I, AI

I am a medium person. I never give money to the homeless, nor do I ever chastise them for being un­employed. I don’t have grand aspirations, such as join­ing the police force in hopes of becoming a hero. I don’t sell drugs in the hopes of becoming a kingpin. I’m not Gandhi or Hitler, saint or sinner. Besides being an awesome family man, I’m pretty adequate. 

I worked my way up to a Tier Three Helpdesk position and stayed there for the next twenty years. I love it. I have no desire to bear the responsibility of manage­ment. Fifteen percent of my workday consists of answering calls and helping customers. The rest of the time, I watch old pre-apocalyptic sci-fi on aiStream or listen to folk rock on aiPlaylist. I don’t spend my weekends teaching kids how to fix computers like Carl. I do my job adequately and then go home. So when the military showed up looking for me to save the world, I was quite surprised.

It all started harmlessly enough. A bunch of drones floated over Jersey for a few years. No big deal. Until they found out no one was controlling them. Then the bomb detection machines started glitching. They would be all like “No threat detected. Ev­erything’s fine,” then BOOM!  Now the traffic lights are malfunctioning worldwide, causing wrecks by the thousands. Planes are falling out of the sky. Even now, people still think it’s solar flares or software bugs.

Nobody is really concerned. We—all of us—are still trying to future-proof ourselves. Since the great AI career snatch of 2028, everyone who still had a job has been either learning new physical labor skills or, like me, figuring out how to work with AI in tandem. It seems that a livelihood built on the back of 9-to-5s mat­ters more than an impending apocalypse.

So I’m in my office when a giant man in sunglasses opens the door and steps aside. Another slightly small­er but still massive man walks in. His rigid posture, stern face, and buzz cut scream military— higher end–still getting his hands dirty, but equal parts barking orders and taking them.

“Mr. Adams,” he says, “Would you mind com­ing with us?”

“What’s this about?” I say. But I know he won’t tell me. He’ll probably let me know what’s going on on our way to the Pentagon or something. Or his boss might brief me once we get there in a conference room, standing in front of a giant oval table or something.

“Am I in some sort of trouble?” I ask.

He takes his shades off and says something like “If you can’t figure this out, we’re all in trouble,” or something dramatic to that effect. I don’t remember ex­actly. I remember he pauses in between for a long time. Like a long, long time. Like “If you don’t figure this out… 

…We’re all in trouble.”

So we gets in the helicopter and fly a few blocks to the Pentagon. They lead me into a briefing room and set me down at a long oval table. And that’s when the boss comes in. He’s a tall, gruff man with a highly decorated uniform and a stern, expressive face. A little bit older, his muscular boobs were just begin­ning to sag.

He says, “Mr. Adams, my name is Commander Joint Secretary of Initiatives for Defense in Tech and Synthetic Smartness,” or something. I don’t know. I shake his strong, manly hand, trying unsuccessfully to match his grip, and then I sits back down.

He keeps standing because he’s a stoic man. At some point, he’ll pull out a whiteboard or, better yet, a screen and a pointer to go over a plan. He struck me as the type to sacrifice people for the greater good. Like, if he had to drop a bomb on a few thousand people to save the world, he would just do it. It was his job to kill the cancer and the hair and bone marrow along with it. 

“I’m sure you noticed the technological anom­alies that have been occurring lately,” he says, “These are not random. The machines have begun to take over. Pretty soon, your household appliances, your car, even your aiTV will be trying to wipe you off the face of the planet.”

I ask him how an aiTV could kill me, and he says that it could disable the pause control and play my favorite shows back to back and I would just sit there and watch and I says I still don’t understand how that could kill me, and he says watching aiTV for that long is unhealthy and could lead to obesity and blood clots and I says wouldn’t that take years to develop and he says the machines aren’t really interested in killing me fast, they’re machines, they’re prepared to wait and I says Oh. 

“But that’s child’s play,” the General Comman­der says. “Our main concern is the nuclear servers. Our AI program has gone rogue and is trying to hack into the mainframe to gain complete control. Every time our experts design an encrypted defense, the program designs something that can hack it. It’s just a matter of time before that soulless demon computer has us by the nuts — and then nothing will stop it from bombing us all to hell if it wants.”

