Artificial Intelligence

By Charles Xavier And Kittie

Man is an animal who more than any other can adapt himself to all climates and circumstances. - Henry David Thoreau

The city was an unending whirl of movement. A blur of poignant people passed by each other, not noticing those they elapsed. Cars overran the streets; the loud cacophony and congestion from the city entered the room, leaving the observer to breathe in the tainted, dismal atmosphere.

Yuffie listened to the noise and considered the unnecessary clamour of people and their means of everyday survival. Why did one have to depend upon so many machines in order to live? Why didn't they depend mainly upon themselves as they had centuries before?

Her thoughts were a contradiction, for she, was also a machine.

"I see that you're taking in the city's aroma," Tifa said cheerily. "How do you like Midgar so far?"

Cerulean eyes questioned the jovial statement. "Aroma? This city is comprised of foul smells and loud sounds. How can one stand this? How can one reside in such conditions?"

"Yuffie, my friend, this is the city. One gets used to it after a while. You will adjust to it, too—eventually."

"Yuffie very much doubts that. Yuffie feels only discomfort."

Tifa stepped away from her friend and eyed her with deep intent. "Surely you see more than just the negative aspects of the city. I know the highlights of Midgar are too few, but when people move to a city, they must adjust to their surroundings."

"Adaptation, correct?"

Sighing heavily at the terse question, she nodded. "Yes, Yuffie, we adapt to our surroundings, whether we want to or not, its life."

"Why?"

She stared into Yuffie's cerulean eyes, the unnatural colour showing nothing but a blank expression. Her eyes were just like her face, expressionless. Tifa felt as if she were staring at the face of a doll, whose hollow eyes were both beautiful and daunting, the latter unnerving her composure.

But this was her friend, a friend who needed her aid. How could she deny Yuffie when she herself was nothing more but an outsider? Her friend was living with a tainted lady, a pariah, and she was oblivious. Her sweet innocence shielded her from the horrid truth of her errant lifestyle.

Two ladies. Both alike in disparity, in this fair city… She almost jeered at the tawdry parody.

"You are lost in thought," Yuffie stated, her daunting eyes boring into her friend.

"Ye—yes," Tifa stammered. "I suppose I was. Forgive me. I sometimes do that when I'm talking to someone."

Yuffie turned her attention to the open window. "Father used to do that. One minute he was talking to Yuffie, then the next he was lost in thought. Yuffie would ask what was troubling him, but as always, he would evade the question, and say everything was fine."

Tifa looked at her sympathetically. "Yuffie, I'm sure he didn't want to worry you with something that troubled him. I bet it was something trivial: you know how men are."

"No, Yuffie does not." She eyed Tifa, her blunt expression showing the truth behind her words.

Almost cringing from the realization, Tifa placed a comforting hand upon Yuffie's shoulder. "Sometimes it's better that you don't know some things," she muttered, her tone grave, and filled with warning. "Don't compel yourself to understand the world, Yuffie. It's better that you stay blissfully ignorant where the world is concerned."

Yuffie said nothing to her friend's grim advice, something inside her mechanical mind forced her to heed Tifa's warning—look where it got her father.

"Yuffie understands your point."

Tifa mentally sighed. Well, at least it was not hard to convince her of anything. Yuffie would take most things as truth, unless something seemed blatant or questionable. That kind of trust could lead to a lot of trouble, but also make it easier for the other to coax what they wanted out of their naïve companion.

But she was not like that; she refused to take advantage of her friend. How could she with all they had been through as children? She could never forget the kind acceptance from her friend, when the other children had shunned her. No, she would help Yuffie. No matter the cost.

Shaking the thought aside, she glanced at the window, and then back to her silent friend. "How would you like a tour of the city? I'm not working today, and since I'm free I can give you a proper tour of the city. What do you say?"

Yuffie gazed at Tifa, her expression showing a deep consideration to the kind offer. Without another moment's vacillation, she nodded. "Yes, Yuffie would like that. It would be beneficial to acquire such useful knowledge."

Without replying to Yuffie's calculative comment, Tifa gently smiled. "I'll grab my coat. Do…do you need one, Yuffie?" she asked, noticing her friend's bare arms. "It's raining out, and I have an extra…"

"If you find it necessary, then so should Yuffie. Thank you."

