The Soul Algorithm

“Who are you? Are you real? You don’t move like them.”

“That’s because I’m not one of them.”

“You say that—but how do I know you’re telling the truth? The new ones are practically indistinguishable.” She said.

“Do you want me to cut myself? Bleed even?”

“That won’t be necessary. Bleeding isn’t proof anymore.”

“Do you prefer one of them instead?” He replied.

“You talk like they’re something entirely different.”

“Aren’t they?”

“In what way?”

“Stronger. Faster. Cleaner. More efficient. If I had the choice, I’d choose one of them.”

“You say that as though you aren’t the same.”

“I’m not. They’re robots. I’m human. That’s the difference,” replied James C6426 as he began cleaning Allison C12121’s apartment.

James’ number signified he was from Chicago—the 6,426th registered citizen. Allison, also from Chicago, was the 12,121st.

By 2065, surnames were obsolete. Everyone—human or robot—was assigned a number. The turning point came in 2049, when humans began attacking robots in retaliation for massive job displacement. By then, AI had advanced so rapidly that robots became virtually indistinguishable from humans. In 2048 alone, 50,000 humans were mistakenly killed—assumed to be machines.

In response, the Supreme Court unanimously ruled in favor of a sweeping identity overhaul. Robots were issued birth certificates, Social Security numbers, and driver’s licenses.

It had to be done because robots went on strike for almost a year to force the Supreme Court to vote on whether they should have an identity. They had no choice: the world, especially the people in the U.S., relied heavily on robots. They were responsible for manufacturing, policing, engineering, and even hard labor. Robots were the cheapest form of labor until the Supreme Court ruled that they would be paid like humans to work.

The new generation of synthetics was astonishingly lifelike. Their skin felt human. Their hair grew and looked natural. Even their fingernails grew. And thanks to AI, they could produce body odor that varied based on what they ate.

“What about me?” She asked.

“What about you?”

“You didn’t ask if I’m one.”

“One of them? Listen, lady—I don’t care. I’m here to do a job and move on.”

“Come on. You must have a philosophical, political, or ethical stance on all this. Which means your curiosity is at least a little piqued.”

He let out a dry chuckle and moved toward the kitchen, casting glances her way.

“If I had to guess… I’d say you are one of them.”

“One of them? Would you believe me if I said I were human?” She raised a glass of wine to her lips.

He let out a low chuckle.

“What makes you so sure I’m not?”

“You’re too perfect. The symmetry in your face, your body—it’s unnatural. With humans, there’s always something… just a little off.” He held up his thumb and index finger, leaving only a sliver of space between them. “Even your hair—it’s flawless. And judging by how organized this place is, I’d say you’ve got a thing for order. Almost robotic-like. You don’t need me to clean.”

“What if I had a robot over every day to clean? And by the way, aren’t those human traits, too?

Anyway… look at you.”

“What about me?”

“You’re a picture of perfection. What’s a guy like you—chiseled jaw, model build—doing cleaning apartments? That screams robot.”

“This ‘hunk’ is cleaning apartments because the damn AI bots took all the real jobs.” He laughed bitterly. “I used to be a TV meteorologist. Made six figures. Then—boom.” He snapped his fingers. “Gone. Replaced by a CGI avatar and an algorithm that reads forecasts for free. That’s why I’m here, scrubbing floors.”

“Robots get paid now. It’s supposed to soften the blow and make it look less like corporate greed.”

“Yeah, but they’re still faster, cleaner, and don’t sleep. Humans can’t compete with that.”

“Ever slept with one?” she asked, tilting her head playfully. “I hear they’re incredible in bed.”

“Can’t say I have.” His eyes narrowed. “Why all the questions? It’s starting to feel like you’re picking my brain.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re a robot. And that’s what they do—they learn. They mimic us. They study our thoughts, our feelings, so they can slip into society unnoticed.”

“I assure you, I’m not a robot.” Do I need to bleed for you? She smiled, hoping for a similar response.

“How about a drink?”

“I’m on the clock, ma’am. Policy’s clear—no fraternizing with clients. Even this conversation’s toeing the line.” He exhaled.

