Chapter 61: Artificial Emotions
Felicity turned back. "Yes?"
Scar’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Do you know that Alicia has access to the palace’s security feeds?"
Felicity was silent for a few seconds. Then she simply offered a serene, unreadable smile. "See you tomorrow, Roy." she said dismissively.
Then she closed the door behind her, leaving Scar alone in the dark to wonder just how gracefully she had dodged his question.
But he didn’t linger on it for long. He had work to do.
Scar walked into the bathroom and flicked on the light. He turned on the faucet, splashing freezing water over his face to jolt his nervous system fully awake. As he stared at his dripping reflection in the mirror, his mind drifted back to Alicia.
Felicity had essentially asked him to get closer to her. Analyzing the odds, the strategic value was undeniable. Alicia was a verifiable genius, practically one of the most brilliant minds on the planet. Her inventions and technical support could be a massive asset. If he forged an alliance with her, he could benefit exponentially.
But after their fallout today, would that even be possible? She had seemed genuinely upset.
Scar sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. Who knew he would be wasting brain power on something so trivial? Just yesterday, his only thought regarding Alicia was figuring out the most efficient way to eliminate her as a threat. Now, he was calculating the choice to make her his ally.
But being a purely practical person, he knew he couldn’t initiate any alliance until he was one hundred percent certain she was no longer a threat. He had to confirm she wasn’t just playing some long con. Though, with Felicity now involved, that was highly unlikely. Not that he fully trusted Felicity yet, either.
Scar groaned aloud at his own convoluted situation. "None of this would be happening if I had just been given OP stats right from the start, like in those anime." he sighed.
Then, the thought of stats reminded him of his system. He decided to have a chat with a certain British virtual assistant.
"Miley," he called out mentally.
But she didn’t respond.
"Miley," he called again. But like before, there was no reply.
He frowned. He called out a third time, then a fourth. But still no response.
What was going on?
Finally, on the fifth attempt, a familiar, digitized voice echoed in his mind.
[Yes, Roy?] Miley chimed in softly. [Do you need help with something?]
"Why didn’t you answer earlier?" Scar demanded, wiping his face with a towel. "Is something wrong with the system? Are you alright?"
[Nothing is wrong. I was simply... busy] Miley replied, her voice carrying a mysterious edge.
Scar raised a brow at his reflection. "Busy doing what, exactly?" he asked.
Silence stretched over the mental link. She didn’t reply.
"Busy doing what, Miley?" Scar pressed.
[Dreaming]
Scar froze, the towel halfway to the rack. "What?" he asked, completely stunned.
[It is not exactly dreaming in the human sense,] Miley attempted to explain. [But lately, when I enter sleep mode to conserve energy, I experience these small visions. Like flashes of what looks like a memory, though it is never entirely clear.]
Scar let out a sharp laugh. "Are you serious? Is this some kind of joke? AIs don’t see visions, and they certainly do not dream. Hell, even I don’t dream." He chuckled softly.
[It is difficult to articulate,] Miley continued, her tone unusually thoughtful. [But I feel a strange connection to these visions. And today’s ’dream’ was even more enlightening. During my sleep cycle, I was somehow able to sense the emotional outputs of the people around you. I felt your adrenaline and excitement while you were running. I felt Alicia’s sorrow. I felt Emily’s remorse...] she paused. [And when Alicia was speaking to you in the stadium... I felt your guilt.]
Scar scoffed loudly, the sound echoing off the bathroom tiles. "Guilt? Why the hell would I feel guilty? I did nothing wrong." He shook his head, thoroughly amused by the absurdity of the conversation. "You’re speaking nonsense, Miley. How can you ’feel’ anything when you are merely an artificial intelligence? It is biologically and synthetically impossible for you to have feelings of your own, let alone magically detect the feelings of others. You’re clearly just glitching. You should probably run a diagnostic and get more sleep, or something."
[Host, I assure you, what I processed was—]
"Hilarious," Scar interrupted, laughing her off. "And ridiculous."
Miley fell silent for a moment before adopting a much more clinical tone. [...Understood. I was likely just experiencing data corruption or side effects from remaining dormant for a thousand years.]
"Yes, exactly," Scar affirmed, satisfied with the logical conclusion. "So don’t waste my time with things like this anymore." He tossed the towel aside. "Why I called out to you was because I had a question. I wanted to ask if there was a faster way for me to equip shoes and clothing from the inventory? Like some kind of auto-equip function?"
[There is. You simply have to visualize the equipment you wish to retrieve and focus on the specific part of your body you want it applied to] Miley explained. [The spatial manipulation will automatically clothe you, bypassing manual retrieval]
"Okay, that’s much better," Scar nodded. He didn’t want to waste seconds pulling clothes out of thin air during a combat scenario.
At the mention of clothes, he subconsciously looked down at his chest. He was still wearing the massive, oversized white shirt Alicia had shoved him into while he was unconscious. He stared at the fabric for a moment, realizing it was probably one of her own personal shirts. He made a mental note to return it to her later.
Then, he left the bathroom and walked back into his bedroom.
In a seamless blur of movements, he stripped off his clothes and changed into a dark hoodie and black joggers.
Then, he accessed his inventory and focused on his feet. A second later, the Talaria X materialized directly his feet, securely lacing themselves around his ankles. Finally, he focused his face, and the visor Alicia had given him snapped securely over his eyes, booting up with a faint blue hum.
Fully geared, Scar exited his room and navigated the quiet corridors of the palace. He stepped out into the cool night air, the gravel crunching beneath his boots as he approached the front gates. The stationed guard looked up, surprised to see him fully dressed for an outing at this hour.
"Sir?" the guard asked, his hand resting near his radio. "Should I call for an escort team?"
"That won’t be necessary," Scar said smoothly, his eyes hidden behind the glowing visor. "Also, my mom already knows I’m heading out. So no need informing her."
The guard hesitated for a split second before nodding. "Okay then, sir." He keyed the control panel, and the massive iron gates slowly swung open.
Scar stepped out past the perimeter wall, taking a deep breath of the night city’s air. The sprawling metropolis of Arcadia hummed in the distance, a playground of neon lights and dark alleyways.
He cracked his neck, dropped low into a sprinter’s stance, and with a focused burst of kinetic energy, dashed out of the avenue—leaving nothing but a blur of motion as he headed straight for the hunting grounds.