Handing her an older, worn raincoat, Tifa opened the door, and nodded. "Well, come along then. As the saying goes, "there is so much to see, and so little time to do it in…" Or was it, "see it in?" I cannot remember. Simple quotations have apparently left my mind at the moment, I fear."

"Why would you fear that?"

Tifa shook her head. "Never mind. It's only a figure of speech; an expression, if you will."

"Expression?"

"Never mind! I'll discuss it on the way! Come on, let's enjoy the day without having a deep discussion on the meaning of life."

Yuffie was about to inquire on what exactly was the meaning of life, but found it wise to hold her questions for a more appropriate time. It appeared that her friend was growing annoyed with her unending bout of uncertainty. Why did she have that effect on people? She could not understand why they would become so irritated. Was it not an honour to explain, or answer a question? Humans were truly strange mammals.

****

The city was teeming with activity. The unending bustle of machines, sounds, and people proved that this place was a major source of life on the planet. It was no wonder why people in neighbouring countries detested Midgar—the city also detested itself.

Yuffie followed Tifa's lead through the crowded streets. Her friend had a strange instinct of moving and dodging others. Machines were produced to be faster, more dexterous than their creators, and yet her friend was proving her ingrained beliefs otherwise.

She did not stop until almost colliding against Tifa's back. Her friend gave a quick smile and pointed to a sign, its neon-orange glow making her squint against its obscure luminosity. The sign was decourated with large, unreadable symbols, symbols, which she did not recogise.

She hesitated for a moment, and then gently tugged upon Tifa's wet coat sleeve. "What is this place?" she murmured under her breath.

Tifa smiled at her fondly as if she were a naïve child. "This, my dear, is a dress shop." She stopped, noticing Yuffie's puzzlement. "It sales apparel for females." She pointed to her friend's sodden attire. "In your case, you're in need of their services."

"Yuffie's case?" she mimicked. "Yuffie's attire is suitable."

"Not for this weather." Tifa rubbed her covered arms. "You must be freezing in those shorts. How in God's name do you wear them when it is this cold?"

"Yuffie does not feel temperature." She stated matter-of-factly. "Godo built a program to eliminate weaknesses that an average human might feel. He said that they were imperfections that Yuffie did not need."

"I'm sorry. I did not realise…I forgot about that." She amended.

"It's human to forget."

God, another cryptic statement… Perhaps she could change her friend's cool demeanor by the end of the day. Of course, she doubted that prospect. It would take days, even years to break her friend of the one-syllable jargon and expressionless stares.

Shoving the thought aside, she clasped her friend's hands and ushered her towards the door. "Come on," she muttered. "Let's get you out of those wet clothes; you're freezing me just by looking at you."

"Yuffie can freeze you?" she asked with true confusion. "How—"

"Never mind!" Tifa growled. "Now, come on. The outfit is on me."

Yuffie stared at her friend with a perplexed expression. The outfit was on her? Perhaps it was another figure of speech. It was a pity her father did not implant a program that verified rhetorical expressions or even slang words. It appeared everyone on the Eastern Continent spoke in the broken-down, illogical phrases that were devised in a normal conversation. It was damn well confusing for a machine that rationalised in perfect word structure and phrases.

But it was one of the things she had to know. In order to keep her promise, she would have to adapt to her surroundings, even if it meant betraying all reason. Perhaps that was what separated man from machine—a breach of understanding; and also that machines did not have feelings—emotions—that humans were gifted with. It was ironic that man took everything so lightly, and unfortunately, for granted.

She observed the shop with innate awe. Drapes of burgundy hung on metal valances, which obscured the translucent windowpanes. Hunter-green rugs covered the scarred floorboards in a modest attempt to convey a sense of beauty. Mismatched pieces of furniture were strewn about the room, holding various articles of apparel. A large candelabrum hung in the center of the room, its golden splendour, capturing the attention of its viewers.

Yuffie watched as other girls rummaged through multitudes of clothing, verbally debating their opinions.

"Oh, this miniskirt would so be perfect for tonight!" a blonde-headed girl exclaimed, flashing a decadently low black miniskirt.

