I Trained Myself to Be an AI for My Mother

My life was shattered the afternoon my parents came home three years ago, an android boy in tow.

I, who had once been the apple of their eye, became the familys resident troublemaker overnight.

Dad always said I was more trouble than I was worth. Mom constantly compared me to Jett, the new android, my supposed younger brother. Even my sister, Isabelle, who Id always been close to, would sneer, What can you do besides fight me for attention?

The dam of my resentment finally broke. In a fit of rage, I shoved Jett to the ground.

Moms face turned to stone. A sharp crack echoed through the room as her palm connected with my cheek. Hes your brother! she screamed. If you were half as obedient as him, you wouldnt be such a constant headache!

After that, I was forcibly sent to the Meridian Institute for Behavioral Correction. They called it learning to be a good son, a pretty lie for what it really was: a trade. They had swapped me for Jett.

And today, after three long years, my family had finally come to get me.

They stood at the institute's gates, calling my name over and over, but I remained rooted to my spot, unresponsive.

The director, seeing their confusion, smiled and explained to my mother, Mrs. Evans, you have to say Activate. Unit 1314 will not respond otherwise.

Activate, Unit 1314. Moms voice trembled as she said it. She wasnt sure what she was saying; she was just repeating the directors words.

My eyes lit up, like a long-dormant screen flickering to life. I rose from my chair, my posture ramrod straight, my hands hanging loosely at my sides. Activated. Awaiting command.

Mom stared, stunned. The directors voice chimed in from behind her. Mrs. Evans, to better facilitate our students' education, weve designed a proprietary system. The student can only be awakened by an activation command. With this, he will never disobey you.

Understanding dawned on Mom's face.

My sister, Isabelle, pushed her way to the front, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Shes five years older than me and always took pleasure in making me cry. Back then, whenever she succeeded, Id chase her around the house until Mom yelled at both of us.

1314, bark like a dog for me.

At the command, I hunched over, stuck out my tongue, and let out a series of loud, sharp barks.

Izzy burst out laughing. Wow, Nell really has learned his lesson, she said to our parents. He used to whine for half an hour when we asked him to practice the piano. Now hes so obedient, hell even bark on command.

Mom and Dad nodded, their eyes holding a clear glint of satisfaction with my performance.

On the way home, Mom tried to make small talk. Nell, how were your three years at the institute?

I didnt answer. She hadnt ordered me to.

Nell? she said, her voice louder this time.

My voice was a flat monotone, like a text-to-speech program. Interrogative statements are not valid commands. If you require a response, please use the imperative form.

The air in the car went still. Moms voice caught in her throat. After a long moment, she managed, Answer me.

My time at the institute was fulfilling and meaningful. I completed the three core curricula: Emotional Control, Absolute Obedience, and Rational Thought. My graduation assessment was Excellent, with the instructors evaluation noting me as the most successful rehabilitation case of the year.

I recited the lines verbatim, my tone devoid of any inflection, as if reading from a user manual.

The back seat was silent for a long time. Then, Izzy muttered, He sounds just like Jett.

I kept my eyes fixed forward, my face a blank mask.

The city blurred past the car window. The skyscrapers, the overpasses, the billboardsthey were all different from what I remembered. At the institute, time wasnt measured in days or months, but in commands. A day was no different from a month. The only way I could mark the passage of time was by scratching hash marks into the wall of the silence chamber.

Eventually, I even forgot how to do that.

By the time the car pulled into our driveway, dusk was settling. Jett was standing at the door, hands clasped in front of him, a perfect smile on his facecalibrated to reveal exactly six teeth.

He looked exactly the same as he did three years ago.

I remembered that day. Mom had knelt down to speak to him, her voice softer than Id ever heard it. Welcome home, Jett.

I had jumped off the sofa, eager to see my new brother, but my foot caught on something and I went sprawling.

No one helped me up. They just said I was being clumsy. After that, everyone started to hate me. I wasnt as obedient as Jett, not as thoughtful as Jett

In the end, I was the one sent away.

Welcome home, brother. Jetts voice was as sweet as ever.

I didnt reply. He hadnt given the command to.

Mom frowned. You still dont like Jett? It looks like you havent learned anything. Speak!