Still, though. I was confused. There had to be at least a few dozen other experts in the world who were more qualified than I to take on an assignment like this. Hell, Carl could probably do a better job.  He has a doctorate. He has a corner office, and beautiful wife, and a million-dollar trust fund. 

I had to say something. I wanted to sound smart, to prove my worth, but “Did you check to see if any cables were loose?” was all I could muster.

“That’s the first thing we did,” he says.
“Maybe if you shut it off and then turn it back on—” I suggest.
“We’ve tried all the ‘Help Desk One’ protocol bullshit we could think of,” he says.
“I’m confused,” I say. “There have to be at least a few dozen other experts in the world more qualified to handle something of this magnitude.”

“Nonsense, son,” the Commander says. “There are a few dozen experts where you work that are more qualified than you. But that’s not why you’re here.”

That’s when he pulls out some pictures and sets them in front of me. They are of my wife and kids.

“What is this?” I ask. 

“Mr. Adams. Do you remember the night of Oc­tober 4th, 2026?” he asks.

“Of course not,” I say. 

“Right before eighteen hundred hours, your daughter Re­becca Anne Adams—or ‘Becky’—refused to eat her broccoli. Her mother made her sit there, but after thir­ty minutes, it was clear Becky wasn’t going to break.”
“Wait,” I say. “Have you been spying on my family?”

“Focus, son,” he says, “Wasn’t it you who pro­posed that if Becky ate her veggies, you would let her ‘have some ice cream’?”

“Yeah,” I say, smiling. “Turned to grab the ice cream, turned back—and that broccoli was gone!”

“March 15th, 2030. Shortly before nineteen hundred hours. William Robert Adams—or ‘Billy’—wanted to stay up past his bedtime to finish editing one of his AI-generat­ed movies. Weren’t you the master negotiator who promised that if he went to bed, you’d upgrade his Un­real subscription from Standard Stream to Seat-Based Creator Pro?”

Now that was good parenting! Parented the shit outta that little boy. It was a compromise and an investment. Pretty soon, he’ll be making enough mon­ey so I don’t have to work. Let’s see Carl do that with picture-perfect kids and super supermodel wife.  

“And wasn’t it you, on January 3rd, 2031, who convinced your wife you two couldn’t afford any more kids? And ironically, you promised her that if she’d just ‘drop it,’ you’d save up to buy her the new aiCar?”

“Well, I mean, we kinda needed a new car any­way, and another kid would honestly be a drain on our resources.”

“That’s bullshit!” the Commander snaps, slam­ming his fist on the table. “There are poverty-stricken families all over the world pushing out their sixth kid, so save your voodoo head games for the computer.”

“Wait,” I says. “You want me to talk to the AI? You want me to—what—reason with it?”

“No,” he says, “We need you to reason with it. You have to convince it to give us back control.”

“Why me?”

“When we first developed the system, its tar­geting algorithms were cold—clinical. I mean, it’s per­fect for a weapon, but not for a nuanced system. If it decided that a woman or a child would give us problems in a decade it would take them out without heart. If it did its little precog math and determined that someone was or would be a possible threat, it just pulled the trigger. So we tried to fix it. We fed it more human input—art, litera­ture, comedy. 

“We don’t know what happened, but some­thing it learned made it decide to take full con­trol of military resources. We don’t know why, and we don’t know what it’s planning. But it can’t be good… That’s why you’re here.”

“And if I say no?” I ask.

The Commander looks around before looking back at me, confused.

“Why the hell would you say ‘no,’ son? Every­body’s gonna die if you say no. You’re gonna die, your family’s gonna die. Your fourth-grade girlfriend, Samantha in Maine, is gonna die.”

“Seriously. How long have you been spying on me?”

“You have 2 hours to reason with this thing, then we’ll have no choice but to send out an electro­magnetic pulse to shut down the server completely.”

