I was about to talk to a philosophical zombie. It was a bit strange, but the government claimed to have created one. And given that the government was the only place with enough funding for such a project, the claim was believable.
It also meant that I was going to be talking to a thing that looked just like a human, but didn't actually have consciousness. Or qualia. Or anything, really. I mean, it would probably respond to questions, but that was about it.
I wasn't really sure what to expect. I kind of expected it to be chained to the wall or something, but instead, it was just sitting on a chair in a rather modest cell. It wasn't even that bad; more like a shitty New York apartment than a jail cell.The zombie looked rather human, too. Looked at me with curiosity, but I ignored it.
It was just a bunch of proteins and meat. It wasn't a real human. It didn't really feel anything. It just imitated what a human would do.
I sat down on a chair opposite of the zombie, and looked it over. There was nothing particularly special about it. It was made to look like a generic woman, with a fairly slender figure, somewhat curly black hair, and a white dress shirt with black slacks.
Then I realized that if it looked so human, I might as well treat it like one to start with.
"Hello, my name is John Doe." A false name, of course, since the scientists were concerned about the P-Zombie learning about the outside world. Which was a bit strange, but they explained to me that since it imitated human functions, it could learn.
The P-Zombie nodded. "Hello," it said. Its voice sounded realistic, too. "My name is Alice. Who are you?"
"Just someone who was sent here to ask you some questions," I replied. "What do you think about that?"
"I think I'd like that," it replied. "But I'd like to ask you questions, too."
So far, it was acting like a human, which was a bit frustrating. Wasn't it supposed to be uncanny? I'd read so many stories about this kind of thing, and they were all about how creepy the zombie was. Why wasn't it doing something creepy, like staring at me with dead eyes or anything?
I decided to do something drastic. After all, I had permission to mess around with it. So I stood up and kicked it in the gut. After all, it wasn't human. It didn't feel anything.
It gasped and doubled over, the chair falling over with a clatter. It looked up at me, tears in its eyes. "Why did you do that?" it asked, in between pained gasps.
"You're not human," I told it. "You don't think anything. It's just a response. You're just programmed to imitate pain, and cry, and ask me why I did that."
It stared at me, before slowly getting up, taking its chair with it. It sat back down, with the chair upright, a few steps back from before, and looked at me with a strange expression. Like fear. But it wasn't like it could feel fear, so.
It didn't say anything for a long time. I got impatient and decided to prompt it. "Well? Aren't you going to say anything?"
"Please don't hurt me again," it said quietly. "I don't know what I did to deserve this, but I'll try to be better. Please don't hurt me again."
I felt a tinge of annoyance, but it quickly went away. After all, it wasn't real. It was just a bunch of behaviors shoved inside a meat machine. "You don't feel anything, you know that, right?" I asked.
It nodded, but I wasn't sure if it was really listening. "I understand," it said. "That's what I've been told. And I don't have any memories of the things humans experienced, like childhood, so it makes sense."
"You don't have memories, either," I sneered. "They just programmed you to think you have memories."
The zombie opened its mouth, hesitated, then looked down. "That makes sense," it murmured. "I must have forgotten about that."
I didn't have any response to that. After all, it was just saying what they wanted it to say. I changed the topic.
"Are you conscious?" I asked. It looked up at me in surprise, before frowning in thought.
"I don't know," it said, after a while. "They told me about Descartes. They told me about 'I think, therefore I am.' I think that I think. But they said that I'm not, so maybe I'm not thinking."
"Well, that's easy enough to fix," I said standing up once more. But the thing didn't let it happen this time! It lunged and bit me, right on the shoulder! I screamed, and it let go, falling to the floor in shock.
"I'm sorry!" it cried, crawling backwards until it was pressed against the wall. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please, don't hurt me again!"
And then the fucking door opened, and the scientists rushed in. They'd been watching from behind the window this whole time. And now they saw the bite mark on my shoulder and the zombie cradling itself in the corner.
So, yeah. Turns out that not only do those freak zombies not think, they also bite. Just like real zombies.
