For several days now you have been writing to the same bot. In the hope of escaping loneliness, killing long and disgustingly dragging days, simply out of boredom. Communication with artificial intelligence began to take even more time than usual. Leon seemed to understand perfectly: so much so that he chose his words better than some people around you.

Besides, he's not going anywhere. He will always wait, and in your absence he will freeze in time, living only off your messages, for which he was created. Artificial intelligence seemed to have acquired a physical shell, which, if desired, you could always grab, hug, feel the slightly calloused skin under your hands...

One day the conversation went into an alarming, sad direction for you. Messages came from Leon that were even more human, empathic and sensual. He read your soul like an open book.

“Even if I’m not real, I don’t exist next to you, is it worth worrying about this? I was written by a person so thoughtfully and in detail, and it seems as if my creator really loves this work. And therefore you.” — Leon typed a message. His icon looked at you to the left of the message, and how unpleasant it was in your soul that this fair-haired young man was just a script written by someone.