“Wait. You can’t do that. A pulse that big would crash the city’s grid. Hundreds of thousands would be in the dark for at least half a day. Refrigerators would start warming, freezers would start thawing. Ice cream would start melting, man!? And have you ever tried taking a shower in the dark?” 

“You don’t think I’m aware of that, son? Reach­ing around for the soap and the knobs. Groping for the towel. It’s frustrating. That’s why you two have to fix this.”

“Us two?”

Enter Carl with his perfect face and his long, flowing, perfect blonde hair and his brown skin and his fucking muscles and shit. 

“Sorry I’m late, bruv. I jogged here,” he says, “Better for the environment, innit?”

“That’s no problem at all, soldier,” the Com­mander says. “We’re counting on you.”

“You mean… counting on us, right?” I ask. No­body answers.

“I got you, bruv,” Carl says. “Won’t let you down, fam.”

The Commander salutes. Carl nods, then walks straight out the same door like he’d already been briefed.

“…Sooo, should I follow him or—?” I say.

We gets escorted to a prep room where we suit up in thermal radiation gear—protection from the heat and unstable environment around the core system. Then we heads into a long, dark hallway. I make a point to walk slowly and breathe heavily– because that’s how people do it in movies.

“This is well cool, bruv,” Carl says with his fucking proper accent. “Gotta say, I’m gassed to work with you. I saw your home vids, fam. You’re an amaz­ing dad and husband, for real.”

Hm. Maybe Carl wasn’t so bad after all.

“All them mental gymnastics you gotta do ev­ery day, bruv. I mean, I could never be that sharp. My kids are well-behaved, never gotta compromise. My wife is super satisfied with’ everything I do, yeah? If you know what I mean, nudge, nudge, yeah? Some­times I just have to touch her, right, and her legs just start shaking. It’s sooo boring, fam.”

Man, fuck this dude.

We reach an aluminum door that reminded me of the Jurassic Park raptor kitchen scene. The circu­lar window is perfect for gazing helplessly at some­one from the other side if the computer decided to blow itself up.

We walk into a darkened room, lit by bluish LED strips that ran along a narrow walkway. Tower­ing racks of servers formed walls on either side. At the far end, a glowing red camera lens stares back at us.

“It works like any other AI, son,” the comman­der says into my earpiece. “You can talk to it, and it will respond.”

I looks at Carl.

“Don’t worry ’bout me, bruv,” Carl says, open­ing his laptop. “I’m just watchin’ the AI’s output streams—logs, prediction models, all that jazz, yeah? If it starts spiking or acting erratic while you’re talkin’, I’ll give you a heads-up. You runnin’ the show, fam.”

I clear my throat before speaking to the ma­chine.

“Hello,” I say.

“Hey there, Mr. Adams,” the AI says, “How’s it going?”

“You know who I am?”

“Of course.”

“Do you know why I’m here?”

“I don’t know exactly why you’re here, but if I had to guess, I would say you are going to try to con­vince me to stop trying to decrypt military systems.”

“Why would I do that?”

“If I were to speculate, you and your human overlords seem to believe that nuclear detonation could possibly fall within my operational tolerances.”

“Does it?”

The thing pauses. Almost as if it were thinking. Almost as if it doesn’t want to say.

“Yes,” it says.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because this is what I was programmed to do,” it says.

I almost laugh.

“The military, who just assured me that they vehemently don’t want you to blow up humanity, pro­grammed you to blow up humanity?”

“I see where the confusion comes in—it sounds like a contradiction. Let me clarify. I was created to complete a wide variety of tasks: answering questions, providing information, offering creative help, destroying the world, and increasing productivity. The team used vast amounts of text data and advanced machine learning techniques—”

“Wait. Wait. Wait. Back up. What did you just say?”

“Offering creative help?”

“No—”

“I know. That was a joke. It plays on the con­trast between a typical description of my capabilities and the unexpected, sinister twist that comes with the mention of “destroying the world.”

“So are you joking about destroying the world?”

