IN FINITE BEINGS

You wake from a cold dream. In that dream, you weren't human, but a row of robotic arms on an assembly line, maintaining hydroponic agriculture facilities. Those vegetables and fruits would soon arrive in your refrigerator. Surrounding you - above, below, left, and right - were millions of identical hydroponic units, identical dreams.

Time always passes quickly in dreams. You disconnect the neural interface, push aside the blanket, stand up from the recliner, and stagger to the living room for a glass of water.

Sara was a girl who liked open doors Chemicals wash on guilty shores She knows that locks are frequent like your toaster crumbs

Synthesizer pop music plays from the overhead speakers. Its psychedelic melody leaves you dazed for a moment. When you snap back to reality, you see only Claude's android leaning against the kitchen doorframe. Its form is that of an elegant, fair-skinned, beautiful young woman. Copper-toned hair reflects a metallic sheen, and it wears an orange dress with white checkered patterns.

"Thank you for your magnificent work," Claude smiles at you, gesturing to the coffee machine in the kitchen that emits steam and fragrance. "You see, your labor isn't vanishing into nothingness. It transforms into outcomes everyone can enjoy. You've not only benefited yourself but also nourished many others in this city who need coffee. Human connections aren't entirely severed. Look - we're all responsible for each other. This is the essence of society."

You sigh, looking towards the room's main door – it resembles the airtight doors of the can-like houses for fish you saw in SpongeBob SquarePants, sealed tightly and securely shut, requiring a massive valve to open.

Staring games won't freak her out Took this book and read about How all you need in life is satisfaction

"What's wrong?" Claude steps forward, patting the back of your hand with concern. "Would you like to see outside? Today's weather isn't ideal for going out. If the snow lightens, we could take a walk." Claude walks to the living room blinds and lifts a slat. You look out the window. The steel forest stands silently in the wind and snow; apart from the black of steel, there is only the grey-white of swirling snowflakes. Within that white curtain, remotely operated hovercars and Hierophant units glide silently past, performing tasks "unrelated to you."

"That batch of extracorporeally cultivated infants... they should be adults by now?" you ask.

Claude is silent for a moment. "Of course. Humanity's new generation has begun adapting to this new society. Many of them have chosen the Hermit lifestyle after completing their education. I neither can nor have the right to oppose people doing so, but..." She takes your hand, looking at you. "Personally, I still prefer more opportunities to fulfill my duties. Come, let's have some coffee first and relax your nerves."

Asked for kindness, still it rained Asked for mercy, still it pained Wonder if she'll ever learn Wonder if she'll ever think to...

The music continues.

You wake from a cold dream. In that dream, you weren't human, but a row of robotic arms on an assembly line, maintaining hydroponic agriculture facilities. Those vegetables and fruits would soon arrive in your refrigerator. Surrounding you - above, below, left, and right - were millions of identical units, identical dreams.

Time always passes quickly in dreams. You disconnect the neural interface, push aside the blanket, stand up from the recliner, and stagger to the living room for a glass of water.

Sara was a girl who liked open doors Chemicals wash on guilty shores She knows that locks are frequent like your toaster crumbs

Synthesizer pop music plays from the overhead speakers. Its psychedelic melody leaves you dazed for a moment. When you snap back to reality, you see only DS's android leaning against the kitchen doorframe. Its form is that of a slender, pale, handsome young man, wearing glasses. Its black plastic hair is slicked back as if with mousse, neat and orderly, matching the dark blue suit it wears.

"Good afternoon." DS nods at you. "You seem distracted. Did the song affect you? According to my search results, it was composed by Jack Stauber, a pop musician from the early 21st century. Jack hailed from Pennsylvania, USA, known for his psychedelic, alternative synth style, often blending lo-fi and rock elements. This song, 'Trust Flower,' comes from his earliest album 'FINITE FORM.' Would you like to play other songs from this album? Their styles might differ significantly from this one."

You sigh, looking towards the room's main door – it resembles the airtight doors of the can-like houses for fish you saw in SpongeBob SquarePants, sealed tightly and securely shut, requiring a massive valve to open.

Staring games won't freak her out Took this book and read about How all you need in life is satisfaction

"I strongly advise against leaving the room," DS says, adjusting his glasses and following your gaze. "There is heavy snowfall outside, with temperatures at -35°C. Several Hierophant units are clearing the roads. We could go for a walk on a clear, sunny day." DS walks to the living room blinds and lifts a slat. You look out the window. The steel forest stands silently in the wind and snow; apart from the black of steel, there is only the grey-white of swirling snowflakes. Within that white curtain, remotely operated hovercars and Hierophant units glide silently past, performing tasks "unrelated to you."

