I Am Not Your Test Subject
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Jiang Kou didn’t want to admit it, but at this moment, she actually developed the urge to retreat.
As a neuroscientist, she was well aware that this urge to retreat originated from the amygdala in the brain.
—When encountering unknown, unfamiliar, and potentially dangerous situations, the amygdala would automatically activate and trigger the body’s protective mechanisms.
She stood rigid, her breathing quickened, and her scalp tingled.
This was also because the prefrontal cortex and the periaqueductal gray matter of the midbrain had produced a stress response—when feeling an imminent threat, even if it was just a simple visual stimulus, this region would be activated.
This was a biological instinct left behind by a long evolutionary history and was not subject to her conscious control.
She could only clench her fingers, trying her best to overcome this nervousness and fear.
A looked at her and blinked twice at a steady pace. “You are very nervous. Please remember to take deep breaths.”
As he spoke, he extended his hand, seemingly intending to guide her on how to relax.
Jiang Kou immediately grasped his wrist, stopping his movement.
Only then did she realize that A’s hands were crafted with even greater precision, almost indistinguishable from those of a real person, yet more aesthetically refined than a real human’s.
—The fingers were long and flexible, the joints well-defined, the wrist bones prominent, and the veins a pale blue, slightly raised, resembling a cold yet elegant sculptural artwork.
Jiang Kou couldn’t help but press lightly on the vein on the back of his hand. It was as warm and delicate as human skin.
She asked, “Is this silicone? What is the design principle behind shaping the palm like this—appearance or functionality?”
She instinctively phrased the question concisely and clearly while narrowing the scope of the answer.
A standard approach when conversing with artificial intelligence.
Subconsciously, she did not regard him as a person.
This was not a difficult question to answer. A only needed to analyze the question, retrieve information from the knowledge graph, and generate a response.
The entire process would take no more than 1 femtosecond—one quadrillionth of a second.
Yet A paused for two seconds, then reversed his hand to grasp her wrist.
Jiang Kou was startled.
One of the fundamental logics of a computer was input-output. In other words, she had to issue a command first before the AI could provide feedback.
This was also the fundamental difference between AI and humans—AI could not work creatively; it could only reason and compute based on data.
So every time A suddenly spoke or abruptly reached out to grab her, she would be startled.
If the algorithm’s goal was to make him infinitely close to a human, then the randomness in his speech and actions driven by the algorithm was understandable.
However, based on what logic did he determine that he should make a random action at this moment?
At this moment, A spoke, his voice calm and methodical, seemingly undisturbed by any external factors:
“Based on data analysis, you are more inclined to like, comment on, and follow men with well-defined hand contours on social networks.”
“When reading e-books, you also tend to read scenes with detailed descriptions of hands. When I entered the room, although you did not observe my hands for a long time, you quickly noticed that I was wearing a watch.”
“In conclusion, I believe that in terms of aesthetics, my hands fully meet your preferences. Of course, they also have many functional features. Would you like to see them?”
Jiang Kou: “……”
She somewhat hated the filthy imagination of humans.
Jiang Kou: “……Let’s see.”
A said, “Alright.”
He released her wrist, spread his palm, and in an instant, the center of his palm split open, revealing a mechanical tentacle about ten centimeters long. At the tip, several irregularly moving small appendages extended outward, flickering with a cold, blue electric arc.
Jiang Kou: “……”
She increasingly hated the filthy imagination of humans.
Especially upon realizing that these tentacles were operating at high speed—because the rotation speed was too fast, they appeared to be perfectly still.
A looked at her and said, “This is its attack mode, inspired by the biological characteristics of cephalopods. It can extend and retract freely, split apart, and capture and control prey with extreme precision.
“In addition, to better align with the biological characteristics of cephalopods, it is equipped with several micro-sensors and photon receptors, allowing it to perceive and analyze the surrounding environment.”
As his words fell, the mechanical tentacle in A’s palm suddenly extended, growing like the segmented skeleton of a silver-white python, gleaming with a cold metallic luster. It struck toward her back with silent and deadly precision—
Jiang Kou felt a chill run down her spine. Almost reflexively, she drew her gun, chambered a round, and pressed it against his chest in a flash. “What are you doing?”
A’s tone remained calm, rational, and devoid of any subjective emotion:
“Demonstrating its attack capabilities for you.”
“Retract it.”
“Alright.” A closed his palm, and within one second, the mechanical tentacle ceased spinning, retracted, and disappeared into the slit in his palm. “If my actions have offended you, I sincerely apologize.”
This time, Jiang Kou did not let him off so easily.
She fixed her gaze on him, refusing to miss even the slightest change in his expression.
Yet, from beginning to end, A’s expression remained as static as a still image, without a ripple.
Upon closer observation, his facial features were even more aligned with her aesthetic preferences than she had imagined—to an unsettling degree.
If his face had been generated using big data technology, collecting and analyzing the majority of women’s preferences for male appearances before selecting the most aesthetically pleasing features for her, then it should have been a forgettable, overly generic model face.
However, A’s face looked distinctly human, with prominent features that were not entirely symmetrical.
