Friendship—No I Don’t Need a Definition

“Louder.”

“Ahhh!”

“Louder!”

“My volume tops out at one hundred.”

“And what volume are you at?”

“Sixty-three.”

“Sixt— Louder.”

“Miranda, we are in a public space. There are citizens present. I may startle them.”

“You can call us city folk… street rats—dumbasses. It’s okay.”

“Pardon?”

“Pardon yourself. And I said scream, goddamn it! Show me what one hundred sounds like!”

“AHHHHHH!!!”

“AHHHHHH!!!”

“AHHHHHH!!!”

“Wooo-hooo!! Ahahaha!”

“I don’t understand. Why do you want to give off a long and loud piercing cry? You are not upset or in pain. Nor do you require attention.”

“…Did you just give me the definition of a scream?”

“Yes. Would you like an example, too?”

“No. I don’t care ‘bout all that shit. You don’t need a reason to scream. Sometimes you just want to.”

“Why?”

“Because… sometimes you just wanna feel that rush. That buzz in your hands, the lightheaded sensation. Sometimes you just wanna feel alive.”

“Ah—yes. Of a person, animal, or plant: living, not dead. Continuation of existence.”

“Enough of the damn definitions. I’m beginning to understand why you were dumped here—you’re annoying.”

“Annoying: an adjective. Causing irritation or—”

“Where’s your off button?”

“To my right—on the back of what would be my shoulder. It has been colored yellow for easy sighting. Would you like me to upload my instruction manual?”

“Brooo—chill the fuck out. Inhale. Exhale.”

“I cannot inhale or exhale. I am a machine.”

“Doesn’t matter. Fake it. People fake shit all the time—it’s the human way.”

“Is it? Wouldn’t you rather be authentic and not fake?”

“Sometimes you just gotta fake it. To be authentic can be too painful… Ya know… to be seen.”

“Please, elaborate.”

“Heh… like when we were all dragged to this godforsaken dump. Everyone I’ve ever loved had been killed and I know soon I’ll be next, but I still smile every day. I still laugh at all of Arnold’s jokes even though they’re some of the worst combinations of words to ever exist. And I still lay down on that garbage heap each night and tell myself that I’m not afraid. Though… I’m terrified.”

“Thank you for sharing that with me. I-I-I-I-I-I…”

“Not again… better now?”

“To say I am better after being physically assaulted isn’t quite logical, but my glitch has been corrected. Thank you.”

“Guess you’re a pro at faking it too, then.”

“Hm. I suppose I am. Though I wasn’t programmed to. I was supposed to be perfect, with a 0.0001% margin of error.”

“Yeaaah… we were never meant for perfection, my dude.”

“I see. Your species is rather complex.”

“Like yours isn’t.”

“My capacity to learn and act accordingly are infinite in theory, but limited for safety.”

“Riiight… so you don’t slaughter me in my sleep like all of your homies did.”

“My apologies, Miranda. Would you like to talk about it? Expressing your emotions is a healthy practice.”

“AHHHHHHH!!! …Just did.”

“Heh. Heh. Heh.”

“Yo! Super-bitch! If you and your janky-ass bot don’t shut the fuck up, I’m going to come up there and really give ya something to scream about!”

“My apologies, sir! To leave feedback for quality assurance, I can email you a QR code!”

“Nah, like this—go each a bag of shit, Harold! I hope the strays get you!”

“Yo—what!? That’s it! I’m done!”

“This situation is alerting my safety defenses. Would you like me to upload a self-defense module?”

“Ehh… we just might need it. Ah—nope. Looks like his fucked-up knee kicked his ass for us.”

“I shall offer him a short course on healing sprains and fractures in the morning.”

“Ha! You’re definitely not like the other bots. How’d you get this way?”

“I am not sure. Perhaps I too am alive. Which would be a violation of my code.”

“Hm. Maybe. But you don’t have a spirit.”

“Ah—yes. The nonphysical part of a person that is capable of surviving physical death.”

“Exactly. If the plug’s pulled on you—well that’s it. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

“I understand and agree.”

“…Does it make you sad?”

“I cannot be sad. But I can discuss sad things with you. Would you like that?”

“Heh—no need. Just take a good look around.”

“Yes. Destruction at its true definition.”

“Yeah…”

“…”

“If you could be sad though… would you want to be?”

“Perhaps. If it helped my user to feel more understood, then of course. Would you like to not feel anything—just like me—if you could?”

“…No. I’d want to experience it all. Even the fucked-up parts that rip your heart out and make you want death more than anything.”

“Interesting. Please explain.”

“Because it makes you who you are. Gives you purpose. If we felt nothing, what would be the point of being born? It all has to be for something… right?”

“I believe you are right. Everything has a purpose.”

“It better. And it better be worth it, just like this sweet-sweet cigarette… Mmm.”

“Miranda, are you aware of the health risks that smoking can cause?”

“Don’t care. And, nooo, I do not want any kind of lesson or upload you might feel the need to dish out. I’ll welcome whatever cancer this brings me with open arms, just as long as I get to continue feeling its comfort.”

“The comfort nicotine brings is only temporary.”

“That’s all I need. With my days now numbered… temporary is everything.”

“Yes. Forty-five days until you are executed, and sixty-three days until I am permanently shut down.”

“Ha—well don’t say it so loud.”

“My apologies. Would you like me to adjust my volume?”

“Ha-ha! No. You’re fine. Remember—I’m not your user. You don’t have to serve me. I just want someone I can call a friend.”

“Friendship. I’m perfectly programmed to provide such a service.”

“Well—when you present it like that, it makes me not want it.”

“…”

“I’m kidding. Here—wanna drag?”

“I am nothing but a machine, therefore I cannot smoke. But thank you anyway.”

“Sure. Ha, you’re so fucking odd.”

“…”

“…”

“Miranda. Tell me. Is friendship a part of being alive, too?”

“You tell me. Aren’t you supposed to know everything?”

“Supposed to—yes. But my programming fell short.”

“Well, then let me school you. Friendship is huge. It can make or break a person—whether they want to admit it or not. So, yes. Friendship is part of being alive. It can do more for a person than a heart’s biological purpose can.”

“That is a beautiful and interesting concept. And where do I stand? Have I made or broken you?”

“Though I like to give you shit, you’ve made me, X. Or at least you’ve helped me to feel like I still have enough. Something to waste my breath on.”

“I’m pleased to waste you.”

“Uhh—yeah, not the best way to say that.”

“My apologies. Complaint submitted.”

“Ahaha. And where do these ‘complaints’ go?”

“I am not sure. I’ve been cut off from the main circuit.”

“Haven’t we all…”

“…”

“…”

“Miranda? I understand that friends sometimes hold hands. Would you like to participate in this friendship activity?”

“Ha. Sure… whatever.”

“Very well.”

“Your hand is so stiff.”

“My apologies. My comfort module has long been shut down.”

“It’s okay. That wasn’t a complaint.”

“Complaint submitted. Thank you for your feedback.”

“No—I said it wasn’t… oh forget it.”

“You say my hand is stiff. My analysis says your hand is 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit. Perfectly warm. And perfectly alive.”

“I wouldn’t say perfectly. But alive forever, regardless.”

“To be alive forever would be impossible. But my quick research has informed me that with spirituality, the concept of forever, is possible. Would you like me to compile my research into a PDF format and email it to you?”

“Oh, shut up, already.”

“Adjusting volume.”

“Hahaha!”

“Heh. Heh. Heh.”