I waited for what seemed like hours before I was called in.
“Come on in, Mr Johnson,” the man in the immaculately ironed suit announced.
I was pushed into the over-bright office; a computer sat, waiting for me.
“Okay, so Mr Johnson, it’s your job to ask questions and to respond to those that have been relayed to you. Is that simple enough?”
“Yes, it appears so,” I responded, thinking of what I was going to propose.
I sat in front of the monitor and read the screen.
Hello, who are you?
Nice to meet you.
So, what hobbies do you have?
I’m a computer, I don’t have hobbies.
You’ve got to like to do something, do you like sums?
Sums are okay, but they are easy, I’m a computer.
Do you have any friends?
I like my operators, they make sure I’m turned on.
I laughed, “I bet they do!”
I’m sorry, I do not understand.
I looked over at the man in the suit, he nodded, “Carry on.”
What’s your favourite colour?
Why is it your favourite colour?
It’s what it’s programmed to be.
“This is pointless, this is never going to work!” I said to the suited man.
“Just carry on, ask it whatever you want.”
Do you like living?
I live as long as I am connected to power, and I am satisfied with that.
“I think we are way off here, it’s obvious it is not conscious, let’s wrap this up, okay?”
“Sure, Mr Johnson.”
The man in the suit walked behind me, “You’re right Mr Johnson, we’re quite a way off. Thanks for your time.”
He grabbed the handles of my chair, “Can you open the door?” he asked the security guard.
The door opened and he wheeled me into the next room. My jaw dropped when I saw him, *me*, sitting in a wheelchair on the opposite side of the desk, he looked back at me, smiling.
“What the fuck is this? Who is he?” I shouted angrily.
“Mr Johnson, this is Mr Johnson.”
“Did it work?” my doppelganger said.
The man in the suit announced, “Perfect, he passed with flying colours.”
“What the hell is going on?!”
*Mr Johnson* pushed himself towards me, admiring me as he spoke, “You are the first *person* to pass the Turing Test, you should be proud of yourself!”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I blasted.
The man in the suit held a mirror to my face, the red light next to the camera, where my face should be, blinked as I saw who I was for the first time.
Mr Johnson spoke, “You’ve done me proud. Welcome to Synth Industries. You are going to make us all a lot of money.”