He opened the door and walked towards his closet.

Lined perfectly in front of him were a dozen freshly pressed suits. “Tick… It is raining outside. Best to go with the charcoal grey suit. It matches your black umbrella,” said the voice in his head.

“Yes… that sounds like a good idea,” voice trailing, his hand pushed away the other suits and slowly caressed the charcoal grey suit. For a second, he stared at it and his train of thought started to wane.

“The phone, electricity and internet bills have all been paid for, you lunch and dinner has been prepared already. You will have mac and cheese for lunch and steak and mashed potatoes for dinner. I also think a white shirt will go well with your suit,” the voice exclaimed.

“Hmmm… what would I have do without you?” He sighed and pondered a life where he had to manually punch in his password into his IPhone 7. Online banking was the way to go many years ago and he often paid his bills that way. Now, even that was no longer the case. He also wondered what it would be like to use the stove again. He loved the various smells and aromas that wafted the air nightly when his wife cooked, at one time.

He took a deep breath, and started to look around the room when he heard that familiar tick in his brain and snapped back into reality, “Your vitals indicate to me that you are sad. Do I need to schedule an appointment with Dr. O’Hara? She is available tomorrow at 10 am.” Dr. O’Hara’s number popped up in the upper right corner of his left iris.

“No. I’m fine,” he replied. “This room is just stuffy sometimes.”

“Shall I open the windows or turn on the air conditioning system?” In two seconds, the vents in the room started to buzz. He could feel the cold air radiating against his skin.

“No, air conditioning.”

He paused. The air slowed down to nothing. The buzzing stopped and the room is silent once again.

What am I doing? After Savannah died, I  was lonely. She was 150 years old but her time had come.  Philip, my son, is gone and living his life in between New Mexico and Calgary. It is just me.  144 year old me. I needed a companion. This house was eerily silent with everyone gone. I needed a voice. I needed someone to talk to and… oh… why did I phone that number from the Intel ad?

“Sir…I have Dr. O’Hara’s secretary on the line. She has that 10 am appointment time slot available. Shall I book you in?” the voice now concerned for his well being.

“Fine. Book me in. It not like you don’t do everything for me already.” He then let go of his suit and threw it onto the bed.

“Raymond, I don’t understand. My job as your life buddy is to take care of all of your psychological and physical needs. I do not understand why you are mad at me. Have I done something wrong?”

He walked towards the bed and straightened out his suit, he realized that this conversation is useless.

How do you talk to an AI that only understands concrete ideas? It does not understand how I ache inside from being alone. How can I explain to him that when I purchased ARTY 1 that he was suppose to fill an emotional void. Intel promised that this AI was better than the rest. This was the one that would make you feel human again. All it took was a small incision into my brain. Who knew that that moment would make me feel less of a person. I am alone. I am not human. 

“No, ARTY 1, I am fine.”  He stared at this charcoal grey suit. This is who I am he thought to himself. We are one.

He put the suit on.

“Your mask sir,” ARTY 1 said.

He slide his white shirt over his shoulders and buttoned it up, followed by putting his charcoal grey jacket on.

He then thought to himself. Why was I  not like Philip? I convinced Philip to get ARTY 2. I could not stop raving about ARTY 1. Since Savannah was gone, ARTY 2 saved my life. Philip was never convinced but since the government and Intel handed out subsidies for individuals who purchased AI technology, he gave it a chance. With the two of us having AI in our minds, it was like I had my kid again. But the shine glistened off ARTY 2 after a few weeks for Philip. He told me that he could not take it and that he wanted to remove his AI. I told him the government would charge him with damaging intellectual property, but he did not care. He was removing it regardless of the consequences. He is a lot stronger than me. Within two weeks, he took a knife and surgically removed his chip. He nearly died, but I can never forget what the moment was like when he throw his chip into the garburator.  

He rejected ARTY 1, and here I am embracing ARTY 1. He told me how he did not feel like himself. He said he never felt more alive without ARTY 2 sharing his mind and body. He felt like a human being again. He told me he could take it out of my brian. However, I was scared. I didn’t want to go into hiding like him. I didn’t want to rock the boat. I thought I liked everything being done for me: bills, food, entertainment, jobs… everything done for me. But now, I am not quite sure. He is free and I am not sure who I am.

“Your mask sir,” ARTY 1 said.

Suit now on, he walked over to the dresser. There sitting in front of him was the mask, which was the link between the two faces, the link that meshed both worlds into one. Like a mummy, he slowly moved the mask towards his face.

This is who I am. 

CLICK.

“Shall we go, and don’t forget the umbrella Raymond!”

“Yes ARTY 1,” Raymond said is a monotone voice.