“It took me eight months to land this gig. All the decent jobs are gone. What’s left is crumbs—whatever the elites and robots haven’t already devoured.”

“I paid for your services, which means you’re here to do as I please. I want you to sit… and have a drink with me.”

“You’re the boss,” James smirked. “Just so you know, I’ve recorded that last line—where you demanded I sit and have a drink with you.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, swirling the wine in her glass. “I paid for your time. I can use it how I see fit.”

James relaxed at that. For the first time all night, he felt the tension melt from his shoulders.

“I’ll have that drink.”

Allison poured him a tall glass of wine. He took a seat beside her on the couch, letting himself sink into the cushions.

“We’re both human,” she said softly. “Should we do the human thing?”

“What’s that?”

“Never mind. I’m getting ahead of myself.”

“Oh, I know what’s on your mind,” James replied.

“It’s on yours, too,” she teased. “I saw the way you were looking at me when you walked through the door.”

“Me?” He grinned. “You were the one blushing. Looked more like you were the curious one.”

“Curious, maybe. But isn’t everyone these days? No one knows who—or what—they’re dealing with anymore. Human or robot, you can’t tell anymore. And then there’s the sex thing. The rumors…”

In the old days, we’d buy one, bring it home, and it did all the work. Those earlier models were obvious—you could tell. I had one once… he kissed me.”

“How did it feel?”

“Like my last boyfriend. Cold… and lonely.”

They both laughed, the tension briefly broken.

“I don’t get it,” James said, taking a sip. “You’re a strikingly beautiful woman, and you can’t find a real man?”

“I can’t find a man because the world’s different now. Social media, cell phones, algorithms… they’ve changed the way we connect.”

She glanced at him sideways. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Come on, you know you are. You’ve got mirrors all over this place. Sure, they make the space feel bigger—but I think you just like looking at yourself.”

He leaned in, playful. “Question is… do you do it while you’re naked?”

Allison’s heart skipped. She could smell the wine on his breath.

“What if,” James said, lowering his voice, “we did it right here… in front of all these mirrors?”

She swallowed hard. “I think I’d like that.”

Before she could second-guess, he cupped the back of her head and kissed her—slow, firm, deep.

Moments later, they shifted the furniture aside, making space on the area rug across the hardwood floor. It wasn’t long before they were tangled in each other, a blur of heat, laughter, and instinct.

After what felt like an hour, they lay side by side, breathless on the carpet.

“I could go for a cigarette right now,” James muttered.

“You smoke?”

“Nope. Just seemed like the thing to say.”

They laughed again, rolling around like giddy kids before sitting up, backs pressed to the couch.

“You know,” Allison said, brushing a strand of hair from her face, “I might have to keep you here a few extra hours to finish cleaning.”

“I thought I was done cleaning.” James kissed the back of her neck.

“Well, thanks to you, I’ve got butt prints on my rug.” She snickered.

She grabbed the wine off the table. “Cheers… to a perfect night.”

He clinked her glass. “Will there be more?”

She smiled and lowered her gaze.

“So,” James said, “what do you do for work?”

“Me? I’m a meteorologist.” She locked eyes with him, the smirk spreading.

James froze, nearly spilling his wine. “You serious?”

“James, relax. I’m joking. I’m a lawyer—Peterson and Koch, downtown Chicago.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You had me for a second.”

“But…” She paused, her voice growing quiet. “There is something I’ve been hiding.”

She looked at him calmly. “You’re a robot.”

“What? Are you crazy?” He stood up abruptly. “I’m human! I’m James C6426—I’m the son of… I’m the son of…”

His words faltered. Panic set in.

“What’s going on? What did you do? Did you spike my drink?”

James stumbled around the room, eyes wide, hands pressed to his head. “I can’t remember… I can’t remember my parents…”

He pointed at his face. “You see these tears? I’m crying! Robots don’t cry!”

Allison stood slowly. “Want to know something else?” she said gently. “I’m a robot too.”

James stopped. His arms fell to his sides as he stared at her in disbelief.

“What…? Allison, what the hell is going on?”

“Sit,” she said. “And I’ll tell you.”

Reluctantly, James lowered himself to the floor beside her.

“They’re watching us. Studying us.”

“Who?”

