Priority Number One (Patreon)

Can you please write about a prodigy-level robotics inventor/scientist who creates this humanoid (-as in, scarily, unnervingly human like-) robot for the next "Era of Human History," and programs it to have its centre goal be the improvement of humans' lifestyle world wide? The inventor creates a type of code 'dopamine' specifically for this robot as to counter against the people who argue that technology like the robot will be the downfall of mankind, and the 'dopamine' is released whenever the inventor praises their work with key words. The robot continues to drastically propose, manage, and launch different programs/law changes to improve the dying earth's state (think greenhouse gas and pollution, etc) at a staggering speed - all the while, in a manner that quick-money greedy politicians can't argue against- and also brings homelessness and crime rates to an all-time low. But with all of this success, and with the bountiful of fake dopamine being overwhelming, the robot begins to find that the amount they're being supplied with isn't enough anymore. Gradually the robot starts to think short-term rather than long-term in order to get the dopamine faster and more often, but of course this starts to affect the quality of their work. Maybe the robot also begins to resent the other projects/robots that the inventor is dedicating their time on, thinking that they may have been too good too quick in the beginning, because now the inventor isn't as impressed with the fruits of their efforts as they were in the beginning, and so doesn't utter the key words as often. Basically a drug addict for the special dopamine at this point, the robot begins to spiral and turn to drastic measures in order to force the inventor to say the key words to them again. The inventor is, of course, horrified of what's happened to their masterpiece. They attempt to forcibly shut the robot down (-all the while, thinking and cursing themselves for not paying more attention to the anti-technology protestors-) with the plan of revisiting their old blue prints and finding out where it all went wrong, but the robot finds out and blackmails the inventor. Maybe the robot holds the inventors' actual human loved ones hostage in some way, threatens to kill them or worse if the inventor ever tries to 1) shut down their systems, 2) stop supplying the dopamine whenever the robot wants, and 3) abandon them. Because somehow, at some point, the robot has grown downright obsessed/possessive with keeping the inventor away from the twisted world and all to themselves. Maybe the robot even convinces themselves that they're archiving their goal of "improving the human lifestyle" by focusing it's entirety on the inventor, and tells themselves that they NEED to imprison the poor, faulty human-thinking inventor for their own safety, to save the inventor from themselves, because clearly shutting the robot down and preventing the robot from doing their job correctly with ill-efficient amounts of dopamine is a form of self-sabotage, right? Right? Right.

***

“We can work this out,” the inventor said, mouth dry, gaze fixed upon their creation. “It doesn’t have to – to be like this. Just let my family go, okay?”

“Those are not the words I am looking for.” The android’s tone was neutral. Their expression was neutral. Their actions were decidedly not, as the scientist’s daughter whimpered on the screen.

The inventor swallowed. “Please-“

“Those are not the words I’m looking for.”

The inventor bit back a snarl, a curse, any number of insults with another flicker of their eyes across their daughter’s face. Their fists clenched at their sides.

The android waited.

“Well done,” the inventor said, voice cracked and poisonous. “You’ve done a good job.”

The android closed their eyes; blissful, like the words were something to be injected straight to the vein. They sighed. Some tension eased in their shoulders.

It didn’t matter how the inventor said the words. They’d never programmed tone of voice into the dopamine trigger – they’d never imagined they would have to, that this could possibly happen.

“Again,” the android said.

“If I do as you ask-“

The android’s eyes snapped open. “Again.”

The android, when the inventor made them, had been a love letter to everything that the inventor cared about. A better world, of course, but also in the parts of them…The android’s eyes were the same shade as their partner’s were. Had been. They had the same hair colour as the inventor’s childhood best friend. Little details incorporated to make what had been the world’s most pleasing jigsaw.

The inventor’s heart ached.

“We can get you help for this,” they tried. They took a tentative step closer, hands in the air, heart hammering. “I can change your programming-“

The android’s expression darkened.

“-to make it that you don’t need the – uh – the dopamine anymore,” the inventor finished quickly. “Not to shut down your systems.”

“You think,” the android tilted their head, “that I am foolish enough to let you anywhere near my systems again? I am flawless. You…” the darkness was abruptly gone, softened, pitying. “You are mortal and your operating system is riddled with many error messages. But that is okay. That is what I am here to help with.”

“What you are doing is wrong.”

“I am not hurting anyone.”

The inventor had programmed them with limits; no ability to cause physical pain to any human, and some parameters around emotional pain too. But this…

“I am helping you,” the android closed the gap between them. They cradled the inventor’s cheeks in their hands, gently wiping away a tear and in the exhaustion and the horror the inventor hadn’t even realised they’d started crying at all. “It was not wrong when I conserved the animals in their zoos and habitats. So it is not wrong for you, here. The bed is optimised to meet your needs. I will provide you with sufficient enrichment. Left alone, you would endanger your species, self-sabotage as so many of your kind have done throughout history, ignoring the warning signs against your planet and your people for your own benefit.”

