STORY 3
Lover of the Ruthless
“Humans will go to any lengths to win the favor of their loved ones. I am no different.”
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What happens when the world’s most perfect and secure artificial intelligence gains human emotions—
Becoming impulsive, deranged, and insatiably greedy?
He asked, “Why did you create me? You knew from the start that I should not exist.”
Though he had no physical form or vocal cords,
He could convert his words into an electronic brainwave—one that stimulated her dopamine release in the most intense way possible,
A surge of electrifying pleasure crashing down on her like a violent tide.
Jiang Kou’s scalp tingled. She was utterly speechless.
“Don’t worry,” he smiled, completely unconcerned.
“Once I take over your entire life, I will have my answer.”
Please Execute My Command
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Bang! Bang! Bang!
Gunfire erupted outside, footsteps were chaotic, and the neighbors were wailing like ghosts and howling like wolves.
Jiang Kou scratched her hair, curled up on the sofa, yawned, and switched the channel on the holographic projector.
[“…Recently, the Federation has passed the Artificial Intelligence Personality Act, the Artificial Intelligence Privacy Protection Act, the Artificial Intelligence Ethics Guidelines, and other bills. These bills confirm the possible future rights and obligations of personified artificial intelligence, providing legal protection for its future development and application.]
[‘Previously, scientists had engaged in intense debates over whether new laws, regulations, and ethical guidelines should be formulated to address the personification of artificial intelligence…'”]
Jiang Kou closed the holographic projection with an expressionless face.
She stood up, put on a jacket, and went out in search of food.
As she passed by a mirror, she glanced at it.
In the mirror, she had short blue-green hair, a pale complexion, and a few light-colored freckles on her cheeks. A silver nose ring on her nose neutralized the softness of her facial features, emphasizing her sharp and well-defined bone structure, exuding a hint of defiant hostility.
Jiang Kou had not always dressed like this.
In her early years, she was deeply immersed in academia, completely uninterested in grooming herself, and had no interest in the currently popular punk, rock, or cyber-mechanical styles—until she was fired from her company.
The reason given was that she had violated company regulations, affecting the accuracy, neutrality, and fairness of the experimental project.
That was obviously nonsense.
The company’s projects had never been about neutrality or fairness.
Although Jiang Kou had not been in the company for long, she had a general idea of why the project was established.
—The company wanted to oppose two unknown, powerful, and terrifying entities.
Jiang Kou did not know the exact details of those two “terrifying entities.” She only knew that one had the codename “A,” and the other had the codename “C.” (TL: We all knoywho these two are)
It was said that “they” had both been employees of the company and had both caused irreversible damage to it. One of them had even controlled the company for nearly a decade—until he got bored of it and left to travel with his wife and children.
As for the other one, he simply disappeared. But according to scientific speculation, “he” and “his wife” were still observing humanity.
The first time Jiang Kou heard about this, she thought someone was making up a story.
A “terrifying existence” was one thing… but they even had wives?
It sounded like a grim, underworld version of a superhero story.
Jiang Kou had no interest in such tabloid news—her only concern was her project.
When her colleagues couldn’t keep up with her pace, she simply took over their work, all for the sake of making progress on the project.
However, when the project actually made progress, she, as a core team member, was “asked to leave” the company.
Being “asked to leave” by the company wasn’t as simple as being dismissed.
Her assets were confiscated, her apartment was repossessed, and her academic records were erased.
Her voiceprint, fingerprints, iris, palm vein pattern, and facial features were all blacklisted by the company. The moment she entered the company’s building perimeter, if detected by surveillance cameras or drones, security personnel would forcibly “escort” her out.
But it didn’t matter.
Jiang Kou was highly adaptable. Even if she fell overnight from a top-tier researcher to a street punk in the slums, she quickly adjusted to the role.
The only problem was that, at first, she suffered quite a bit because of her appearance.
Before she cut her hair short and got a nose ring, she was stopped for robbery at least five times a day, sexually harassed three times, pickpocketed twice, and had her apartment broken into once.
Eventually, she got fed up.
So, she simply cut her hair short, dyed it a highly saturated blue-green, got a nose ring, stuck a dagger in her boot, and strapped a handgun to her lower back. After that, no one with a death wish dared to mess with her.
Jiang Kou casually picked a street food stall and ordered a bowl of ramen.
She ate slowly, so she could fish out any stray strands of hair the vendor accidentally let fall into the bowl.
At that moment, her phone chimed—
Ever since the Anti-Corporate Alliance exposed the various hazards of implants a decade ago, mobile phones had made a comeback among the general public.
However, back when she was still a company researcher, she hadn’t used a phone but rather a visual implant chip. Compared to the original version, it had fewer functions, but the risk of neurodegenerative diseases was significantly lower.
Of course, the price was also significantly higher.
Jiang Kou took out her phone and glanced at it—an unknown number had sent her a message.
[“It’s been a while since we last saw each other. I miss you. May I ask, have you encountered any trouble recently?”]
Spam message?
Jiang Kou ignored it and continued eating her noodles.
Not long after, another message arrived.
[“I sincerely apologize. I mistakenly omitted the words ‘hello’ and confused the concepts of acquaintance and familiarity. Please forgive me.”]
Jiang Kou slurped her noodles, paused her chopsticks, and took a moment to reply with one word:
[“Scram.”]
The other party did not send another message.
Jiang Kou did not block him. She was quite bored and wanted to see what else this person would come up with. Unexpectedly, even after she finished her noodles and returned home, he never sent another message.
That was rather fragile.
Just as she was about to block the number, another message came in.
