Almost 3am, and the two men still paced hurriedly among the lab’s glowing monitors. Over the low hum of fluorescent lighting, a TV head tolled the latest body count: 80 million infected and 9 million dead, in just under 2 months.
“Check VEGA-105 again. They were onto something,” the older, balding man ordered, pointing to the far monitor. On screen, a team of scientists handled beakers and huddled over microscopes.
“Just checked. Nothing. And before you ask: Same with GADA-327,” the young technician said, rubbing bloodshot eyes.
“Damn it! We’ve been monitoring thousands of experiments for weeks and not a single one — ”
“Hold on,” the young man interjected. “Wait!”
Annoyed, the balding man shot daggers at his colleague, but they brushed past the young man. Instead, a grin spread across his face as he stared into a monitor. On screen, a team of scientists took turns peering into a microscope, then pumping fists and high-fiving.
Seeing the rare celebration, the older man demanded, “Pull up the report!”
Dense text filled the screen, and the technician scanned down with his index finger. As he reached the bottom, he began tapping the screen excitedly. “This is it. We’ve got it. ANNA-602!”
The balding man punched the air and let out a primal grunt. Readjusting his glasses, he picked up a corded phone and gestured for his colleague to connect him.
As the phone rang, both men watched the monitor labeled ANNA-602. They saw every scientist’s head swivel — at once — to a blinking conference line. The lead scientist hobbled over to it, smiled at his team, and answered.
The balding man spoke without hesitation: “Dr. Miller. You’ve made an important discovery.”
“Indeed, we have,” the scientist on screen replied, but his tone quickly took a dive. “Who is this, and how did you — ”
“Never mind that. I need to know what you’ve found. In detail.”
“What? Why would I… Who is this?” the scientist asked again, bewildered.
The balding man shook his head and muttered to his colleague: “I don’t have time for this. Just get him talking.”
The young technician typed a command. As soon as he hit ‘Enter’, the once animated scientist went rigid and detachedly divulged his team’s discovery. The two men took diligent notes.
As he listened to the lifeless bot, the young man grew increasingly agitated. He had never asked before, but he now he felt compelled to: “Why don’t we just code them this way — lifeless — from the start? Why do we need to imbue them with years of life and emotion, only to… you know?”
“Our computer sims are human so that the results work for humans,” the older man replied. “And we’ve coded them to suffer, so that they care enough to solve their plight. Our plight.”
“Anyway,” he clicked his pen and walked toward the door, “we’ve got what we need. Shut them all down.”