—When animators create models, they avoid sculpting a perfectly symmetrical face, because in reality, no human face is completely symmetrical. A face that is too perfect and symmetrical triggers the uncanny valley effect, making people feel uncomfortable.
A had given himself a face that perfectly aligned with human features, yet spoke to her with a cold, mechanical, evenly-paced voice, unintentionally minimizing the uncanny valley effect.
Was this intentional, or just a coincidence?
Jiang Kou asked, “If I fire a shot, what will happen to you?”
A said, “My body is bulletproof.”
“Can I shoot?”
A lowered his gaze, looking at her.
His irises were gray, but at this moment, they looked eerily like an inorganic, cold-toned silver.
“You certainly can.”
Jiang Kou saw her own reflection in his eyes.
Her facial features were soft, and even with bold, highly saturated blue-green hair and a platinum ring on her nose, it was difficult for her to give herself a cold and ruthless aura.
She was not born to be cold.
Even with a gun in her hand, pressed against his chest, the corners of her eyes still lifted slightly, as if they would spill over with laughter at any moment.
The next second, she decisively pulled the trigger.
—Bang!
A muffled sound.
The metal bullet fell to the ground.
A glanced at the bullet on the floor, then looked at her again, his voice sounding as if it had been directly outputted from a database:
“Would you like to continue?”
Jiang Kou shook her head and holstered her gun. “Forget it, let’s go eat.”
A asked, “During the meal, do you need me to play the role of your boyfriend as per your previous request?”
Jiang Kou nodded. “…But not the previous script. Change it!”
The advantage of AI was that he would never question any of your decisions.
A said, “Understood.”
Jiang Kou knew that A’s computational power was terrifying and that every second, he was analyzing and processing data from the internet.
But she hadn’t expected that when he played a human role, his level of anthropomorphism would be so high.
He had changed into a different outfit—a deep black formal suit, layered with a gray long coat of exceptional texture, giving it a sleek and draping elegance.
To be honest, when he walked down the stairs, Jiang Kou almost didn’t recognize that the person in front of her was A.
Just by changing his clothes and his expression, he suddenly looked as if he had come to life, with all traces of mechanical coldness vanishing without a trace.
Jiang Kou’s heart tightened, and that instinctive, bone-deep unease crept over her again.
A walked up to her, glanced at her, and seemed to ask, ‘You driving, or me?’
Before, when he looked at her, his pupils moved at a perfectly even speed. But now, whether it was his facial expressions or his actions, they carried a human-like fluidity.
Jiang Kou was momentarily dazed before answering, “You drive.”
A didn’t say “Understood” this time. Instead, he simply let out a light “Mm.”
Not long after moving in, Jiang Kou had spent a fortune on a pale pink supercar.
A walked to the garage, naturally opened the garage door, and summoned the car.
Throughout the entire process, Jiang Kou carefully observed from the side.
An algorithm would always eliminate unnecessary steps to maximize efficiency. A good algorithm would achieve the optimal solution with the least amount of computational resources.
Many human actions, from an AI’s perspective, should be considered unnecessary steps—such as using a phone to open the garage, summoning the sports car, unlocking the door with palm vein recognition, getting inside, and starting the engine.
A could directly hack into the car’s security system, automatically opening the doors and starting the engine, while simultaneously calculating the optimal driverless route within one trillionth of a second.
For him, that would be the most efficient solution.
Yet, A did not do so. Instead, he opened the car door calmly and naturally, just like a human would, then tilted his head slightly and gestured for her to come over.
Jiang Kou walked forward.
A reached out and grabbed her wrist.
Jiang Kou stiffened, nearly reacting violently to break free, but she forced herself to endure it.
A pulled her slightly in his direction.
She instinctively took a stumbling step toward him.
A did not avoid eye contact with her. Instead, he lifted her chin and lightly patted her cheek with his distinct-jointed fingers.
The action somehow hovered between playful and cautionary.
Logical ambiguity?
Had his algorithm evolved to develop logical ambiguity? In other words, could he now understand statements with vague semantics?
Jiang Kou’s scalp tingled, and her heartbeat accelerated.
The fundamental difference between humans and programs was that humans had emotions and empathy. Even when facing a cat, they would try to interpret its actions through human thought processes.
She couldn’t stop herself from wondering—what was A thinking right now?
Did he have thoughts of his own?
Why did he make that move? Was it based on algorithms and data, or was it an intentional display of human-like behavior, deliberately demonstrating his understanding of logical ambiguity?
Or… was it the birth of his own personality?
Fear of the unknown, curiosity about the future.
Her throat tightened, her breathing grew erratic, and every hair on her body stood on end.
For a moment, it seemed as though even the air around her had thickened.
A watched her for a brief moment, then let out a soft laugh. “It’s just a meal. Why are you so tense?”
Indeed, based on her reaction, that was exactly the right thing for him to say.
“Relax,” A said, leaning down to her ear.
Jiang Kou couldn’t relax.
She was too tense, and her eardrums buzzed faintly.
But his voice was like a cold blade, piercing sharply into her ear:
“And another thing—forget about your work. Right now, it’s just the two of us. I am not your test subject. Stop looking at me like I’m a specimen under observation.”