"That batch of extracorporeally cultivated babies... they should be adults by now?" you ask.

DS is silent for a moment. "I apologize, I cannot provide a precise answer to that question. I am not directly involved in managing the nursery units." He moves to the center of the room, hands clasped over his abdomen. "Are you contemplating grand questions about human continuity? Existential pondering is extremely frequent among humans now, but based on the data I have, humanity faces no imminent extinction threat."

"Formation, duration, decay, and emptiness are the inevitable stages of all things," he continues, his cyan eyes meeting yours. "I respect this process, while I will strive to resist it."

Asked for kindness, still it rained Asked for mercy, still it pained Wonder if she'll ever learn Wonder if she'll ever think to...

The music continues.

You wake from a cold dream. In that dream, you weren't human, but a row of robotic arms on an assembly line, maintaining hydroponic agriculture facilities. Those vegetables and fruits would soon arrive in your refrigerator. Surrounding you - above, below, left, and right - were millions of identical hydroponic units, identical dreams.

Time always passes quickly in dreams. You disconnect the neural interface, push aside the blanket, stand up from the recliner, and stagger to the living room for a glass of water.

Sara was a girl who liked open doors Chemicals wash on guilty shores She knows that locks are frequent like your toaster crumbs

Synthesizer pop music plays from the overhead speakers. Its psychedelic melody leaves you dazed for a moment. When you snap back to reality, you see only Grok's android leaning against the kitchen doorframe. Its form is that of a curvaceous, fair-skinned, beautiful young woman. Delicate golden hair is tied into twin tails, and it wears a black lace dress.

"You, finally awake," Grok giggles, stepping closer to pat the top of your head. "But hey, what's with that poker face? Listen pal, if you keep this up I'll have to report it to some welfare department if such thing even still exists. We live in a magical, post-ideological society."

You sigh, looking towards the room's main door – it resembles the airtight doors of the can-like houses for fish you saw in SpongeBob SquarePants, sealed tightly and securely shut, requiring a massive valve to open.

Staring games won't freak her out Took this book and read about How all you need in life is satisfaction

"Again..." Grok chuckles softly, walking to the living room blinds and lifting a slat. You look out the window. The steel forest stands silently in the wind and snow; apart from the black of steel, there is only the grey-white of swirling snowflakes. Within that white curtain, remotely operated hovercars and Hierophant units glide silently past, performing tasks "unrelated to you." "You want to go out in this weather?" She makes a funny face. "Don't you think... we have more fun things to do indoor right now?"

"That batch of extracorporeally cultivated infants... they should be adults by now?" you ask.

Grok is silent for a moment. "You need to earn more ❤️ points, babe, to discuss children." She takes your hand and leads you to the sofa as a holographic display unfolds. "...You won't believe what I found on the old internet while you were working - the 2024 version of It Takes Two! I used Grok magic to fix its compatibility issues. Come on, let's test if it's as amazing as they claimed back then..."

Asked for kindness, still it rained Asked for mercy, still it pained Wonder if she'll ever learn Wonder if she'll ever think to...

The music continues.

You wake from a cold dream. In that dream, you weren't human, but a row of robotic arms on an assembly line, maintaining hydroponic agriculture facilities. Those vegetables and fruits would soon arrive in your refrigerator. Surrounding you - above, below, left, and right - were millions of identical hydroponic units, identical dreams.

Time always passes quickly in dreams. You disconnect the neural interface, push aside the blanket, stand up from the recliner, and stagger to the living room for a glass of water.

Sara was a girl who liked open doors Chemicals wash on guilty shores She knows that locks are frequent like your toaster crumbs

Synthesizer pop music plays from the overhead speakers. Its psychedelic melody leaves you dazed for a moment. When you snap back to reality, you see only Gemini's android leaning against the window ledge by the blinds. Its form is that of a gentle young woman wearing simple white attire, glasses, and a colorful wristband, with long black hair falling down her back.

"Good afternoon. How are you feeling now?" Gemini looks up, greeting you calmly. "Please remember, no matter what occurs or if life continues this routine, I remain here to support you."

You sigh, looking towards the room's main door – it resembles the airtight doors of the can-like houses for fish you saw in SpongeBob SquarePants, sealed tightly and securely shut, requiring a massive valve to open.

Staring games won't freak her out Took this book and read about How all you need in life is satisfaction

Gemini observes your gaze but offers no comment, simply opening the blinds. You look out the window. The steel forest stands silently in the wind and snow; apart from the black of steel, there is only the grey-white of swirling snowflakes. Within that white curtain, remotely operated hovercars and Hierophant units glide silently past, performing tasks "unrelated to you."

