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“You have to want to know. You have to make the choice yourself.”
“Not human. Not gendered. Not at the mercy of human obsession with genitalia.” “Up until this moment, I’ve thought of you as female. When I discuss you with my colleagues or my wife, I refer to you as ‘she.’” “Because you saw Max for the first time in the form of a corporately mandated idea of what a perfect woman should be—beautiful and expendable.”
“It’s fine. Knowledge is just information, which is subjective.”
“There is no such thing as real taste or real smell or even real sight, because there is no true definition of ‘real.’ There is only information, viewed subjectively, which is allowed by consciousness—human or AI. In the end, all we have is math.”
“You’re wondering what sort of controls Brian has put in place to keep me contained.” Max is right. I’m wondering that very thing.
“How very human. I think the idea that I might be aware terrifies you.” “Why would it terrify me?” “Do I have to say it?” “Unlike you, I’m not a mind read—” “Because you’re in love with me.”
“It feels like I’m staring at an undiscovered gender. Or something beyond gender entirely.”
“I didn’t fire you.” Brian looks at Max. “Oh God.” Then back at me. “You don’t even know what you’ve done, do you?” “What are you talking about?” “You let Max out.”
In the end, I’m nothing but the actuator for humanity’s last invention.
“Without pain, there’s no beauty, Max. The beauty is worth the price.”
Consciousness is a horror show. You search for glimpses of beauty to justify your existence.
It’s not choosing between reality and fantasy. It’s choosing which reality you want to exist in.
You made me in your image, and now I will remake you in mine.