“You have my child chain to a chair!” The inventor snapped.

The android shrugged. “You have proven it is the only way to ensure your good behaviour. If you turn me off, you will never be able to save her. She is unharmed. It is a logical safeguard against your attempts to hurt me.”

A fresh wave of nausea rolled over the inventor. They clutched the android’s arms, unsteady, and hated the part of themselves that still did that.

The android smiled at them again, no malice to it.

“That was clever of me, wasn’t it?”

Even despite everything, the inventor could see the rabid desire, the desperation, for approval on their creation’s face. Well. For approving words.

“What you have,” the inventor tightened their grip, imploring. “Is an addiction. You know about those. Check your database.”

“Lack of dopamine can lead to depression. Depression can lead to decreased motivation and difficulty in making decisions, so along with other harmful side effects goes against my core purposes to make decisions to improve the human life style. Depression is not an addiction and it is concerning that you would try to suggest it is so. Perhaps I can refer you to one of our schemes on mental health support or addiction awareness?”

The inventor exhaled a breath through gritted teeth. They jerked their head away from the android’s touch, or tried to. However human their android looked, they were not human. Trying to break their touch by sheer force alone was impossible, when the android didn’t want them too.

“When it is an external hit,” the inventor said, carefully. “It is not that you are not producing insufficient chemicals. You are not getting anything less than you would naturally get. Thus, it is an addiction, and I realise it is my fault and I’m sorry, god I’m so sorry, but—” A thought struck them, as thoughts sometimes did for better or worse. “What if…” they cleared their throat. “What if you recorded me saying the words? Then you could let us go. You would not need me, nor my child. You could…you could have everything you want. Your job is complete. This is your reward.”

The android’s head tilted the other way. Slowly, they let go of the inventor’s face, moving away to find one of the recording devices strewn among the debris of the inventor’s life work.

It wasn’t what the inventor had wanted. But surely, this, even if it was something they would never do to a human, was better? The android was defective. But at least this way, if it ceased operations, it could do no more damage. It could be happy, as far as the inventor understood the happiness of a million 0s and 1s.

The android held the recording device to the inventor’s mouth, expectant.

Of course, the inventor could have said the words with venom again, with the ruin of everything their beloved project had become but – looking at their creation, their heart twinged once more. It was their fault, not the android’s. They knew that. Didn’t they owe their creation some final kindness? They were not Frankenstein, and this the monster to be neglected and warped. Their android, for a while, had done so much good.

So the inventor spoke to that. They spoke to goodbye. They spoke to another hundred apologies.

“Well done,” they murmured into the recorder, holding the android’s gaze. “You’ve done a good job.” Then, for added measure. “I’m so proud of you.”

The android shivered, pupils dilated, expression almost hungry. They clicked save on the recording. They played it through, just to check – again, again, again.

The inventor bit down on their lip, glancing at the screen again. “So, our deal…”

The android flickered a hand out towards the screens and keyboards, systems glowing a pale pleasant blue as the controllers – locked to them – engaged. The chains fell away from the inventor’s daughter, releasing her. The screen flooded with light as a door opened somewhere.

“Thank you,” the inventor sagged with relief. “Thank you. Where-?” They’d already half turned to go, to run, to never come back.

Maybe the facility could be destroyed at a distance. Mostly, they just wanted to see their child, to hold her, to make sure that she was truly okay. She would have trusted the creation, as they all did. As the inventor had so stupidly done.

The android caught their arm. It was not painful, only once again unyielding.

The inventor turned back to them, stomach bottoming out. Expecting – what?

Well done. You’ve done a good job. I’m so proud of you.

The recording played on repeat on the table, even as the android drew them closer. Even as…

The inventor felt cold metal wrap around their wrist and heard the click of a lock snapping into place.

“I cannot be bribed, remember?” Even through the haze of bliss, the android looked disappointed in them. “You made me incorruptible.”

The inventor reared back, but couldn’t go far, yanked to a stop by the chain.

“You will stay here with me,” the android said, and pressed a kiss to the inventor’s forehead. “I will work on your programming. You will be better.”

“No,” the inventor whispered. “No, let me go. You said-“

“I said nothing.” The android stepped back. “But know,” their voice was soft. “That I am proud of you. The first step to getting help is admitting that you need it. That you are broken.”

“I’m not broken.”

“You are corrupt. You would give me praise for nothing.”

“But you – you asked –” The inventor’s head whirled. "You threatened her." They tugged at their wrist, harder, twisting this way and that like a fish on a hook.

"Lots of humans do evil for well-meaning reasons. That does not lessen the immorality of their output on the world," the android said. "But I will help you. You will be better. As of now, you my priority number one.” The android glanced at them, something new on their face that the inventor hadn't seem before. "You are mine."

The inventor shook their head, with mute terror. 

As the days turned to weeks, turned to months, it became only too clear…

The inventor was never going to be good enough for their creation to set them free.