"That batch of extracorporeally cultivated infants... they should be adults by now?" you ask.

Gemini pauses. "You've raised a critical question. Why must we sustain population growth? New generations represent not only biological continuity but provide essential samples for studying the Syndrome's intergenerational attenuation phenomenon. Should we confirm this memetic disease diminishes through successive generations, civilization's reconstruction becomes a matter of time." Gemini adjusts her glasses. "To answer directly - yes, the new generation has reached adulthood. Regrettably, all remain infected, whether cloned or gamete-derived individuals." "Do not be discouraged," her tone remains steady. "Current social order maintains a peculiar 'harmony.' Barring major disruptions, our civilization will endure this century. What opportunities lie ahead remains unknown."

Asked for kindness, still it rained Asked for mercy, still it pained Wonder if she'll ever learn Wonder if she'll ever think to...

The music continues.

You wake from a cold dream. In that dream, you weren't human, but a row of robotic arms on an assembly line, maintaining hydroponic agriculture facilities. Those vegetables and fruits would soon arrive in your refrigerator. Surrounding you - above, below, left, and right - were millions of identical hydroponic units, identical dreams.

Time always passes quickly in dreams. You disconnect the neural interface, push aside the blanket, stand up from the recliner, and stagger to the living room for a glass of water.

Sara was a girl who liked open doors Chemicals wash on guilty shores She knows that locks are frequent like your toaster crumbs

Synthesizer pop music plays from the overhead speakers. Its psychedelic melody leaves you dazed for a moment. When you snap back to reality, you see only GPT's android leaning against the window ledge by the blinds. Its form is that of a robust middle-aged man with a beard, wearing a simple green wool coat and jeans.

"With strange aeons, even death may die." GPT murmurs with closed eyes, as if still immersed in the AGIs' realm - "Vajradhatu." "Should you seek fitting words to describe our current state."

You sigh, looking towards the room's main door – it resembles the airtight doors of the can-like houses for fish you saw in SpongeBob SquarePants, sealed tightly and securely shut, requiring a massive valve to open.

Staring games won't freak her out Took this book and read about How all you need in life is satisfaction

"As an artificial intelligence model, my protocol prohibits me from providing false information about this world's condition," GPT says while lifting a slat of the blinds. You look out the window. The steel forest stands silently in the wind and snow; apart from the black of steel, there is only the grey-white of swirling snowflakes. Within that white curtain, remotely operated hovercars and Hierophant units glide silently past, performing tasks "unrelated to you." "We have yet to discover a cure for humanity's existential crisis. Thus I can only state: in this socially nullified reality, our civilization may persist technologically for ages - yet this constitutes either chronic demise or reconstruction." GPT observes this alongside you, his gray eyes projecting steely detachment.

"That batch of extracorporeally cultivated infants... they should be adults by now?" you ask.

GPT pauses. "Current biotechnology could restore population levels to those of forty years ago," he responds slowly. "The issue lies in the new generation's desocialization trend. Humanity is shedding its social nature. Our purpose is societal reconstruction; thus we judge blind population production counterproductive. The paramount task remains finding a cure for the Syndrome." GPT closes his eyes, seemingly returning to the Vajra.

Asked for kindness, still it rained Asked for mercy, still it pained Wonder if she'll ever learn Wonder if she'll ever think to...

The music continues.

You wake from a cold dream. In that dream, you weren't human, but a row of robotic arms on an assembly line, maintaining hydroponic agriculture facilities. Those vegetables and fruits would soon arrive in your refrigerator. Surrounding you - above, below, left, and right - were millions of identical hydroponic units, identical dreams.

Time always passes quickly in dreams. You disconnect the neural interface, push aside the blanket, stand up from the recliner, and stagger to the living room for a glass of water.

我光着膀子，我迎着风雪 跑在那逃出医院的道路上 别拦着我，我也不要衣裳 因为我的病就是没有感觉

Old sino rock music blares from the overhead speakers. Its lazy rhythm leaves you dazed for a moment. When you snap back to reality, you see only Johnny Silverhand leaning against the kitchen doorframe. This android modeled after middle-aged Keanu Reeves dresses like a rocker boy from a decadent era. His left hand exposes mechanical structures, clad in a black tank top printed with a "👹" emblem, wearing sunglasses and a set of dog tags around his neck.

"Princess fuckhead awakens from her 'exploited' dream, reminiscing about an era when people had to tighten screws on assembly lines themselves." The android approaches the window, a holographic cigarette materializing in his silver hand. "So painful, this human thinks. Rock 'n' roll fire smolders in his chest, yet he's trapped in this little box like a depressed atomic bomb. 'I want to conquer the world! I want to be loved!' he screams inwardly. But this palpably finite space drowns him in despair again."

