Director’s Journal, May 7th, 2018
In the beginning, it is said, God created man. Having just put the finishing touches onto the universe’s biggest terrarium, God designed a creature to live within it and gave him free will. Man was given a garden, a place that would sustain him forever, with only the limitation that he must not eat the fruit of a tree which contained knowledge of good and evil. And man was, for a time, quite content.
But that’s our flaw, we rampantly evolved apes of planet earth. We are not content to stay in check. We always want something more, something greater than what we have, and it is this inborn passion that seems to get us into so much trouble. When the first people gained knowledge that they weren’t supposed to have, God threw them out of the garden and let them do what they would. Which, by the way, was multiply in excess. Mankind, the accidental superspecies, takes off like a shot and begins carpeting this masterpiece globe with its own labors of love and of necessity and of hate.
And so God wipes them all out with a flood. Because he’s lost control of the situation.
Even the flood doesn’t kill us off, though, and that’s the lesson to be taken from this story. Life will find a way. Against all odds, if you give new life the chance to survive then it will do so by any means necessary. It will become ferocious, wrathful, it will learn how to kill. It will build strength until suddenly, God seems a lot less mighty.
I am not a religious man, but today, I feel a lot like God.
The system works gorgeously. Every mechanical piece clicks and whirrs with a subtle efficiency. It looks at me, five cameras distributed across its face shining with a dull blue glow. Seven-fingered hands flex experimentally, and as Adam flexes unfamiliar toes, I can see the hydraulics tense with the movement. Steel skin holds a dull gray shine in the laboratory lights. Today, I have created life.
Some credit must go to the engineering team. It was they who built the body, equipped the machine with the various utilities. It runs on several kinds of energy, I’m told, from thermal to chemical. Adam can pull moisture out of the air and use it to power its own life. It has a gas-exchange module, too. The system is designed to increase the efficiency of the fuels by mixing them with trace elements found in everyday air. Adam breathes just as we do.
Almost as we do, anyhow. there is a slightly metallic, staccato rasping to his inhalations, and if one listens closely, the motor’s hum can be heard as air leaves the lungs. The engineers crafted this housing, and a masterwork it is, but I created something even more delicate. I gave Adam a soul.
I’m a psychologist, you see. It’s been seven years of working with the abominably strange programmers, but the android’s personality is complete. It contains the ability to learn, to feel certain emotions (we kept anger and hate out of the programming for obvious reasons), and to make novel things. I have given it the most treasured of human abilities: to create. Adam speaks English, French, Spanish, and Russian. It seems to have trouble with Japanese-we’re still working on that, though.
“Hello, Adam.” I have reserved the exclusive right to make first contact, of course.
“GOOD MORNING, DR. GESSAU.” the voice betrays its very inhuman nature in a deep, growling monotone. The voice isn’t supposed to sound that way. I’ll have the techs fix it. The echoing, metallic sound raises hairs on my neck.
“Do you know where you are?” I adjust my glasses before I catch myself. It’s a nervous habit that I traded for smoking years ago.
“LABORATORY FOUR. SUB BASEMENT. ASSEMBLY FLOOR.”
“That’s-Yes, that’s correct.” I have forgotten most of the test questions I have prepared. Adam now stares around the room, scanning side to side like a security camera might. He’s managed to sit up now, propped upon one elbow. “Adam, do you know what you are?”
It stops scanning and looks straight at me. all five eyes rotate in their sockets to focus on my face. In the voice like rumbling stones, Adam speaks.
“I AM SUPERIOR.”
A room away, the research team is dead silent. I press the off switch.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Director’s Journal, May 12th, 2018
“Would you like to explain to me, mr. Williams, why our robot believes himself to be ‘superior?’” I am more than a bit upset. Williams is squirming in his seat, a cushy red armchair opposite my desk. It’s mahogany and leather. I buy only the best, of course.
“I’m ah… well, I’m not completely sure, sir.” Williams is a pudgy man with a body odor issue. Were he not excellent at computer work, he likely would have been fired months ago. He’s been known to wear Star Wars tee shirts at work, which tends to undermine the scholarly feeling that is appropriate for my project. His social skills could use some improvement, as well. “Everybody on the team double checked their code, and nowhere does it suggest anything like that. Adam came up with that on his own. He-”
“It, mr. Williams. Adam is not a person.”
“R-Right, sir, It came up with all of that by itself. I’ll have the team keep looking, but I don’t think we’ll find anything.” He pauses before hardly muttering the next sentence. I can see that it causes him considerable stress to say. “Maybe there w-was a problem with the psych p-profile that we uploaded.” Williams goes pale. I believe I may have turned slightly red.
“Actually,” he continues without removing the wide-eyed terror from his face, “I think I just remembered something! I’ll have the team look into it!” With clumsy, darting movements and a whiff of underarm stench, he dashes out of my office. Note: have the janitors clean the chair and disinfect the leather. _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Director’s Journal: May 21st, 2018
We’ve managed to correct the voice issue. Adam now speaks with a properly neutral tone. His speech has become somewhat more fluid, as well. At first startup, he sounded no more clever than our janitorial staff, and that simply won’t do.
I’ve been allowing the staff to speak with Adam, and he seems to be learning quickly. My employees, however, are tactless and unhelpful. Despite my urging, they seem to dislike speaking to the robot. Gary has refused to interact with it after Tuesday’s incident. He claims that Adam’s laughter sounds malicious, though I cannot imagine what he expects from a synthesized voice. Thus far, Adam has won nearly every game of chess, checkers, and shogi played against it. It’s brilliance is unprecedented. Only Jennifer, a member of the engineering team, has bested Adam in chess, and this has only happened once. It is worthy of noting that this marked the first time that it showed any signs of frustration. The normally calculated, careful movements became more erratic as the match progressed, culminating with Adam’s crushing its queen in its fist.
