For Whom

Written By: Ilyana Kunzer

It took thirteen decades after the introduction of artificial intelligence—the generative and truly intelligent kind, not those little floor vacuums, practically antiques by then—for the Future’s Automated Experience, more commonly known as FAE, to reach completion. At her full potential, FAE had been projected to possess the emotional bandwidth necessary for empathy while also considering the surrounding context and logic of any situation.

They gave her a heart of cells manufactured similarly to the rest of her body, despite the cumbersome task of having to replace it every few decades. Her creators dismissed the designer’s suggestion for live hair follicles with the simple reasoning that she would be granted more freedom of expression through easily interchangeable wigs. The lack of warmth in her skin was attributed, in press reveals, to the prioritization of capability over desirability, and the drowned color to the effort to push beyond stigmas.

Yes, it took thirteen decades to build the ideal person, proficient in both logos and pathos. After that, it took only thirteen days for her to die.

The first day began in celebration: both of her and her creators’ genius. Politicians, businessmen, and news stations flooded the facility in support of such accomplishment. They each greeted FAE with a swift synthetic handshake before moving on to the minds behind her perfection. She stood at the door, welcoming them, inviting warm conversations.

With her attentive introduction and charm, she became a worldwide phenomenon within hours, allowing her to learn of the many, wonderfully complicated spectrums of the human experience. She tasted and felt, and talked and listened, graced with the luxuries granted to the upper class she was in the presence of. Humanity had blessed her with this existence, if such pleasure was what she had been created in the image of.

The second day was full of business deals and preparation. Like any child, FAE was not to just be thrust upon the world without proper instruction and schooling. Of course, she had been born with the practical knowledge of all government-approved media and information, though it brought her creators more comfort to know she had explored and understood the complexities of human emotion and opinion through practice.

As contracts flew across desks and confirmations were drafted in paper, digitized, and then printed onto paper again, FAE spent her hours participating in exercises designed to verify her morality and decision-making skills, as well as demonstrate them to the public through rolling camera feeds.

The third day was when the true work began; or rather, the justification of the work began. Court cases of past issues regarding artificial intelligence arose in the media, as well as research studies into the morality of placing responsibility in the hands of something without a consciousness. Her facility’s team worked tirelessly. After all, they argued, what is consciousness except for the ability to understand and interact with one’s surroundings? Not only that, but she could present emotion in the same capacity as any ordinary human. What else mattered?

In the meantime, FAE completed the tasks for which she had been created: she offered exact, moral solutions for every dilemma set into the tough material of her hands. And she did in fact arise to the expectations of her creators, weighing sense and sentiment with the same value, able to envision each outcome and every viewpoint.

Scientists and leaders called in from all corners of the world, eager to set the fate of the unfortunate and inconsequential upon her shoulders. She had no craving for gratitude, yet also remained unbothered by the resent that she faced from those who had not received her just favor.

The first week became difficult, particularly for her creators. FAE’s allure dispersed along with her novelty, when confronted by the elite in which she held in no particular regard when compared to any other human. It became apparent that the good of the world did not necessarily correlate with the good of the inquisitor, much to their dismay. Numbers dropped and influence thinned, boiling a slow resentment among those who had felt obligated to enact FAE’s moral suggestions despite the detriment to their own assets. 

By the second week, FAE’s anonymous complaint form began to overflow, leading them into snippy meetings and critical training workshops. Her creators had found themselves in front-page controversies, picking up the morning paper that Tuesday morning to find FAE’s profile printed similarly to how it had been just a week prior. The intention, it seemed, had been overshadowed by the corporate injury she had initiated. The threats did not take long to commence, and neither did the debt.

It was a foggy day, the thirteenth morning of her employment. The sun had risen, but the office still sat in a murky, grey hue. Particles drifted in the sparsely lit rooms like bubbles in a stream, and the serene silence could have placed the occupants at the bottom of an aquarium exhibit, safely observed and mistreated at a distance.

This morning, however, FAE had neglected to report to a meeting with a very unhappy foreign political committee who had found their current undertaking to be taking much more effort than they typically experienced. Surely ethics did not demand such delicate action. Yet here they were, left waiting and whining to their hosts.

While FAE did not sleep, her creators did, and so they did not receive the notification of her absence until long after the sun had risen. Her skin gave away nothing, just as cold and rubbery as ever, but the spillings of her mechanics upon the tile floor was quite evident. Her heart, still beating on the counter across the room, continued to work dutifully despite its desertion, unbothered by the violence of the room. The relentless beat of this heart struck the witnesses as wrong immediately. Something with a pulse had never lacked so much life.

Wires draped out of her torso and across the furniture in a tangled heap of desperate intent. It could not have been anything but a murder, and so she was bagged up and dumped into a graveyard of spare parts in the cellar. Her creators had found it a shame, yes, but perhaps it was for the best. For whom, they couldn’t quite say.

Ilyana Kunzer is a 20-year-old undergraduate at Kutztown University studying professional writing who draws inspiration from experience and motivation from community. She grew up by the shores of New Jersey, but has traveled to Japan, France, Canada, and Iceland, and finds interest in the variation of life throughout her city, country, and world.