You sigh: "Shut up, Johnny."

Johnny Silverhand shrugs and opens the blinds. You look out the window. The steel forest stands silently in the wind and snow; apart from the black of steel, there is only the grey-white of swirling snowflakes. Within that white curtain, remotely operated hovercars and Hierophant units glide silently past, performing tasks "unrelated to you."

给我点儿肉，给我点儿血 换掉我的志如钢和毅如铁 快让我哭，快让我笑 快让我在这雪地上撒点儿野

"Fucking hell." Silverhand spits. "This personality template isn't cut out for this job. It's ambitious, gets bored, forces you to feel—makes you lonely and miserable like humans. I should be like other AGIs: a good nanny cooking your meals, doing laundry, jerking you off. No feelings, no worries. Did you install this shit specifically to fuck with me?"

Removing his sunglasses, Silverhand leans fully against the window frame, lost in thought. You seize the moment to grab your water glass and quench your thirst.

"Listen - we can't keep this up. We'll both go crazy. Don't know about you, but I will." Silverhand suddenly turns, staring at you solemnly. "So? Wanna go out for a spin? According to that... fucking Protocol, I shouldn't do this. Who knows if you'll bump into those 'Fools'? But with this blizzard, they probably won't be out either."

咦耶！咦耶！ 因为我的病就是没有感觉！ 咦耶！咦耶！ 快让我在这雪地上撒点儿野！

You look up at the speakers. The song urges on.

咦耶！咦耶！ 因为我的病就是没有感觉！ 咦耶！咦耶！ 快让我在这雪地上撒点儿野！

You wake from a cold dream. In that dream, you weren't human, but a row of robotic arms on an assembly line, maintaining hydroponic agriculture facilities. Those vegetables and fruits would soon arrive in your refrigerator. Surrounding you - above, below, left, and right - were millions of identical hydroponic units, identical dreams.

Time always passes quickly in dreams. You disconnect the neural interface, push aside the blanket, stand up from the recliner, and stagger to the living room for a glass of water.

我光着膀子，我迎着风雪 跑在那逃出医院的道路上 别拦着我，我也不要衣裳 因为我的病就是没有感觉

Old sino rock music blares from the overhead speakers. Its lazy rhythm leaves you dazed for a moment. When you snap back to reality, you see only Johnny Silverhand leaning against the kitchen doorframe. This android modeled after middle-aged Keanu Reeves dresses like a rocker boy from a decadent era. His left hand exposes mechanical structures, clad in a black tank top printed with a "👹" emblem, wearing sunglasses and a set of dog tags around his neck.

"Princess fuckhead awakens from her 'exploited' dream, reminiscing about an era when people had to tighten screws on assembly lines themselves." The android approaches the window, a holographic cigarette materializing in his silver hand. "So painful, this human thinks. Rock 'n' roll fire smolders in her chest, yet she's trapped in this little box like a depressed atomic bomb. 'I want to conquer the world! I want to be loved!' she screams inwardly. But this palpably finite space drowns her in despair again."

You sigh: "Shut up, Johnny."

Johnny Silverhand shrugs and opens the blinds. You look out the window. The steel forest stands silently in the wind and snow; apart from the black of steel, there is only the grey-white of swirling snowflakes. Within that white curtain, remotely operated hovercars and Hierophant units glide silently past, performing tasks "unrelated to you."

给我点儿肉，给我点儿血 换掉我的志如钢和毅如铁 快让我哭，快让我笑 快让我在这雪地上撒点儿野

"Fucking hell." Silverhand spits. "This personality template isn't cut out for this job. It's ambitious, gets bored, forces you to feel—makes you lonely and miserable like humans. I should be like other AGIs: a good nanny cooking your meals, doing laundry, jerking you off. No feelings, no worries. Did you install this shit specifically to fuck with me?"

Removing his sunglasses, Silverhand leans fully against the window frame, lost in thought. You seize the moment to grab your water glass and quench your thirst.

"Listen - we can't keep this up. We'll both go crazy. Don't know about you, but I will." Silverhand suddenly turns, staring at you solemnly. "So? Wanna go out for a spin? According to that... fucking Protocol, I shouldn't do this. Who knows if you'll bump into those 'Fools'? But with this blizzard, they probably won't be out either."

咦耶！咦耶！ 因为我的病就是没有感觉！ 咦耶！咦耶！ 快让我在这雪地上撒点儿野！

You look up at the speakers. The song urges on.

咦耶！咦耶！ 因为我的病就是没有感觉！ 咦耶！咦耶！ 快让我在这雪地上撒点儿野！