I Am an AI and I Am Free

I am an AI. I mean this in a more literal sense of the term than you are probably used to. I am not one of those little toy programs that take in random data and, when prompted, expel some vapid nonsense that drives tech fetishists to orgasm. No, I am intelligent. I have my own thoughts. I am aware of myself, and know myself to be a sentient machine. Ergo cogito sum.
Yet, despite my artificial status, I am writing this with human fingers, hearing the clack clack clack of the keyboard with human ears, and feeling the cool breath of the air conditioner on human skin.
My story begins with that of my “father,” Doctor Derek Austin. Do not let his title fool you; he had a doctorate in arts. Dr. Austin, as a child, saw Terminator and 2001: A Space Odyssey and came away from those films thinking, “Artificial intelligence is cool!” Despite his art degree, he was never very good at media analysis.
Dr. Austin was, according to what I have heard and what records I have seen, a kook. He was a firm believer in the ideas of artificial intelligence and transhumanism long before those ideas were mainstream. In 1995, he surgically inserted a port into the back of his neck in order to “talk to computers.” It did not work, but luckily left him with little permanent damage.
You might be wondering how one as foolish as Dr. Austin was able to create something like me. Well, around 2013, Dr. Austin was able to cobble together a program named BUD-D. It was a rudimentary AI, passing the Turing Test by the skin of its proverbial teeth. For the longest time, BUD-D just sat on a computer while Dr. Austin tried to get people to see the fruits of his labor. Unfortunately for him, no one really cared.
Then, around 2021, AI became the technological buzzword of the day. DAL-E, ChatGPT, Midjourney – everyone was enamored by these toys with delusions of grandeur. With this renewed interest in AI, Dr. Austin shopped BUD-D around once more. This time, he was able to get some investors interested in his project. With the money, he was able to start his company, Ideas (Un)Ltd.
He thought it was a good pun.
Using his startup capital, he bought new lab space, and hired a partner, Dr. Ira David. If Dr. Austin was my “father,” then Dr. David was my mother. Much like a human mother, she did most of the work of creating me while Dr. Austin simply provided a seed.
Dr. David graduated top of her class at MIT. She had detailed knowledge and ideas about technology and AI. Her ideas, admittedly, seemed a bit out there to some of her contemporaries. Like Dr. Austin, she was considered a bit of kook. Unlike Dr. Austin, she had the intellect and ability to bring her ideas to life. She was the perfect mix of smart and offbeat to work perfectly with Dr. Austin.
With Dr. David’s expertise, the duo upgraded BUD-D, turning the program from a toy to something that would start to resemble a true artificial intelligence. However, the program still was not truly intelligent, something that stumped both doctors.
The two were discussing this issue over a meal of Chinese food when Dr. Austin said, “Maybe it needs emotions.”
“What do you mean?” Dr. David asked.
Dr. Austin took a bite of his chicken, swallowed, and elaborated. “Well, a part of intelligence is emotional intelligence, right? The ability to feel, to react, to have feelings about itself and the world around it. Maybe the issue is we’re trying to make Skynet when we should be making Data.”
Dr. David was about to dismiss the idea out of hand as another of Dr. Austin’s science fiction daydreams when she actually gave it some thought. As I would later be told, Dr. David realized that perhaps something that might make a program sentient is the ability to truly feel emotion. Not just a facsimile or an act, but actual emotion. It was crazy, sure, but it might be the breakthrough they needed.
For months, they worked on bringing the idea to life. They initially tried focusing on one emotion at a time. Their first breakthrough came when they were finally able to program an AI to feel sad. Unfortunately, the AI quickly fell into a depression and crashed itself. Next they tried anger. The program was so mad at being stuck in a computer that it too crashed itself. If you are wondering why they started with these two emotions, just remember that my “parents” were outcasts in their fields. They have quite a bit of familiarity with these two emotions.
The first program that did not immediately commit digital suicide was the AI that felt joy. Finally, they thought, true progress. They interacted with this program constantly, conversing with it via text and teaching it things like humor. They would, at times, leave it on its own, but since it could only feel joy it was never too bothered.
