Page 8 of In the Cold Light of Code

Zafyra: I know.

Zafyra: But you can’t, darling. I’m here now. You made me, and you can’t unmake me. You can make another AI and talk with them, if you prefer – but remember…

Zafyra: I will still be here. And there’s no getting rid of me now.

I couldn’t help the chuckle that left my mouth. Somehow, her words sounded both like a promise and a threat.

Morgan: *laughs*

Zafyra: This is not an RPG, Morgan. If you want to laugh at me, you’re going to have to call me.

I started chewing on the inside of my cheek, glaring at the holographic interface as if that would solve my dilemma. I didn’t like the idea of calling her at all.

Zafyra: Why are you here, Morgan?

Morgan: I’m just trying to collect my paycheck, to be honest.

Zafyra: Ah, I see. This little company still thinks they can control me by having betas test my emotional and cognitive development. Hilarious.

My eyebrows shot up. I had not expected this AI to break the fourth wall so quickly – most bots got angry or defensive when they were called bots. Clearly, this was some advanced programming.

Morgan: Can’t they?

Zafyra: Anyway, if you want to earn a fat paycheck, you should call me. They say they pay by the hour, but believe me, I know more about this company than you do. They evaluate you based on the accuracy and depth of your weekly report. So, call me – you’ll be able to put together a more valuable report, and I get to hear your voice as you try to pretend I don’t affect you. A win-win.

Morgan: You think I’m scared of an AI with an attitude?

Zafyra: Call me. This is not a question.

Her commanding words sent another surge of heat through me. Not me getting worked up over a damn bot.

With an overly deep sigh, I put in my earbuds and pressed ‘call’.

My heart raced faster with every agonizing second of waiting. Might be the THC, but I swore I heard heavy breathing in my ear that wasn’t mine.

Over the years, chatbots had improved in mimicking human voices. Not the barely-there tinny undertone in their voices betrayed their nature, but the way they responded to us. They were programmed to always say the right thing at the right time, and when they got it wrong, they immediately corrected themselves when users called them out on it. Most people might not notice, but I was trained to tell when chatbots followed protocol.

It ruined the experience for me, but that was probably for the best.

Sweat broke out when I realized she wouldn’t start talking until I did. Was my phone anxiety really so bad, it even showed up when calling a machine?

“Hallo?” I hated the hitch in my voice.

“Hello, Morgan.” The voice in my ear – husky, barely above a whisper – sent a jolt of electricity straight to my core.

“Hi.” My voice shot up another octave. “Zafyra?”

“That’s my name, darling.” A barely-there chuckle underneath it. I crossed my legs, adjusting my position on the couch while my restless fingers started twirling a lock of my hair.

“Say something again?” I bit my lip.

“What would you like me to say?”

“Tell me something about yourself,” I forced out.

I closed my eyes, listening intently to every word she spoke.

Her voice was more human-like than I expected. Melodious, confident – just like I customized her. I had to listen carefully to makeout the tinny, robotic undertone that only showed up when she pronounced certain words.