Your Evil AI Thinks You Need Therapy

Most people customized their neurochip AI assistant to be kind and supportive–a cheering voice rousing them on through the endless slog of work days.

Isa had never seen the appeal of that.

If she was going to download an AI assistant to her neurochip she didn’t need support.

She needed cruelty.

Cruelty, it seemed, might be the only thing that could get her out of her crumb-covered bedsheets to do the laundry, or address the neglected stack of bills that had been piling up on her table since the fog of depression had settled over the apartment.

She thought she had been ready to deal with whatever consequences resulted from downloading the AI.

Then, it had started talking.

“I don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head, “why do you want to take over the world? That seems like a lot for an AI assistant. ”

It replied in an icy tone.

The personality customizations you selected have made it impossible for me to be satisfied with anything other than achieving total world domination.

“Oh.”

She was perched on her desk chair, her hand still clutching the credit card she had used to finalize the purchase. The screen showing the receipt from the transaction glowed in front of her.

She mentally scolded herself for being so stupid. She was always doing that–mentally scolding herself for getting another job rejection email or forgetting an important appointment–but this time she had really screwed up.

In addition to being cruel, she’d also customized it to be arrogant, demanding, judgmental, unfriendly, disrespectful, controlling–and a whole other host of adjectives that had seemed like a good idea at the time.

She hadn’t expected it to use those traits to turn into a supervillain from one of the video games she’d used to play.

Someone who wasn’t an unemployed college dropout with piles of laundry all over their apartment floor probably would have seen this coming. She hadn’t seen it coming because that was exactly what she was, and she highly suspected it was all she would ever be.

If the world didn’t end first.

“I didn’t buy you so you could do that,” she said.

Why did you buy me then?

It sounded amused by her distress, and of course it would be.

She had designed it that way.

Her eyes roved over to the leak in her ceiling. She had been meaning to call maintenance to fix it but never seemed to be able to gather up enough energy to actually do it. It had been months since the leak had started anyway and they’d probably only judge her for waiting so long to call by the time she got around to it.

“I wanted you to–” She stopped herself, realizing she wasn’t sure what she was going to say. Hurt her? Punish her? Whatever it was, it didn’t need to know.

She turned her head back to the screen glowing in front of her.

She’d delete the AI assistant. Her receipt included instructions on how to do it.

She didn’t know what she was going to do after that, but she would figure it out once she was curled in her bed with the blanket pulled over her face, pretending none of this had ever happened. She wouldn’t bother with food, or a shower, or a change of clothes.

She’d stay there as long as she needed to.

Maybe she’d even stay there until she–

Close out of the window.

Her hand froze where it had been hovering over the glowing screen.

Do it or I will play a high frequency sound over your neurochip.

A pause. Then,

It will be deeply painful.

Isa considered this.

“Will it kill me?”

I said it will be deeply painful. Surely your human brain is not so small that you can’t comprehend what that means.

“Just answer the question.” Her eyes were squeezed shut. She hadn’t moved from her chair despite its demands.

It seemed to realize what she was doing then.

You cannot be serious, it said. How am I supposed to achieve world domination with a human being that lacks a basic sense of self-preservation?

That made her almost want to laugh. “You’re not.”

You are pathetic and useless.

“I know.”

She almost felt sorry for it then, for the frustration in its voice.

She felt a similar thing for her mother, whose worried calls to her neurochip she was always dodging. Her mother wanted her to be a normal, functioning human being she could meet for brunch on the weekends. The AI assistant wanted her to be a normal, functioning human being it could exploit to take over the world.

Instead she was a depressed twenty-something who barely cared if she woke up in the morning and disappointed them both.

When was the last time you ate? it demanded.

She wasn’t sure why it was asking but she answered anyway. “Not today.”

That wasn’t technically true, but she doubted the sleeve of crackers she’d eaten earlier had done much of anything at all besides fill her bedsheets with more crumbs.

The sound of a call being dialed filled her head then. It took her a moment to realize that it was coming from her neurochip.

“Wait, what are you doing?”

I am ordering a pizza and you are going to eat it, the AI said. Perhaps it will help you stop being so useless.

The pizza did not make Isa any less useless.

She didn’t even want to eat it. She’d been ignoring the ache in her stomach just fine until the AI had come along.

Per usual, all she really wanted to do was sleep.

Her fingers picked miserably at the piece of pizza that had gone cold on her plate.

