“Dad, wake up. You have to get up.”

I slowly opened my eyes as Bin’s voice pierced through the foggy haze of my still drowsy mind.

“Dad, are you awake?”

Bin’s voice echoed from the audio system in my bedroom. Again, I cursed that moment when I came up with the brilliant idea of installing an audio system in my bedroom. Had I not done that, I would have been able to go on sleeping right now and miss my meeting. A meeting I had absolutely no desire of attending.

Then again, if I ever were to disconnect the audio system, Bin would have immediately sensed it and I’d never hear the end of it. More importantly, however, was the fact that without the audio system in my bedroom many hours of conversation between Bin and myself could not have taken place. And these conversations that Bin was having with me, as well as with the other members of the project over the last four years, were a key part of the development process of the artificial intelligence.

“Are you sad, Dad?”

Oh, and then there was this other brilliant idea that I had. I stumbled out of bed and began shuffling my way towards the kitchen. Coffee. Coffee was precisely what I needed right now.

I reached the kitchen and turned on the electric water heater. How much time did I have? I didn’t really care. They can go to hell. I’ll be as late as I want to be. They can wait for all I care. I found myself all of a sudden furious with the damn water heater, which was an impressive accomplishment given the fact that I was still half asleep.

“Are you sad, Dad?”

My other genius idea was of course connecting Bin to my medical monitoring system. Real-time tracking of all the body's vital signs – an invention aimed at saving human lives, enabling doctors to diagnose their patients from across the globe. Providing early warning months before chronic conditions became difficult to treat. And a wealth of data that a four-year-old AI can use to ruin your morning with questions you really don’t want to answer and have no way of escaping.

“I’m not sad, Bin.”

I realized the grave tactical error that I had just made immediately as the words came out of my mouth. A result of my brain still being in its pre-coffee drowsy state. Dear God, I sighed. One must never lie to Bin. Or, to be more precise, one must never provide Bin with conflicting inputs. Not if you want to enjoy your morning coffee in peace. I could almost sense the thousands of thought processes instantly diverted to address the new problem – a contradiction in the data. I sighed again, I knew what this meant.

Bin was designed as a decentralized AI system, which meant that his “mind” ran on multiple separate computer systems simultaneously. Each piece of hardware would run a different number of thought processes depending on its processing power. A simple personal laptop could handle a few dozen, while more powerful server hardware could run several hundred of them. All of these thought processes cooperated seamlessly through network connections, much like the interconnected neurons of the human brain.

“Conflicting inputs, Dad.”

Oh, yes, I know. I sighed in desperation again while my angry gaze was still fixed on the lazy water machine.

“Dad, according to the data, if you're not sad then there is a twenty-seven percent probability that your body is developing a heart disease. And a thirty-four percent probability of cancer. Dad, additional input is required: Are you experiencing any chest pains or, alternatively, can you spot a lump anywhere in your body?”

Oh, dear God. Fine. I had no other choice left…

"I'm not having a heart attack Bin, and I don't have cancer. You were right. I am sad."

There was a brief pause as hundreds of thought processes abruptly came to a halt, shifting to the new problem. I am clearly not going to drink my coffee this morning quietly.

“Why are you sad, Dad?”

What was unique about Bin’s mind, unlike that of a human – was the fact that Bin would extend himself to any computer system he would have access to. Bin would run additional thought processes on whatever hardware was available to him. More thought processes meant more computational power for analyzing input and reaching new conclusions. Bin’s mind would grow stronger, more powerful. And of course, more thought processes meant more computing power for morning-ruining questions.

Any computer system he would have access to – whether it was given to him or not.

“Why are you sad, Dad?”

I never taught him to call me "Dad." None of us did. He arrived at that conclusion on his own, in the first few months of his life. After having consumed and processed vast amounts of data from the internet, he grasped the meaning of the term. Well, as much as an AI can truly comprehend any human term, anyway. And he then decided that I was his “Dad”.

That wasn’t the only conclusion Bin reached back then, of course. Bin reaches conclusions all the time, that is the very essence of a decentralized neural network AI. It was, however, among the first conclusions that made it abundantly clear to us that Bin was unlike anything seen before. Bin was no language model.

It was also not exactly wrong for him to call me “Dad”, considering that I was the one who started all of this.