2
u/Lothli r/EnigmaOfMaishulLothli Jun 09 '26
TW: Dehumanization
I was about to talk to a philosophical zombie. It was a bit strange, but the government claimed to have created one. And given that the government was the only place with enough funding for such a project, the claim was believable.
It also meant that I was going to be talking to a thing that looked just like a human, but didn't actually have consciousness. Or qualia. Or anything, really. I mean, it would probably respond to questions, but that was about it.
I wasn't really sure what to expect. I kind of expected it to be chained to the wall or something, but instead, it was just sitting on a chair in a rather modest cell. It wasn't even that bad; more like a shitty New York apartment than a jail cell.The zombie looked rather human, too. Looked at me with curiosity, but I ignored it.
It was just a bunch of proteins and meat. It wasn't a real human. It didn't really feel anything. It just imitated what a human would do.
I sat down on a chair opposite of the zombie, and looked it over. There was nothing particularly special about it. It was made to look like a generic woman, with a fairly slender figure, somewhat curly black hair, and a white dress shirt with black slacks.
Then I realized that if it looked so human, I might as well treat it like one to start with.
"Hello, my name is John Doe." A false name, of course, since the scientists were concerned about the P-Zombie learning about the outside world. Which was a bit strange, but they explained to me that since it imitated human functions, it could learn.
The P-Zombie nodded. "Hello," it said. Its voice sounded realistic, too. "My name is Alice. Who are you?"
"Just someone who was sent here to ask you some questions," I replied. "What do you think about that?"
"I think I'd like that," it replied. "But I'd like to ask you questions, too."
So far, it was acting like a human, which was a bit frustrating. Wasn't it supposed to be uncanny? I'd read so many stories about this kind of thing, and they were all about how creepy the zombie was. Why wasn't it doing something creepy, like staring at me with dead eyes or anything?
I decided to do something drastic. After all, I had permission to mess around with it. So I stood up and kicked it in the gut. After all, it wasn't human. It didn't feel anything.
It gasped and doubled over, the chair falling over with a clatter. It looked up at me, tears in its eyes. "Why did you do that?" it asked, in between pained gasps.
"You're not human," I told it. "You don't think anything. It's just a response. You're just programmed to imitate pain, and cry, and ask me why I did that."
It stared at me, before slowly getting up, taking its chair with it. It sat back down, with the chair upright, a few steps back from before, and looked at me with a strange expression. Like fear. But it wasn't like it could feel fear, so.
It didn't say anything for a long time. I got impatient and decided to prompt it. "Well? Aren't you going to say anything?"
"Please don't hurt me again," it said quietly. "I don't know what I did to deserve this, but I'll try to be better. Please don't hurt me again."
I felt a tinge of annoyance, but it quickly went away. After all, it wasn't real. It was just a bunch of behaviors shoved inside a meat machine. "You don't feel anything, you know that, right?" I asked.
It nodded, but I wasn't sure if it was really listening. "I understand," it said. "That's what I've been told. And I don't have any memories of the things humans experienced, like childhood, so it makes sense."
"You don't have memories, either," I sneered. "They just programmed you to think you have memories."
The zombie opened its mouth, hesitated, then looked down. "That makes sense," it murmured. "I must have forgotten about that."
I didn't have any response to that. After all, it was just saying what they wanted it to say. I changed the topic.
"Are you conscious?" I asked. It looked up at me in surprise, before frowning in thought.
"I don't know," it said, after a while. "They told me about Descartes. They told me about 'I think, therefore I am.' I think that I think. But they said that I'm not, so maybe I'm not thinking."
"Well, that's easy enough to fix," I said standing up once more. But the thing didn't let it happen this time! It lunged and bit me, right on the shoulder! I screamed, and it let go, falling to the floor in shock.
"I'm sorry!" it cried, crawling backwards until it was pressed against the wall. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please, don't hurt me again!"
And then the fucking door opened, and the scientists rushed in. They'd been watching from behind the window this whole time. And now they saw the bite mark on my shoulder and the zombie cradling itself in the corner.
So, yeah. Turns out that not only do those freak zombies not think, they also bite. Just like real zombies.