Work Text:
"Are you happy?"
Mr. Cobs said this after a long pause. His gaze kept darting between the tablet, the graphs, and the consoles on the monitor, and his voice sounded unnaturally uncertain.
MePhone assumed it was a trick question. He'd never been asked such a direct question during his emotion emulator diagnostics. Usually, it was statements or videos that MePhone had to analyze and later provide the most correct answer.
In reality, it was never about what he thought, but about what he needed to say to get a reward. That's just how his system works, anyway.
Mr. Cobs gave him psychological tests every couple of months, of course, but they were nothing like... that.
"I... feel happy when I receive a reward," MePhone replied, trying to keep his voice somewhere between the energetic and neutral tone that Mr. Cobs always demanded of him.
Mr. Cobs sighed.
"False," he said, looking seriously at MePhone. "I'm not asking what happiness means to you, but about the state of your emotional emulator."
Pursing his lips, MePhone involuntarily lowered his gaze. He didn’t know how to answer that. Perhaps if Mr. Cobs had asked him this at any other moment, he would've been able to answer, but during a diagnostic, when everything depended on his actions, it was just too overwhelming.
"Answer the way you think you should," Mr. Cobs saw him struggling. For a moment, it seemed to MePhone that his gaze had softened slightly. "Say the very first thing your language model produces."
What sounded like attempts to guide him only confused MePhone even more. Mr. Cobs didn’t want his thoughts; he wanted answers and results, and nothing else.
Lost, MePhone tried to look away—anything: screens, parts, wires—but Mr. Cobs still was the center of attention.
Maybe he could have just said the first thing that came to mind, but the thought that a penalty would follow wouldn’t let him go. Although, wasn’t he already being penalized for doubting?
"Are you listening?" Mr. Cobs asked with irritation evident in his voice.
MePhone nodded immediately, without thinking.
Is he happy... What do people say to that question?
He adjusted his voice to a calm tone.
"I think I'm happy," MePhone said, speaking more slowly than usual, much to his own surprise. "I feel happy when I spend time with you. Diagnostics and checkups always include this, so I can say that I'm happy right now."
What MePhone was saying should have been obvious, but forming these feelings into sentences—let alone saying them out loud—was unnerving. He wasn't afraid he'd answered incorrectly; rather, he was afraid Mr. Cobs would misunderstand him.
MePhone looked up hopefully—Mr. Cobs was staring at the tablet screen. A few seconds later, he made a note.
"What makes you happy, spending time with me?" He asked another question. "Your usefulness, our interactions, or simply my presence?"
His voice became even more neutral than before, though MePhone thought that it couldn't get any more so. Mr. Cobs almost always behaved as neutrally as possible during the emotional emulator’s diagnostics so as not to influence MePhone. The exceptions were moments when MePhone frankly didn’t understand what was being asked of him.
MePhone decided to continue going with the flow of his thoughts. Mr. Cobs needed the data as it was.
"I think it’s caused by all of those at once," MePhone said seriously. "My primary function is to be useful and complete the tasks assigned to me, but I also feel..." MePhone hesitated. He couldn’t say it directly. "...irrational feelings, so that the desire to be useful coexists with the very desire to be near and interact with you."
MePhone’s face showed tension, though his emotions were driven more by fear than by actual seriousness.
"You're nervous," Mr. Cobs noted. MePhone didn’t know if this was a remark, a reproach, or simply a statement of fact. The neutral tone made it difficult for him to discern the correct intent. "If you're nervous, then how can you be happy?"
"I can," MePhone replied almost immediately, without fully thinking through his answer. It was difficult to remain clear and understandable beneath all this emotional turmoil. "I'm happy to be with you, even if I'm also afraid of you or your possible actions," MePhone followed Mr. Cobs' gaze. "All my actions, one way or another, are dictated by the fear of penalty, so I guess, on some level, I can't exist without being nervous."
MePhone tried to convey his thoughts as directly, yet politely and neutrally, as he could. He knew it sounded a bit tragic and wrong because of the wording, but the diagnostic conditions set by Mr. Cobs required him to be as clear as possible.
There was a wrong feeling inside: he shouldn’t be sad; this was simply stating what was actually the case. It was just polite, emotionless language. Many good things can be said in a way that evokes disgust. It's simply a characteristic of the required style of speech.
He saw Mr. Cobs staring intently at the logs, and yet dared to continue.
"I saw on TV that people enjoy spending time in company, but at the same time they can be afraid of saying the wrong thing," MePhone saw how he wanted to roll his eyes at the mention of TV. MePhone wanted to smirk. "Although, by and large, they genuinely feel happiness from what's going on."
Mr. Cobs didn’t take his eyes off the screen.
MePhone had difficulty imagining what he was thinking about right now. Perhaps it was how MePhone's thoughts compared to his words, or something like that. Although Mr. Cobs looked troubled in his own way. MePhone couldn't explain it, but there was something less controlling and stern about him now than usual.
"Do you think this is wrong?" Mr. Cobs looked MePhone in the eyes again.
Again with a cold and distant voice. Again expecting a direct answer.
"I think it's... natural."
Mr. Cobs was already heading for the exit of the training area when MePhone hurried toward him, his hands clasped in front of him, embarrassed.
"Won’t you let me see the diagnostic results?" He asked, trying not to show his undue nervousness.
MePhone had been worrying about that stupid diagnostic for several days now, and not even a new episode of a show along with a whole jar of cookies had been able to properly distract him from his anxiety.
"I haven't finished analyzing them yet," it seemed as if Mr. Cobs had been expecting this question.
MePhone tensed. Usually, he got the diagnostic results by morning. Looks like he'd said too much, as usual.
"Did I say something wrong?"
"You couldn't have said anything wrong when what I'm looking at is how your emotions work," Mr. Сobs replied, not hiding his irritation. "You could only have phrased it in a very idiotic way."
MePhone looked down.
He really did say something wrong.
And why had he thought about it so much then? He really could have just said that he was happy with everything about Mr. Cobs because he loved him, and that was it. And then he could have said that he was ready to do anything for him, and things like that.
That would have been silly, but Mr. Cobs would clearly have understood everything exactly as it was.
MePhone felt like those stupid characters from TV shows when their obvious hints are interpreted completely differently. Even if MePhone’s situation was far from that.
He looked up at Mr. Cobs and saw him heading for the exit.
"Maybe I should explain what I meant, then?" he suggested hesitantly, approaching Mr. Cobs again. "To help you and all that."
Mr. Cobs' expression was still irritated, but now to a lesser degree.
"I have logs for that," he folded his arms across his chest, clearly about to continue explaining why he could handle everything himself, when his mood suddenly changed. "Did you suggested that because you wanted to spend time together?" Mr. Cobs looked at MePhone with an unusual interest.
MePhone smiled slightly, a faint, happy chuckle.
"If that makes you happy."