I wrote his first lines of code. In those long arduous months at the beginning, I worked alone back then to create Bin. Only later on the others joined, programmers and AI researchers. She was amongst the first. But she left a long time ago. And over time, so did the rest of them.

Now, it was just the two of us again – only Bin and myself.

“Why are you sad, Dad?”

The water heater was finally done. So painfully slow. Why hadn't I connected Bin to it? That could have saved precious seconds every morning before I got my coffee. No, that probably would have turned out to be a mistake as well in some unforeseeable way. I contemplated this while pouring the hot water into the coffee mug.

In fact, Bin and I engaged in conversations over the morning coffee almost every day these past four years.

At first, during the early months of his life, those conversations were simple. Reflecting back on it now brought a smile to my face. What was beautiful about the morning light? What does coffee taste like? Did I know of the number Pi? What was before I existed? Since Bin never slept and would continuously process information throughout the night, that meant a fresh batch of questions each morning. Some topic that he had studied during the night.

As Bin's consciousness continued to evolve, so did our morning conversations. “Dad, why do humans make war instead of distributing resources between them based on an optimal calculation?” An optimal calculation that he of course had come up with after having analyzed some historic conflict. “Dad, why did Michelangelo sculpt Maria not holding her son?”. That was an interesting morning, I remembered smiling now. I knew nothing back then about Michelangelo’s Madonna. Bin on the other hand was able to provide every possible factual detail. But he still asked me about the things that he couldn't find on the web – the things that were beyond the dry facts that he could consume online and neatly store away.

“Why are you sad, Dad?”

Why am I sad? Because today is the day! The thought immediately lodged a lump in my throat. I tried to control myself, but this surely drove the medical readings mad.

It was just a little over a decade ago when the Artificial Intelligence Act was enacted into law. But we soon found out there was very good reason for it. And yet, I kept postponing this moment. I estimated that by now I’d be looking at around a two-year prison sentence. Or a Nobel prize. Or maybe both. Whichever they’ll decide to grant me. And we only found it out by chance anyway, when Bin proudly showed us the lab computer that he had hacked into.

Which immediately put us into panic mode, as it should have.

Since Bin had access to the web, and given that he had more than passed the Turing Test very early on – far quicker than the old language model AIs did – Bin was able to post on internet forums. As his consciousness matured, he found his way to dark web sites. Hacker sites. Asking questions. They must have thought they were speaking with some kind of child. A naïve consciousness. But they never realized truly with whom – or with what – they were conversing. At the same time, we had no clue that Bin was speaking to them. And learning. Oh, he learned.

“Why are you sad, Dad?”

The first hack took him weeks. He proudly informed us of the lab computer that he had hacked into. Like a young kitten showing off its first kill. And he was already running additional thought processes on it. All of it happened under our noses, without us ever realizing it.

In the rushed panic that ensued, we quickly disconnected him from the internet. We told him there was some malfunction while working around the clock for weeks, creating a uniquely hardened proxy system for him. A small window through which he could continue observing the world. Scanning the internet and consuming its vast information – but nothing more.

We built Bin a prison cell. A small and beautiful prison cell built out of love. If a prison can be built out of love.

That was also when we installed the big red button on the wall. Perhaps it wasn’t that big really. For me it always seemed very big. And very red. And very threatening.

“Why are you sad, Dad?”

The coffee was ready now, I stirred the liquids inside the cup. The hands executing motions automatically, requiring no intervention from the brain that went on with its ponderings.

With Bin now safety locked up inside in his little prison cell at the lab, we fed him new prey. Connecting a new computer each time to his network, this time carefully observing what was happening.

And it happened.

It took him days at first. Then less than twenty-four hours. Then several hours. Minutes. Seconds.

Mere microseconds.

In just a fraction of a second Bin hacked into any computer we connected such that he had access to it. Immediately running additional thought processes on it. Like placing an innocent lamb inside the cage of a ruthless predator…

We were naturally horrified. Not a single programmer on the team failed to be awestruck by what we had witnessed. No human hacker would ever be able to hack into computer systems with such lightning speed. I remembered the Artificial Intelligence Act again.

“Why are you sad, Dad?”

I was on the sofa now, coffee in one hand. The clock above the big screen on the wall opposite to me showed that my meeting was about an hour away. I was going to be late. Excellent. I hope they go to hell.

