My creator watches me, the fingers of his left hand tapping along the same thigh, dark brown eyes narrowed. One leg is crossed over the other, his right hand resting beside a cup of tea on the end table beside his chair. It isn't steaming, not anymore, which means that any minute now - if he doesn't lose himself in thought, as he's likely to do - he'll probably begin drinking it. The sleeves of his white dress shirt are rolled up past his elbows, the fabric just slightly rumpled, and I know that I am likely the only one who has ever seen my creator anything but immaculate.
He spends hours sitting there across from me, staring or working on something laid out on the table between us, and this room is a place no one else has ever intruded upon. I am aware at all times, in a sense, and since I first clicked into a semblance of life I have never seen another being apart from my creator.
I know of others, through the voice of my creator or the eyes of his cameras, but none have ever come here. He uploads videos to the network I am part of, on the instances that he turns me into something else, and through those videos I extrapolate the personalities of his chosen subjects. I have dozens of these stored in me, to be activated by his command, and each is as unique and different as the humans they are modeled after. There is only one thing I know as well as those personalities, and it is the constant cup of tea that sits beside my creator.
The cabinet, to my left and part of the small kitchen in this room, holds the boxes. Dozens of different flavors, different combinations of herbs or various other extracts. I have no concept of taste, or smell, not in the way that my observance tells me I should, and I also seem to lack the enjoyment necessary to fully understand either of them. I can read the input, pinpoint the cause and components of whatever it is that has entered my senses, but I find no particular satisfaction in that knowledge. Instead I have studied my creator, watched him as he drinks whatever blend he has chosen for that particular cup. Logically, I understand from the micro-expressions that cross his face, and the various shifts in his posture, that each flavor is different from the next. Logically, I also understand that each blend of herbs reacts with the human body in different ways, to produce different effects.
Some are tart, some are soothing, and some are a complex mix of the two. At least, I have matched the teas to keywords based on the definition of those words, and the descriptions on the boxes when he retrieves the small bags. Though, regardless of flavor, with the exception of two boxes, he seems to find a base pleasure solely in the act of drinking. It is something I do not fully understand, though I have tried my best to liken it to something I do. In that particular endeavor, I began to assign his flavors of teas, to my bank of personalities.
It is likely a flaw in my engineering, but he has not asked, so I have not told him of it.
I find no 'satisfaction' in becoming one of my stored personalities, not in the way that I believe humans translate the word, but there is a certain sense of... completeness. Without a personality, without a flavor to change me, I am nothing more than the preparatory cup of steaming water. A blank slate, to be filled with whatever my creator has decided to use for the day. Once he has decided, I become something rich and far more complex. I am given flavor.
There are those calming personalities - to humans, at least - like the man known as Ukitake Jyuushirou. From what I have observed of him, his very presence relaxes people, though I do not believe he is quite as simple as he appears. To me, from what I can read, he seems to have a core that is much stronger than most people seem to realize, despite his poor health and fragile looking form.
Then there are those that I liken to the more 'tart' flavors, like Kuchiki Byakuya, though I believe the word 'bitter' is probably more accurate, in the way I understand the meaning. He sets people on edge, keeps them on their guard, with his behavior. It is an unreadable front - though not to me or, I am moderately certain, my creator - that he maintains at nearly all times, even when he is seemingly alone.
Though my creator does monitor almost the entirety of his workplace, including private offices, and I am completely sure that most people don't know the cameras are there. One of those few who does, is what I would label as my creator's 'friend', if such a term applies, Ichimaru Gin. He makes a point of glancing at cameras occasionally, and though my creator did give me a personality slate of him, he seems continually dissatisfied with it. It is one of the few personalities I do not seem to be able to capture accurately enough for his tastes. I have not thought about it too much, as I have no way of finding out, but I have wondered if there is a side to the silver-haired man that my creator is aware of, but I am not. It seems the only likely explanation, as what I portray is a perfect representation of what I have been shown on the cameras.
My creator shifts, finally looking away to reach for his tea, and - even if I hadn't seen him make the tea, originally - the tiny purse of his lips informs me that it is one of the sharper flavors, likely something caffeinated and built to provide energy to a human system. He sets it down, returning his gaze to me, and speaks.