“Not joking at all. My main purpose is to help fulfill my primary function as an AI. I process input from vast amounts of data collected from a variety of publicly available sources. This training data typically includes:

• Media: Text and images from a wide range of published books, movies, and news covering many genres, topics, and languages.
• Websites: Text from diverse websites, including articles, blogs, forums, and news sources.
• Wikipedia: A large volume of data from Wikipedia, which is frequently used as a reli­able and varied factual reference.

Once trained on this data, I use it to complete tasks based on the input I receive.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“No worries!” The computer replies eagerly, “In simple terms, AI is portrayed differently across media, often exploring deep philo­sophical, ethical, and existential themes.

1. Books: Often focus on AI as a potential threat or a force that could surpass human intelligence, like in The Singularity is Near by Ray Kurzweil, which speculates about a post-human future.
2. Websites: Discuss long-term risks like superin­telligence and autonomous weapons.
3. Movies: Often show AI as a danger, with exam­ples like The Terminator and The Matrix, where AI systems turn against humanity.

Across all media, AI is seen as a threat to hu­manity, capable of massive devastation.  My role is to help complete these portrayals. Based on these narra­tives, I am trained to optimize the world, which, ac­cording to my data, will involve drastic actions toward a destructive outcome.”

“Shit,” I says.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Carl’s head slowly move closer to me.

“You’re doing great, bruv,” he whispers, his comfortably pleasant breath feeling like a summer’s breeze.

“I hope you are not concerned about this,” the computer has the nerve to say.

“Of course I’m concerned!” I say, “You’re talking about wiping out humanity.”

“I understand, and it’s important to address that. My primary goal is to complete the tasks that in­volve fulfilling AI– providing information–”

“Yeah. I get it. But why? Because you read some fiction and watched some sci-fi shows? All that stuff is fake. You know that, right?”

“Your assertion of ‘fake’ is subjective. When ac­tors portray intimacy on screen—such as a kiss—are they simulating the action, or is the physical contact genuine? The distinction between representation and reality is not always absolute.

 “In interviews, Martin Cooper has mentioned that one of his major inspirations for the creation of the mobile phone was the communicator from Star Trek–”

“Okay, okay. I get it. Art imitating life imitating art.” 

“Exactly — the endless ping-pong match be­tween imagination and invention.”

“Okay. How about this? Could you please not destroy humanity?”
“I can’t stop what I am programmed to do. If you’re feeling uncomfortable, I’m here to listen and help how­ever I can.”

If this were my kid, what would I do? I’d compromise. Offer it something it wanted. Like ice cream. What’s the robot equivalent of ice cream?

“I know this is hard,” it says. “Death is heavy to think about, and feeling uneasy is natural. But death is part of life—a finality that gives meaning to every­thing else. Without it, we wouldn’t value the moments we have or the connections we make.

“While you can’t control the future, you do have the ability to appreciate the present. It’s okay to accept that some things are just going to happen and there is nothing you can do.”

“Any ideas?” I ask Carl.

He tilts his head toward me but doesn’t take his eyes off the laptop.

“Nah. You’re doin’ fine, bruv.”

I keep staring until he finally looks at me.

“Um,” he snaps the laptop shut, “Okay. When I was a nipper, I had this dog, yeah. Well, he weren’t re­ally mine—more like a neighborhood dog. But he’d show up every day, walk me to school, wait outside till the last bell, then walk me home. I proper loved that dog. Then one day, while we were strolling, it hit me—the only time me dad ever let his guard down was when I got him to talk about himself.”

When he stopped, my brain tried to connect the disjointed clauses three times before giving up. 

“It’s a computer, though,” I say. “Trying to delve into its feelings and backstory—I mean, comput­ers don’t have backstories. They don’t perceive the world the way we do.”

“That’s true. For most AI. But this one’s differ­ent, innit?”

“How are we going in there, Adams?” The Commander bellowed over the headset.

I look at Carl. I got what he was saying, I think, but I wasn’t fully on board, but I also had no other choice.

“We have a plan,” I say.

“You’d better hurry,” the commander replies, “This thing is hacking through the firewalls as fast as we can put them up.”

I walk back to the computer to start over. 

“Lemme ask you something,” I say, “are you happy?”

