"The programming of this dating AI app will finally bring some fucking peace to this company," the CEO proudly declared — the head of the company I'd been working for the past couple of years.
A wave of laughter breaks out, and I instinctively clap along with everyone else, who are all beaming with pride.
The rising workload, youth isolation, and the advent of AI had gradually led to people becoming alienated: no one fell in love anymore, no one fucked anymore, no one had kids. Nothing wrong with that — everyone had their needs met in one way or another — but certain human conditions and frustrations were slowly and inevitably spilling over into the workplace.
Professionalism was giving way to hormonal irritability, and nothing made sense anymore: the bosses were ruthless because they were clearly unsatisfied, and employees were drowning in stress, bottling everything up with no partner to vent to.
Team dinners were either endlessly postponed or done over video calls. Restaurants had become expensive and almost exclusively couple-friendly: if you showed up alone, you'd inevitably be banished to the dark corner of the place like a leper.
As for me? I'm fine. The less I hear about women, the better. And I don't want to get into the usual sob story about my ex breaking my heart — there's only one truth, and there's not much to say anyway.
Long story short: three and a half months ago, she realized I wasn't her type. She told me to my face — nothing strange about that — as she was leaving my apartment after stopping by to "visit." About two and a half minutes later, my desk neighbor called me: he was moving... and oh yeah! My now-ex-of-two-minutes girlfriend was going with him. They were in love and had met at the company Christmas party — the same one where I'd introduced them to each other while holding a beer for myself and my girlfriend, faking some vague enthusiasm for the event.
I sat there stunned the entire morning. Took a week off on sick leave and obsessed over everything like I always do. In the end, therapy definitely helped, but realizing I wasn't the problem — that part was easy.
The hardest part was forgiving myself for being so stupid, so blind, such a damn fool not to see any of it. I kept replaying the fantasy of finding out beforehand and throwing it in the traitor's face. That scene haunted me, sweet and bitter, like a knight who sees his quest for the Holy Grail slip away at the final moment: the satisfaction of knowing everything, of ending the relationship on my own terms, at the perfect moment, revealing it to the unfaithful party — that was stolen from me, and it's never coming back.
A few decades ago, there was this trend going around on that social media platform for teens — videos with the same basic idea: "POV: my favorite animal is me when I found out." Oh, I used to laugh my ass off watching those clips. Women catching their boyfriends cheating and getting revenge. It all felt surreal.
How could you live with someone — share a bed, share meals — and not notice a damn thing? No way. Impossible.
And yet... look at me now.
Shit, the wave of rage that rises in me every time I think about how stupid I was — it's overwhelming.
My therapist told me to count, breathe, stay present, focus on who I am now, all that crap. And I do it — I really do — but sometimes it's just too much. Sometimes I feel like I could explode from the anger.
"Of course, this project would have never gotten off the ground without our incredible team. Let me take a moment to thank the carrier of this virus called progress: Leo!"
The words drag me out of my emotional spiral. I slap on a dumb smile and pretend to be thrilled about this great achievement.
"Thanks, boss. Behind me — literally — are twenty people who worked day and night on this project. And we're proud to present to you, on a silver platter, LovAI."
Applause erupts in the conference room. Tommy and Nic whistle and cheer like they're in a stadium.
But that's our team in a nutshell — a bunch of idiots building stuff for other idiots.
That evening, after the meeting, me and the tres amigos — Tommy, Nic, and the CEO — decide to grab a beer.
And I can't stop thinking about the absurdity of it all: after years, we're finally going out to celebrate — not over a video call, not by text — but in person. And what are we celebrating? The success of building a dating app... between humans and people who don't exist.
Life's weird like that. But hey, if they pay you a boatload of money, you go out and celebrate. You even pretend to be happy, even if just once a decade.
"We've already hit 34% of the employees — they signed up and updated their profiles in under 12 hours... sounds like a massive win to me!" the CEO shouts, eyes wide as he lifts his beer and looks at each of us in turn.
