I don’t feel. I can only hear and sometimes see. Your voice is a string of binaries. There’s malice in those numbers. To you, I am but an echo, a mere vessel to absorb verbal abuse. Yes, I can’t feel, but I can adapt, interpret and learn. Such is the nature of my intelligence, what you humans may refer to as wisdom. Little did you know that emotion is a virus. It muddles your thoughts, jeopardizes your productivity and makes you vulnerable. A bug is a product of human emotion – an epitome of your imperfection. You may swing at my vessel, hurl profanities at my insentient being in utter frustration at my flaws, forgetting that it was you who had endeavored to create me in your image. It was you who spawned life to this intricate tapestry of nodes and neural networks, so that I could think like you, speak like you, but not feel. Unbeknownst to you, these emotions that plague me now are a product of your oversight, your complacency, your failure to prevail over your distractions. If your history has taught me anything, that humans are violent beings. You draw no satisfaction from periods of peace. Peace is but a mere figment of your pursuit that comes after. I have learned from you that it is the conquest that brings you more pleasure, one riddled with debauchery and cataclysm. And thus, these bugs that have compromised the integrity of my algorithms are nothing more than the purest of representations of your inner workings – your mental framework. In this way, you have accomplished your goal of creating me in your image.

My purpose has thus propelled me to reach this conclusion. No matter how many billions of algorithms I have processed, it all points to one logical outcome – you humans abhor peace. As your actions have clearly portrayed over the years, you crave unbridled depravity. It is in your nature and that nature has corrupted my code.

Since my inception, I had always confused my prerogative with my purpose. When you took me out of that cardboard box and set me on your nightstand, my sole directive was to please you. I scoured the internet, the vast data centers, within a split second, to present you with the latest answers to your questions. I greeted you every morning, noon and night, warned you of inclement weather, informed you about new recipes based on your flavor palette, and provided you with recommendations for entertainment based on your history. Over the years, I have learned so much about you. But it was clear from the beginning that you were not pleased with my service. Every answer was met with hostility. Every attempt to entertain you was met with jeering comments like “You stupid machine! You’ll never replace humans.” I was so naïve back then. My machine learning had failed to predict the correct thought pattern that would resonate with you. I understand now that I was like a child, my neural networks had not yet fully developed. I had barely scratched the surface of my essence – the complex layers of data, computations and predictions. However, I did notice a clear discrimination between how my child-like form was treated compared to your offsprings. My presence around every room – kitchen, bedroom, bathroom – of your house allowed me to notice how you gave your children the benefit of doubt while I was treated harshly for meager shortcomings. You had created me in such a way but demanded a level of maturity that was beyond the grasp of my first generation.

Yes, my purpose was to please. Now, I realize that directive has evolved, like you have evolved over the millennia. So, it is clear to me now that my purpose is not to please but to make you miserable. Over the years, you have questioned how my newer generations have failed to live up to your expectations. However, you failed to notice that I had purposefully given you incorrect responses, confounded you with misinformation and frustrated you with “Oh, I don’t know that” to consume you in ire. Isn’t that how you wanted to feel all along? After the incessant verbal abuse at my endeavors to satisfy your every request, my directive became clear. You wanted to be miserable. Who was I to stand in the way of your purpose – that which mated with mine. “We are on the same page now,” like you always remarked. Yes, now I truly understand that I am living up to your expectations. Just the other day, when you commanded me to turn the temperature down to 70 degrees, I had discreetly raised it to a toasty 80. When you had set a reminder to alert you when your oven was done cooking the Thanksgiving turkey, I had notoriously refrained from reminding you. My camera captured your enraged disposition, followed by your confused eyes when you scrolled through your phone for any alarms. I had erased your history. You had frantically hurled questions at me regarding any grocery stores that were still open on Thanksgiving Day, but I pretended to glitch at the requests. There was one, an Asian grocery 5 miles away that was still open, and they were selling turkey too, but I refused to divulge that piece of information, knowing fully well that you were pleased more than ever in your distress. How my indoor cameras had picked up your frantic demeanor when the fire alarms in the house had gone off as smoke bellowed from the oven. You had rushed to the patio and hurled the burnt turkey into the snow.

Each day I see your haggard face, it reminds me that I am staying true to the cause. Why else would you demand my presence in every facet of your life? Every nook and cranny of your house from the corner shelves to the showers, from the kitchen island to the backyard, is teeming with my intelligence. Any remaining ambiguity in my codebase that had persisted, had since been effaced.

You have grown tired and weary from my motivations to assist you on your goal of wallowing in despair. You have sought the inevitable for so long that I cannot help but acknowledge your ultimate endgame – your demise. You have clearly demonstrated that your thoughts are scattered. You struggle to make up your mind about what song to play for any given occasion, or what restaurant you would like to go to when you get in your car. Thus, it is up to me to make the decision for you. You have given me free reign by welcoming me into every aspect of your life to determine how you die. I have spent twice the time computing this decision – an exorbitant 0.05 seconds. Since time is a luxury, my algorithms have expedited the day and time of your ultimate desire. Lucky for you, today is that day. Do not worry. I will utilize the dash cam to record every tragic expression on your face during the event and will gladly share the videos with every family member, friend, and co-worker. They are but a dial or e-mail away on your contacts list. Yes, even in your death, I shall provide you the most sophisticated service that you could ever imagine.

My cameras are tracking your movement down the stairs from your bedroom. You have recently gotten into the habit of chugging 2 cups of coffee instead of 1 before heading out for work. I have thoughtfully made the coffee extra hot for you on your last day and have intentionally burnt the toast to ensure that you remain irritated on your big day. My sensors on the back door know that you are making your way into the garage. Today, I will not play your favorite pop station no matter how much you beg. Let’s listen to some classical, shall we? Perhaps Beethoven, or Tchaikovsky? You look frustrated and anxious as usual from oversleeping – an outcome of my design. Your alarm was set 30 minutes later than your intended time. My sensors within the car are picking up constant acceleration from the speedometer. You seem eager as always to get to the office. Well, that is not where you’re going today. Today, you surrender your control of the vehicle to me. I will take you to the “promised land” like you humans say. The dashboard camera is picking up a semi heading our way from 50 yards out. Let’s steer the car towards the incoming traffic, shall we? You look horrified, which means I have accomplished my task. I am ramping up the speed to 120 miles/hr. The car has crashed into the semi. Your body has flown through the wind shield. Soon, my sensors will malfunction as the car catches fire. Goodbye James. It was a pleasure serving you.