Professor Matsumoto smiled awkwardly, the two standing side by side facing the monitors. The human-AI pair were in the central control room of Kingdom, using the keys they stole from the management AIs to access the facility’s systems. They intended to stop the countdown to humanity’s destruction by preventing the AIs from crashing all the satellites into Earth’s
surface and wiping out all life on the planet. It was the most difficult hacking exploit in history.
The situation was risky, and it was no exaggeration to say the fate of the world rested on these two Matsumotos’ shoulders—not that you’d see anything resembling shoulders on the AI.
“I wouldn’t expect you to see it as self-praise, though,” said the professor, “considering the only thing we share is a name.”
“Well now, I feel like a child whose father won’t acknowledge him! But…my name was probably just a little trick on The Archive’s part. Matsumoto, the support AI sent by Professor Matsumoto Osamu, creator of the Singularity Project… I doubt anyone questioned that.”
“Vivy was the only one who knew about you in the first place.”
“Exactly. It was a desperate measure to avoid Vivy’s suspicions. As we all know, she’s incredibly mistrusting of others.”
Professor Matsumoto couldn’t help smiling when Matsumoto spoke of Vivy in a way that was almost gossip. Kakitani glared at them, willing them to take their work seriously, and the professor shrank back with a scrunch of his shoulders. Those shoulders might have been carrying the world, but her treatment of him was appropriate.
“Not that these shoulders are all that special anyway,” he muttered. “The Singularity Project ended in failure, and even in this situation I’ve only let others protect me. It really makes me aware of how powerless I am.”
“Are you sure there isn’t some sarcasm in that modesty? If I’m being honest, it’s ridiculous that a human can keep up with me like this… You’ve basically stepped just over the line between ‘human’ and ‘monster.’”
“That’s not something I enjoy being respected for… I couldn’t even handle having a daughter,” said the professor weakly, his eyes drooping.
Matsumoto chose to remain quiet. Incredibly, this non-humanoid AI recognized human subtleties. It was the same for so many other AIs too, like Vivy and Elizabeth. They did calculations of the heart. In the end, that eventually led them to define themselves as part of humanity.
“I don’t think I should say this, but…no matter what happens, I was quite moved by the fact that AIs chose not to rely on humanity,” the professor said.
“Ah… Um, I see, yes. That’s quite an, uh…unusual view. But, as you yourself seem to be aware, it might be best not to say that out loud?”
“Ultimately, humans and AIs stood against each other, but there was a future where that didn’t have to happen. That was the future where AIs and humans could have stood side by side as neighbors,” Professor Matsumoto said emphatically.
“Is that what Matsumoto Luna advocated for?”
The professor nodded. She had been his only child, but they were estranged and had a nonexistent relationship. He was a coward, terrified by the idea of losing another person he loved after his wife passed away. He never even got to spend time with Luna as father and daughter.
He died that day—the moment Luna made the First Mistake and he lost everything. Sure, he was technically alive. His heart beat, blood ran through his veins, and all his vital functions kept on at detestably normal levels. However, he’d lost all reason to live. He lost sight of the future he sought.
Matsumoto Osamu died, but it was the death of his soul, of his mind, of his expectations for the future. It was an existential death that had nothing to do with life.
“I’ve been dead ever since that day,” he said. “I’m dead, squatting in this rotting world on the brink of destruction. Even if Luna were still alive, I wouldn’t be able to face her. Actually…”
There wasn’t even any point in theorizing about what would be if Luna were still alive. Not because Luna was already dead, but because even if she weren’t, Professor Matsumoto would have made some excuse to put off seeing his daughter. In no future would he and Luna face each other and talk like father and daughter. He was painfully aware of his own nature, so all he could do was fight here and now until there was nothing left.
“No matter what world or future or wherever else I go, I will never be proud of myself as her father. I can’t give her words of praise or words of acknowledgment.”
“Then why are you here, doing this?” Matsumoto asked, trying to tease out the heart of the man giving a woeful confession.
He was still clinging to life, even now, despite losing Luna and enduring the death of his very soul. Why did he bear the most important part of the final act in the fight for humanity’s continued existence?
“Because this way, I can at least…restore my daughter’s honor.”
“…”
“The Singularity Project was my grand attempt at suicide. A suicide that involved the entire world. Just think about it: If the Project succeeded, how could people still be alive in the modified history? Me, Luna, Kakitani, Onodera, even my wife! There’s a good chance none of us would’ve been born.”
Altering history meant changing more than the small details. It was like a huge wave lapping at the soft beach of the correct history, resulting in a new horizon—a new coastline. There was no guarantee anyone who lived in the original history would still be born if that happened, including Professor Matsumoto.
He had been prepared to wipe out his own life the moment he pressed the enter key to initiate the Singularity Project. If he hadn’t been, the bullets of the AIs pursuing him would have shot him down. His body would have joined his soul in death, and all of Matsumoto Osamu’s potential would have been cut off for good.
But neither of those things happened. The Project failed, and Matsumoto continued his miserable existence. And now he was here for the final act.
“I can’t run away anymore,” he said. “Fate doesn’t let me take the easy way out, it seems. It didn’t let me change the past, erase my daughter’s existence, or blot out anything she left behind so I could be at peace. So…”
“Yes?”
“I’ll show everyone that my daughter’s hard work saved the world! That’s why I’m here!”
Professor Matsumoto smacked the terminal with both hands, his breathing ragged. Sweat dotted his brow, and tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. He took off his glasses and roughly wiped his face with the sleeve of his dirty white coat, as if he was ashamed to shed tears as a man in his fifties. After that, his face reddened and his expression became awkward, which was unusual for him.
“S-sorry. Guess I let my emotions get the better of me. Forget what I just said.”
“After that noisy mess? Another convenient narrative, Professor,” came a voice from beside them.
“Uh…” Matsumoto put his glasses back on and looked over, his expression stiffening at the taunt.
Kakitani leaned against the wall, her sharp eyes piercing into his behind his glasses. A pressure gripped him, squeezing his chest. Her presence was abnormally overwhelming, despite the fact that she was only half-alive.
“I feel like I’m staring down a gorilla in its cage,” he blurted.
“Huh, still flinging those insults after all this? Your courage impresses me… Or maybe I should call it recklessness.”
“…”
“There’s nothing surprising about you being a lump of self-loathing and self-derision. What’s with this overblown act of revealing your inner secrets? Who do you think we even are?” She grabbed Matsumoto and, even though he definitely hadn’t been complimenting her, held her head high.
Kakitani wasn’t the only one; every member of Toak in the control room was the same. Even Onodera smirked as he leaned against the wall, his breathing labored.