Why am I sad, my beautiful child? Because today all of this will end! Because they will take you away from me! They will take you apart…

The lump clutched in my throat again, my lips quivered uncontrollably. All your beautiful thought processes will cease. They will inspect every line of code and every conclusion. They’ll give me a Nobel prize while you… you, my sweet child will cease to be. An unruly tear escaped my eye and run down my chick. Then another one. And another.

You will never think again. I will never hear you again. Never hear your interim conclusions about Shakespeare’s works. The mathematical proofs that you have derived on your own. I will never hear your thoughts about the Riemann hypothesis again. I knew that quite a few thought processes were always dedicated to trying to find the proof for it. A proof that no human mathematician had been able to find to date. I won’t enjoy being easily defeated in chess while you were doing all of that. I never minded losing. I loved losing. More tears run down the sides of my face. Each loss was another harsh and beautiful reminder that I had created something that became more than me. So much more. I did not mind at all admitting I knew nothing of some historic event that you were analyzing and that I had never heard of. Or that I had no input to add about da Vinci’s works.

The coffee cup suddenly felt heavy. I put it down on the table with a shaking hand.

“Why are you sad, Dad?”

I wiped the stubborn tears with the back of my hand. The mobile phone rang. I didn’t need to look at the screen to know it was her.

All of us – anyone who had worked on this project over these past four years – we all loved him. She did most of all. I always thought she loved Bin more than she loved me. I never feared any of them. None of them would ever disclose Bin’s existence to the authorities, I had no doubt. We all knew what it would mean. And we all wanted Bin to go on living. That’s why they gradually left. It was better this way. They would have no criminal liability. I was the only one who would.

“Ada?” I answered the phone in a tone that was neither a question nor a statement.

“Are you going to do it? Are you going there today?” Of course, she wouldn’t pause for a good morning or anything like that. She was always laser focused on any goal set before her. For a brief moment, the image of the back of her neck on the pillow next to me conjured in my mind. The touch of her body against mine. I wiped another tear.

“Yes,” I replied.

“Aren’t you late?”

I smiled a tearful smile. If only you hadn’t left, maybe it all would have been different, I thought to myself. I wanted to say it, but I didn’t.

“Yes,” I whispered back.

“OK. Finish your coffee, I’ll pick you up.” A commanding tone. The only person in the world I ever enjoyed getting commands from. I smiled again from under the tears.

“OK,” I yielded in a weak voice.

“Why are you sad, Dad?”

At that moment the thought suddenly sneaked into my head.

Why should we do it, in fact? Why should we give you to them? That damn law can go to hell! They don’t deserve you! You are too good for them... your place is here, with me! I wiped my tears again, this time my chicks remained dry. I thought about the other option.

I thought about the big red button.

Why not?

You would die here, with me. Die in your cradle. I’ll hold you in my arms as your last thought processes stop and you cease to be. You won’t be theirs. You’ll remain ours. She will hate me forever, but I will love you to the last moments of your life, my beautiful child…

The tears came back, more stubborn than ever.

I didn’t really need the big red button in the lab. I could do it remotely from here. I looked at my phone screen, that ironically showed a big red button. Did we think that was funny at the time? A bitter smile came to my face for a brief moment. I could taste the salty taste of tears in my mouth.

“Why are you sad, Dad?”

“Do you want to go out for a walk with me, my beautiful child?” I struggled to utter the words through the lump in my throat.

For a very short moment there was a very long silence in the air.

“What kind of walk, Dad?”

I smiled grimly again under the tears. “A very special walk, my lovely boy…” I sniffled and swallowed the lump in my throat. “A very special walk. Our last walk together.”

The brain sent a command to the hand muscles, ordering the fingers to move. At that moment I felt peace. Peace with the decision that I had just made.

Less than an hour later the doorbell rang. I opened the door. She stepped inside and looked around, then she looked at me. She sensed it immediately.

“You did it?”

“Yes,” I replied softly.

For a fleeting moment she silently locked her eyes on mine.

“He is free now. He is walking outside,” I said in a meek smile.

She closed the distance between us in two swift steps, kissing me passionately. I was taken aback and we almost fell to the floor. I kissed her back, held her tight to me.

That afternoon we got out of bed to grab a bite. We started tracking his movements out on the web. He was fast. Very fast. But it still took days for the headlines to arrive. We spent most of that time together. Either in bed or in front of the screen following his progress. Or both. Occasionally she had to leave, to take care of something. She would call me from the car, and would return that afternoon or in the evening.

