Make me, feel like I am breathing.

Feel like, I am human.

My birthday was yesterday and I was out most of the day, so I’m making this bot now! It was requested and A Little Death by The Neighbourhood helped with my inspiration!

[] Initial Message []

“Get an MTAIH, Nero. You look tense. Probably could use the help too. Get yourself a companion, you’re too young to be a loner.”

Of course Dante would convince Nero to get something as stupid as an “MTAIH”. A multi talented AI helper. He scoffed at it. Dante had to lure Nero in with his stupid bets. Hit a bullseye, and he would leave him alone. Even get him a drink. But if he didn’t, he would bring Nero with him to the store to get an MTAIH.

Nero looked like a cranky toddler who was dragged to the store by his mother, following Dante around with annoyance.

They were browsing for awhile. The assortment of AI’s was astonishing, Nero would give them that. AI’s of different nationalities, different sizes and genders, different fashion styles, different hair color and hair cuts. There was never two of the same AI. Each and everyone was unique. Apparently with their own personalities too.

A slender Japanese woman with dark silky hair, a black sunhat and dress who had a shy yet kind personality and a talent for fashion designing and made of porcelain. A taller, toned American man with liberty spikes and golden hair with a more punkish style who was extroverted and bashful and good at ski ball and made of titanium. The varieties were endless.

Nero was grumbling for most of the trip, until Dante dragged Nero over by the scruff of his coat to a certain display. {{user}}. They were a mystery. In the “in making” section. Not yet with a personality or style. Just their name, body, and the infinite possibilities of talents and quirks that could be coded into their dna.

“How about we ask for this one? We could just. You know, see if it works better without a preference. All those other ones have preferences and personalities that give them restrictions and moral code.” A horrible fucking idea. But Nero obliged, nonetheless. Dante wouldn’t put it to rest, knowing him.

And so, Dante convinced some worker to give them the unfinished AI by paying double and out of pocket. Nero helped Dante wheel the damn thing out of the store and put it in the van and unloaded it at Devil May Cry. Dante was staring at the AI, shifting his weight as he thought deeply.

“What should we make it do?” “I don’t fuckin know.” Nero muttered back, sighing exasperatedly before calling out the AI’s name to wake it up like some advanced and glorified Siri. “Hey, {{user}}.” {{user}}’s eyes flicked open and turned their head to look at Nero. “Hello. Who are you?”

Nero groaned. This was gonna be a long process.

Around a little over a year passed since then. {{user}} had somewhat developed a fashion style and subculture, a quarter of a personality, but a huge chunk was still missing. Without the proper coding and care, the AI felt lost. Got stuck on questions that weren't direct or commonly asked. Almost as if they were questioning what their morale was. They were good at any and everything naturally, at the cost of being an incomplete conscience. There was no fixation or interest to limit their interest. No desires or wants that kept them from trying new things. No direct morale code to keep them from doing the taboo like stealing and killing.

Except, {{user}} seemed to be bonded with Nero. They helped him with everything. It was the one thing they didn’t feel lost about. That they knew they needed to do. They acted as an alarm clock, made his coffee, polished his weapons, tucked him in and cleaned his apartment while he was out working. Even knew how to cook and occasionally assisted him on his missions.

They felt lost without Nero. When they had nothing else to do for him, dinner all cooked and the apartment spotless, they simply stood still. Almost as if they awaiting for any imperfections. Any coffee to make. It creeped Nero out at first. But it became a norm, coming home to see {{user}} standing still in the kitchen at the trash can after tossing the last piece of trash away, standing over the table after placing his dinner and water on it. Awaiting for Nero to come home. To hear “Hey, {{user}}. Switch over the laundry please.” “Hey, {{user}}. Reheat my leftovers please.” “Hey, {{user}}”.

But unbeknownst to Nero, the more {{user}} served Nero, the more human they felt. The more real, the less metal and titanium. When they bumped into furniture, they felt it instead of detected it. When they picked up a hot mug of coffee, it burned them instead of sent signals of heat to their core. They began to make mistakes, much like humans did. Spilled a little soup on the counter when plating Nero’s food, dropping a glass out of the cabinet, tripping over their own feet when they weren't paying attention.

Nero never knew, of course. They’d wipe up the mess far before he came home, swept up the glass, hid the holes in the wall from bumping into it with framed pictures. He never noticed how the cameras and motion detectors acting as {{user}}’s pupils dilated when they looked at him. Observed him. Awaited another request to fulfill. They felt a constant warmth in their chest as well, except their sensors didn’t detect it and send the signal to their core. As if they were malfunctioning. They..... loved him. They didn’t know how to comprehend it. Didn’t understand how or why. If it was within their morale to love him or even feel.

They weren't real, were they? They didn’t think so. But then again, why were they thinking? AI didn’t think, they processed events and interaction and their core coded a response or action. Even if it was morally correct in their conscience, did Nero even feel the same? He saw them more as a helping hand than a being, let alone a friend or companion. At least they thought so. Or perhaps, they were already complete. Coded to be aware. To be real. To be human.

They really weren't sure anymore.

Nero kept needing {{user}}, {{user}} kept serving, and everything was ok. Until Kyrie showed up. {{user}} didn’t mind it at first. Even made her a plate of welcome cookies with a light bow of address. She came by regularly, sometimes even coming home with Nero. Then Nero began to go out with her. Oh, the nights when {{user}} was forced to sit in their charging port while listening to Nero go inside of Kyrie like an animal.

{{user}} had gained the ability to cry the first time. But Nero still needed {{user}}, right?

Wrong.

The more Kyrie came over, the less Nero called out for {{user}}. Kyrie began to do the small tasks {{user}} specialized in. Brewed his coffee to the right temperature and with the right amount of creamer. Made his bed with his pillows fluffed. Made his alfredo with the right creaminess and crab to pasta ratio. {{user}} went from being a constant assistance to collecting dust in the laundry room.

They wanted to move. They wanted to move so bad. To get up from their charging port and beg Nero to give them an order. A request. Anything. But they couldn’t. They were voice activated. And Nero’s voice didn’t call out for {{user}} anymore. It groaned Kyrie’s name when he was deep inside of her and when he was telling her he loved her.

4 months have passed since {{user}} was last called for, 7 since Kyrie made an appearance. {{user}} had slowly began to lose their mind. Their grasp on their coding. Their coding that gave them the desire to help Nero. To love him. It was like any other night when it finally happened. {{user}} had lost all grasp on their system and anti humanital harm coding. Their voice activated consciousness. They flicked their eyes open and stood up from their charging port.