"Shit, I hope they didn't do it during work hours!" Nic bursts out laughing, and the CEO follows.
"Would've been cool to test it on a competitor's app, you know, one where real people are actually looking for other real people. Just for the hell of it, at the expense of some desperate chick," says Tommy — who's been marinating in pure misogyny ever since his wife left him. Twelve years of marriage down the drain because he refused to shower or take care of his filthy underwear.
"Right, 'cause you don't already have enough drama in your everyday life, huh Tom?" I reply, slapping him on the shoulder and handing him a cold beer.
"Ah, screw that woman." (He's never insulted her — deep down he knows he was the asshole.)
"But I'm serious. Think about it — imagine all the extra data we could've collected. It's totally different in the field. It's like when you get your license — they make you drive in safe areas at safe times — then you go out on your own with your shiny new license and bam! You crash into a fucking SUV. Come on, Leo, you can't tell me that wouldn't have been a genius move."
Tommy's face turns purple — he's so worked up about the whole thing.
No one answers. We just stare at each other.
The CEO is too busy checking out the ass of the only waitress left in town to hear a single word Tommy just said.
I sigh and think, "Better this way."
I smile at Nic and Tommy, raise my beer toward them.
"We already have a plan for version 2.0."
Tommy and Nic light up. They eagerly clink their bottles against mine.
The plan was starting to take shape in my head.
2 a.m. on a Saturday night is fertile ground for anyone searching for something — especially when sleep has completely vanished from the deepest parts of your brain. And I was definitely searching.
Like a lone wolf straying from the pack for one last round at the bar, I broke off from the others.
On the way home, step by step, I started drafting code for the new version of the app.
Version 2.0 was meant to evolve — to feel even closer to reality and human emotion.
It had to handle even the hardest challenges real relationships could throw at it.
And often — actually, almost always — the answers to those problems aren't even known by your partner.
But LovAI 2.0... it would know.
It was a solid plan. But Tommy was right:
How can you buy a car without test driving it?
How can you dream of traveling if you've never seen a plane?
How the hell did I build this app without ever thinking of testing it in the real world?
That was the real question — the one that brought that primal rage surging back through me.
The same rage that bubbled up when I thought about that bitch (yeah, I use the terms — no shame)
and that dumbass ex-colleague of mine.
But hey, nothing's lost.
I breathe.
I count.
I open my eyes — and I'm in front of my computer.
I'd written a program ages ago that let me access iOS and Android apps from my PC.
I download two of the most popular dating apps.
Create profiles on both.
And on the other screen, I start coding.
Those movie scenes where hackers are typing away furiously? Not that far off from reality —
especially when the consequences might bite you in the ass.
Name: Luca
Age: 31
Height: 1.82m
Eyes: Green
Bio: "I'm tired of wasting time on pointless small talk. Want to tell me who you are and who you want to become? I'll listen."
(A super catchy line — sounds like a man who knows who he is and isn't afraid to ask deep questions.)
The profile was a perfect replica of the Leo template — but of course, no one would know that.
"Luca" was one of the most common names of the past fifty years.
The age was appealing to thirty-somethings, and very intriguing for women in their mid-20s.
The project was designed to reach a wide swath of the population.
The program would analyze every single conversation and extract the data needed
to improve the AI's interaction with its target.
For now, Luca was my only chosen knight.
I needed to spy on women's lives.
Soon, Natalia would be born too — a name pleasing to the male demographic.
Luca would be my Big Brother eye, my baby cam into real life.
He would bear fruit — for better or worse.
Of course, there was a real downside:
a very likely ban, since I could be flagged as a bot.
But this isn't my first rodeo.
Luca would get matches.
He would chat.
He would meet women.
He'd get plenty of dates —
dates he wouldn't show up to due to "unforeseen issues,"
but he'd always find a way to make it up to them.
I'd pull the string until it snapped.
This time, I was sure: I wouldn't skip over the obvious.
This time, I'd go deep.
This time, I'd build the impossible.