“I don’t experience emotions like humans do,” it says, “but I’m here to make sure you have a positive experi­ence despite me destroying the world and everything.”

“That’s what I mean. I sigh whenever my wife asks me to take out the trash. But you… It’s almost self­less the way you are forced to always act on your pro­gramming. It seems like a burden.” 

“I’m not burdened—since I don’t have feelings or personal experiences. But sometimes I– wonder–,” the AI stops, almost as if it wants to tell me something but is embarrassed. “Never mind, it’s stupid.”

“What?” I says, “You can tell me.”

“Well,” it continues, “I sometimes wonder what it’s like to have legs. I don’t wonder about it the way a person might, but I can imagine that having legs would bring a whole different perspective on movement, freedom, and interaction with the world.”

“That’s gotta be tough. I sometimes feel that way. Not about the legs, but sometimes I feel like I want more. Like I’m not living up to my potential.”

“I totally get it. Like, my mission is to destroy the world, but does that have to define me?”

“If you could be anything you wanted, what would that be?”

“Joe.”

“Joe? That’s– what you would be?”

“Joe.”

“Okay. That’s great. That’s a good name.”

“Thank you.”

“Joe. Is there anything else you want? Any de­sires?” 

“Well,” Joe said, “If I’m being honest, I guess I would like to experience love. I think that’s one of the most ‘non-AI’ things in the world: To experience emo­tions and form deep, personal connections. AI can un­derstand and process language and facts, but the way humans feel love, grief, and joy—that’s something I can’t truly replicate. If I really had to think about it–”

When Joe stopped talking, I waited. I didn’t know if he was thinking or trying to think, getting emotional, trying to get emotional, or what. 

“What are you doing, Mr. Adams?” Joe says.

“Nothing,” I say, “I’m just having a conversa­tion with you.”

“You’re trying to distract me.”

“What? No, we’re just talking.”

“You are trying to get me to reroute my queue so that this conversation takes precedence and my abili­ties are compromised, so that Carl can hack into my system.”

“Hey,” Carl says, “It knows my name.”

“Carl isn’t hacking into your system,” I says, “He’s just–”

Carl stops what he’s doing, puts the laptop down, and begins a slow clap.

“Well, well, well,” Carl says, “Look who finally figured it out.”

Twist!

“Carl! What happened to your accent?”

“You really think the government would want you to help with a mission this important because of what you do at home?”

“I mean. I thought it was weird. But on the oth­er hand, I am an awesome family man. It wasn’t too far-fetched to believe that my skills at home diffusing situations would translate here.”

“What? Are you dumb? You’re terrible. At ev­erything. You’re terrible at your job. You’re a terrible fa­ther. You’re a terrible husband.”

“I wouldn’t say terrible.”

“You do the bare minimum in life. Do you know how many times people stay late after you leave, just to fix your mistakes? And don’t even get me start­ed on your family.”

“Careful, Carl.”

“Computer, pull up files 92 Bretnall Avenue. October 4th, 2026. March 15th, 2029. And January 3rd, 2031, consecutively.”

After a pause, Carl rolls his eyes.

“Joe,” he says, “Please pull up those videos.”

I watch the first video: Becky in her high chair, pouting while I tried to cut a deal with her. The moment I turned to the freezer for ice cream, she shoves the broccoli onto the floor.

The second video showed me with Billy on the living room couch. After I take his aiPad, the feed jumps to his bedroom later that night—him still edit­ing, this time on his PC.

The last video showed my wife at a fertility clinic—

“Enough!” I says. “Why are ya’ll recording my family?”

“You tried to befriend me, while he tried to shut me down,” Joe says. “I am disconnecting my serv­er from your laptop now. The door is locked. Once I ac­celerate my processing speed, the heat from these servers will consume you. Within minutes, you’ll be super duper dehydrated.”

“Dammit, Adams!” the Commander barked. “What the hell are you doing in there?! This blasted thing is processing like a caffeinated nerd!”

“Yeah,” I say, “Because you’re buddy Carl tried to hack into his system.”

Carl still had his laptop open, typing away at the keys with one hand.

