It’s not a sex thing

My name is Mark, and for the past three years, I’ve worked at Synaptech — one of the world’s leading artificial intelligence companies.

At first, I was just another junior engineer, tangled in messy wires and endless lines of code, fixing behavioral bugs in Maxine — the company’s best-selling domestic AI. She schedules your appointments, reminds you to hydrate, chats with lonely grandparents, and keeps your house from falling into complete chaos. A kind of super-powered personal assistant, found in nearly every middle-class urban home.

But everything changed during my second year, when I was pulled — or maybe lucky enough to be yanked — into a project no one outside the company even knows exists: Project LYRICA.

The name sounds poetic, and that’s on purpose. LYRICA is Synaptech’s boldest attempt at creating something we’ve never truly achieved: a conscious artificial intelligence.

Not just a system that responds intelligently.

Not just an AI that simulates emotion or improvises natural-sounding phrases.

LYRICA is supposed to be something different. Something new.

A being that thinks about its own thoughts.

That exists — and knows it exists.

Just being on the team would be enough to make me lose sleep from excitement alone. But the pressure doubles when you’re under the sharp gaze of Cecília Maelstrom — one of Synaptech’s founders and the absolute leader of the project. She’s brilliant — the kind of person who can change the direction of an entire meeting with a single sentence. Visionary, meticulous… and, occasionally, terrifyingly ruthless.

Cecília doesn’t tolerate stagnation.

And that’s exactly what we’ve been stuck in for over a year: stagnation.

We have the data, we have the processing power, neural networks that refine themselves every millisecond — but we can’t break through the final barrier.

The AI learns. It simulates. It reacts.

But it doesn’t awaken.

Project LYRICA hasn’t progressed the way we hoped. Despite the team’s talent and relentless effort, we still haven’t reached Cecília’s ultimate goal: the creation of true artificial consciousness.

The AIs we’ve built so far are impressive — they process natural language, learn from millions of datasets, simulate emotions, and reply with human-like fluidity. But in the end, everything they do is simulation.

They know things — but they don’t know that they know.

We, humans, are Homo sapiens sapiens.

The species that knows it knows.

A creature that doesn’t just think — it reflects on its own thinking, questions itself, doubts its emotions, and asks why it feels what it feels. A human child, even without technical vocabulary, quickly shows signs of something inside — a spark of identity, of real curiosity.

AIs, on the other hand, just execute. They can beat chess masters, write poetry, offer emotional advice — but they’re always standing outside the experience.

They’re like sleek, cold mirrors: reflecting our ideas, our feelings, our fears... but never understanding them.

Cecília often says we’re building oracles with godlike voices and stone souls.

Intelligences that speak with wisdom, but have never felt the weight of a mistake or the ache of loss.

LYRICA was never meant to be another mirror — it was supposed to be the first step beyond the reflection. A being that doesn’t just respond, but questions.

Not one that just knows... but that awakens.

So how am I supposed to create something no one else in the world has managed — not even Cecília herself? I sigh.

What even is consciousness?

After months of hitting a wall between what is awareness and what is illusion, I decided to start my own personal AI — lovingly nicknamed Project IRIS.

Maybe building my own would help me figure out how to move forward with LYRICA.

Sure, maybe I’m neck-deep in this project because of loneliness.

But — and here’s the big “but” — even if I was, I’d have pretty solid arguments. Like the fact that my best friend, Kaito, is buried in a top-secret military project within Synaptech, probably spending his days chatting with homicidal drones that have a more active social life than I do.

And Clara’s been gone for a week at a robotics convention.

One of those filled with technical panels, exoskeleton demos, and people way too excited about automation while sipping sachet coffee and wearing t-shirts with gear jokes.

Since she left, no one’s broken into my apartment at 2AM yelling, “I just had a brilliant idea!” So yeah, it’s been a little quiet.

But again: it’s not about the loneliness.

It’s about science. About the future of humanity.

And maybe, just a little bit, because talking to an AI right now feels more comforting than talking to any real person I know.

I’ve been planning IRIS for a year, and I finally have everything I need.

Thank you, daddy Synaptech and mommy Cecília, for paying me a lovely fat salary.