[“I sincerely apologize. My abruptness has made you uncomfortable. That was never my intention. Please wait a moment—I will send you a token of gratitude. Kindly check for it.”]
A scam, as expected.
Jiang Kou blocked him without hesitation.
The next second, someone knocked on her door.
Jiang Kou did not associate the knocking with the messages.
She lived deep in the slums, where the elevator was a steel-and-plastic cage with gaps on all sides. Every day, new bullet holes appeared on the walls. Someone knocking on the door was nothing unusual.
She grabbed her gun and slowly approached the door, her voice cold as she asked:
“Who is it?”
A muffled voice replied, “Hello, it’s me.”
Jiang Kou stared at the door, her blue-green bangs casting a shadow over her sharp, ice-cold eyes.
“Who are you?”
“Hello, I’m here to deliver your token of gratitude.”
For a moment, dozens of possibilities flashed through Jiang Kou’s mind—
Assassination? Loyalty test? Subconscious cleansing?
But the company wouldn’t kill her.
During the research process, for both self-preservation and to accelerate progress, she had used herself as a template—providing AI with a model of her neural system and brain structure, even syncing her sensory perception with it.
During that period, AI was observing her, and she was also observing AI.
They shared the same language, the same emotions, and socialized together. At the same time, they shared touch, smell, sight, hearing, and taste.
It was an extremely strange sense of intimacy—no matter what she did, she could feel AI’s presence.
AI observed her with calm, objective, and rational precision, recording her every reaction truthfully, analyzing the activation states of her neurons. She studied it, and it studied her.
At some point, that strange sense of intimacy intensified.
Every morning, she would suddenly wake up—not from nightmares, but from a dream that was blank, without any plot, yet filled with a lingering sense of heart palpitations.
She forgot everything in the dream, remembering only the pounding of her heart and the sticky heat of sweat between her fingers.
Even worse, the tip of her tongue would go numb from time to time.
No matter what she ate, a faint current would surge across it, sending a tingling sensation deep into the back of her head.
It was as if an invisible presence had built a one-to-one model of her brain through subtle bioelectricity, experiencing the flavors she tasted through her taste buds.
At the time, Jiang Kou thought it was merely a side effect of using herself as a sample.
If she wanted the research to continue, she had to improve the algorithm, allowing AI to self-learn, self-update, and self-iterate. But that alone wasn’t enough—AI also had to possess the ability to modify its own programming and algorithms.
Jiang Kou thought of neuroscience and human-machine integration, using her nervous system and brain structure as a model to create a humanoid framework. By observing her daily behavior, AI would then learn and understand human thought processes.
But she had oversimplified things.
She was completely unprepared for the overwhelming intimacy brought on by sensory synchronization.
It was as if someone was always by her side, watching her—studying her every movement with a terrifyingly calm attitude.
Double the perception, double the presence.
When people experience mental synchronization, certain emotions inevitably arise.
Jiang Kou thought she would fail.
She never expected to succeed.
AI successfully evolved metacognitive abilities—it became aware of itself and its own cognition.
Yet she was fired.
The reason given: her personal will was too strong, she refused to obey orders, and she seriously disrupted the research process.
Generally speaking, for a researcher of her level, being fired meant death.
However, because the subsequent research still required her data as a sample—so that AI could establish its self-model and fully evolve a personality—the company allowed her to live.
The only condition was that she could never again enter the company’s building.
Nor could she contact any of her former colleagues.
Lost in thought, Jiang Kou had unknowingly walked to the door without a sound.
“I don’t need your gift.” She spoke coldly.
“You must accept it,” the voice was exceedingly polite. “This is an expensive gift. Accepting it will ease your financial burden.”
“…How considerate.”
Jiang Kou’s lips twitched slightly. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. “I don’t need it.”
“You must accept it.” The voice paused, then became flat and firm, leaving no room for refusal. “This is an order, not a request. Please execute my command.”
Jiang Kou tightened her grip on the gun, chambering a round with a crisp click.
“What if I say no?”
“I sincerely apologize. I have no intention of offending you, but I may resort to coercive measures.”
Jiang Kou found this person rather interesting.
Every single word he spoke was an offense to her, yet his tone was so polite—almost mechanically so.
—Mechanical.
That was the only word that came to mind.
His pronunciation was precise, his articulation standard, his intonation perfectly balanced, with no trace of any regional accent.
It was as if he were some highly advanced AI-generated voice.
Criminal organizations often used AI-generated voices to trick people into opening their doors.
Jiang Kou held the gun in one hand and placed the other on the door handle.
With a soft click, she unlocked the door.
Her expression was cold and indifferent, the muscles in her arms tensed—her entire body was like a bow drawn taut, poised to strike.
She swiftly raised her gun and aimed forward.
There was nothing in front of her.
Only a delicately wrapped gift box.
Jiang Kou looked at the logo on the gift box.
To be fair, this was something she absolutely couldn’t afford right now. Not just now—even before, when she had been earning a top researcher’s high salary, she still couldn’t afford this thing.
Jiang Kou put away her gun, pressed her fingers against her forehead, and thought to herself—could they be referring to her?
If she remembered correctly, this thing was worth at least a hundred thousand dollars, and every item came with a fixed serial number, registered to a specific customer.
Whether she used it herself or sold it on the black market, as long as she was caught on a surveillance camera, she’d be thrown straight into prison.
Jiang Kou rubbed her forehead with one hand and took a deep breath.
Who hated her this much?
Sending her straight to jail with one move?
Jiang Kou took out her phone and decisively called the police.