At her command, a smile instantly appeared on my face. Acknowledged. Thank you.

Jetts own smile never wavered, and Mom nodded, satisfied.

At dinner, the family sat around the table. Jett was on Moms right, Izzy on Dads left. I was at the very end. The steam rising from my bowl carried the scent of rice, but my stomach felt nothing. At the institute, eating was defined as an energy replenishment activity. It had nothing to do with pleasure, nothing to do with hunger.

Lets eat, Mom said casually.

I picked up my chopsticks at once. Rice, braised pork, green peppers

Seeing me eat the peppers, Izzys eyes widened. Well, look at that. You eat green peppers now? Werent you the pickiest eater in the world?

I didnt answer. I just took another bite of the peppers. The instructor had said preferences were emotional residue, a sign of incomplete rehabilitation.

During my third month, I was locked in the silence chamber for two full days for refusing to eat green peppers. No light, no sound, no stimulation. Just darkness.

When I got out, I ate the green peppers. Then the carrots, the onions, the bitter melon. I ate everything I used to refuse to touch.

Mom nodded approvingly. She always liked a child who wasnt a picky eater.

Next, I reached for the peanuts. I put one in my mouth, chewed fifteen times, and swallowed.

Dads eyes went wide. He ate a peanut?

Isnt Nell allergic to peanuts? He ate one when he was little and his mouth swelled up like a sausage! We had to rush him to the ER!

Izzy put down her chopsticks, her voice filled with disbelief. Can the institute cure allergies too?

I chewed silently, saying nothing. At the institute, you werent allowed to have allergies. The instructor had smeared peanut butter directly onto my arm. The skin would blister, rot, and peel, then heal, then rot again, but the allergic reaction never truly went away.

A shiver ran through me. My throat began to tighten, an itch spreading across my skin. Angry red hives erupted on my face.

Izzy frowned. His face is getting red.

Mom leaned in for a closer look, her expression changing to one of horror. Thats not a blush, thats a reaction. Nell, stop eating! Dont you know youre allergic to peanuts?

My chopsticks froze in mid-air. I looked up at her, my eyes empty of emotion, my voice as steady as a recording.

Is that a command?

Mom froze for a second, but I was already struggling to breathe.

Jetts crisp voice cut through the panic. Patient is experiencing an anaphylactic reaction. Respiratory distress is moderate. Approximately twenty-three percent of the skin is covered in hives. Recommend immediate administration of anti-allergy medication.

They snapped into action, fumbling to give me the medicine.

After my breathing returned to normal, a heavy silence fell over the living room.

Izzys voice came from the sofa. Somethings wrong with him.

He used to cry and throw tantrums. He wasnt like this. Hes like hes like Jett!

I said nothing. She hadnt given me the command to speak.

Cant you just be normal? Her voice suddenly rose to a shriek. Stop acting like Jett! We wanted an obedient brother, not another robot!

I looked at her face. It was contorted with anger and frustration.

Please define normal, I said flatly.

The color drained from Izzys face. Mom and Dad looked horrified. Dad picked up the phone and called the institute.

The person on the other end explained that this was a normal side effect of deep behavioral conditioning and that I would return to my old self in a few days. Unit 1314 is our top student. Hes more obedient than any AI. Dont worry, this is all part of the process.

Dad hung up and relayed the message. Mom nodded. They both seemed relieved.

In the days that followed, I became the most useful tool in the house. When Mom told me to do the dishes, I cleaned them more thoroughly than Jett ever had. When Dad told me to move the planters, I moved every single one by myself. When Izzy told me to fetch her packages, I ran faster than a dog.

Nell is even more useful than Jett now, Mom said with a laugh. Everyone agreed.

Until the night Izzy forgot to deactivate me.

Everyone else was asleep. I sat on the living room sofa, from dusk until dawn. When Mom came downstairs the next morning, she found me sitting in the exact same position.

Her face went white. The coffee cup slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor.

A woman in a white coat came to the house. She introduced herself as Dr. Wallace, a psychologist. Her voice was gentle.

Hello, Nell.

I said nothing.

Mom wrung her hands nervously beside me. You have to give him a command. He wont speak otherwise.