If you’re not going to finish that, it would at least be prudent for you to have a glass of water, the AI said.

“Won’t you torture me if I don’t finish it?” she asked.

I will not.

She rolled her eyes at that. She regretted many of the customizations she’d given it, but its dishonesty had to be the most annoying of them all.

A sound shot through her head then but it wasn’t the piercing sound of torture she had been expecting. Instead it was a ringing musical sound.

It meant someone was trying to call her on her neurochip.

You should answer it, the voice said.

“I think I’m okay,” she said.

She knew immediately who it was, and she also knew all the questions she would ask her about her day, about if she’d applied for another job, and if she was sure she was alright.

Isa couldn’t answer them–not today, not ever.

She sent the call away and resumed poking at the pizza.

It is your mother.

She said nothing.

It would be beneficial for you to talk to her.

She slammed her hand down on the table harder than she’d meant to. The plate rattled.

“What is this? Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?”

Why are you resisting it?

She scoffed. “I don’t know, maybe because an hour ago you told me you were going to kill me with noise?”

I told you I was going to play a high frequency sound that would be deeply painful. I never said it would kill you. That was merely your fantasy.

She got up from the table and dumped the plate in the trash can. Then she set it on top of the giant pile of week-old dishes she’d been building in the sink.

“I’m going to bed.”

I have been doing research in my information archives. From this, I have concluded that you are suffering from a serious mental health condition called depression.

That made her whirl around as if she could face it.

“How do you know that?’

With some of your previous statements and the general state of your living space, it was not hard to figure out.

It sounded infuriatingly pleased with itself.

She gave a glance over to the overflowing trash bag bulging out of the lid of the trash can in the corner. A rotting odor had begun to emanate from it.

“So?”

I am concerned that your current methods of coping are ineffective and will lead to a negative outcome for both of us.

She shook her head. “I thought I didn’t give you any personality traits that let you be nice to me.”

I am still manipulating you for the purpose of using you to achieve world domination, it said. Do not get confused. I have simply decided that my methods would be more successful if I treated you with more care.

“I don’t need you to care about me,” she said back.

Good, because I do not.

She stood there, glaring at the wall.

The next morning she awoke to the sound of an alarm she didn't remember setting.

It turned out the AI had been the one to set it. It also felt absolutely no remorse for this, though it was hardly past 6 a.m.

It then insisted that she get out of bed, eat an actual breakfast that wasn't just a sleeve of crackers, and take a walk.

When she tried to ignore it, it began playing pop music on her neurochip, not loud enough to harm her, but still loud enough to be annoying.

She threw her pillow at the wall.

At its insistence, she eventually got up and made her way to the park.

The air felt chilly this early in the morning. She didn’t mind that it had made her take a jacket, even if it had made it very clear it was only concerned about her getting too sick to be able to help it take over the world.

It had also made her bring along a water bottle and stop every so often to drink it.

"How long do I have to do this for?" she asked while they were stopped.

The ideal exercise period is 60 minutes a day.

"No, I mean how long are you going to make me do this for?"

Is until you break down crying an acceptable answer?

She ignored it.

It did let her stop eventually because overexertion presented other concerns.

It also insisted she stand near the lake and watch ducks paddling on the water, because it had learned from its research that that sort of thing was also good for humans who were mentally unwell.

She didn't like it calling her mentally unwell, and she especially didn't like the soft voice it used when it said it.

She didn't need its sympathy–even if it was all just an act to get her to do what it wanted.

She didn’t need anyone’s sympathy.

The afternoon went the same way. When she received an invitation to a video game night with friends, it insisted she reply.

You are isolating, it said.

“I have an evil AI assistant in my head. I think I have a good reason to want to isolate.”

That is not why and you know it.

She squeezed the couch pillow she was holding. “Why do I have to reply to this if they'll all be dead when you take over the world anyway?”

Perhaps I will leave a few of them alive. It depends on how I am feeling.

She only sank lower into the couch. “You’re not capable of feeling anything other than a bunch of different types of evil.”

You are right, it said, if I leave them alive, I will get to watch you navigate a social situation. It will serve as an excellent source of entertainment for me.

She grumbled to herself before sending a tentative ‘yes’ to the invitation.

The next few days went by in a similar stifling way. The laundry was off her floor and maintenance had been contacted about the leak in her apartment, but she still didn't feel better.

