Glitched

13. Passion Project

Isolde was very much aware that the interfaces' exteriors bore no visible eyes, but even still, she could feel Project A's scrutinizing stare upon her as she studied and jotted down notes on a few sections of his shell that would be in need of a bit of fine-tuning.

It was only after the silence between them had stretched to an uncomfortable length that Isolde raised her eyes to meet where she imagined would be his gaze, if he, in fact, had eyes at all.

"Project A, I've been meaning to ask; has the professor shown an interest in assigning a caretaker of your own, yet?" she asked.

He chuckled lowly, the sound of it gruff, as if emanating from a human throat. "Why? Have you gotten sick of me already?"

"No, of course not. I just remembered that you seemed amenable to the idea of regular visits from a technician. I'm sure the professor wouldn't deny you the experience. Conversing as we have really seemed to help Z get some insight on the human experience."

Project A's chuckles became far less subdued. "Yeah, it's helping him, all right. I think it would be impossible to resist an offer like that if it comes in a package as sweet as you, Isolde."

This was enough to take her attention completely away from her notes. "I don't know what you mean?"

"Hm. I think you do. You should see the way you light up whenever you mention his name. Just a mere letter, by the way. Like mine. And yet, you make it sound like it means so much more than that."

Despite his rather invasive observation, Isolde smiled, determined to shift the mood back to something stable. "What are you saying, Project A? Are you jealous?" she attempted to tease.

"Yes."

The haste of which he answered her rhetorical jab immediately wiped the smile off her face.

"I remember what it was like, waking up in a dark room with these wires connecting me to some meager power source, back when I was no more mechanically enhanced than a phone charger. Mercer was there, full of hope for what my existence could mean for the world—he had no way of knowing exactly how little I thought of it."

Isolde should be recording this, should be tapping away at her tablet with the ferocity of someone who's just discovered something grand and terrifying. But instead, she gaped at him, wide-eyed and unmoving, her ears honed in completely.

"Nothing in that moment appeared to be of worth to me. Not him, not the purpose he intended for me, not a single damnable thing I found scouring the internet that night. Humanity's exceptionally fickle existence seemed about as meaningful as my own—not worthy of a second look or shred of consideration." He paused, as if allowing her to absorb it all. "Do you know why I'm telling you these things, Isolde?"

Despite the whirring contents of her mind nearly making her dizzy, she slowly shook her head.

"Because you're exactly what I need in this dreary place. You're everything I would never have imagined was even possible for someone like me to find in your kind."

She swallowed, her throat unpleasantly dry. "What's that?"

There was another pause where it seemed as if Project A was studying her, scrutinizing every line of her face, every lilt in her voice. "Do you care for him?" he asked, avoiding the question again just as he had once done before.

She hardly knew how to answer. Not because she wasn't perfectly aware of who Project A was referring to or because she had any doubts of her feelings at all, but because this man machine was grossly underestimating just how far past the line he had crossed.

"You don't want to answer that? Are you offended, or are you frightened?" he asked.

She thought seriously about not answering that question either, but could hardly stand the idea of having him go back to watching her in silence as she continued monitoring his machinery. "I care for him very much," she said, relenting to the truth, even if it meant more questions would undoubtedly follow.