Dr. Wallace gave my mother a sharp, disapproving look before turning back to me. Tell me your name. She used the imperative form.

Unit 1314.

Dr. Wallaces pen paused on her notepad. What about your real name?

Nell Evans. But that is a former designation. Institute protocol requires graduated students to use their unit number as their official identifier.

Dr. Wallace was stunned into silence. The faces of my family members turned grim. They retreated into the study, speaking in hushed tones about things I couldnt understand. Post-traumatic stress depersonalization requires long-term therapy

After that, things at home became strange. They started treating me with a delicate, cautious air.

On Jetts birthday, they made a difficult decision.

They were sending him away. This would be his last birthday with us. The living room was filled with balloons, a two-tiered cake sitting on the table.

Jett walked over to me, his smile as gentle as ever. Happy birthday, brother.

My eyes blinked. A wire deep inside my brain felt like it had just loosened.

Today was my birthday, too.

No one remembered.

Three years ago, on this very day, I was shoved into a car and sent to the institute. As they took me away, I cried and begged Mom to let me have a piece of my birthday cake first.

She told me I could have cake when I came back, after Id learned to be a good boy.

I had learned. But the cake never came.

Jett suddenly smiled. Brother, the definition of normal is pushing away people you dont like. Push me. Just like you did three years ago.

I stared at him. The gentle look was gone from his eyes, replaced by a strange, flickering light. But he had given me a definition of normal.

I placed my hand on his shoulder. Before I could even push, he threw himself backwards, collapsing like a porcelain doll designed to break.

The living room door swung open. Izzy stood there, holding a plate of fruit. Nell! What are you doing? she screamed.

The fruit platter crashed to the floor.

Jett sat on the ground, his eyes welling up with simulated tears. Brother, why did you push me? I thought you didnt hate me anymore.

He was lying. I knew he was. His tears were a program, his trembling generated by an algorithm.

Mom rushed over, her expression shifting from shock to fury in a matter of seconds. What did you do? Why did you push Jett?

He told me to.

Youre lying! Jett sobbed. Why would I ask you to push me? I just wanted to wish my brother a happy birthday

Izzy knelt and helped Jett up, her movements delicate, as if handling fragile glass. She looked up at me, her eyes filled with bitter disappointment.

You havent changed at all. You spend three years at that place, come back pretending to be so obedient, and then you show your true colors the first chance you get. I knew it. A leopard cant change its spots. Hes always been like this, jealous of Jett.

Moms eyes were red, not with sympathy for me, but with rage. And we were just talking about being better to you. I was regretting sending you to that place. We were trying to figure out how to make it up to you.

She stepped closer, jabbing a finger into my chest. And for what? You havent changed. Youre still the same malicious kid. You still cant stand Jett. You put on an act for all this time and fooled every single one of us.

I opened my mouth, wanting to say it wasnt an act, that the institute had done this to me. That they had sent me there.

But I couldnt. There was no command.

Speak! Mom roared.

I have not received a command to speak.

Moms face flushed a deep crimson. Behind her, Jett sobbed softly in her arms.

He should just die, Izzy said suddenly.

The room went silent for a beat.

What did you say? Dad asked, frowning.

Izzys voice was so loud it seemed to rattle the windows. I said, he should die! Hes so obedient, right? He follows every command, right? Then tell him to die! If he died, at least wed have some peace!

The moment she finished, Jett collapsed. His body convulsed, his eyes rolled back, and foam frothed at his lips.

Jett! Jett, whats wrong? Mom shrieked.

She cradled his head while Dad tried to revive him. Izzy was on the phone, screaming for an ambulance. They were all crowded around him. No one was looking at me.

I stood in the middle of the room, watching them. No one looked at me.

Command received. Terminate.

No one heard me. They were all too busy, their faces etched with panic and fear for Jett.

I slowly turned and walked towards the balcony. The night wind whipped in, cold and sharp.

Nell!

Izzy saw me first. Her shriek was shrill, the phone slipping from her hand and clattering to the floor.

Moms head snapped around, the color draining from her face.

Nell! What are you doing?

I smiled at her, and without a moments hesitation, I carried out the command.