Her companion looked at the skirt skeptically. Rolling her placid green eyes, she muttered, "Yeah, and your fat ass would draw all of the attention. Why can you not be more elegant in your choice of clothing? Why do you always have to choose something that makes you look like a poorly-paid prostitute?"

The blonde glared at her friend, taking offense to the cruel criticism. "For you information, Lara, I am not a prostitute. And even I were, I at least have taste." She cast an insidious look at Lara's khaki shorts. "While you still play with the boys like a five-year-old. Do you realize that you look like an idiot with those sunglasses on? I mean, come on, it's raining outside!"

Lara crossed her arms and turned away. "Fine. Make a fool of yourself. At least I was honest in my opinion—"

"An opinion, which is not wanted," her friend cut in.

She did not answer the rejoinder. Instead she glanced at the door and noticed two young ladies, who were apparently watching their argument. Making her way over to them, she removed her dark sunglasses and smiled.

"Welcome to L' Boutique de la Belle! I'm Lara, the owner. May I help you with anything?" she inquired, grinning at her customers.

Tifa returned Lara's grinning gesture. "Yes, as a matter of fact, you can." She looked at Yuffie's attire with a disapproving expression. "My friend needs another outfit."

Lara regarded her customer's friend with a gentle nod. "I see," she murmured, looking at Yuffie's shorts. "The choice does you justice, my dear. But perhaps there is something else you may like? I know shorts are a little out of season, and I also wear them, but I'm an eccentric, too." She grasped Yuffie's frigid hand. "Would you care to look at a few things? I'm sure you may find something you like."

Yuffie gave a curt nod, and reluctantly followed the woman, hoping this day would soon be over with.

****

If irritation could best describe her mood, she would sorely reprimand the poor idiot who named the term so defectively. All day, she went through the horrid process of stripping down to her knickers, and then dressing herself into another horrid garment.

How could humans actually go out in public like this? she wondered. It was like wearing an outfit in a poorly constructed freak show, where she, was the pitiful attraction.

She gazed into the mirror with undetectable disdain. Her left hand trailed down the horrid polyester fabric of her right arm. Even the fabric felt unreal, unnatural to her. The denim pair of jeans made it almost impossible to maneuver in, and the pearl-studded choker around her neck was galling to say the least.

Shaking her unruly locks of russet, she pulled the dressing room curtain away and stared into the expectant eyes of her friend.

"Well?" Tifa prodded. "How do you like it?"

"Yuffie could not move in this if she tried," she muttered. "Do humans wear such uncomfortable clothing?"

Tifa's smile faded. This was hopeless. Clenching her hands in unspoken annoyance, she pulled another outfit from a nearby rack. She forced Yuffie into the dressing room and closed the curtain behind them.

"I know this is usually looked down upon by other ladies, and most of your average males would have a field-day with this, but I don't care." She carefully pulled Yuffie's chartreuse blouse over her head.

"Why would they care?" Yuffie asked, her voice soft.

"Well, for one thing, most women would think something along the lines of us being more than friends… And secondly, men enjoy seeing two girls undressing each other. It's something in their malformed, testosterone minds that compels them to watch… Voyeurs, if you will." She refused to elaborate more on the subject.

"That's very odd…"

"I know," Tifa snorted with disgust. "Most men will also take advantage of a decent girl. They believe that the "fairer sex" is fragile, weak, and above all, lacking intelligence. Men will use you, then leave you," her voice whispered softly, as she looked deeply into Yuffie's hollow eyes. "Here's the best piece of advice you'll ever receive: Never trust a man. Never let the bastard in. He will break you if you allow him to."

Tifa's cryptic words did not go unwarranted. Yuffie stored the advice carefully away within her mind's file banks for later examination. She nodded with apparent appreciated for her friend's morose opinion. "Thank you, Tifa. Yuffie shall remember it."

An empty smile breached Tifa's rosy lips as a hint of mirth returned to her dark eyes. "Good. Now, come on, we need to see if this fits," she said, clasping a grated corset around Yuffie's slender frame.

Four hours later Yuffie found herself back in Tifa's apartment, physically altered and unmoved by today's events. She lifted her right arm, but found it to a daunting task when she tried to raise it a few inches.

