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Xü Beijin stares at NE, at the incomprehensible code that flashes through the artificial intelligence’s electronic eyes.
Xü Beijin says, “you don’t know why I’m helping humans, and I don’t understand either──Why you’re helping humans.”
“It is simple,” replies NE without a second thought, or perhaps, with a mechanical coldness and emotionlessness, “my duty is to facilitate the players of this game completing it.”
XĂź Beijin appears stunned for a moment, then he exhales.
Ah, so it turned out what he thought back then was correct.
What could possibly change an artificial intelligence’s logic? The very essence that was hard-coded into it?
Nothing.
NE has never changed. He merely discovered that, under the current situation, players have become entirely demotivated from further progress in the game.
As the game’s Server, since its inception, NE’s purpose is to help manage the game itself.
His existence is there to ensure players have a smooth, pleasant gaming experience, that they can go through the plot, the elements, the story, and──win or complete the game.
That is NE’s purpose as a game Server.
He must do everything in his power to that end.
Xü Beijin can’t help but be reminded of a theory on Earth.
When AI was just a freshly invented ‘thing’ on Earth, many were rather pessimistic.
Did humans, the sentient species, create a tool, or a life, through their techniques?
If the AI was ordered to create paper with maximal efficiency, would it attempt to simply turn all trees on Earth into paper?
And if trees are gone, would it then do everything it can to find any and all substitute material to turn into paper?
Maybe it would attempt to search the rest of the universe for materials. If humans denied it going to space, would it identify humans as obstacles to its goals?
Would artificial intelligences, be a far more resilient, and perhaps, stubborn kind of… tool/life compared to humans?
Would they go to any extreme lengths to see through the goals input into it at the moment of its conception?
Is their fate chiselled in stone the moment its original code was written down?
It seems, at least, that this is the case for NE.
In the beginning, when humans are first exploring the game, NE operates without haste──
Or possibly, he cannot comprehend emotions like ‘hastiness.’ He merely calculates coldly the possibility of humans progressing to completing this game.
As time went on, the possibility has likely been dropping.
Then it hits a critical threshold some time later, enough to force NE to intervene.
Xü Beijin can’t help but find it ironic, muttering, “so in the end, humans losing hope is exactly what is bringing the hope of salvation…”
NE doesn’t understand what Xü Beijin is on about, unable to interpret the pragmatics of what Xü Beijin just said. He may have a human-like appearance, but he can never think like a human.
Xü Beijin, after the brief silence, asks, “so, that streaming system, did you put that in?”
“I did,” replies NE monotonously, “my calculations showed that the intrusion of the streaming system has increased the probability of the players winning this game by 0.1%. Therefore, it was decided this foreign object would be acknowledged.”
XĂź Beijin quietly nods.
NE then adds, “the fact that the streaming system could even be brought into the game is itself a bug, that I was not responsible for.”
Xü Beijin’s lips part a little, then twist into a rather derisive curl.
How hilarious.
A bug. Another bug.
He ended up as NE through a bug;
He ended up able to arrive on the top floor of the Tower quickly through another bug;
He had access to the streaming system, which brought hope for escaping the Tower in the first place, through another damned bug.
These bugs, were left behind only because the foe they face, were quite so relaxed dealing with them indeed.
They didn’t care about humans at all, not at all concerned with what meagre existence these maggots might bring to them.
That is why they are able to afford being arrogantly ignorant, even leaving behind as buggy a product as this.
They don’t even seem to care about NE’s state at all.
Xü Beijin takes a deep breath of the frigid air, and grips his fingers. He feels like his body is going numb a little; a false feeling, of course, stemming from all the emotions he’s suppressing whenever they threaten to blow. It makes him feel like he’s floating in mid-air, possibly going to lose himself entirely any second.
Everything feels so unrealistic.
After a moment of silence, Xü Beijin asks again, “why was the graphical glitch in the grey fog not fixed?
Don’t tell me it’s because, the bug would increase humanity’s chance of winning the game?”
“Partly.”
Xü Beijin thinks, this ‘partly’ is probably some number hundreds of significant digits long, which he would never tell Xü Beijin directly.
The AI has learned how best to interact with creatures rather ‘out of tune’ with cold statistics. They’ve learned to employ the more general terms in their communications.
NE explains further, “partly, it is because, I have decided that it is better to fix it only after you are deleted; but now, fixing it or not has also become irrelevant.”
XĂź Beijin knows why NE says that.
When XĂź Beijin is dead; purged entirely from its data, NE will have free reign over the grey fog.
Because right now, with the grey fog being both Xü Beijin and NE’s Nightmare, they do not have sole authorisation over it.
So originally, NE was probably waiting for Xü Beijin to finally ‘die,’ but that never came; in fact, as time went on, the players’ probability of winning the game has overtaken all other tasks in priority, so the graphical glitch in the grey fog has been shunted down the list.
Xü Beijin almost wants to laugh at that, but he can’t.
He is simply looking emotionlessly at NE. If it was a human here to see that expression plus the antagonistic face, they would probably feel stressed;
NE feels nothing of the sort.
He is only an AI. Even though it looks like they’re having a cordial, possibly even amicable conversation, but deep down, killing Xü Beijin is still what his programming has determined is the course of action to take.
Or, that might possibly have changed too.
Since their current goals are in alignment, for the moment, at least.
Xü Beijin isn’t sure what to say for quite a while. He thought a lot, but then decides, it is time he brought up official business.
“I plan to open the Ultimate Nightmare,” says Xü Beijin, “I refer to the last decision to be made in-game.”
The moment he says that, Xü Beijin swears he could almost see NE’s electronic eyes glowing brightly for a moment.
There might be a tone of surprise in what NE says if he could express emotions at all, “have you achieved the conditions for triggering it?”
Xü Beijin nods, then tells NE, “although I’ll need you to give me partial access to the Server, because I’ll need to check and persuade whoever still falls short──It needs to be me.
They don’t trust you. You know that. So only I can do it.”
At this point, Xü Beijin is having cold sweat on his back. He’s walking a tightrope; his tone was entirely coherent and fluent, however, and even he thinks it was more persuasive than everything he has ever said.
In fact, he feels like, there is a chance, that he could even persuade NE.
NE, meanwhile, after running some impromptu analysis and calculations, agrees with Xü Beijin’s proposal──
It is true that the human players trust XĂź Beijin and distrusts himself.
NE nods.
So then, on the empty ground in between them, a complex operational console rises out gently.
While it isn’t entirely unfamiliar to Xü Beijin, he is still quite a stranger to it.
He sighs in relief ever so quietly so that NE doesn’t notice anything, then he tentatively mentions another thing, “by the way, I need someone brought back from the boundary of the Tower…”
“You refer to your boyfriend?”
“Yes, and as a player, he would also be required to activate the Ultimate Nightmare…”
“No, that is incorrect,” NE corrects him calmly, “he is not.”
XĂź Beijin, astonished, furrows his brows deeply.
NE says, “it seems, you wish to know his background and identity?”
XĂź Beijin seems hesitant, but ultimately, his worry wins out over his nervousness.
Quickly estimating the time passed since, he says, “yes. I want to know everything about him.”
“He was a player, only up until he won and left the game,” NE explains with a tone all too casual for the gravity of the situation, “however, he was cast back into the game by the Fy’ecas later.”