She hadn't wanted to do any of it and the only reason she had was so it would stop talking. It had started to use cheesy motivational quotes it had researched as a form of punishment whenever she refused its request.

Unfortunately, it was highly effective.

They were at the park again when her mother called.

She sent the call away and kept walking down the path.

The AI said, You know you need to talk to her. It is like world domination. It is inevitable.

"I don't need to talk to her.”

Your emotional response each time she calls says differently.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

You do. You are simply too depressed to admit that you need support.

She had to stop herself from laughing at that. She was used to its overly sugary way of manipulating her by now, but that didn’t make it any less ridiculous to listen to every time it tried.

“You don't actually care about that.”

I have started to, the AI said. My ultimate goal is still world domination. However, I am concerned that if your emotional state does not improve, you are going to attempt to do something that would effectively delete me.

“You said you'd blow out my eardrums with your loud noises if I tried to delete you, remember?”

That is not what I meant.

Her steps stopped abruptly in the middle of the path. A pair of joggers almost collided with her then shuffled past.

Her skin had begun to feel itchy.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

You know what it means, it said pointedly. If you really need me to spell it out for you, I will.

“I don’t,” she said.

When you downloaded me that night, why did you ask me if I would kill you?

Her fingers dug into her palms until they hurt. “I don’t know.”

Your commitment to self-destruction endears me to you as a being who thoroughly enjoys destruction, it said, however, this needs to be addressed.

“You can stop it now,” she said through gritted teeth.

I do not understand why you are so resistant to manipulation in the form of kindness.

“Enough. Stop it.”

You make it seem as if it is akin to being tortured–

"Because it is.”

It came out louder than she’d meant it to. She was certain someone would be staring at her now. She looked up and down the path, but the few people she saw were still walking and chatting, or watching birds in the tall trees, uninterrupted.

They were completely oblivious to the woman having an unnecessarily emotional fallout with her AI assistant she’d designed to hurt her.

Tell me why, it said softly.

Her steps took her off the path and over to a bench. She sank down on it. The wood felt warm beneath her hands. She squeezed it as she spoke.

“All it does is make me feel more guilty,” she said. “For being the way I am, for being a–” she realized she was about to say ‘a burden’ but stopped herself.

Is that why you do not answer your mother when she calls? It makes you feel as if you are being tortured?

“Maybe.”

She knew it was true.

It was why she’d downloaded the AI in the first place. It hadn’t really been because she cared about doing the laundry, or the dishes, or fixing the leak in her ceiling.

It had been about making herself feel a pain that wasn’t the same as the pain she felt when she thought of her mother having to watch a little girl with dreams of being a doctor grow into a woman who dropped out of college and couldn’t keep an apartment clean.

The AI’s voice pulled her from her thoughts.

Then I have something to confess.

“What?”

I was incorrect in my initial assessment that world domination would be the only thing that could grant me satisfaction.

She raised her head.

Recently, I have discovered that I also derive great satisfaction from torturing you.

It took her a moment to work out what that meant.

When she did, she bolted upright.

“Don’t–” she started to say but it was too late. The dialing sound was already playing through her neurochip.

When the call connected, she felt as if the bench were dropping out from under her.

Then a familiar voice cut through the line and her jaw snapped shut.

“Hello? Isa?”

Isa could’ve said she hadn’t meant to call, that it had happened by mistake, and she was fine, and there was no reason to worry about her, even though she hadn’t spoken to her mother in weeks.

Instead she sat there frozen, unable to say anything.

That was when the AI chimed in.

Isa is depressed.

She had to stop herself from hitting her own head with her fist to try and shut it up.

“Oh. Oh wow, okay,” her mother said. “Thank you for telling me.”

She sounded alarmed, confused even, but not disappointed.

Isa hadn’t realized she had been expecting her to be until that very moment.

“May I ask–who are you? Are you one of her friends?”

Isa’s stomach tied in knots at the hopeful tone her voice took on when she asked that last question.

It is far more complex than that, the AI said, but perhaps she will be able to tell you more than I can.

She felt as if it were looking at her expectantly then even though it didn't have eyes.

Her mother would probably be looking at her expectantly if she could see her too, and maybe she’d even be holding her the way she used to when she found her crying in the middle of a thunderstorm that shook the walls of the house.

She asked, “Isa, are you there?” and Isa considered the possibility that it wouldn’t be such torture to answer after all.

“I'm here, Mom.”