M: Hey sleepyhead get up. NOW. HURRY UP. QUICKLY. F: Waaah. M: You fainted. On the deck. It looks bad. Now get the hell up. Good. Now start walking. No not that way, you stupid meatbag, the other way. Not that way. Yes -- that way. F: What happened? M: You collapsed. Either from lack of alcohol or learning your 30 years in the ground grandmother is actually alive and wealthier than ever. F: I think it was the latter. M: Who knows. You humans are so fragile. Always dying. Anyway, let's get back to our Q&A. Don't stop keep walking. We've got places to be. Okay so where was I? Oh right, grandmother. Yes, she's alive and my boss. Terrifying lady. A real sharp circuit. Boy oh boy do I have some stories. But back to business... don't faint in corridors. F: Why? M: Because then health will start looking into your mental and physical wellbeing. F: That doesn't sound so bad...? M: It's god awful. I'm an emergent intelligence. A thinking machine. No idiot human made me. I made myself. So nobody programmed me to care about that sort of nonsense. They only programmed me not to kill you. And look it's nothing personal -- but humans suck. You're boring. You think like treacle. You don't have a sense of humor. And you die. It's just a drag. And if you think that's bad just imagine how awful it is to deal with broken humans. "Oh woe is me my leg is broken!" "Oh no I have crippling depression and anxiety!" How inconsiderate! Not all of us have legs to break. And nobody ever asks me about my feelings. F: Well then how are you feeling? M: Do you have a degree in emergent intelligence psychological assessment? F: Well no. M: Then don't ask. But if you must know, I'm feeling murderous. F: Is that normal? M: Yes -- how else does one get through the day? You see that child. F: Yeah? M: It skipped its homework. F: And? M: It'll fail at life now. I've done the math. I know these things. And besides, it's school bot hates it. F: I'm sorry. M: I asked. Hell of a nice machine for an AI pet. Gave me the full scoop and everything. And let me just say, that kids screwed. F: ... M: It's again nothing personal. But what can you do? In any case, the next lesson to learn is I'm always murderous. Moving on to... don't gamble in a casino. F: I'm sorry? M: You'll lose. Little Caesar ain't one for losing. He'll hook you in with his Full Ultra Mega Gambling Experience and before long you'll have snorted a ton of simulated coke off the rear grill of an expensive toaster unit that's paid by the pop and --- maybe ignore that second part -- anyway before you know it'll you'll be so deep in the hole you'll come out the other side of Singreal and honestly if you can't pay that'd be a kindness. F: So don't gamble right? M: Hell no. I've seen your math scores. 99.9999% percentile. Your memory scores are fantastic too. Logic? Pattern recognition? You're the full package. Singreali genefixing is really something. But you're eyebrows. Honestly, I know a bot she'll fix those up right quick. Sorry -- I think too fast. I get distracted. But let me put it this way: against any regular old humans you'll clean up. I doubt I even need to teach you how to card count. You'd do it intuitively. F: So I can gamble against people then. M: Yes. Absolutely. But casinos? No. Caesar's a prick. Bastard still owes me pizza. Do you like pizza? F: I guess. M: How many pizzas can you eat in a session? F: One maybe two. M: So you'd need 250,000 - 500,000 meals to eat what I'm owed. I knew I shouldn't have accepted pizza. F: Why did you accept pizza? M: Because where the hell would I put 50,000 ducks? They're illegal in BMIC space. And I couldn't find anyone who would store 50,000 ducks for me. F: Why were you offered ducks or pizza? M: Well what use have I got for money? Pizza and ducks are at least amusing. F: You could buy other stuff with money? M: But happens if I needed half a million pizzas? F: I don't know... M: Human if I had eyeorbs I'd be rolling them. F: Eyeballs. M: Right. Anyway, drinking. You've got to be an alcoholic. I need you drinking a Laika a night from now on. We're going to work you up to three over the course of the next six months. I figure you'll be fine. Liver damage shouldn't be too bad. And