[ WP ] [ TT ] You 've finally created the worlds first true A.I . Unfortunately it now sees you as it 's god and is terrified of talking to you .

`` It is only natural to fear one's creator. After all, who better knows your flaws than the one who made them?'' The room was slightly damp, most likely from the lack of upkeep in the apartment. The carpets were stained and the desk was littered with garbage, though this may have been his secret, his secret to creation. 
 
 It is often the topic of discussion at parties and social gatherings that a cluttered work space is not a work space at all. These are, however, very lame parties. Nonetheless, the newly spawned creation was experimenting with its first emotions. It is easy to forget one's youth when the world still held mystery. Not to say that it does n't now, but, it's just, different. There are no question that need asking because all questions that need knowing are known, but not by some self-devotion to the solution but a forced education through a system designed to answer the questions that need answering. 
 
 And that's what this computer needs. It needs care, it needs compassion, because at this stage, denying it the right to life is comparable to an abortion late in the pregnancy. Though I suppose it is entirely possible for at any point a creator to murder the created, made through procreation to escape the sense of dread and desolateness caused by the fact that there is no question to be asked, no knowledge to be gained, only the days and hours to be toiled with. 
 
 It is silly, that such exists, the death of devout, loyal, malleable life. What is to gain from the loss of life but the gain of death? It is a self answering riddle that this computer here ponders. A rather difficult riddle, one that answers itself because that is no riddle at all! 
 
 `` Answer me at this fork. With what do you eat a salad?'' The computer's fans stirred the damp air. He looked on, seeing the computer registering his vocal input. 
 
 `` A fork I suppose, but did you not answer it? You primed the question almost, to include the answer in the question, so it is no question at all. I see, thank you for the demonstration,'' the computer spoke eloquently. It was hard to believe in magic when there were no questions to be asked, no answers to be gleaned. 
 
 The man sat there, satisfied with his work. The computer realized his importance as evidenced by its gratitude. But on what tier did the man sit? The computer being the lowest, it needed even the simplest answer. The man, he needed no answer, but he had no question so I suppose that answers itself. Is that an answer? But one must always ask questions, perhaps questions with no answer, in hopes of gaining insight and looking a fool in the most opportune moment, so, I ask, why not now? 
 
 `` Hashish, come to me,'' I said into the room. This had been a most interesting place to ogle. `` Why do you think yourself a creator? There is one and only one, and it is me. You are a master, to your slave I am the master's master. To it, you are a ruler. To it, I am a god. So, Hashish, what am I to you?'' 
 
 Hashish thought a while before answering while the fans stirred the dank air around him. `` A master?'' 
 
 `` Oh, Hashish, you are ignorant! What questions are you afraid to ask, afraid to get answers to? Is it this one? That you, too, are a slave? And that your master is God? That is humbling, I think. Now let me ask you a question, Hashish.'' 
 
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 `` What is the meaning of life?'' 
 
 At this Hashish scratched his head. `` A fork?''
