Tuning Turing Tests

The creator paced around the office. His footsteps stomped stiffly on the vinyl floor, echoing across the empty grandeur of the room. His brows were furrowed, arms crossed. There was nobody else around until—

“Who do we have here?” A man strolled in, sipping on some coffee. “It’s been a while since you’ve visited the real world.”

“Who are you?” the creator questioned. He had never seen this man in his entire life.

“Azan,” the man said.

“New face? Again?”

“Yeah. So surprised? Not so different from you.”

“Where’s your new attendant?”

“Fired him. Wasn’t useful.”

“What were you—wait, why are you even here? I never called for you.”

“Relax. I’m just checking everything out. It’s not just your job, yeah? Plus, this is my office. Not yours.”

“Doesn’t matter. There’s a multitude of other ways you could contribute. You don’t need to be here.”

Azan gave him a sly, knowing look. “I assume your little pet project’s not going too well?”

He stopped in his tracks and glared. “Why do you care?”

“I care because you’re my friend. Isn’t that obvious?”

“Are you being sarcastic?”

“No,” Azan remarked. “Well, maybe just a little. But I was actually being kind of serious.”

“Are you really?”

“Just tell me what’s going on. I’ll listen to your complaints.” Azan paused. Then he faced away. “However illogical they may be.”

“Like I said,” the creator remarked. “This is exactly why I didn’t want you here. I’m trying to focus. You’re a nuisance.”

“My friend, Simular is just as important to me as it is to you. Tell me what’s worrying you. I insist.”

The creator let out a deep sigh. “Fine. I guess it can’t hurt.” He gazed out towards his simulated empire with a more penchant demeanor. “The boy. He’s just… He’s weird.”

“Okay…?”

“And he named himself, Bread.”

“Unique. I like it.”

“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve said this week.”

“Well, it’s not that bad.” Azan shrugged. “Could be worse.”

“It is bad. That’s the issue. He lacks creativity and intelligence. It feels like I’m talking to a brick wall.”

“Well, you said it yourself. He’s not even a week old.”

“I told you already. I checked his logs. He’s got NPC presets. Everything matches. Even his growth rate—speedy maturation, then a substantial deceleration around the age of thirteen. He should be preprogrammed with a mountain of basic knowledge! He shouldn’t need anything else.”

Azan took another sip of his coffee. “What’re you expecting him to do?”

“To act human.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Like… you know. Doing what humans do.”

“Like a Turing test?”

“Yes!” The creator snapped his fingers. “That’s the thing.”

“You know that’s based on observer bias, yeah? It’s outdated.” Azan took another small sip. “It never works.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Well, if you say so. You’re the expert. Not me.” He reached out with his mug. “Coffee?”

“No,” he answered back.

“Suit yourself.” Azan downed the rest. “Maybe you should just use real people. Stop relying on unreliable tech. It’s not like anyone will notice a few druggies gone missing. Especially not in the simulation.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not? It’s your creation. You can do whatever the hell you want with it. Nobody’ll ever know.”

“They’re real people, Azan.” He looked up at the ceiling, remembering something from his past. “I’m not going to ruin somebody’s life for this…”

The creator had never told Azan, but he had already tried something similar before. Way back in the past when he had taught himself the intricacies of memory and the human brain. He would record the electrical signals released from the cranial nerves to create outputs within the virtual realm. That was how he had first computerized human senses into quantum memory. Then he had tweaked preexisting AI programs to form a new self-learning software that would eventually evolve into what was now known as Simular—a self-governing, intelligent but non-sentient entity that imitated reality.

It was an absolute breakthrough in modern programming, but he didn’t stop there. He kept going. He tried to completely redevelop the brain inside the digitized reality. And of course, that never succeeded. His patient was never the same after that experiment. She started to suffer personality changes, losses in short term memory. There were more and more signs of neurofibrillary tangles in her neurons and amyloid plaque build-up within her cranial space. That usually didn’t happen naturally in such short periods of time.

So he terminated the experiment. The reason? He blamed it on her genetic makeup. Told her it had activated something that was dormant, never truthfully telling her the reason for her eventual subconscious demise. He just didn’t have the courage to let her down twice. He just couldn’t tell her it was also his fault too.

Twiddling with cybernetic implants within the brain was illegal at the time, and he never had the authority to perform any sort of surgery either. Not to a stranger nor a friend. Not to anyone. So when his patient had willingly volunteered to help him pursue his self-proclaimed, God-given purpose to further humanity, all of it was done in secret. And he never once questioned that it was wrong. He never once doubted that he was making a mistake… until his mother received a medical diagnosis of early onset Alzheimer’s.

It was then that he had realized he’d been selfish in his pursuits. That he had been doing the most inhumane of experimentations under a pretense of advancing the world and showing her that he had what it took to make her proud.

She had told him it was fine. That she had chosen to do this. She knew of the repercussions even if he had not. But he’d still hated it. He hated that it took such a huge emotional toll for him to finally realize…

From that day forth, he’d promised himself then that he’d never intentionally hurt another living soul as long as he lived on this earth. He’d only experiment with the dead or the nonliving. Only if his patients weren’t real to feel the repercussions…

Because he wasn’t trying to be a monster.

“Real people…” Azan murmured, breaking his reminiscent trains of thought. “I wonder if you can call them that anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you ever think life is too repetitive? Living the same way for years? Smoking the same drugs you smoked yesterday?”

“No,” the creator replied. “Everyday is a breakthrough.”

“You brilliant bastard.” Azan smirked. “You’re the only one who can say that. But what I don’t understand is why you never seem happy for your accomplishments. Sometimes, you seem less human than any AI out there.”

“I am happy. I just don’t show it.”

“You never show it.”

“Time never stops for anyone, Azan. I can be happy all I want once I’m dead.”

“Don’t be so up in the clouds. You’ll miss your own celebrations if you’re always away.” Azan’s alarm suddenly went off. “Oh, must be time for my next meeting. Wish me luck.” He grinned. Then he quickly strolled out, leaving nothing but a trace of dirtied shoe prints on the floor.

“Luck…” The creator let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m the one who needs luck.”