• The Machine

    Zander was a small man, bent over by years of slouching and poor nutrition. He wore glasses from late nights on the computer and had pale skin from lack of natural light. His hair was oily and brown and his eyes were a muted blue that turned bright when he got passionate about something. He tended not to have any particular sense in his clothes combinations and rarely looked less disheveled than a man who had been through a hurricane.

    He also happened to be my friend. I literally ran into him one day on campus, me daydreaming about worlds that did not exist, and him, reading a textbook on advanced artificial intelligence. We instantly understood each other. We were both the estranged from society due to the way we were, although in different ways. We were best friends on that campus.

    One day, he asked me to come see The Machine. He told me it was one of his lifelong projects and dreams, and he wanted me to be the first to see the prototype. Of course, I took him up on his offer. The Machine was in his basement, so we went down on that fateful evening.

    When I stepped into his dim-light basement that evening, I saw something almost surreal. In the center of that basement, amid that web of wires that ran every which way around the room, was The Machine. It wasn’t particularly pretty, but rather a conglomeration of servers and exposed parts haphazardly arranged with a computer screen and keyboard smack dab in the middle of it. It periodically made a low whirring noise, as if it was breathing.

    “…It’s, quite, well, interesting looking,” I said, turning to Zander, who was leaning against the wall.

    “That interesting looking machine, as you call it, is the product of fifteen years of hard work to make this dream be possible. And now, I’ve almost reached sentience.”

    “Amazing,” I remarked, rubbing my hand along the metal frame of The Machine. “How did you make it work?”

    Still standing back, Zander, although clearly passionate about the machine (his eyes were almost glowing, they were so bright), tried to casually respond. “Well, I finally figured how to crack the code of the neuron, and was able to duplicate it, making me be able to create a whole programming language based on the signals the brain makes. After that, I managed to code a whole brain. Its pretty much finished.”

    I mindlessly pressed the power button on The Machine, starting it up. “Can we try it out, then?”

    Zander grimaced.

    “Sorry to say, Al, there’s still something wrong. Even though I’ve coded the neurons perfectly, the machine continues to be only as smart as a hyper-intelligent dolphin. There’s another factor missing. Something like… like a soul.”

    I shrugged. “Well, you can’t simulate a soul, can you?”

    Zander sighed, “No, I guess you can’t”

    “So, what are you going to do about it?” I said as The Machine beeped and began typing gibberish on a simple version of notepad. “Any ideas to get around your soul problem?”

    “Well… heh… just one.”

    “Well, what’s your idea?”

    Zander nervously tapped his foot, meekly chuckling. “Well, I thought, if I can’t make a soul, perhaps I can… procure a soul, and somehow find to, well, wire it into The Machine.”

    I leaned against the hunk of metal that was the machine, a nagging thought in the back of my head. I decided to push it down.

    “Well, how are you going to ‘procure’ a soul. You can’t buy souls at a supermarket, obviously.”

    Zander grinned. It was a strange grin, like the ones you’d see on a madman. That kind of grin that seems to say that he saw the entirety of eternity and it drove him to the point of lunacy, because saw and knew too much to be kept sane. It was a grin shrouded in shadow. It seemed darkness collected in between his teeth, like some kind of evil resided inside him.

    “I guess I’d just have to take a soul from someone, wouldn’t I?”

    “Do you mean…?”

    “Yes.”

    I jumped back in horror, slowly backing away. Either this was some kind of prank, or I was in serious trouble.

    “You’d kill someone… just for that machine?”

    Zander laughed. It was a creepy one. It rang like a madman’s laughter, but was darker than that. It was like that laugh of a man about to die.

    “I’d kill someone for my brother’s dream.”

    I continued to slowly back away from my friend. “What do you mean?”

    “It was my older brother’s dream to create artificial intelligence: he spent his life working on his machine. Literally. The technology at that time just wasn‘t enough to handle something like artificial intelligence. There was a lab explosion. It stole the life from him. He lived a little after the explosion. His last words were to tell me not to waste my life. And by completing his dream, I’m not. He passed his dream onto me.”

    “He didn’t pass his dream onto you, he told you not to waste his life like he did and to continue this mad pursuit!” I shouted.

    Zander frowned.

    “I knew you wouldn’t understand,” he said, “I can’t let you ruin my dream.”

    Suddenly, a flash of silver shined from his pocket, it was then in his hand. Pointed at me.

    I dashed for the exit. Zander charged for me, slamming into my body and knocking me over. He had his knife on my throat.

    “So, I guess it ends here, huh?” I said.

    “It’s quite an honor, actually, to be the first soul to be in The Machine. You should be happy you’re going to die this way.”

    “You’re clearly mad. I guess nothing I say is going to change your mind.”

    “And a bright mind, too! I knew you’d be perfect for this all along.”

    “Well. Get on with it. I shall allow the cold embrace of death, as I see my death is clear. I just hope that you might find a morsel of regret, and that you repent for what you will do. I hope you-”

    A flash of metal.

    “Al, you always talked too much.”

    And I guess I did.