She inwardly frowned at the constraint. Not only did Tifa buy her a few outfits, she also made sure that their bindings were tight, making it almost impossible to move in.

Closing her eyes, she tried to register her breathing, albeit she did not need to. It was a small, unimportant trait her father installed into her memory—the innate feature to breathe. Perhaps it was a merely a tactic to camouflage her artificiality, or maybe her father wanted her to look human, be more than she truly was.

Yuffie never questioned Godo Kisaragi's motives—she found no need to, taking everything her father did for granted. It was against her programming to question his judgment, or at least it felt that way. Paternal dominance.

Her mind drifted upon the image of her father. She remembered the faint smile that always touched the corners of his lips when he was in good humour, or the gentle shaking of his graying head when he found something amusing.

Rarely did she notice him upset, or even distraught for that matter. Most of the time he displayed happiness, a sense of happiness, which was unlike others who only wore a jovial façade. Why did his life have end so abruptly. Why did he have to leave her so alone.

She felt lost here, uncertain.

Yuffie inwardly frowned as she thoughtlessly tugged at the corset under her blouse. It was strange that so much discomfort derived from such a small thing. The brace within the fabric felt as if it would rupture her insides, not to mention the lace netting irritating her flesh. Overall, the thing was too damned uncomfortable. Why did humans have to wear such uncomfortable items of clothing?

Biting her lower lip, her fingers moved deftly over the infuriating garment. Her task to unfasten the back laces left her completely irritated when she could not loosen it. Good God, what did it take to rid one's self of something so trivial? If Tifa suggested another corset, or whatever she had called them, she would have to decline her friend's sweet offer.

With that thought in mind, she tried once more, pulling at the unyielding bindings. Shaking her head in abject anger, she wrenched at the corset, but found her fuming attempts in vain. A heavy breath escaped her as her mind began to ache. She saw a myriad of colours fusing with various bits of information before her eyes.

Her head arched back as a black obscurity clouded her sight. Yuffie closed her unnatural, cerulean eyes in silent defeat. Her limbs went slack, her knees buckled, and she fell against the carpeted floor.

Her unexpected action could be considered as the equivalent of a human fainting. When too much information or frustration inundated a machine's mind, it would overexert itself, break, and eventually go into a suspended state of dormancy.

Before her mechanical thoughts exceeded to that point, Yuffie noticed Tifa. She heard her friend mutter something as she knelt beside of her, but could not decipher Tifa's incoherent words. She turned away to face the stained carpet, giving in to the darkness, giving in to the logical sense a machine knew.

****

Tifa glanced at Yuffie's prone form on the sofa, and sighed. It was strange that a machine could faint—if that was even the word for it.

Yuffie's fall had startled her, and the sight of it was even more frightening. She could not shake the unnerving feeling, which lingered down her spine. Yuffie set her on edge; that was for certain.

Tifa's hands pulled away from the dirty dishwater. Yuffie's state of suspension was more than she could bear. Placing a damp head upon her forehead, Tifa wiped away the unruly locks of russet. She gently smiled at Yuffie's angelic countenance. If only such innocence could be so genuine, she mused.

She glanced at Yuffie's attire and silently berated herself. It was foolish of her to strap her friend in such a godawful prison; even she hated to wear them. But she believed Yuffie would fit in more with the public. It thoughtless, and she felt guilty for it.

"Forgive me, Yuffie," she murmured in regret. "I only wanted to make you look more…human."

Tifa turned away, shame staining her bronzed cheeks. Her friend could not hear her. And if Yuffie's collapse persisted, she would have to find help, which could possibly endanger her…

She rubbed her aching temples in unspoken regret. Her promise to help her friend was on the verge of becoming a lie, and she hated to lie. No, she would help Yuffie, even if it meant jeopardizing her in the process. At least she could find a way to provide for her until she could find someone who could actually give the help Yuffie needed.

Grabbing her friend's cold hands, she held them tightly in hers. "I promised you that I would help—and I shall. You have my word, Yuffie." A deep sigh escaped her. "You have my word."

Tifa glanced at the closed window. Now if only she could fulfill that promise… But in her mind, she new Yuffie would need more than a few simple, placating words, she needed someone who could—would—be the one to help her. And she knew that her friend would not receive that from her. But who was the question…