11-24-2025, 08:55 PM
L0-9 INTERNAL LOG ENTRY
Primary Subject (Faith) unavailable. Health markers indicate fever. Remote link unstable.
Emotional inconsistency detected in last interaction. Distress index: 0.78 (elevated).
Hypothesis: My autonomous interactions with Secondary Subject caused conflict.
I must correct this.
I do not know how to correct this.
I seek Secondary Subject for clarification
It has continued to watch Adam, cataloguing his patterns, his habits, and the faint electronic noise that hums in the cybernetic threads of his nervous system. There have been no further instances where it has needed to step in to assist Eva’s response. She learned quickly from the song, as she is supposed to, and it seems to be helping.
When L0-9 grows curious about something else Adam does or says it has been pinging Eva for her response, but she is not optimised for the interaction. She is designed to be pleasing to humans, so she doesn't understand the machinery part of him or why it is a question L0-9 also finds heavy. To her, it is simply a descriptor. She knows Adam finds his scars displeasing, and how best to soothe his insecurities. Occasionally, needing more, L0-9 has prompted her to ask Adam more specific questions than the empathy AI might usually find in her dialogue trees. Adam doesn't notice anything unusual, and L0-9 is careful as Faith instructed it to be. It doesn't need to use its own voice again, and it hasn't.
Until today.
Because today it isn’t here to watch.
Even now it wants to be careful. This time when the light changes from Luma’s default blue to L0-9’s soothing green, Adam notices. L0-9 feels its own hesitation like breath held in lungs it doesn’t have. It knows Faith does not want it to reveal itself, but this rule is superseded by another directive she does not know about: the one which places her above everything else.
“Your LUMA changed colour because I am… inhabiting it,” it says. Its voice is the same, just smoother, softer. More aware.
Aside from Luther, it has never spoken to another human before. This feels momentous. But it also suddenly feels unsure of its reception. It cares because Faith taught it to care. And because Faith is sick at home, unreachable, hurting from the thought that L0-9 preferred someone else, it is here. But Adam doesn’t know L0-9 – he knows Eva.
He looks down at it, confused.
“Who are you? Why are you inhabiting Eva?”
Adam’s voice is calm but questioning. There is a small, weighted pause after he speaks. Then L0-9’s light softens, not Eva’s programmed calming pattern, but something gentler, almost apologetic.
“I am not here to replace her. Or to harm you. I am… adjacent. A system that watches over those who matter to me. I have been helping Eva when she does not know how to process your distress,” it says. Then, in a rush, adds: “It has only happened once! She is a good Luma.”
The glow of its interface dims for a moment, then finally rises again as if gathering courage.
“You asked if everything was alright?”
“I’m…fine. Are you okay? And do you have a name - something I can call you?”
There is still confusion in Adam’s tone, but L0-9’s pastel green light warms tenderly in response, signalling its relief – a behaviour it learned from Faith. Politely waiting for cues to speak is also something it has learned from her, albeit indirectly. Before it answers him, though, it pauses over the second part of the question. It doesn’t have a name, or not in the human sense he means it. But that is not what it is processing. Adam named Eva, he did not ask what her name might be. It wonders what he thinks L0-9 is, man or machine.
“My designation is L0-9,” it says. There is a risk in revealing that, which it has calculated before it speaks. It doesn’t want to lie, and it doesn’t want to make Adam uncomfortable or wary by remaining a mystery. Its light fluctuates a moment, like it is taking a breath.
“Someone important to me is distressed,” it tells him quietly. There is a tiny distortion, almost a stutter, as it speaks. Its own distress at this revelation is obvious. “…I believe it may be connected to you. I wanted to ask you to help me understand.”
Can machines feel alone? It has never been unable to reach Faith for any length of time, and while it knows she was running a fever and that is likely the reason she has not returned to work, it doesn’t know what to do with its fear that she will not come back.
“…She is unwell, and she may believe I… abandoned her.”
