#programmer021

The process was understood: Relocate the assets’ required energy intake into the designated locations for efficient refueling. Dispose of contaminated matter on assets’ physical form to prevent unacceptable malformations in assets’ functionality due to infection by viruses. Assess assets’ condition via visual and physical examination to evaluate functionality and determine if recalibration will be necessary.

It was familiar with all of these processes; it had undergone all of them many times…it was just odd being the one doing them, and not the other way around.

Red, the administrator of this section of the base, was impossibly patient. He had yet to demean it for the several failings it had already committed at the tasks. So many times in the past hour did it miscalculate or misstep or misspeak and brace for pain discipline physical reeducation only for him to do…something…with his face(it looked like a frown but wrong) and offer advice or physical support.

The task was finally completed. It was far less efficient than would normally be tolerated, though it knew assigning false blame to its’ still healing eyes would only lead to those eyes being recalibrated. But it knew from experience that falsifying functionality would only lead to more recalibration, so when the administrator asked how its vision was working, it told the truth and waited for him to send it to Her.

“If you had told me your eyes were still adjusting, I would’ve suggested we do something easier.”

“Failure in the tool to perform is the fault of the tool, never the user.”

“I’m not-” He was upset. It had given an incorrect response. “You are not a tool! I asked you to help me because having something to do helps me process stuff! I-I thought you might want a break from everything for a little bit.”

“It-This-You-...I do not understand.”

The administrator Red made an unknown expression(disappointment but misdirected). Then he gestured for his prize asset, designated Reubin, to approach. He picked him up and…wrapped his arms around him?

“Listen to me, Ovy,” He used the abbreviated designation he and the other administrators others assigned several days ago, “You are never, and will never, be forced to do something you do not want to do unless it is absolutely necessary for your health.” He looked it in its faulty eyes the whole time. “We help each other, provide for each other, are there for each other not because we’re forced to, but because we want to.”

“You’re our sibling,” Red put an unexpected emphasis on that last word. It knew they were technologically related-five made by Her-so it didn’t understand why that was being reacknowledged. “And I’m so sorry we weren’t there for you. But we’re together now. And now, I am asking-not ordering-do you want to pet Reuben?”

“...What is petting?”

So Red showed it how to pet an asset animal. How to let them sniff its hand and scratch behind the ears and hold them properly.

*(basically a mini computer running inside of (but held separately from) another computer) (used to test new features without risking a whole system)

on the twelfth go, they've learned enough of its tricks to have more of a chance. both of them take a moment after a long scuffle to catch their breaths. the stick figure gasps on the floor - it's amazing! so lifelike! and programmer is celebrating this little victory for the field of recreational AI right up until

it looks at them.

TCO #12 turns its hollow face out through the screen, looking at them.

programmer is unsettled.

can it see them?

their webcam is off.

surely it's impossible?

right?

and yet, it seems to see them regardless, because not only does it react to their reaction (little twitches eerily realistic, how did their program know to do those things), it capitalizes on their shock. it springs to its feet while they're still open-mouthed and reaches the walls of the sandbox window (which programmer had been herding them away from at all costs), crashing against the side, rebounding, and hitting them again and again.

programmer flails to reconnect to their Cursor (you know when you forget where it is and have to wave it around before you can use it again? like that, but with even more panic, confusion, and imminent peril).

there are cracks in a multitude of funny colors forming at the edge of the sandbox instance. pieces of the window dent out of its normal bounding box. The Chosen One adapts instantly, focusing its hits toward the weak points.

WTF! this has gone way too far.

programmer's Cursor swoops around from out of nowhere and catches the TCO by the base of its head. it tries to breathe fire and only manages strangled puffs of smoke. its legs kick the air. where once it was so elegant and poised it twists and writhes-

programmer drops it.

they feel cold.

their Cursor retreats outside the walls of the sandbox PC, clicking into the main system's File Explorer. already open is the folder with this sandbox, its partition of storage, and setup files inside.

they click it. press Delete on their keyboard.

the TCO tries to stand. it pushes through a dizzy spell, one hand holding the spot under its head that must be its neck, and sprints toward the breach it was working on.

a confirmation pane appears, from the process responsible for running the sandbox.

its arms are strong, but the more TCO_12 struggles the more it's clear that this wall would need way more firepower and concerted effort... and time... to break. it's out of time. it realizes this.

are you sure you want to end this process? ALL data will be lost.

programmer sees when it loses hope, because it abandons the wall. it abandons the whole game: the pride and dignity it fought with, the play-pretend that it held any real power here. it turns outward again, toward the screen. small hands slam against the barrier between them, knock-knocking faster, faster, please please please, its legs shake and give out but it keeps knocking, on its knees, please please please please PLEASE

the sandbox is deleted.

the window that displayed it freezes, lighting up too-bright and desaturated.

a snapshot of the TCO is frozen in place, begging for...

begging for what? it was never meant to know anything. to want anything. how did it know there was anything outside its reality to want?

or was it simply afraid to die?

Windows catches up, and sweeps the frozen program away.

programmer021 is left alone with the spot where TCO_12 used to be.

their friends want to play with their latest stick figures. they were supposed to update today.

The idea is that both Alan and programmer have robot vr bodies, Alan's was created by the sticks (because drawing his avatar for vr was a bad idea) while programmer made his on his own. It's supposed to be made of basic geometrical shapes, like something quickly put together.

I've seen a few people have a theory that programmer made a program that made stick figures sentient and I really like that!

Imagine he loses connection with noogai3 and then tries to find out what happened with his code. He sees some things that shouldn't be there and starts trying to "fix" them. Basically editing their code and taking away their free will (brain washing/mind controlling them).

Programmer eventually finds Alan and the two clash. Alan now knows sticks are sentient but programmer doesn't want to accept that or listen to Alan's reasoning. Programmer eventually makes gets an army with the sticks he's controlling, but somehow falls.

He has no choice but to face the reality of what he's done, much like Alan did and Alan could actually help him here. Perhaps they could be friends again in the future and could even collab for some projects together. Also if programmer also made stick figures? They would have probably gone through hell tbh.