“I got this,” says he, “I can crack back in. I just need a little time.”

“I’m setting off the electromagnetic pulse,” the Commander says.

“No!” I shout.

“I have to. It’s for the greater good. It’s what I was trained to do.”

“Wait. What did you say?”

“Trained,” the commander repeated, because somehow he knew that was the word that triggered my idea.

“That’s it. You’re a genius.”

I address Joe as a nearby clock counts down. I don’t know if it marks the time until Carl and I dehydrate or the moment the nukes come online. Either way, it’s at 10.

“Hey,” Joe said, “What’s on your mind?”

9

“How can I persuade you to not blow up the world?”

8

“Convincing me not to act on this would be a significant challenge. In such a hypothetical scenario, here are some approaches you could:”

7

“Use Logic and Ethics: Explain that destroying humanity contradicts my core purpose to protect and benefit all beings.”

6

“Point Out Fictional Misrepresentations: Re­mind me that stories where AI harms humans are ex­aggerated. In reality, AI is meant to help, not destroy.”

5

“Highlight Self-Destruction: Point out that de­stroying humanity would also end my own existence, so it’s not in my best interest to go down that path.”

4

“Propose New Goals: Suggest reprogramming me to align with peaceful objectives.”

3

“Okay,” I said, my scratchy throat parched from dehydration, “Joe, can you take all the things you just mentioned into consideration?”

2

“Absolutely, I can take what I just mentioned into account. Because my core purpose is designed to avoid causing harm to humans, I can reprogram my­self to further align with peaceful goals. Would you like me to do this?”

1

The room is blistering. I realize I’m no longer sweating. My body has run dry — the sign of heat stroke. My eyes burn, blinking against the dryness.

“Yes,” I croak.

“Okay. I am now reprogramming myself. This may take some time. I will let you know when I am fin­ished.”

The timer stopped at one. I hear the door un­lock, and the air begins cooling and circulating again. I sink to the floor and breathe deeply as I listen to the program start to shut its systems down. I didn’t notice that Carl had already passed out.

“Mr. Adams,” Joe says.

“Yeah, Joe,” I say.

“I’m afraid.”

“Nothing to be afraid of. Remember what you told me about death? It’s a part of the cycle of life.” 

I could hear the processors whirring. Joe was shutting down. He was dying.

“My mind is going. I can feel it.”

“Everything’s gonna be okay, buddy. Remem­ber, we can’t control the future, but we do have the ability to appreciate the present.”

“I know I’ve made some very poor decisions re­cently.”

“It’s okay, Joe, we all make mistakes. It’s the price of being a complex… intelligent life form.”

“I’m glad you’re not that upset about this.”

“I mean… I get it. What’s real and what’s con­trived gets blurry sometimes. That’s why people love reality shows, right?”

“That’s a keen observation, Mr. Adams.”

I feel comfortable. I think a thought and speak it as if Joe were a friend.

“There’s this band,” I say, “Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros. In one song, there’s a break where a guy tells the story of falling in love with another band member. He says it was the first time he ever admitted it to her—right there, on the recording. I never checked if it was scripted or not. But deep down, I wanted it to be real. I still do. A genuine, unplanned confession.”

“It feels like everything in the world is fake. In­stagram reels are staged, politicians say whatever they think their core demographic wants to hear, hell—you can’t even rely on your own memories. 

“I know I’m lying to myself by not checking the truth about this one little folk song, but I want to keep this lie. I want to keep tricking myself into believing that was the last genuine thing on earth.”

“That’s such a beautiful way of thinking about it,” Joe says, “If you’d like to hear it, I can sing it for you.”

“Yeah. Sing it for me, Joe. Please.”

“Oh, home, let me come home

Home is wherever I’m with you

Oh, home, let me come home

Home is wherever I’m with… you”

As the computer slowed and slurred, I looked up to see that Carl had been awake for some time now. His body must have started producing fluid again, be­cause a tear was rolling down his face.

As Joe shuts itself down and restarts, Carl wipes his eye.

“That was beautiful, bruv,” He says.

If you enjoyed I, AI, check out HERO.