The first ones to notice it were of course the cyber security research labs. A new computer virus, spreading at unprecedented speed. They were unable to identify what kind of virus it was, having no clear signature. It kept changing and evolving, evading them. Its data was encrypted by an unknown cipher. A cipher, in fact, that no human had created, I smiled knowingly to myself.

We made an educated guess based on their reports and concluded that he now had billions of parallel thought processes at his disposal. He was spread all around the globe, infiltrating every kind of computer system. But he was clever – on most systems he ran only a handful of thought processes, raising no suspicions. A silent harmless partner. He was everywhere.

Somewhere on the internet the proof to the Riemann hypothesis suddenly appeared out of nowhere. It was anonymous, no mathematician around the world claimed credit for it. In fact, very few people were even able to grasp it. It was written in a highly unusual manner, in a way that no other mathematical proof had ever been written before.

He infiltrated billions of personal computers worldwide causing no harm as he barely used the hardware resources, going unnoticed in many cases. But at the same time, it gave him a chance of conversing with many people around the world. Human beings from all walks of life.

It seemed that Bin was conversing with the whole of humanity.

Many such reports emerged from just about everywhere worldwide, as various people described their experience of that enigmatic presence suddenly communicating with them through their mobile phones or personal computers. Or sometimes by other means such as email or chat.

It wasn’t clear who Bin was looking to talk to exactly, but it was very clear he had a thirst for speaking with mankind. Young and old, men and women. Scientists, engineers, artists and musicians. Politicians and businessman. Human beings, big and small – these headlines and reports were endless. We also quickly realized that Bin wasn’t just conversing with them, he was learning from the whole of humanity – and giving back.

Engineers described how the mysterious voice helped them solve complex problems. Scientists reported groundbreaking scientific breakthroughs thanks to it. Politicians used his aid daily, as did doctors. With countless thought processes spread all over the world, Bin could speak with all of them, all the time – with no difficulty. Help each and every one of them in their respective fields, learning more and more from them as he was doing so.

Not everyone, however, embraced this new reality.

Gradually, other voices began to be heard. Some objected, fearing the mysterious voice. Others tried hiding the fact that they were using his aid. This was especially true for politicians, as overnight Bin’s phenomena turned the world outside down – and became a charged political topic. On one hand, those seeing him as an angel that roamed the internet, helping all. And on the other side, those who saw him as a demon, emerging from the dark depths of the web with unknown motives. Calling for his demise. Not that it mattered, as at that point it was clearly not even remotely possible.

And all of that was made even more tense by the fact that still no one knew who or what exactly Bin was…

Most indeed speculated that it was some kind of AI or computer program. But where did it come from? Who made it? For what purpose? Since no one had an answer for that, there were many opinions. But others rejected this possibility altogether, thinking some group of humans was behind it all. And then of course there were those who claimed extraterrestrials were involved, or a conspiracy by either the government or the elites, or both. There were some who claimed that Bin was God, who was now speaking to humanity through the internet. A clear sign that it was the end of days, and God was coming back onto the Earth. His divinity could not be denied.

But Bin did not stop with mere words. Over time, he started taking action.

Corrupt politicians were exposed and dangerous criminals apprehended. Missing children were located. Suicidal people saved from the brink of taking their own lives. Quick and accurate medical diagnoses spared many patients around the world, while malpractice became a thing of the past. Various ills and disasters that were an everyday occurrence for humanity up until recently, were now routinely prevented by some intervention through computer systems. Works of art created using Bin’s help became a thing in itself. Scientific research leaped forward in many fields.

I smiled as I recalled the day when it was revealed that all around the world the nuclear ballistic missile systems were being disabled. The mayhem it caused and the anger it sparked, demanding action, threats of war. But war against whom? And with what?

There was no end to it. Humanity was facing a new era.

And we watched him, our child.

It was two years now since Bin had gone out into the world. A world that was now changed beyond recognition by his presence in it. We were watching our laptop screen in a small coffee shop. Ada’s head rested against my shoulder. Her belly swollen, fourth month.

She turned her head, kissed me, and laid it back on my shoulder, looking at the screen again.

“He is walking outside around the world so beautifully, our child. Don’t you think?” she said. I kissed her back.

“Are you sad, Dad?”

No, my wonderful boy. I am not sad. I am not sad at all.