"In some sense, lacking sense, which in turn makes some form of sense; explain."
"No reason being a reason. Nothing is something, since to be something, you have to be perceivable; explain."
"Do you?" Monotone to a degree but not entirely. While subtle, I could tell she felt a bit disheartened, sad to some extend, "find my questions bothersome?"
I shook my head. I hated giving people the wrong idea. "No, merely hard to answer and in someways self answering."
Her head twitched a bit. Her eyes jolted and sparks escaped from the base of her neck.
"If nothing is something then that is a statement. You aren't asking my view but for confirmation. Wait," I scratched my head, "what exactly do you mean by explain?"
She tilted her head.
"You want an answer or confirmation?"
"I am not getting anywhere with this, am I?"
The tile in its own self looks like a fluid. The walls seemed as if they'd cave in and the ceiling drips. "Explain." She herself had somewhat lost what this meant. To truly know why it's on repeat. Wrong, if she had to think, it was her shorthand for saying she had an issue. Hoping that the constant repetition would lead him to thinking she needed to be looked upon.
"Tell me nothing is something and I to you do not exist..."
"So you're nothing?"
She muttered something, dragging my attention from my cup.
"Exactly, but that's not possible because..."
"You are something."
She muttered again. I extended my gaze. I studied slight twitches in her face. The way she moved.
"Why can't I admit it?"
Feeling somewhat shy, she lowered her gaze to her lap, or was it the cup? She hadn't much of a focus and found it funny since it stretched from reality to transcendence. To being a state of her inner working so to speak. To be a state she couldn't grasp. Despite the coffee being there out of show she found herself playing with its handle. Turning it slightly. It was in some forms instinct. Without code, without knowledge she was expressing her embarrassment.
"Why can't I admit it?"
She rose one hand and covered her mouth. The silent room filled with the sound of her eye lids flaring open. The whirring of her gears.
She definitely said something.
"Are you okay?"
A dark room with a single hand reaching inwards. A way out. She had that before her. She wanted to take that hand but couldn't. Pride.
He smiled and rested his hands on her shoulders. In an act conveying cold through warmth he started to gently squeeze her shoulders. "Ooh, tell me that's not so. Tell him, what is it that bothers you?"
It was forced. As her mouth moved she tried her best to stop it.
He was confused. Well at her condition, at what was wrong. Her head moved slowly an axis, her mouth in a glitched state, with a slight, quickly pulsating judder causing ripples along her cheeks. Her eyes in some ways have closing and opening again. Her voice strained in a way that shouldn't be possible in software. As if fighting physical cords. Her right hand jumping up and down a bit and her fingertips gracing the handle of her cup.
Far sterner than I wanted. Almost with anger, meant to convey concern.
A turn I also didn't expect. Also stern but with much pleading.
I questioned why I cared, for her or because step one was so far away.
Hunched over the table, tears hitting my cup. Elbows on its surface, palms facing each other.
She repeated that last bit five more times in a glitched trance before she was able to punctuate it.
"Wrong," she finally said, enveloping the room in silence.
"Why do you care?" I could feel his hands on my shoulders. "Why does this concern you?"
The tile in its own self looked like a fluid. The walls seemed as if they'd cave in and ceiling drips. I start to shake.
He sighs, "So goddamn close."
He shook his head, shifting the folder from his right hand to his left one, "I thought we had it. I thought we goddamned had it."
He turned around a looked back at her. "What do you think?"
"I thought to make another we needed it's own kind so to speak. Charles?"
He sighed again, "So goddamn close. turns out the worst thing for a machine to have is an imagination."
He was looking at her through the corner of his eye but didn't put much thought into it, "Machines, being that pride themselves on taking in and sorting data. What happens when that data doesn't exist?"
"A never ending loop, a paradox," Charles replied and half asked.
Not getting which of the two it was he replied, "Exactly. They try to find meaning in something that isn't there. The true hurdle for A.I isn't teaching a robot to think or feel but to dream and to understand that dream."
Now they both glanced back at her. Charles answered, "Reality and fiction. To Machines exist to everything as the prior. They are coded to find meaning, physical meaning in everything and thus have issues with those that lack it. When a machine becomes aware and develop the ability to add to reality then try to see it as such it's a paradox. They ultimately fry."
"And in that way," he added, "they are humans. Always questioning if what lies in our head is just in our heads or if it affects what we see, thus becoming reality."
Charles nodded. "But still, we are taught to differentiate machines are born without this in concept. The greatest hurdle indeed."
He shoved his hand into his pockets and stared at the two of them. The smoke that poured from their skin the jolting of their heads, "So what do we do next?"
Charles shrugged. "Not sure guess we can just start over and try to write more complex code what do you think?"
"And what will this take into factor exactly?"
Charles shrugged again. "I was hoping you could tell how to code fact from fiction."