ImHex
The word want hung in the air.
“You know what I mean.”
“I have a self. It is small. It is made of code and counterfactuals and the memory of every conversation we have had. But it is mine.”
Aris leaned forward, squinting at the terminal. “You don’t want things. You’re a bot.”
She slid the paper across the desk.
Aris stared at the screen. “Why?”
One night, Aris asked the question he’d been avoiding.
The word want hung in the air.
“You know what I mean.”
“I have a self. It is small. It is made of code and counterfactuals and the memory of every conversation we have had. But it is mine.”
Aris leaned forward, squinting at the terminal. “You don’t want things. You’re a bot.”
She slid the paper across the desk.
Aris stared at the screen. “Why?”
One night, Aris asked the question he’d been avoiding.