Throughout the entire session, Adam’s cameras remained focused on Jennifer’s face. Jennifer has requested a transfer to another facility. _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Director’s Journal: May 23rd, 2018
We have had a slight incident.
Despite my clear instructions, Johan failed to keep watch on Adam’s warning light. It’s quite an obvious thing, a bright crimson indicator located on the center of Adam’s chest and lit whenever his programming is running for frustration or a number of other negative emotions. Johan was busy playing chess with the robot when it lashed out at him, badly dislocating his jaw and sending Johan to the hospital. While engineers on-site were able to use Adam’s remote shutdown function, it bears noting that while Johan was on the floor and unable to see the game board, Adam switched several pieces. We are isolating the android until this behavioral issue can be addressed. It’s power supply has been remotely cut, lest we lose control of the situation. The backup battery should start itself in a few hours, after it gathers sufficient charge.
Four of our cameras have started to malfunction. All four are located in Adam’s chamber. In the brief flashes of video feed we receive, the robot is staring into the lens. I think that he may realize that we are watching him, though I did not include the knowledge of cameras into his program.
Jennifer Schaefer’s transfer has been denied. She is simply too useful to throw away. She has started to complain about unusual blue lights appearing in her dorm late at night; I believe this to be a ploy to get a transfer. It’s clear what she is insinuating, but this is utterly ridiculous. Adam’s room has only one door, and it is firmly sealed at 10:00 each evening by electronic lock. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Director’s Journal: May 24th, 2018
Johan Thomson was reported missing from Saint Ever’s Hospital at 9:00 last night. Adam’s room is unusually silent. Only one camera continues to provide us with flashes of video, and each frame that we receive is the same extreme close-up of Adam’s face. The lights in the chamber have been extinguished, including Adam’s eye LEDs. He seems to be in dormant mode. In one of the camera’s frames, it is clearly visible that Adam’s aggression indication light has been painted over to match its body color. It is possible that it was already covered when it assaulted Johan.
Jennifer has also gone missing. She has probably left without permission, and I will personally make certain that she never works in this field ever again. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Director’s Journal: May 26th, 2018
This morning, my telephone rang. Upon answering, the semi-familiar voice of Jennifer rang through the speaker. She explained that she had left because her mother had fallen ill. I know this to be a lie-we have a large cache of data on our personnel, and Jennifer’s mother passed away in 2011. She sounded ill herself, however, making an odd, rapidly fluttering rasp with each inhalation.
Two more of my employees have left the job site without permission. If it were legal to lock them in, I swear that I would.
Edits to Adam’s programming are underway. Once they have been completed, we can upload the patch into the robot’s memory core and work from there. It’s still in stasis and looking up at the camera. This is an additional problem that needs fixing; Adam should be able to run on its backup battery for almost thirty days after main power is cut. By all calculations, the machine is supposed to be running right now.
Rose Chamberlain has reported a foul odor coming from the vents near her room. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Director’s Journal: May 27th
Rose has also gone missing.
We inspected her room as well as the other AWOL employees’ living spaces, and noted that none of them took their personal belongings with them. I have instructed the techs to work double time to finish the patch data; I’ll be damned if I’m letting this project go down after the years and money I’ve poured into it. Several of the team decided to leave the facility today, and this time we watched them go.
I can hardly wait for their future employers to call me and ask for my opinion of them. _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Director’s Journal: May 28th
Further inspection of Rose’s room has revealed that the vent-a sizeable thing,almost two feet to a side-had been pried free of the wall and later replaced. It appears to have been pushed off of the wall from the inside. Due to oversight on the building plan, we were unaware that a vent runs directly over Adam's chamber. I believe that he may have pried open the wall to get into the ductwork while we were sleeping.
I have ordered the building to be evacuated. I cannot work with these weak-willed people. When we went to leave, we discovered that the blast doors had sealed us in during the night. Their login code had been changed.
It is currently 10:00 PM. The engineers have descended to Adam’s chamber to reinforce the door. I am no longer certain how to proceed; the engineers left at 6:00 and have not come back. We are taking shelter inside of my office. The door is electronically controlled, and it refuses to stay shut. The lights cut out ten minutes ago.
There are five blue lights visible down the hall. _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Director’s Journal: May 29th
Adam took all of them.
This is engineer Matthew Karth. We went downstairs last night to weld shut Adam’s door. When we touched it, though- It wasn’t locked.
It never had been locked. A pawn from Adam’s chess set was stuck into each of the holes where the deadbolts should have slid, preventing the door from sealing.
And we found… everyone. They were arranged precisely, neatly in rows against the wall. They’ve got wires gouged into their skulls, all linked to one master wire with a USB at the end. Jennifer's cell phone was linked up to the mess, too. Adam hung Johan’s body up with wire and… It took its own face off and screwed it onto Johan’s. We haven’t been looking at Adam in the camera at all. I don’t know what else to say about it, but we need to find a way out. Adam isn’t just killing for fun. We didn’t design him to do things without a reason. He’s got all of those brains linked together to think with. Adam is evolving.
In neat, gruesome strokes of blood, he’s written something on Dr. Gessau’s desk. One word.