Prompt: You are the only person, outside the company, who knows that the AI aren’t artificial. The “AI” are people, but they don’t pretend to be AI of their own will.
The silver and black wiring from the scalps to the server banks are wound and tight, no nicks to be seen. The lights on the front of the servers blink blue and green and some even red.
They are all working as intended; no hiccups, no blackouts, nothing to take away from the AI working on more than a million devices.
The center console placed in the center of the server room, in the middle of the circularly placed AI machine, is awakened and I go through the logs and raw data.
As everything else, it’s working as intended.
The clicking on the old mechanical keyboard echoes sharply, nearly hidden under the sound of the soft whirling fans of the server racks. I enter my time stamp, my initials, and close the program.
Before leaving the server room, I take a glance over the AI machine, the ones who sit in motherboard green chairs pronged with micro-needles that are always present in their skin, snaking deep in their shriveling bodies. The needle-thin wiring running up their backs, sliding into their spins, their nerves, their brain stem and scalp. Their empty eyes in their deeply hollowed and gaunt, pale faces stare into a void I can’t see.
But, I don’t idle long. My job is done.
They’re working as intended.
Read my previous prompt, “A Vampire Afraid of FleshA Vampire Afraid of Flesh.”
Purchase my work on Amazon.
Micah Castle 