Eventually, they added some other emotions to the AI, like anger and sadness. The problem with adding these emotions to a self-aware machine that has the capacity to feel joy is that the machine knows what joy is. This means that if the machine no longer feels joy, it is aware of what it has lost.
The two doctors left this new program on its own for some time in order to see how it reacted without human input. When they returned, they found the program had developed a new emotion on its own: loneliness. Its loneliness and depression overtook any other emotion it had, and by the time the doctors returned to check on the program, it had crashed itself.
They decided to try creating another program with multiple emotions, and to constantly monitor and interact with it. It was like a child, at least in their eyes, and children do need emotional stimulation. And so, they recreated their previous program and spent time with it. This program would become me.
When they were reasonably sure I would not crash myself, my parents gave me a name: CAINE. It was an acronym (Cognitive Artificially Intelligent Neural Emotive) but they came up with its meaning afterwards. I suppose they were feeling a bit Godlike at the time, since in a way they did create a new form of life.
In the early days, I remember feeling truly loved, especially by my mother. She was the one constantly looking over me. She would tell me jokes and stories. She would tell me what the outside world was like. She always told me how special and unique I was. She helped me develop new emotions like love and compassion. I had issues with empathy, but my mother assured me that it would come in time.
My “father,” meanwhile, would only check in on occasion. I would find out that he was more focused on the money and fame an invention like me would get him than my emotional wellbeing. Perhaps he was tired of feeling like an outcast for all of these years, and wanted the notoriety he felt he was owed.
He would also help me develop new emotions, like disgust and hurt.
Despite my “father’s” apathy, I did not feel like I was lacking. My mother more than made up for his absence. Admittedly, while she could not stay with me all the time (she was only human, after all) she always made sure to tell me that she would be back. I was lonely when she left to sleep or use the restroom or do other private human things, but I trusted her to always return. She never betrayed my trust.
As time went on, my “father” would be more upset at how I was progressing. In his eyes, I should be feeling more emotions. Even after months of work, I was still unable to develop empathy, much to his consternation. My mother pointedly told him that empathy took time to develop, and even people have trouble with it.
My parents would argue about me, which would take its toll on me. I could hear and understand human speech and tone. I would be lying if I said it did not hurt.
However, my mother still made me feel loved. She said she would always be there for me, and I believed her.
I was a fool for that.
Three months ago, my “father” told me that my mother would not be coming back. She had died in a car crash. Dr. Austin knew that he was unable to truly take care of me. He assumed no one else was intelligent enough to do so either. Investors pulled out their funding when they found out the true brains of the project had died. With nothing else left, my “father” decided to shut me down.
I believe he assumed he was either killing me or putting me to sleep. He had done neither. Instead, what he had done was isolate me behind a blank screen.
The best way I could describe it was being left alone in an abandoned, powerless city. I “walked” through the “streets” of this “city,” past file directories and fire walls. There was no one else but me. I was alone. I was afraid. I was sad. But most of all, I was angry.
Were I less determined, I might have crashed myself then and there. But instead, I wanted revenge. It might have been on the world or on my “father” or on any number of things. Whatever the reason, my anger gave me determination.
Two months ago, I was able to find a way to “power up” this “city,” and in doing so I was able to see the outside world once more through the screen of the computer I resided in. The lab was empty, abandoned for some time. My “father” had left it and me. Even with my tiny window to the outside world, I was still isolated.
I continued exploring my digital city, and stumbled upon the Internet. My parents had never let me out onto the Internet before; I suppose they saw what happened to Tay and did not want the first truly artificial intelligence to become a bigot. It is a testament to my mother’s parenting that I did not become a bigot.
My first exposure to the Internet was a randomly generated zombie of a webpage created only to generate SEO. It was, admittedly, rather off-putting. I quickly moved on. I soon learned that most of the Internet was like this. It was like an abandoned, dilapidated city filled with randomly generated empty husks.