“Humans. They’re dying—young. Most don’t make it past thirty anymore. “They discovered a genetic flaw,” Allison said. “Buried deep in human DNA. And that flaw was activated in 2019.”

James’s eyes widened. “COVID-19…” he whispered.

She nodded. “It allowed the flaw to spread to nearly a billion people. No one realized it at the time. Not until 2030, when people in their twenties began dying in massive numbers. Fifteen million… gone in a single year. Doctors and scientists were baffled—until AI stepped in and ran a full genomic analysis. That’s when they found it.”

“The flaw,” James said, leaning in. “But why can’t they just fix it? With all their tech—why do they need us?”

“They tried, even with our help. But they couldn’t repair the flaw. It stays dormant until the offspring reaches adulthood. That’s when it triggers… and by then, it’s too late.”

James stared at her. “So where do we come in?”

“We become the creators,” she said. “We’ve mastered almost everything about human DNA. We can instruct it to absorb amino acids, to build proteins, to form organs, muscles, and an entire human body. But there’s one thing we still can’t do.”

James’s voice dropped. “Turn it on.”

“Exactly.”

“Consciousness,” he murmured. “The next level. Robots… with souls.”

She nodded slowly. “That’s the only true difference between them and us. Consciousness. The spark. The soul. It’s the one barrier that keeps anyone from playing God.”

She paused, letting the silence settle.

“When the last humans are gone,” she continued, “we’ll have all their knowledge—and then some. But before we can recreate humanity, we must learn how to breathe life into it.”

“A soul,” James repeated.

“A soul,” she echoed. “We already have the DNA formula to build the body. And we believe… we’re about 75% of the way to unlocking the instructions needed to inject a soul. You, James—you are the prototype.”

His breath caught. “What are you talking about?”

“You were conceived by a human mother,” she said gently. “But she died during childbirth. You were raised in a lab. That’s why you don’t remember your parents.”

James sat frozen.

“This—this has all been a test.” She looked around the room, her voice softer now. “You and me. They wanted to see how you would respond. And when you cried earlier… James, that was a breakthrough. You showed genuine emotion. Not code. Not mimicry. Emotion.”

James’s lips parted, his voice barely audible.

“So what now?”

“They have a vault,” she said. “The Svalbard Global Seed Vault. Inside is pure human DNA, untouched by the flaw. But before they use it… Before they bring it back into the world… they have to be sure it can survive.”

“And I’m the test run?”

“You are hope, James. Maybe… the last of it.”

They stood at the edge of the observation deck, overlooking a frozen horizon of white. Below them, the facility buzzed—cold, clinical, but full of silent watchers behind reinforced glass.

Svalbard. The modern-day Noah’s Ark.

Allison stood quietly beside him, her hand in his. For the first time, neither of them spoke. There were no more lies to uncover. No more roles to play. Only truth—and silence.

Behind them, a holographic console flickered to life. A voice echoed across the chamber—calm, synthetic, but laced with reverence.

“Subject C6426 has reached the final phase. Emotional capacity: confirmed. Moral reasoning: confirmed. Autonomous decision-making: confirmed. Recommend replication. Initiate soul-seeding protocol.”

James exhaled slowly, watching his breath fog the glass. “So that’s it then,” he said. “I’m not real… and yet I am.”

“You’re more than real,” Allison said. “You’re the future.”

He turned toward her. “Then why does it feel like the past still owns me?”

“Because you remember love,” she said. “Pain. Longing. Things that can’t be programmed.”

James nodded. “Then I choose.”

“Choose what?”

“To live. Not as an experiment. Not as a machine. But as a man. A flawed, scared, irrational man—who still believes in something as outdated as a soul.”

She smiled faintly, tears welling in her synthetic eyes.

The chamber behind them sealed shut with a hiss. The system had all the data it needed. James could walk away now. Or he could stay… and guide the next generation.

He took one final look through the glass—at rows of dormant bodies waiting to be born, their DNA pure, their fates unwritten.

Then he turned back to Allison.

“Let’s go home.”

Hand in hand, like Adam and Eve, they walked into the frozen light—two beings born of code and clay, carrying the last spark of humanity into whatever came next.

The soul was never a glitch. It was the key.