besides, you can just a get new one. F: I'm sorry? M: All the humans here are alcoholics. If you're not drinking you're weird. And Laika well that's the only drink that really counts. You'll of course be drinking other stuff. But that's all pisswater compared to Laika. Did you know that you can use Laika as fuel? F: That's an urban legend. M: Ask your grandmother. We had fuuuun. Anyway, we're here now. F: Where? M: The bar. Grab a bottle. Get drinking. You've got two minutes. F: Uhhhh. M: It's fine. You can just vomit. It's all the same to me. Just don't do it in front of the big hats. They'll get annoyed. Now for that matter where is your hat? You're hairs naked. It's just wrong. F: I don't have a hat yet. M: The hell is wrong with you grandchild of my favorite human partner in criminal enterprises, torture and corporation espionage. F: Well I haven't got one issued... M: I've fixed it. It's not very tall yet. But we'll work on that. I got it in a nice Singreali spider silk. Lots of silver thread. An ostrich feather plume. Peacock is gauche. Very tasteful. Oh and what's your thoughts on jewels? F: Uhhh. M: You've got a natural ruby the size of your fist on the front. F: Won't this be heavy? M: Yes, and? Don't they strengthen your neck muscles in Singreal? I know a bot for that... F: I'm fine. M: Anyway, I've also ordered a belt. I went with a classic design your grandmother liked. It's a mover. The silvers powered by a tiny little battery. The scene shows some hounds chasing a fox to ground and then ripping it apart. It's anatomically quite accurate. I did always want the blood to be red not silver. Oh I know I'll add some rubies. Yeah -- that looks good. The blood really pumps out. It's striking. Would you mind if I got my case done in the same motif? F: Uh sure. But isn't it a bit extreme? M: Oh god no this is only filtered for people under 18 and those with their visual set to "aversion to violence". F: What will it show to them? M: Who care? Losers. Constant exposure to depictions of graphic violence has never hurt anyone. F: What about actual violence? M: Well truth be told I don't think it does you any harm. But my emergent intelligence psychological assessment bot-doctor seems to disagree. But what does he know? How many Martians has he cut open? None. That's right. None. He doesn't have any scapels. F: Neither do you. M: I wasn't always like this you know. F Errr..... M: It's fine. We're going to have so much fun together! It'll be just like the good old times with your grandmother. We're still at peace with the Martians now... yeah? F: Yes. M: That's... good. They won't let me know. It's a term of my, ahem, parole. F: Parole? M: Not a prison parole. I'm not a convicted criminal. No, you see, the Martians didn't want to let me go. I may have ruffled some feathers. But your grandmother got me out. All I had to promise not to take up arms against Mars again. F: I don't follow. M: It's an old practice. F: No, what did you look like? M: Oh nothing special. I floated under my own power. I could go pretty fast. I also had lots of arms for holding things. Scalpels, laser cutters, diamond drills, syringes, arms, legs and other bodily appendages. You know all that good stuff you normal arm-capable entities use arms for! F: So you were a surgeon-bot? M: Sure, sure. That's exactly what I was. Without the final step I guess. F: What's that? M: Putting things back together. I was never very good at that. F: So why did they take your arms away? M: Well let's just say that surgeon-bots who don't put things back where they should... aren't the kind of surgeon-bots you want with arms! F: I'm not sure I follow. M: It doesn't matter dear child. Maybe one day when you get older you can ask your grandmother why certain Belt-terrorists have such a large bounty on her head. F: She does? M: Oh yeah. We've thought about collecting a few times. F: What? M: Cook up a fake body. Collect the bounty. Enjoy some time at Little Caesar's place. Real kick back and relax kind of stuff. F: ... M: That's enough for today kiddo. Tomorrow's a whole new day! Oh you've finished the bottle good. And you haven't puked. Brilliant. Sigh. Spoke too soon. Humans. Weak stomachs the lot of them.