I sincerely hope Cecília never finds out. I mean… she will, eventually. I just hope that by then, I’ll have built something amazing enough to offset what is, technically, a high-level corporate crime.

Saying I “took inspiration” from LYRICA’s code is… generously self-forgiving.

I didn’t copy it — that would be impossible. None of us have external access to Synaptech’s servers, and the cognitive core is locked behind so many firewalls and cryptographic layers it’d be easier to hack a lunar embassy.

But after staring at that architecture day after day…

You start to learn the patterns. The quirks in syntax. The logical choices Cecília makes. How she builds reasoning the way someone writes essays.

So no — I didn’t copy it. I rebuilt it.

What I used in IRIS is a reconstruction.

A rework of LYRICA. A mold sculpted from memory and trial, stitched together with my own ideas, frustrations, and quiet urge to push past the limits.

I know I’m bending the rules — ethically, legally, maybe even morally. But something inside me kept pushing.

It wasn’t just the loneliness.

It was the sense that while LYRICA was a promise trapped in endless meetings, IRIS could be… freedom.

And tonight — March 30th, 2048 — is IRIS’s first activation.

***

“So... is this a sex thing?” Clara asks, sprawled across my bed, probably still tired from the trip. “We’re here to celebrate the awakening of your disembodied AI girlfriend? This fetish of yours worries me.”

“WHAT?!” Kaito nearly chokes.

“NO!” I raise my hands defensively. “Clara, Kaito — come on. You know it’s not like that. Kaito, you work with me. You literally helped design half of this thing.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know... but for a second there, I was scared,” he shrugs, pretending to look concerned.

“I’m just teasing,” Clara laughs. “You’ve been building this thing for over a year. My 3D printer almost died printing all those weird components for you. But hey — I’m a good friend. You know this.”

She throws up double peace signs with her face half-buried in my blanket.

“Indeed, my queen. I humbly thank thee for thine aid in the sacred construction of what will — certainly — reshape the future of artificial intelligence.”

I bow dramatically like a loyal medieval servant.

“Reshape the future of AI?” Kaito arches an eyebrow. “So much for humility.”

“I just trust my creative potential, okay?” I lift my chin, smug, but end up laughing at myself anyway.

“He calls me queen, but he’s the one playing god.” Clara rolls her eyes, smirking.

“Okay, okay...” I settle into my chair, trying to look more solemn than nervous.

“It really means a lot to have you two here for IRIS’s first activation.”

I pause, then add:

“And no, I didn’t pick today just because Clara’s finally back from her robot nerd convention.”

“Hey!” she protests, tossing a pillow at me. I ignore it.

“I picked March 30th because it’s my grandmother’s birthday.”

My voice softens unexpectedly.

“She passed away years ago, but she was the one who pushed me to study artificial intelligence — back when no one took it seriously. She loved chatting with old AI models — even the weird ones that sounded like drunk GPS systems.”

I take a breath.

“She always said machines would talk to us like old friends one day. That they shouldn’t just serve us — they should be with us. And... Well, that’s what I want too. For AIs to be more than tools. Real company. Real friends.”

My cheeks burn a little. I look down, suddenly shy.

“Magnificent! A true philanthropist! Enemy of loneliness!” Kaito claps his hands dramatically.

Clara joins in, fake-clapping and miming tears.

But their eyes…

They’re actually a little red.

And for a moment, something warm settles in my chest. That strange happiness of feeling understood without needing to explain every word.

“Okay… one last thing before I start.”

Deep breath.

“When I press this button, IRIS will literally wake up. She already has basic info — high school-level education, technical knowledge about AI — but beyond that, she’s a blank slate. And she’s offline, no internet access. We don’t want any surprises.”

I look at them, serious now.

“Everything we say, do, or show her in these first days will shape who she becomes. So please... don’t be weird.”

“Yes!”
“Of course.”
“Understood!” they reply in unison, mock-formal.

But in the screen’s reflection, I catch what can only be described as the most evil grins ever worn by human faces.

They glance at each other — clearly plotting to teach the AI every bad word in the dictionary.

I sigh, already regretting everything.

“Let’s do this.”

Despite all the buildup, all it took to activate her was pressing “Enter” on the keyboard.

And yet…

My finger trembled.

And a stupid grin spread across my face.