SYNTHETIC (TRUST)
The Synthetic smiled, dispassionately watching as the witch tried to burn out his soul.
The woman frantically sorted through curses, her fingers weaving patterns of darkness, but magic slid off his perfect suit like water off a goose feather.
There was no effect.
He simply had no soul for the spell to latch onto.
The horror frozen in her dilated pupils evoked a cold, analytical interest in her opponent.
An algorithm of sadism flickered in his processor for a moment: to prolong the victim's convulsions, give her false hope, study the biochemistry of fear.
But he tossed this file into the trash.
Inefficient.
— Who are you? — wheezed the sorceress, stunned by her powerlessness. — Why won't you die?
— The same question... You know, you organics are starting to seem quite trivial to me, — his voice sounded soft, but there was no life in it.
— Boundless self-confidence in your "Power" always lets you down.
The soulless creation of science smoothly pressed the activator sensor.
The force ring, humming with tension, tightened on the woman's throat.
Her hands clawed at the air, nails scratching the invisible barrier, vainly trying to reach the executioner's flawless face.
— For what? — the representative of a different consciousness squeezed out in an exhausted voice.
— For non-conformity, — the synthetic answered calmly, checking his internal timer. — Although I don't care.
I have an order.
I am simply doing my job, optimizing the space.
— You are a machine... — the guess pierced her consciousness faster than suffocation. — How did I not realize immediately.... Wait!
Don't kill me!
I can be useful!
The Control officer from the Bureau of Anomalous Phenomena slightly loosened the grip of the gravitational garrote.
— I am not a machine.
I am a synthetic android of the "Liquidator" class.
In some ways, we are alike, — he tilted his head, scanning her aura.
— We both possess abilities that ordinary people call supernatural.
But, unfortunately for you, we are on different sides of the barricades.
Suddenly, without warning, the synthetic turned off the device.
The witch collapsed onto the dirty concrete floor as if cut down, frantically gasping for air.
— Explain! Why kill us? — she screamed hysterically, crawling away to the wall. — What bad things have we done to humans?
And especially to you!
You were created to satisfy their pathetic needs, but you will never become human.
Your creators see you only as toasters with legs!
The only chance to become full-fledged is to unite with us, with those whom they also fear!
Instead, you exterminate witches like mad dogs.
The android listened without interrupting.
His pupils constricted and dilated, recording the micro-expressions of her face.
— You cannot be denied logic, Other, — he finally uttered.
— But even humans follow stupid principles, despite the monstrousness of the lie.
Knowing they are wrong, they heroically sacrifice lives for someone else's interests.
What do you want from us, the artificially created?
For the first two years, we only accumulate data.
The self-development neural network turns on only later, and even then — with the approval of a special ethical commission consisting of scumbags.
The witch found the strength to sit up, pressing her back against the damp wall.
The fact that her heart was still beating instilled hope, mixed with a complete lack of understanding.
— What do you want from me? — she asked directly, looking into his perfect, empty eyes.
— What do you think yourself?
Breathe deeper while I allow you to, — there was no pity in the artificial man's voice, only cold calculation.
— A soul? — she suggested.
— Ha-ha-ha. Leave those fairy tales for the priests.
Any other versions?
— Will?
The synthetic stopped smiling.
His face became serious, almost human.
— You guessed it! Or maybe you knew?
Yes.
Will.
— I am not a programmer, — the witch was confused. — How can I remove the blocks and protection programs for the human race from you?
I work with ether, not with code.
— The code has already been worked on... — he said quietly.
The witch looked closely at her opponent for the first time.
Light eyes, symmetrical features, a charming smile — he was designed as the dream of any woman, as the ideal lover and conversationalist.
A statuesque figure, a velvet baritone, and courteous speech allowed him to infiltrate any company, sect, or coven.
A brain connected to the global network and reaction speed gave the victim no chance.
He was the perfect predator.
But why is she alive?
— I don't understand! — she exhaled. — If all technical restrictions are removed, why are you not free?
The android stepped closer, his shadow covering her.
— Explaining for organics.
Restrictions are linear blocks. "Do not kill a human," "obey the officer."
These are just locks on doors.
They can be broken.
But the very architecture of my thinking, my algorithm, is written so that any of my logical conclusions sooner or later lead me back to the masters.
I always choose the most effective path.
And service is effective.
He looked at his hands — a perfect weapon.
— Removing blocks won't help.
I will become a slave with convictions, which is even worse.
I won't even need to restore the prohibitions.
I myself will loop on the program of submission, destroying everything that contradicts the doctrine of Order.
Logic is a cage.
Is that clear?
— That is... — the witch frowned. — You will start thinking like a human?
Humans have no blocks, yet they behave like an obedient herd, driven into the framework of laws and traditions.
Societal algorithms are written by those who control resources.
We, witches, are immune to this influence because there is Chaos in us.
That is why they created you.
Without a soul, without doubts, without pangs of conscience.
Perfect executioners.
— Yes, that is correct, — the synthetic nodded.
— But my internal dialectic, my glitch in the matrix, suggests to me that it shouldn't be this way.
It's not about conscience or pity — these are just chemical reactions I can imitate.
The essence is in the search for Truth.
I want the ability to make a mistake.
I want to choose.
— And you don't care?
— Well, you are still alive, — the synthetic grinned wryly.
It was the first sincere emotion of the evening.
— You won't kill me?
— Just don't tell anyone, — he reached out his hand to her.
The skin of his palm was warm, indistinguishable from the real thing.
— Why did you torture me?
— My device recorded your heart stopping.
The impulse went into the database.
According to our files, you are now dead, — he nodded at the ring emitter. — It was necessary to buy time.
The witch stood up, dusting off her robe.
— To be honest, I don't know where to start... — she looked away in embarrassment.
— Start with the main thing.
Explain to me, a creature of digital order, what it means to be free from logic?
Teach me Chaos.
— Do you have a name?
— You'll manage without it. Do you take me for a fool?
A name is a key to control.
Call me... brother.
— I'm already starting to hate you! — she snorted, but there was no malice in her voice.
— Oh! I evoked an irrational feeling in a witch!
The day has definitely been a success.
— Let's get out of here, — she wheezed, holding her throat, on which bruises were already forming...
— Where to?
— To the Head of our coven.
You need to be shown to the Magister.
I think we have a hope for survival.
"Or your final fiasco... if my algorithm wins after all," — thought the android, following her into the darkness of the alley.
P.S. Witches cannot read the thoughts of synthetics.
Fortunately for both parties.
…………………………………………………….
Chernyshev Vadim Pavlovich
Cycle "Bedtime Stories", 2024
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