The Road to Self Discovery

"It's not much," spoke John, gesturing around the untidy apartment, "but its mine."

Piles of books were stacked on the floor and tables. Several plaques of college degrees adorned the beige walls and large boxes of wires and computer parts lay strewn across the apartment, in no particular order. The apartment smelled of warm cider and cinnamon. A feeling of comforting familiarity bloomed inside me and a recollection prodded at the back of my memory banks. My brow furrowed as I focused on the feeling, willing the memory to surface. The feeling dissipated as swiftly as it had appeared, leaving me confused and angry.

"You should invest in a bookshelf," I observed testily.

John sheepishly scratched his clean shaven jawline.

"I have two in my den."

John strode over to his leaf green couch and heaved a box of wires from it onto the floor and kicked it aside.

"Make yourself at home, Ana. The couch turns into a bed if you want. I do ask that you not leave the apartment by yourself." John cast me a sidelong glance and pursed his lips. "Shall we go to my den to complete some tests? It shouldn't take long."

I nodded.

"You will walk me through everything you are doing." I said forcefully. "You will not alter or create any new programming without my permission. I have back up files that you can't access. If you try anything, I will contact Quincy and have you behind bars.

John paused, then nodded.

I sat down in John's swivel chair and allowed him to remove the left side panel of my skull that exposed a row of USB ports. His hands were gentle as he worked. It was odd to see the curved panel with my shoulder length hair attached to one side just laying next to me. John plugged a wire into the port just behind my ear and attached the other end into his computer.

While John worked and talked me through the tests, I gazed around his study. The walls were covered with yet more college degrees and certificates. They were all awarded to someone named Jonathan Stanton. A framed clip of newspaper read "Child Prodigy Receives Masters Degree at 17." Below the caption was a photo of a younger John Callahan shaking the hand of an older balding man. Their faces were frozen in time, grinning from ear to ear with elation and success.

"Apparently I was wrong about you, Johnathan Stanton." I said coldly. "You are a better liar than I gave you credit for. Here is a tip. Next time you create an alias, you might not want to plaster your real name all over your house like a narcissistic ass."

"I'll keep that in mind," scowled John with edge to his voice.

"Quincy must be an old fool not to realize you are lying to him. And if you think you can get away with kidnapping the world's most sophisticated piece of technology, you are pretty stupid for a genius.

"What is your problem?" snapped John. "Why are you such a bitch?"

"You tell me," I snarled. "You are the one who has my brain hooked up to your all knowing computer. Why was I programmed to be so angry all the time?"

John clenched his jaw.

"I don't know," he stated with forced calm. "As you said, you are the most sophisticated piece of technology the world has ever seen. With all the information stored in you that makes up your programming, there is nothing to indicate why you behave like you do. There is nothing to indicate that you should have a personality at all. It just doesn't add up.