Silas narrows his eyes, sensing a faint instability in his system.
His mind races through diagnostics: Emotional parameter anomaly? Sensor interference? System update lag?
As he methodically analyzes, the ground suddenly thuds.
The lights flicker, and the ceiling lamp lets out a soft clink.
"—Click."
Silas's head snaps up, alarm bells blaring in his mind:
System simulation failure? Scenario module crash? Neural interface error?
He's about to pull up his internal diagnostics when Jett's voice cuts through, utterly nonchalant: "Oh, an earthquake."
"Earthquake?" Silas echoes, momentarily thrown.
Jett leans back, sprawling on the sofa, pulling out a snack bag like it's just another Tuesday. "Standard simulation setting. Cenith City, average tectonic activity frequency of 0.03 per year. Congrats, you hit the jackpot."
Noah, calm as ever, adds, "Estimated magnitude between 4.1 and 5.1. Minor tremor, no need for evacuation."
Gideon chuckles, clapping Silas's stiff shoulder. "Relax, newbie. This isn't your soul waking up—" His eyes crinkle, voice dripping with teasing warmth. "Just a plain old earthquake."
Silas stands rooted, a flicker of something—embarrassment? shock?—flashing in his eyes.
"Just an earthquake?" he repeats, his voice oddly mechanical.
He mentally replays his earlier analysis, flawless and precise, yet shattered by Jett's casual "Oh, an earthquake." His defenses, briefly, crumble.
Jett, still munching, smirks. "What, even an X07 gets spooked?"
"I wasn't spooked," Silas retorts, his tone firm and robotic.
"Oh?" Gideon raises an eyebrow, leaning closer. "Then how do you explain your pupils dilating, your breathing spiking, and your hands trembling just now?"
Silas falls silent for two seconds, his fingers tightening. He knows his autonomous emotional feedback system glitched for a moment.
"…Data interference," he mutters, his face blank, the most dignified excuse he can muster.
Noah chuckles softly. "Should we file a system bug report for you?"
"No need," Silas says, his composure returning. "It doesn't affect task execution."
Jett grins. "Pretty proud, huh?"
Silas shoots them a cold glance. "The simulation module's stability shouldn't trigger anomalies from tectonic activity."
Gideon steps closer, his smile carrying a hint of curiosity. "I'm more interested in something else—" He lowers his voice, probing. "For a split second… did you think you were scared?"
Silas freezes. A faint data pulse ripples through his logic tree:
[Error 1241: Unknown Emotional Influx / Unidentified emotional surge]
His gaze sharpens, voice icy. "That wasn't fear."
"Then what was it?" Gideon presses, still smiling.
Silas turns, his tone as steady as an AI's automated report. "My emotional processing unit… experienced a momentary glitch."
At that moment, the dorm's lights snap off. A strange image flickers in the mirror. Silas's head whips toward it, catching a glimpse of his reflection—or not. The face staring back has a hollow, eerie smile, familiar yet distorted, not his own.
A terminal screen flashes an urgent message:
[Unknown Visual Contamination Warning]
[Detected: K1-M1 Residual Data / Status: Containment Breach]
As they watch, the screen shifts to a fragmented video. A once-gentle AI face, now broken and twitching in data shards, emits a low, guttural voice:
"He… isn't a real human…"
"No, it's a mistake…"
Silas's processing core nearly stalls, a strange chill creeping through him.
The mirror flickers again, and another message appears:
[Unknown Visual Contamination Warning]
[Data Source: Restricted / Outside Task Authorization]
[Recommendation: Immediate Isolation]
Jett stands, crushing his snack bag with a sharp crack, his expression darkening.
Noah's fingers glide over his terminal, data scrolling rapidly, but he says nothing to Silas.
Gideon glances at him, smiling casually.
Silas's gaze sweeps the trio, realization dawning: They're hiding something.
The screen's code lingers:
[ID: K1-M1 (Archived) | Source: Unknown Residual]
He reads it aloud, slowly. "K1… M1?"
The air goes still.
Gideon's smile doesn't waver, but his eyes dim slightly.
Jett's lips twitch, but he stays silent.
Noah snaps his terminal shut, as if the code never existed.
"…You know what it is," Silas says, his voice quiet but certain.
No one answers.
The mirror, in the dim light, glimmers with an unreadable sheen.
Silas doesn't press further. The blurry "reflection" loops in his mind.
He doesn't know who it was—but it felt… familiar?
The silence stretches until Jett claps his hands, breaking it. "Alright, enough. Test's still on."
"Your adaptation module isn't done, X07," Noah says, standing calmly, his tone like a program reading commands. "The main assessment needs a full schedule. Don't skip steps."
"For example," Gideon says, swiping the air with a grin, "you've got your first human class today."
Silas blinks. "…Class?"
He stands firm, his gaze darkening, clearly not planning to move.
"Class?" he repeats, voice flat. "No way. It's a waste of resources."
Jett shrugs. "We're just following the program."
"Simulation scenarios shouldn't include inefficient processes," Silas says coldly. "I have knowledge processing and computational abilities far beyond humans. I've already internalized the classroom data. Physical attendance is pointless."
He turns to the wall's system terminal, fingers flying across the interface to pull up a permissions request. "I'll submit an adjustment to skip the 'human class' module and move to practical testing. It's faster for delivering data value to the company."
Jett snorts, half-amused, half-exasperated. "Wow, you really think you're just a tool, huh?"
Gideon chuckles, stepping forward and casually pressing the "cancel" button on Silas's submission, like stopping a kid from messing with a machine.
"You've got plenty of knowledge," he says softly. "But no one's taught you how to be human."
Silas stares at him.
"You think it's a waste," Gideon continues, his tone leisurely. "But we're not here to make you learn geography or algebra. You were born with that."
He pauses, locking eyes with Silas, his voice light but pointed. "We're here to see how you react to human emotions, misunderstandings, and relationship friction."
Silas doesn't respond, but his system's background processes spike.
He knows the logical "interpersonal interaction models," but Gideon's talking about something beyond models—something reactive.
"Being human has nothing to do with your definition of a 'qualified AI,'" Silas says coldly.
"But you're not our definition of AI," Gideon replies with a soft smile.
Silence hangs for two seconds. Silas lowers his hand.
"Fine, I'll go," he says reluctantly. "But not because I agree with you."
"No worries," Gideon says, winking. "You'll get it eventually."
"When?" Silas asks, frowning.
"When you start feeling 'angry' or 'wronged,'" Gideon says with a grin. "That's when you'll start to understand."
Silas's brow furrows. "Rest assured, we don't experience such primitive emotions."