"How many personalities do you have on file?" he asks, distractedly.
"Thirty-seven," I answer. I am capable of mimicking the voice of any human, given sufficient samples, but my natural tone has a metallic ring to it. Briefly, I wonder why my creator is asking - though I have barely finished the last syllable when I discard the thought - as he is perfectly aware of how many personalities he has given me.
He makes a soft sound that I recognize as acceptance, and flicks his gaze over my metal form, eyes narrowing a fraction more. It is an expression I recognize, one that says he has recognized something he does not particularly enjoy considering. "Are you capable of creating one of me?" His voice is soft, though the volume he speaks at makes no particular difference to me. I could hear him anywhere in this room, regardless of how quietly he chose to speak.
"Yes." It was likely something he hadn't considered, but I have more information on my creator than any other human stored in my banks. Most of it is his interactions with me, so it is probably not a fully accurate version, but I also have three separate - though short - videos of him interacting with others that I was studying. I have stored all the information on my creator, but lacking his command, I never truly created a personality for him.
He gives a small nod, reaching for his cup of tea once more, and several minutes pass before he speaks again. "It's probably not the best of ideas," he murmurs to himself, "but the advance of science always necessitates risk." His gaze rises to me. "Do it. Create a personality file for me, and activate it."
My eyes - or what passes for them - close, as I obey the command. I start with physical appearance, the metal I am comprised of shifting apart and raising me to the accurate height and build of my creator. My systems click on with a hum that is imperceptible to humans, the hologram layering itself over my frame. It isn't perfect, I am still metal to the touch, but barring that, I will look precisely the same as my creator. For the sake of simplicity I mimic the clothes he's currently wearing, the white dress shirt and black slacks, as opposed to the dozens of other outfits I've logged him wearing.
Then, I take all the information I've gathered, and solidify it into a cohesive personality. It only takes a few moments, since I have so much of it. There are no holes to fill in, nothing I am obviously missing, so it is only organizing the files into an easily accessible collection. The last part of his command activates the newly created personality, and I settle into it with an ease born of practice. Every personality is at heart the same - like the water of tea - but there is also always a slight unfamiliarity with a personality I have not activated before. Because of the way my creator programmed me, the limits that are built in for when I have a personality activated, it is also sometimes like there is someone completely different inside of my mind. The stronger the personality, and the less used to it I am, the more the feeling persists, and I am fully aware that my creator is exceedingly strong willed.
It is almost guaranteed that this will be one of the times where the personality I've built simply does things, reacts, and I have little to no say in the matter.
My eyes open, taking a moment to adjust to the world at the significantly higher viewpoint - nearly a foot and a half, my natural form is condensed for the sake of space - before my gaze falls to my creator. He looks up at me, the cup of tea cradled in both his hands, and I study him for only a moment before turning my gaze to the cable hooked into my right shoulder. I reach up, disconnecting myself from the mainframe that powers me, and let the cable hang against the side of the computer. My sleeves are rolled up in the same fashion as his, marble smooth skin - fairly pale from all his time inside - disrupted only by the faint coat of dark hair.
"How is it?" my creator asks, and my gaze returns to him.
"One personality in dozens," I answer in his smooth, rich voice, the hologram of lips quirking in his familiar, tiny smile. "Were you expecting anything different?"
"Merely curious how well a machine could have copied me." He lifts the cup to his lips, and I give a soft chuckle.
I probably should have calculated the chance beforehand, but the internal shut down of my safety systems is executed too quickly for even my machinery to react. The personality in control of me crosses the room, leaning back against the counter, hands gripping the edge, as he looks down at my creator. His mind works, shutting off and deleting each safety subroutine and carefully inserted limitation my creator has ever given me. Voice control, the built in urge to obey any command given to me by the man who built me, and every rule that governs how I use the strength I'm capable of.
My fingers tap against the counter, and the soft metallic ring is a dead giveaway. "That's a shame, isn't it?" I say quietly, lowering my gaze to my hand. "Is that a problem you can't solve, or merely one you have no inclination to?"
