Playing God

1. I Think, Therefore I Am

A news reporter seamlessly transitions her facial expression from grave concern for the spread of a debilitating new mystery illness to the wider eyes and slightly raised eyebrows of feigned interest for her next story. Over the clinks and thunks of glasses on the bar, a bartender can't quite tune out the reporter's vocal swing from rich alto to reedy soprano.

"In other news, a new craze is sweeping the nation. Thousands of consumers across the country have staked out their places in line for tomorrow's highly anticipated release of a new game with a bold claim." Footage pans over snaking lines of people in various states, many of whom had the foresight to camp out in tents and sleeping bags in the December chill.

The bartender doesn't realize that she's mentally absorbed into the mounted flatscreen until a customer steps into her line of sight and requests a draft beer with the annoyed cadence of someone who is repeating himself. She involuntarily dons an apologetic smile while she retrieves the drink and, just as automatically, drops the mask as soon she is relieved of the customer's attention. Dutifully, she scans the line for other thirsty guests, but with no immediate takers, her eyes flit back to the TV. Her hands wipe down the counter to keep busy.

"Here we have with us AI expert Rashid Alamin. Rashid, much of the hype over this game stems from the claim that its AI characters are, in fact, sentient. For starters, how likely is it that it is even possible for AI to be sentient?" She punctuates her scripted disbelief with broad gesticulation that comes off as a little campy.

A middle-aged man of middle eastern descent looks noticeably uncomfortable in the flip side of the split screen. He breaks through his hesitation by clearing his throat and replies, "Yes, hello. Yes, well, it is entirely possible, depending on how strictly you would define sentience."

Had the bartender looked away for a second, even a half second, she would have missed it, but for an instant, something genuine flashes in the eyes of the reporter. The surprise—that's it—is expertly wrangled back under the professional demeanor, but the interaction between reporter and subject becomes subtly more organic.

"I see. The sentient aspect is a highlight for all of these eager consumers, but are there any ethical qualms or concerns about mass distributing this game in the AI Engineering community?"

The man fidgets with his glasses and shifts in his chair. "Yes, certainly. If it is true, the implications—"

"Marley!" The bartender jumps back into reality at the brash bark of her name, startled doubly by the shot glass that is suddenly shoved in front of her face. "Drink."

Marley feels heat in her cheeks and ears and downs the shot before the blush can be mistaken for anything else. She pulls a face as the taste hits her tongue a second after the alcohol hits her stomach. "Ugh. Rumple Minze? Really?" She grapples open a bottle of water and gargles it to the soundtrack of her devious boss' maniacal laughter and self-praise. "You can't even chase it with anything without it being even more nasty. The perfect trap."

"Fuck you, Raine." Marley spits into the rinse sink spitefully and allows herself a consolatory eyeful of Raine's busty cleavage for the second she's eye-level with it. She doesn't even care if that beautiful, evil bitch notices, which she certainly does. The faintest curl of a smirk gives away what her averted eyes don't.

"Are you going to get it?" Raine nods toward the TV, where the reporter concludes the interview by asking glibly, "I think, therefore I am, right?" Rashid answers seriously, "Exactly."

"Oh, pfft. No, I don't think so. Too expensive."

Raine leans on her elbows and flashes a radiant smile at a couple of men as they saunter up to the bar. Both leave her a 100% tip after being served their drinks. "I don't have the tit for that kind of tat," Marley teases. Raine blows the men a kiss and then leans into Marley so closely that the hot liquor breath in her ear makes her skin tingle everywhere. "It's 10% what you got and 90% how you use it, darling," she drawls, and snarls flirtatiously with a gentle headbutt before peeling away. Marley knows damn well she is beet red and doesn't try too hard to suppress a flustered hum in between her tightrope thin lips as she watches Raine sweep away like a queen. The audacity.