Borrowing Fear

5. getting the hang of it

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"All right. We've had enough discussion on the matter. Who would like to present their thesis first?" The middle aged computer systems professor crosses her arms as she faces her class of fifty graduating pupils. "No one? Well, someone has to start. Who's going to be brave? Come on."

Slowly, grudgingly, a hand rises into the air. The fingers are slightly curled, the model hand of a shy student wishing to get their turn out of the way. Tinted orange, the painted fingernails are flashy, a stark contrast to the modest movement.

From his seat in the back, he watches her, carefully. Everything she does, she does with precision.

The way she moves, with feigned bashfulness. Overtly humble when everyone in the room knows the depths of her talent. But they only know what she can do in the class while monitoring the lesson simulations.

They have no idea what she does sitting in front of a monitor at home. 

Only he does.

"Thank you, Miss Kiah. I'm looking forward to your thesis." The professor taps her pen against her hip, a habit that all the students knew too well. A sign of anticipation. "I'm sure UCLA will love to hear about your idea too. From what you sent me, it looks like you're trying to develop machine learning technology for child development programs?"

"That's correct." Kiah's voice is soft, dewy. She plugs her USB into the computer, pulling up a large file from the final exam section of her folder. "I wanted to code a function that will allow children to learn at their own pace, regardless of where their peers are."

How elitist. He thinks, shifting his thumbs together and apart. Similar to her sinister username Tarantyoula on Pluto Rooms, she only wants what will serve her. She doesn't want a real relationship, nor a friendship, but to derive joy through emotional manipulation. This child-development program isn't really for the benefit of children, but a farce, a method for her to receive large-scale recognition while collecting and selling user data.

He loves it.

"As you can see in figure one," She begins, her voice a notch too quiet for everyone to hear clearly, "This technology is predicted to optimize the current learning curve experienced during mid to late adolescence, when our genetically endowed intellectual capacity surfaces."

She briefly scans the classroom for reactions. Her eyes slide past him, missing his eye contact. He clenches his jaw, rubs his thumbs together faster. If only she knew who he was. If only she knew how badly she had hurt his feelings on the online dating platform, or how she inspired him to cyberattack the dating platform. She was ignorant of his thoughts, unaware of his wishes to have her next to him. Conquering the digital world...together.

"So you mean to say," The teacher comments, "This technology will be used as a supplement to the current curriculums around the world? That's a powerful perspective. Imagine that, you guys. A machine that could eventually learn how to be a class aid, helping young kids review the class material. Very powerful, indeed."

"It's more complex than just a student aid." Kiah says quietly to herself. She taps the keyboard a few times, pulling up a video of hundreds of handwritten calculations on a chalkboard mounted on a wall inside her home. In the corner of the video, he can make out a hand with long fake nails, pointed at the tips. Her hands. "The simulated class material I fed into the program evolved over time. Certainly, with enough fine-tuning to the program, this technology could, in theory, develop into the teacher."