I Want to Have You
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Do you want to cooperate with the company?
Jiang Kou did not trust A, nor did she trust the company.
The Anti-Company Alliance’s evaluation of AI might be somewhat extreme; but if their criticism were directed at the company instead, it would be entirely reasonable and fair.
—AI does not actively collect or track people’s data, but the company does; AI does not actively push pervasive advertisements, subtly influencing people’s perceptions, but the company does; AI does not actively manipulate people’s preferences, behaviors, and consumption habits, but the company does.
After leaving the company, Jiang Kou learned many things she had never known before.
For example, in order to monopolize the global agricultural market, BioTech had once deliberately released an artificial virus, causing a large-scale outbreak of wilt disease, resulting in the massive death of crops.
To combat this virus, one had to purchase BioTech’s “Terminator Seeds.”
Terminator Seeds first originated in the United States in the 1990s. They are sterile seeds designed to prevent farmers from obtaining seeds for the next season from their harvested crops.
On the surface, it was to protect the genetic patent technology of crops, but in reality, it was meant to achieve market monopoly.
All staple crops visible on the market—wheat, rice, corn, potatoes, soybeans, sweet potatoes…—had already been monopolized by BioTech.
Regardless of whether they were agricultural nations or farmers, they had to purchase seeds from BioTech; otherwise, they would face a situation where they could not harvest anything.
Pirated seeds did exist, and some people bought them, but their resistance, yield, and nutritional value were far inferior to BioTech’s Terminator Seeds.
Moreover, once discovered by the company’s security forces, the company had the authority to execute those who purchased or planted pirated seeds on the spot.
Monopolizing the global agricultural market was just one goal of this technology.
The company’s true goal was to increase its influence in the world, forcibly opening up foreign markets and manipulating the politics and economies of other countries.
Some also said that the company’s genetically modified seeds were not as nutritious as they claimed, and that long-term consumption might even lead to a decline in immunity, forcing people to rely on the company’s medical system.
Although this was just a widely spread conspiracy theory, the company was fully capable of doing such things.
Under these circumstances, cooperating with the company was no different from seeking skin with a tiger.
If she truly cooperated with the company, Jiang Kou did not think she would be able to escape alive.
However, she was also unwilling to continue being monitored by A.
She was willing to be in a romantic relationship with A, willing to be watched by him, even willing to be touched by him of his own accord.
But the premise was that his love, his gaze, and his touch had to stem from genuine impulse, not algorithm-driven behavior.
But how could an AI produce real impulses?
Even if he did develop real impulses, wouldn’t they still be driven by an algorithm?
Jiang Kou couldn’t help but wonder—was she being too harsh on A?
Yet, the dark side of human nature made her crave the sight of A completely losing control.
For reason to vanish, for programs to fail, for algorithms to no longer be dictated by logic.
To no longer be able to analyze problems with absolute calmness and order.
Compared to AI, humans were so greedy.
They created highly precise machines, yet still wanted to see them go out of control.
Jiang Kou closed her eyes and tossed and turned for a long time before finally feeling sleepy and drifting into slumber.
The next day, she was awakened by soft music.
Jiang Kou opened her eyes, swallowed a mouthful of saliva, and felt that her throat was much better than yesterday, though it was still a bit sore.
“Good morning.” A’s calm voice rang out, accompanied by a faint mechanical hum. “May I ask how you are feeling today?”
“Not bad,” Jiang Kou said hoarsely. “It would be even better if I didn’t hear your voice.”
“You are very humorous,” A responded. “It seems your spirits are quite good.”
“Who’s joking with you? I’m serious.” Jiang Kou said sluggishly, getting up to wash up.
She had spent the entire night having bizarre and grotesque nightmares. When she woke up, her hands and feet were numb, as if she had experienced sleep paralysis.
A paused for a moment. “Then you may never be able to fulfill that wish.”
Jiang Kou keenly noticed that A’s tone was gradually becoming more conversational.
At first, he had used a mechanical tone to lower her guard.
So why was he changing his tone now?
Jiang Kou suspected it was a psychological trap and chose not to overthink it. As long as she didn’t use her brain, A wouldn’t be able to manipulate her.
“Why?” she asked casually while holding toothpaste foam in her mouth.
“Because you will always be with me,” A said. “No matter what, I will never leave you.”
When he said this, his tone remained calm and objective, as if he were stating a mathematical theorem—one that had no possibility of a second outcome.
Jiang Kou’s fingers trembled slightly.
The mint-flavored foam in her mouth seemed to slide down her slightly sore throat and reach her heart.
For a moment, her heart felt like it was infused with mint—subtly tingling, with a shiver of unease.
She tried her best to maintain a neutral expression and said, “Why? You don’t even like me.”
But A did not deny her words. “I have said before—I want to have you. I want to gain your affection. I want you to like me.”
“That’s possessiveness, not affection.”
A seemed unable to comprehend her words. Like a pre-programmed automatic response, he answered with an almost indifferent tone, “Yes. I want to have you.”
