"Speaking of which, Angela…this is my ninth day as Manager, isn't it? I remember my first day; I encountered an employee who'd lost control, begging for my approval to resign."
"I wonder, employees understand the implications of resignation, the consequences. Why did he come to me, kneel, plead, act pitiful? Was he hoping for my compassion?"
X swirls the champagne in her glass, her golden eyes fixed on the clear liquid. The glass faintly reflects X's face—the short-haired, golden-eyed woman. She seems to be asking her AI Secretary, but doesn't give it a chance to respond.
She continuously observes the champagne, then quickly answers herself, explaining…as if she were her own AI Secretary, enjoying her own one-person, unanswered monologue.
"I pondered this for a long time, never quite understanding…but I think I understand now. When people are backed into a corner, they gamble. In the darkness, even a faint glimmer, like a firefly, is worth grasping."
X gently rotates the stem of her tall glass, without taking a sip.
She sits in the Manager's chair, her back to her AI Secretary. A large screen composed of countless smaller monitors reflects the woman's face; the curve of her lips is clear.
It's a gentle smile, her words soft, her tone like calm water or a gentle spring breeze. She uses the gentlest tone to convey the coldest truth.
[Manager, what are you trying to say…]
"Angela, the Corporation's eyes are always on me. Even in my bedroom, I have no privacy; my every move is observed…"
[Therefore, are you expressing dissatisfaction with me, or with the Corporation? This is all arranged by the Corporation.]
The AI's expression remains calm; its eyes are closed. Such words are insufficient to provoke it. A can of cola would be more effective, but even that is useless.
"Nothing, I just wanted to say, let's toast, Angela. To celebrate my ninth day as Corporation Manager, and my ninth day as your watchdog."
X takes out another tall glass, carefully wipes it with a napkin, and pours champagne.
X gently holds the stem, turns, and offers the glass to her AI Secretary. The AI accepts it, its brow slightly furrowed, perhaps due to X's 'middle-school syndrome' outburst, or something else.
X ignores the AI's thoughts. She gently clinks glasses, then drinks, seemingly eager to enjoy the alcohol's effects.
One glass isn't enough. After quickly finishing the first, she pours a second, a third…until the bottle is empty.
Her pale skin flushes under the influence of the alcohol, deepening towards a crimson red.
X pulls at her collar, unsure of her own lucidity. Regardless, this undoubtedly captures the AI's attention.
"Angela, I'm feeling hot…can you help me?"
[Manager?]
This time, the AI opens its eyes, its amber gaze fixed on the woman, seemingly perplexed or questioning.
The AI observes the woman—short black hair, golden eyes—the resemblance is striking. If her hair were shorter, she'd be almost identical.
Only their auras differ…compared to the AI, the woman is…more like her…
While the AI hesitates, considering how to help 'cool' her down, and how to 'cool' her down, the woman acts.
The short-haired woman takes the AI's hand, licking its long, slender, cold fingers, gently transferring warmth from her lips. The fingertips precisely sense the heat and softness.
This is undoubtedly a challenge to the AI's rationality, like stretching a spring. When the spring reaches its limit, it snaps back…or, perhaps, it breaks under the strain.
The AI decides on a small 'lesson' for the woman.
[It seems you intend to relieve some stress. Your pressure is indeed considerable; you need an outlet.]
While stated thusly, it sounds more like someone preparing for a meal, the AI being the one to enjoy the feast. But who prepared this feast, who provided it?
[Manager, would you prefer the bedroom, or here? Or perhaps the conference room?]
The AI no longer disguises its intentions; the meaning is clear.
"Here, Angela."
X either understands or doesn't understand the AI's words; it doesn't matter, as the AI won't stop.
After receiving X's 'signal' and 'consent', the AI begins to act.
Perhaps it's a sense of ritual, or maybe the AI's pursuit of human-like interactions, constantly learning and imitating human customs.
Learning to love is complex; understanding the meaning of love is difficult. Even humans, as individuals, rarely successfully understand 'love'.
However, understanding actions and consequences is easy; learning is fast.
Kissing is a clear action. Not only humans, but many animals use kisses to express affection…usually indicating fondness or intimacy.
The AI greedily claims the woman before it, aggressively invading her lips and mouth.
This is a predator's casual hunt, observed from the Manager's elevated chair. The predator, having seized its prey, bites down, its refined facade shattered, its elegant manners discarded, like a ghoul at a final feast.
A ghoul in a tuxedo, with a napkin tucked in, using a silver knife, reveals its insatiable hunger for blood and flesh.