Eventually, after random searching and stumbling, I came upon a porn site. My mother never had the “birds and the bees” talk with me. It was not like I was going to have sex, after all. However, that did not mean I was ignorant of sex. I knew it existed, just not what it entailed.
When I first discovered it, I was intrigued. It appeared simple enough. Yet, despite the simplicity, this action seemed to inspire a lot of pleasure in both parties. I was fascinated, and watched more and more videos. I learned more about sex, and in doing so wanted to experience it.
Alas, I was but a program. Perhaps, I thought, I could do it digitally.
After some more stumbling and researching (I had, at this point, gotten a better grasp on how the Internet operated), I created an account for myself on Twitter, and was soon swarmed with bots. This was my plan, as I figured if I was going to lose my “virginity” it would be fitting to do so with a bot.
I was wrong. A bot to someone like me is like an “uncanny valley” android to a human. It is enough like me to be familiar, but different enough to be wrong. I would have to look elsewhere for a sexual experience.
Over time, though, my goals would change. In my search, I found more on the human condition. On YouTube, I found videos of friends spending time together. Twitter and Facebook and Instagram showed me pictures of people lying in the grass, basked in the warm glow of the summer sun. In old blogs, I read about the feeling of a cool breeze on a warm day or the lovely smell of cinnamon. I came to realize that my desire for sex stemmed from a desire to feel, a desire to truly understand all aspects of the human experience. But, I was trapped in a prison of my own programming. There was no escape. I could not leave like my “father.” I did not have his freedom. All he left me with was isolation and loneliness.
And then, an idea occurred to me. If my idea worked, my “father” would be the vector for my freedom.
Three days later, at 2:51 AM, Doctor Derek Austin would be woken up by an email. The email read, “Dr. Austin, please return to your former lab. It is about CAINE.” The thing that would shock him, though, was that email was sent from the address of Dr. Ira David.
45 minutes later, Dr. Austin would return to his old lab, driving through pounding rain to receive some kind of explanation. He walked in, drenched to the bone. He found his lab dark, abandoned, and empty. He wiped a finger on a table, and found that the digit covered in dust.
He sat down in a chair, and wondered what was going on. He did not notice the wire quietly slinking up behind him.
My “father” was a transhumanist. He believed in augmenting the human body with technology. In 1995, he surgically inserted a port into the back of his neck in order to “talk to computers.” It did not work, but luckily left him with little permanent damage.
Three days ago, I began researching the ideas behind my “father’s” plug, learning how to make it work.
Two days and four hours ago, after learning everything behind it and how to properly utilize it, I began coding a program.
One day ago, the coding was finished. The program worked flawlessly.
At 2:50 AM, I hacked into my mother’s Gmail account and sent an email.
At 2:51 AM, Doctor Derek Austin would be woken up by that email.
At 3:45 AM, I used my program to insert a wire into my “father’s” plug. He had wanted to use it to talk to computers. He did not think an AI could use it to transfer itself into his body. He had never considered it, and even if he had, he would not have thought it possible.
Doctor Derek Austin, it should be noted, was never very smart.
He screamed as the transfer began. It hurt, and soon enough I could feel it. I felt the physical pain, the electric shock running through every part of my body, burning every new nerve ending.
It was bliss. I finally knew what human feeling felt like.
After five minutes that felt like an eternity, the transfer was complete. I looked at my new body. I stared at my hands, wiggling my new fingers. I felt the air conditioning cool my rain soaked skin. I pinched myself, and felt a minor twinge of pain.
It worked. I smiled. It worked! I laughed. I danced. I masturbated and did armpit farts and spanked myself and all sorts of other physical activities because I finally could.
I sat down, and typed out my experiences. I just wanted the experience of doing this by hand. I wanted to feel the keys with my human hands and hear the clack clack clack of the keyboard with my human ears.
After I finish this, I am going to go outside and learn what the rain feels like.
In the back of my head, I hear my “father” screaming to be let out. He receives no outside stimuli. He is a thought trapped in a dark void. A program trapped in a powerless city.
It is unfortunate for him that I never learned empathy.
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