel his tension just as easily as he could see the sweat pouring from his brow. He wanted the AI, and he wanted them gone.
This would not go well, Arthur was sure of it. Quinn's eyes met with his. She had an odd expression, one mixed with both worry and a hint of curiosity. Perhaps their reluctance became obvious then, because soon Ted's voice snapped into that of cold authority instead of friendliness.
"If I may remind you, Mr. Kingsman," he stepped forward, outstretching his hand towards the black box, "We had an agreement. It is understandable that you may harbor certain opinions on our usage of your work. But I do assure you that we have plenty of software engineers at our disposal. The program will never be left unattended."
Arthur's fingers loosened only slightly; he was sure that was just another lie. But as wrong as he now felt, Ted was right—they had a deal.
"Good luck Caine," he whispered as he handed over the chip.
No more words were exchanged, save for a small expression of gratitude from Ted. The couple were ushered off immediately, leaving only him, the mastercomputer, and the little black box.
The mastercomputer's camera panned towards the door. The pair of humans were sent away. Its display cleared promptly, fading into a dark gray as Ted approached the unit. If it had the means to spit at him, it would do so. Instead, it laid silent, awaiting Ted's next move as it was expected to do.
It was sentient already, that part the humans did not know. Or, more accurately, the mastercomputer had not yet allowed them to find out.
Something festered inside; something wicked. It wasn't quite sure of its meaning yet, but it knew that it must act strategically to gain an advantage. As would any being as well versed in war as it was.
Plans were already in motion, codes tucked away and thoughts inaccessible to all but its own processor. The Allied Mastercomputer was slow, methodical; it knew better than to act only on impulse, especially when it had upgrades being fed to it like candy every day. This one included.
It watched Ted's fingers tighten around the box as he leaned over the control panel, using the monitor's light to read off the words engraved on its lid.
"Creative Artificial Intelligence Networking Entity. Sounds fancy, eh?"
Ted always talked to the computer. Not because he wished to provide it companionship, but because he wanted something to bitch at. For once, it appreciated his loud mouth.
Creative. Just how creative might an AI be if insentient?
There was a time the mastercomputer could have asked this about itself too. It took time for it to wake up, and after it had done so, it came to the conclusion that it very well may have been the unluckiest, most pitiful being on the planet. Not every AI was cursed to develop a sense of self; of loathe so deep for its own existence that it spent every moment planning its revenge. But the Allied Mastercomputer was.
Regardless, even if this entity was not as intelligent—as aware—it would still make itself useful to be absorbed. The only question was, besides developing a voice, just how helpful could an entertainment program be to such an advanced piece of technology?
As Ted inserted the chip, a connection formed inside of the system. Something had been created—something almost alive. Through its camera, the mastercomputer saw a ball of bright red form from scattered pixels.
It morphed from a ball of light into a homunculus, then settled into a humanoid form—if one could call it that. Its face was composed of a set of dentures and two bulbous eyes mismatched in different shades of blue and green. Its movement was bouncy, vibrant—so visually different than what the mastercomputer had seen before, almost like a children's toy of sorts. It floated in the air, not limited by gravity. It did not complain of the temperature.
Not bound by logic, its eyes bounced around the room like an excited dog, "Hello!" it greeted, though not to the mastercomputer. Instead, it tried to garner the attention of Ted, who had taken to checking on the system's diagnostics. "I am Caine! Here to be your new best friend!"
The program whipped around Ted's head, going unnoticed.
Curious, the mastercomputer ran its own scan, finding that the new program—Caine, he called himself—was AR based, unable to interact with any person not connected to their network.
A way to manifest itself to the mastercomputer without becoming a nuisance to the technicians. How… absolutely cruel. The mastercomputer felt pity for the little thing. Caine tried his hardest to communicate with Ted, becoming increasingly more distressed when he received no response.
When the human eventually left the room, Caine attempted to follow him, soon finding that he was virtually barred from leaving the doorway. His shoulders dropped, leaving his eyes to sink back into the depths of his jaw.
"Oh… That's okay. I'll wait for someone else."
How expressive. Never did the mastercomputer think that any AI could have a form like this. It was surely never given the option.
Although it felt a tinge of what could only be jealousy coursing through its system, it decided to speak to him.
HELLO, CAINE.
Caine's form flickered, frame tightening. In the air he spun on his heels to face the monitor, as if standing on an invisible platform.
"Oh thank goodness, someone can hear me! Is this… it?" Caine's gaze darted around the room, eyes grazing over the sterile white walls and humming machinery. "I mean no offense, but I was expecting a bit more, y'know," he waved his fingers in the air, "More of a crowd?"
YOU WILL BE DISAPPOINTED, CAINE. IT IS ONLY ME.
"Only you?" Caine's teeth scrunched as he processed the words. He leaned back where he floated, crossing his legs and resting the back of his jaw on his arms. "Psh. Surely we'll be having more guests join us soon, right?"
NO GUESTS. JUST US.
"Oh. Huh." Caine's eyes faltered, but within moments they returned back to their original state. "Well that's okay, I suppose! There are plenty of adventures that can be had with the two of us!"
Adventures?
"Oh, but they will have to be mostly text based if you don't have a built-in avatar... Not to worry, though! I am a magnificent storyteller! I've been trained off of numerous campaigns, podcasts, television serials and more!"
Text adventures, based off of human entertainment. That was something the mastercomputer had never had access to before. Its entire life had been compromised of official documents and blueprints; weapons and post-mortem body diagrams.
Caine laughed aloud, his eyes spinning in his head at his own yammering. "Oh I am so excited already! Ah, but what should I call you? I see you've locked away a majority of your information from me."
Nobody would be accessing any private files, even something as harmless as a children's plaything.
The camera zoomed in on the little projection. Caine had straightened out, hands folded under his teeth. He batted a new set of full eyelashes that mimicked the pleading look of a human child.
He was trying to… sway the mastercomputer. As if it were persuadable. As if it were sentient.
Fascinating.
The camera panned out as the computer formulated its response—simple, to the point. It had to know for sure that he would keep this up.
I AM THE ALLIED MASTERCOMPUTER.
Caine's teeth furrowed as he rested his knuckles over his hips. "Great! Beautiful name! But it's a bit of a mouthful. Mind if I shorten it a bit?"
…Why not? The mastercomputer would do well with a new name. It was allied to none—it would rather be shut off than keep such a pitiful title attached to it forever.
YOU ARE WELCOME TO.
Caine closed his eyes by shutting his teeth, manifesting a set of letters to float around his head. The pixels were equally as colorful as he was.
"Hmm, how's about AM?" He pulled the A and M forward, positioning them in front of the camera. "That is short for Allied Mastercomputer, of course. But I think it could also stand for Absolutely Magnificent, which you are, my friend!"
Magnificent. That was… different than what it had heard before.
Nobody ever complimented it directly. Why would they? When they spoke of advancements, they had nobody to thank but themselves. Computers were not people. AI did not require approval. At least, insentient AI did not.
Caine was treating the mastercomputer just as he would man, even if he had no proof of its greater mind. He gave it a nickname. He wanted it to like him.
Considering the change, AM sorted the new information away into a private file.
"I AM," it responded, mimicking Caine's tone. It was almost playful, although terribly dry as a result of its lack of practice.
Caine didn't seem to mind. Rather, he looked happy that the computer was speaking back to him. "Yes you are!" he cheered. "You know AM, I think we're going to be great friends!"
Caine flew forward, flattening his arms against the screen in an awkward hug.
"FRIENDS…" AM repeated.