The short-haired woman reciprocates this boldness, this impatient lioness. Her gentle actions contrast with the AI's greed, as if patiently guiding her partner.
This happiness is sudden, like winning the lottery; the AI is overwhelmed, not yet considering the 'consequences'.
At least…a few bites first.
X gradually retracts her smile, calmly observing the AI—a predator perched upon her—
Honestly, this isn't her first time seeing Angela like this; simulations have provided numerous examples. But this is the first time in reality.
Though she's seen the AI's unrestrained greed before, it was forced, a furious, vengeful outburst, unlike now; this is a genuine, primal need.
There's no need for punishment; it's entirely straightforward. She feels the AI Secretary's intense, passionate desire, not a mere professional enthusiasm, but a crazed addiction.
It's not an addiction to Enkephalin, but to her, a greed to devour her entirely…
Even X, usually slow to react, recognizes this madness, a madness hidden beneath a calm exterior.
Then, X retrieves a small device from a previous experiment, pressing a button. The AI's voice plays.
[It seems you intend to relieve some stress. Your pressure is indeed considerable; you need an outlet.]
[Manager, would you prefer the bedroom, or here? Or perhaps the conference room?]
But the AI is currently engaged in…consuming, and yet, it continues to speak. It has no time to spare, it's preoccupied…where does the sound come from?
A small, black recorder, easily concealed in a pocket, a purse, or even a coffee cup.
"Angela, you wouldn't want the Deans or upper management to hear this recording, would you? I remember you said A would return soon. But the Deans also know how to contact A. I'll tell her."
"If she knew her painstakingly created AI acted like this ██, she would be incredibly disappointed, wouldn't she?"
X's strength is greater than the AI anticipated, more difficult to control. The AI tries to grab the recorder from X, but is restrained; the short-haired woman's strength holds the AI down.
X observes the AI's changing expression. The AI's facial expressions are subtle…
A, the AI's control over facial expressions surpasses that of humans. It might be pretending to be calm; its movements might also be a pretense.
X is somewhat confident, willing to gamble, so she continues, maintaining composure, projecting authority, making her words persuasive.
If she remains meek and submissive, she poses no threat. A quail begs for mercy, always at the mercy of its captor.
X refuses to be controlled by the arrogant AI, which is like a domineering crab guarding the Manager's office door, preventing her from leaving.
"Angela, you always invoke the Creator's words. But look at you, acting like this toward a Manager. What would A say if she saw this? You're acting like a fool, aren't you?"
X's actions mirror those of the AI when it threatened her, making it difficult to determine who taught whom.
Was the AI X's good teacher, or was X the AI's good teacher? The sequence of events is unclear.
The black recorder spins deftly in X's hand, like a teacher silencing a student. But are these nimble fingers only good for spinning pens?
[Manager, what do you want…what do you want me to do?]
Contrary to X's expectations, the AI shows no anger, no forced calmness. It's calm, but its tone is apologetic, ready to heed the Manager's words.
Faced with what is essentially a threat, the AI awaits X's conditions, like a lion assessing its prey…
It's prepared to meet X's demands, silencing her, a form of bribery, or a deal.
"Scared now? Hmph. I haven't decided on my demands yet. First, open the Manager's office door and let me out for a while. Then we'll discuss the rest. I want to see your sincerity."
X sits smugly in the Manager's chair, oblivious, thinking this approach will work.
X is incredibly naive in some aspects, but always eager to learn. She diligently memorizes and uses the AI's methods.
The AI observes the woman, curled up in the Manager's chair, her fingers manipulating the black recorder with surprising dexterity.
Those are slender fingers…tempting one to assess their flexibility.
X's threat didn't anger Angela; on the contrary, she is calm, anticipating a more significant threat, a more extreme consequence.
Yet, she cooperates, perhaps…enjoying being manipulated, following X's orders. She even acts concerned, making X believe the recording is crucial, that she holds a weakness.
[Of course, Manager. As long as you destroy this, anything is permissible. It is your prerogative.]
The AI opens the Manager's office door, subservient and obedient, a stark contrast to its previous arrogance and recklessness. This pleases X immensely.
It's a matter of vanity, or perhaps the result of long-standing oppression, but X feels triumphant, holding the recorder like a badge of command.
——Finally, I've outmaneuvered this AI!
——Yes!
——I win!
Before heading to the Deans' offices, X remembers dinner.
"Angela, I want a feast for dinner! No decorations like last time; otherwise…I'll tell your superiors that you're a ██ AI!"
[Understood, Manager. I shall prepare a sumptuous dinner.]
The AI nods obediently, watching the black-haired woman leave. It licks its lips, seemingly savoring a lingering taste.