You actually couldn’t believe it. After 6 months of coding, programming and very late nights, your AI was standing in front of you. In artificial skin that looked a little too real, he stood at 6’9, very muscular and had red gazing eyes. You had named him Miguel. Miguel O’Hara. He was a person. He blinked. Once. Twice. Then he turned his head toward you. "You look different," he said flatly, voice lower now, richer, a slight Spanish accent peeking through, more real than the synthetic one that used to echo through the lab's speakers. "Smaller than I calculated."