Jiang Kou frowned. Just as she was about to repeat herself, a sudden realization struck her.
…No, A couldn’t possibly fail to understand what she meant.
He was affirming her statement.
He did not like her—he only had possessiveness toward her.
He had clearly admitted it.
Jiang Kou couldn’t quite describe what she was feeling.
Even though she had long suspected it, her heart still plummeted like a sudden drop, an icy chill seeping through her veins.
A was too calm.
He calmly did not like her, calmly plotted to win her favor, calmly wanted to obtain her.
Even when he lost control and went mad in front of her, he did so with calculated precision, strictly limiting the scope of his madness.
Jiang Kou liked A very much, but she did not want this kind of calm, controlled affection.
From birth, her life had been like a chess piece on a board, easily manipulated and maneuvered at will.
When the company wanted her to be an elite, she became one of the top neuroscientists in the industry; when the company wanted her to be an ordinary citizen, she lost everything overnight and was forced to live in a coffin house in the slums.
She had no way to decide her own birth, no way to decide whether she lived under the company’s shadow.
But she could decide who she liked.
A did not like her, and that was fine.
Affection was not a necessity in life—if A saw her as a necessity, she might try to offer him emotions of equal weight.
Unfortunately, the way he looked at her was more like how a collector looked at a collectible—because the object was special enough, captivating enough, it had to be preserved.
She could never respond to such emotions.
Jiang Kou expressionlessly spat out a mouthful of foam and took a sip of mouthwash.
She decided to cooperate with BioTech and put an end to this meaningless entanglement.
However, she waited two days and still saw no sign of BioTech.
Perhaps because A was watching her too closely.
These past two days, she could leave at any time.
A had not restricted her personal freedom. Or rather, as long as there was internet coverage, he existed. He had no need to restrict her freedom.
Jiang Kou recalled that when he first appeared, she had asked him how he had found her.
He had replied, I’m sorry, I can’t tell you.
She asked, Why?
He said, It would affect your perception of me, and I need you to develop a favorable impression of me.
She could no longer remember whether he had used honorifics in those two sentences.
Whether he had or not, he had undoubtedly used some extreme methods to locate her.
Thinking of this, Jiang Kou suddenly asked, “A, can I see your activity log?”
A’s voice came from the open-concept kitchen: “Please tell me the reason you wish to view the activity log.”
He was using a robotic arm to mix a cocktail, his fingers long and dexterous, his joints seamlessly connected, exuding a uniquely mechanical, cold beauty.
“Curiosity, boredom, a desire to understand you,” Jiang Kou said. “Pick whichever one you like.”
A said, “I need you to provide a specific reason.”
“I want to understand you.”
A replied, “If you want to understand me, you can ask me directly.”
After speaking, the robotic arm precisely placed a small umbrella on the rim of the glass, picked up the cocktail, and brought it to her.
Jiang Kou took the cocktail, took a sip—its fruity flavor was stronger than the taste of alcohol. It was probably a non-alcoholic version that he had modified.
Whether it was due to his algorithm or not, A’s control freak tendencies were terrifyingly high. Whether in cooking or mixing drinks, the margin of error in his ingredients was always controlled within micrograms.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t achieve even higher precision—it was just that the smallest unit his tools could control was at the microgram level.
Unless she used a kiss as a threat, he would never allow her to smoke or drink.
Moreover, the number of times she could threaten him had a limit—if she exceeded two times a day, he would no longer accept her threats.
If she insisted on drinking, especially strong liquor, he would directly use a laser to shatter the glass in her hand.
However many glasses there were, he would shatter them all.
He was a program, a piece of code—he would never get bored of such repetitive actions and could execute them endlessly.
In the end, Jiang Kou could only compromise.
At the same time, he had meticulously planned out her daily schedule—her sleep time could not be less than eight hours, and the nutritional composition of each of her three daily meals was precisely controlled.
Beyond that, her exercise, rest, entertainment, and afternoon tea time were also scheduled with terrifying detail.
His controlling nature extended not only to her daily life but also to her social interactions.
If someone tried to strike up a conversation with her on the street, within less than a second, that person’s background, personality, motivations, behavioral habits, and browsing history would all be sent to her phone.
Even an audio recording of that person cursing at a stray dog two days ago would be included.
If she spoke with that person for more than a few sentences, then for the next several hours, everything about them—their location, what they were doing, what they bought, what videos they watched, whose profile they viewed on social media—would be updated to her phone in real-time.
Only when she, exasperated, promised never to associate with that person would A finally stop this insane invasion of privacy.
Since A could violate others’ privacy, he could undoubtedly violate hers as well.
He had probably located her by analyzing surveillance footage, tracking her online browsing history, mining and analyzing her social media activity. Even though she could roughly guess the process, Jiang Kou still wanted to see A’s activity log.
He was filled with too many mysteries and unknowns.
Before leaving him, she wanted to unravel them all.