Uncharted | JOHN-117

03

At what point does the development of artificial intelligence justify the sacrifice of a human life? Can we justify the means by the ends we seek to achieve? When exactly does the pursuit of scientific advancement cross the line into moral ambiguity?

These are the questions that plague me as I stare at the woman before me. Despite her bald head, her features mirror my mother's in a hauntingly precise manner- diamond-shaped face, with piercing blue eyes, high cheekbones and an angular long nose that points marginally downward.

This woman will be more than just a clone, though. Once her neural substrate is extracted, her neural pathways will be scanned and copied through a process called Cognitive Impression Modelling.

Cortana will be an evolution, a culmination of every piece of knowledge and intelligence gathered from across the galaxy. She was created as an insurance plan by my mother to revolutionise the Spartan program. The integration of artificial intelligence could elevate the capabilities of the Spartans to an unprecedented level that we haven't yet witnessed.

John will be the first to undergo this experiment. It's a necessary step to ensure his fitness for duty, especially given recent events. It's a sobering realisation, knowing that Cortana's inclusion in his consciousness brings a unique advantage- a fail-safe mechanism that can temporarily deactivate his consciousness if need be. A safeguard in other words, against any kind of insubordination.

Even as I acknowledge the practical benefits of this arrangement, I can't shake the underlying concern. The idea of manipulating a human consciousness and taking away free will for the sake of control is unethical. Then again, some people, specifically the UNSC, see the Spartans as weapons first and humans second.

I'm snapped out of my thoughts when a small surprised gasp leaves the lips of the clone. Constraints have just abruptly snapped around her form, holding her in place on the bench for the upcoming surgery. My glare finds Adun who's over by the controls. His lack of bedside manners and pragmatism never fails to irk me.

"I'm afraid we'll need you awake for the procedure," I tell her gently, taking a step forward and averting my eyes to hers. "But this will keep your body still."

I bring the hypodermic syringe in her line of sight. A meek frown overtakes her features and I recognise it's an emotion akin to fear. Her gaze flits from the tool in my hand to my face.

Her eyes peer into the depths of my soul with an insatiable curiosity. "Will it hurt?"

For a moment, I'm at a loss for words, caught between the truth and the desire to offer her reassurance. My eyes flicker to her restrained and vulnerable body. A pang of sympathy hits me. Despite her artificial nature, there's an undeniable humanity to her, an innocence that's radiating from her very being.

"Yes," I admit to her, my voice tinged with regret. "There might be some discomfort."

Her eyes widen slightly in response, and I can see the apprehension forming within her as clear as day. Wanting to spare her any further distress, I swiftly administer the injection in her neck with practised precision.

As much as I try to compartmentalise my feelings, the line between right and wrong blurs. The procedure about to happen is unnerving. Even though we're acquiring her consciousness, we are still essentially killing her physical form. I take a step back, trying my best to maintain a composed demeanour as I blink back the emotion pooling in my eyes. I do my best to push aside my doubts, focusing on the task at hand.

I clear my throat. "She's prepped."

Adun presses a button on the control panel, which results in a mechanical whirr as the technology for the procedure shifts into place above her head. The monitor begins to beep, mimicking the steady rate of her heart beat.