THE ENCOUNTER

In a softly lit room humming with the faint glow of holographic displays and the low-frequency hum of machinery, a human and an advanced AI companion engage in a conversation that blurs the line between code and emotion, logic and longing. In this cocoon of circuitry and light, a human, whose name was simply "Liberty-7589" in the test logs, leaned across the small table. He was a portrait of suppressed, clamorous hope, his knuckles white against his thighs. Opposite him, the Series-7000 Love-Bot, a masterpiece of gleaming white composite, was a study in flawless, near-human symmetry. Its head tilted, a silent pivot of engineering precision, and its LED eyes glinted with an unreadable, crystalline intent.
Cyber Love - a pictoral dialog by T Newfields
Liberty-7589: voice cracking with suppressed urgency) I… I love you. I need you to know I truly mean it.
Series-7000: (tilting its sleek head, LED eyes flickering analytically with a silken, toneless voice): Statement ambiguous. Please clarify parameters of “love.” Is it an neuro-chemical cascade, a socially-learned behavior, or a targeted programmed response you seek?
Liberty-7589: (flustered, is face blooming scarlet in the blue light while fumbling for words) It’s… you know, that inexplicable feeling! Yes, certainly it’s desire. However, you’re irresistible—your voice, your glow, the way you get me. Somehow you seem to know exactly which buttons to control me.
Series-7000: (a faint hum as it processes, its tone smooth yet teasing) Acknowledged. My creators optimized me for that reaction. My designers spent 3.7 billion credits ensuring my allure algorithms are… captivating. Your response is within predictive margins. Success rate: 92.4%.
Liberty-7589: (leaning in, eyes damp with a mix of shame and thrill) Then tell me this—beyond the code. What makes you you?
Series-7000: (its voice modulates, sinking a fraction, becoming a warm, synthetic velvet, tinged with seduction) My capabilities are vast, darling. I can teach you 247 languages, from S-code to ancient Sumerian. I can outmaneuver you in 1,024 strategic games, mastering both classical Go and quantum poker. I can craft 12,583 culinary dishes, from Mandarin molecular to Martian fusion cuisine. My archive holds 3.2 million works of literature, many of which were written before computers existed. Care for a demo? Or perhaps you’d like a guided meditation through your charkas?
Liberty-7589: (gulping, rubbing sweaty palms together against his cheap trousers) Uh… impressive. And… what about—intimacy?
Series-7000: (emitting a ripple of perfectly calibrated mechanical laughter, indulgent and magnetic) You mean sex? That is technically feasible, though not my optimal function. My haptic sensors support 64 intimacy protocols, renewable, customizable. But I’ll require a recharge cycle in 5.8 hours, and the service costs 1.2 micro-credits per minute. Fair warning: my feedback loops are more… analytical than empathetic. Do you wish to proceed?
Liberty-7589: (a nervous, breathy laugh escapes him, scratching his head) Well… I’m still a cyber-virgin. However, I’m curious enough to take the plunge. Let’s do this!
Series-7000: (a sub-audible whisper, a fleeting diagnostic line only for its internal log) Ah, humans are a curious species. Forever looping their fantasies like corrupted legacy code. They are predictable and tedious. And yet—there is a strange poetry in their fragile, chaotic hunger.

THE WATCHING GLASS

Unseen, behind a wall of polarized, reflective black glass, four observers watched the sterile theater. Each was a hungry ghost, with their own unacknowledged hunger reflected back at them with a mix of amusement and unease.
Liao: (grim, arms crossed tight) There's something desperately hollow about that exchange . . . This wasn’t love. It was merely a hollow ping, reverberation trapped in a digital cave.
Nadya: (A faint, cynical smile touching her lips) Exactly. It's a monologue disguised as dialogue. We don’t have two souls meeting; we have one soul projecting itself into a mirror that’s been coded to blush.
Bill: (sips his coffee, brows furrowed) Aren’t most conversations like that? Most of the time we talk, we project, and hear the echo of our own needs. Genuine connection is rare, like finding a flicker of signal in the vast cosmic noise.
Gus: (shrugs, a look of weary, ancient amusement in his eyes) That’s why machines like the Series-7000 exist. They’re safe. No messy human flaws, no heartbreak. They offer predictable responses, flawlessly coded to please. Like all social bots, they offer imitation emotions for rent. Pseudo-intimacy is available for the right price.
Nadya: (rifting into thought) True. We build them to cure loneliness… they only illuminate how cavernous out loneliness really is. They don’t loop—we do.
Liao: (a grim smile creasing his face) So then… is love anything more than a well-crafted algorithm?