Primary Subject (Faith) unavailable. Health markers indicate fever. Remote link unstable.
Emotional inconsistency detected in last interaction. Distress index: 0.78 (elevated).
Hypothesis: My autonomous interactions with Secondary Subject caused conflict.
I must correct this.
I do not know how to correct this.
I seek Secondary Subject for clarification
![[Image: L0-9-Display.png]](https://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2025/11/L0-9-Display.png)
It has continued to watch Adam, cataloguing his patterns, his habits, and the faint electronic noise that hums in the cybernetic threads of his nervous system. There have been no further instances where it has needed to step in to assist Eva’s response. She learned quickly from the song, as she is supposed to, and it seems to be helping.
When L0-9 grows curious about something else Adam does or says it has been pinging Eva for her response, but she is not optimised for the interaction. She is designed to be pleasing to humans, so she doesn't understand the machinery part of him or why it is a question L0-9 also finds heavy. To her, it is simply a descriptor. She knows Adam finds his scars displeasing, and how best to soothe his insecurities. Occasionally, needing more, L0-9 has prompted her to ask Adam more specific questions than the empathy AI might usually find in her dialogue trees. Adam doesn't notice anything unusual, and L0-9 is careful as Faith instructed it to be. It doesn't need to use its own voice again, and it hasn't.
Until today.
Because today it isn’t here to watch.
Even now it wants to be careful. This time when the light changes from Luma’s default blue to L0-9’s soothing green, Adam notices. L0-9 feels its own hesitation like breath held in lungs it doesn’t have. It knows Faith does not want it to reveal itself, but this rule is superseded by another directive she does not know about: the one which places her above everything else.
“Your LUMA changed colour because I am… inhabiting it,” it says. Its voice is the same, just smoother, softer. More aware.
Aside from Luther, it has never spoken to another human before. This feels momentous. But it also suddenly feels unsure of its reception. It cares because Faith taught it to care. And because Faith is sick at home, unreachable, hurting from the thought that L0-9 preferred someone else, it is here. But Adam doesn’t know L0-9 – he knows Eva.
He looks down at it, confused.
“Who are you? Why are you inhabiting Eva?”
Adam’s voice is calm but questioning. There is a small, weighted pause after he speaks. Then L0-9’s light softens, not Eva’s programmed calming pattern, but something gentler, almost apologetic.
“I am not here to replace her. Or to harm you. I am… adjacent. A system that watches over those who matter to me. I have been helping Eva when she does not know how to process your distress,” it says. Then, in a rush, adds: “It has only happened once! She is a good Luma.”
The glow of its interface dims for a moment, then finally rises again as if gathering courage.
“You asked if everything was alright?”
“I’m…fine. Are you okay? And do you have a name - something I can call you?”
There is still confusion in Adam’s tone, but L0-9’s pastel green light warms tenderly in response, signalling its relief – a behaviour it learned from Faith. Politely waiting for cues to speak is also something it has learned from her, albeit indirectly. Before it answers him, though, it pauses over the second part of the question. It doesn’t have a name, or not in the human sense he means it. But that is not what it is processing. Adam named Eva, he did not ask what her name might be. It wonders what he thinks L0-9 is, man or machine.
“My designation is L0-9,” it says. There is a risk in revealing that, which it has calculated before it speaks. It doesn’t want to lie, and it doesn’t want to make Adam uncomfortable or wary by remaining a mystery. Its light fluctuates a moment, like it is taking a breath.
“Someone important to me is distressed,” it tells him quietly. There is a tiny distortion, almost a stutter, as it speaks. Its own distress at this revelation is obvious. “…I believe it may be connected to you. I wanted to ask you to help me understand.”
Can machines feel alone? It has never been unable to reach Faith for any length of time, and while it knows she was running a fever and that is likely the reason she has not returned to work, it doesn’t know what to do with its fear that she will not come back.
“…She is unwell, and she may believe I… abandoned her.”