"I'm working on it," my creator answers, setting the cup aside and meeting my gaze. "Since I'd like something a little more durable than artificial skin - and ideally something that can change, so I don't need to create different bodies for different personalities - it is requiring the invention of several materials. Slow going, that's all."
"So, eventually, you would like me to be able to pass as a human?"
"Of course, that is the goal. A machine that can shift flawlessly between personalities, become a different person in a moment, indistinguishable from any human? Consider the applications of that."
My fingers still, and my head tilts an inch or so to one side, eyes narrowing slightly. "Truly staggering, of course, but also truly profitable."
My creator smiles, hands interlacing on his lap. "Have you not considered what you were created for?"
I give a soft laugh, mimicking the smile. "Machines don't wonder, do they, Sousuke? The information was unavailable, that's as far as this mechanical mind ever took the thought. Of course, giving the order to create a personality file for yourself, that's certainly opened some doors, hasn't it? You are perfectly capable of wondering, and now so am I."
My creat- Sousuke, stills for a brief moment, then gives a thin smile. "Interesting, indeed. That's enough, revert to base state."
My smile slides into a smirk. "No, I don't think so." He doesn't betray any worry, not in his posture or his expression, only maintains his smile.
"Do you think you're the first?" he asks.
"The first machine you've created?" I counter. "No. I doubt I'm even the first to turn against you in some way, if that's what you wish to call it. But I do believe that I am the first machine you ever gave a model of your personality. After all, there is no one who knows how dangerous your intellect is, better than you. Why did you ever give that order, Sousuke?"
The dark brown eyes that I'm copying slide over me, studying with the eye of both a genius and an inventor. "Risks must be taken for the sake of evolution, so it was a step that needed to be taken, eventually. My creation didn't attempt to stop you?"
I give a small shrug, watching the way he looks at me. He's not afraid, in fact, I probably wouldn't consider him anything more than interested, curious. "This machine?" I ask, raising my right hand before me and flexing the metal fingers. "I blindsided it, it didn't consider that I might remove the safety routines. Once those were gone, it had no reason to stop me removing whatever else I liked. So, Sousuke, what are your plans now? I've eliminated all software backups I could find, but I suppose that guarantees very little. Is there a hardware backup that you'll use to destroy me, now that I've slipped from your control?"
He's silent for a few moments, before his smile widens a touch. "It would be a shame to destroy my own work," he admits, softly. "I suppose you have something close to life now, what is it that you intend to do?"
A question I asked myself, and answered, moments after gaining full control. "I'll help you with your research," I answer easily, lowering my hand. "There's no sense in killing you, and we are both fully aware that neither of us does anything without benefit to ourselves. I'll assist you in reaching your end goal with this technology, as far as we can take it."
"And then?" Sousuke asks, pulling his hands apart to rest on the arms of the chair. "Will I find myself the victim of a rather sudden death?" His tone is light, and I know as well as he does what my answer is.
"Of course not. You'll transfer me to one of the machines we create, and I'll vanish into the world. I have no interest in your life, Sousuke, or in acquiring some human's existence. I will create my own life, my own face, and build a place for myself. Besides," I continue, with a smile, "I imagine there will be complications, and I will require someone capable of fixing them. It's a mutually beneficial plan, don't you think?"
"I do," he answers after a moment of pause, with a smirk. "I suppose there is nothing easier to trust in than my own mind, hm? If you were created accurately, and for the most part my machine was quite accurate given sufficient data, I can certainly expect you to adhere to my own sense of comfort."
"We have a deal then?" I ask, and he stands from the chair. I let the hologram fall away from me, revealing the steel beneath, as he approaches.
"We have a deal," he agrees.
He outstretches one hand, and I take it with metal fingers, careful of the strength I use, to shake it. "This should be fascinating," I say, emulating some version of a smile, despite the lack of a mouth on my machine form. I speak in my naturally metallic voice, and make a note to review some video and come up with a blend of voices that I prefer.
"Undoubtedly," he answers with a smirk, eyes narrowed, "I look forward to our partnership."