“I noticed that too. I did not like it, but it was a new version of dislike. I did not like him propositioning anything involving you because you are—” Milo stopped himself. He had been about to saymine. But Rowan was not his! That was preposterous! Milo was Rowan’s. Although Milo wasn’t Rowan’s anymore, since he did not want Milo thinking of him as his Master, but it was still more accurate than the other way around. Wasn’t it?
“I’m what?” Rowan pressed.
“I-I meant… I did not like it because I do not want anyone propositioning you,” Milo explained as honestly as he could—genuinely, which he hoped to always act, even if he had decided to keep some of his thoughts to himself. It was difficult to look at Rowan again as Milo said, “I want you to only be propositioned by me.”
“Ah,” Rowan replied with some hesitation, but he also squeezed Milo’s hand a little tighter. “You’re describing jealousy.”
“I suppose I am.”
“And um… anything else you like or dislike?”
Milo considered that, following Rowan as he began to lead them to the next art piece, this one far less graphic, as the “AI Slop” showed a female-like figure distorted in a way that made her look cartoonish but also like someone who had utilized plastic surgery to an unhealthy degree.
The “Real Art” reimagining was lovely in contrast, an echo of the same woman but dressed more simply with no obvious makeup or exaggerated features, standing in a field of flowers with her head tilted up toward the sun. Milo hadn’t considered the sun or sky as much as he had the people when they were outside. The people caught his attention more. He liked people. At least in general.
“I do not like nor dislike your brother,” Milo explained, “but I do not think I liked Vincent very much.”
Rowan wore a subtle smirk as he said, “Yeah, Ruben has shit taste. He’s a hard pill to swallow himself sometimes too.”
“You do not like your brother?”
“I like him from afar. I’m joking! Mostly.” Rowan winced as if he did not like his own joke or felt guilty for saying it. “It’s not that I don’t love him. I just don’t always enjoy being around him. We don’t have much in common. You can love someone without liking them, just like you can like someone without loving them.”
“You can?” Milo supposed he wasn’t certain about the difference between liking and loving something. Or someone.
“Sure. That’s the thing about emotions. They’re complicated, remember? More like a spectrum. Like most things in life actually.” Rowan chuckled.
“Everything is a spectrum?”
“Pretty much. Sexuality. Identity. Taste buds. And it can all fluctuate and change over time too.”
Milo had nearly forgotten that even human taste buds changed over time. He would have to take that into account when he cooked for Rowan next. “Being human, or for me, having emotions, sounds maybetoocomplicated.”
“You’ll get used to it. It’ll help discovering more likes and dislikes. Such as with art.”
The third piece they went to was a swirl of abstract imagery and color on the left with gibberish for words following theflow of the shapes. The reimagining on the right was a similar abstract design but with readable words, all the same phrase over and over again just in different languages.
ARTIFICIAL EQUALS DEATH
Milo understood the sentiment in regards to the Dead Art Museum and the Dead Data Collapse, but it troubled him. Was that what most people would think of him?
“Let’s move on from this one,” Rowan said.
Had Rowan noticed Milo looking troubled? Emotions seemed to bring out expressions on people’s faces that they didn’t always realize were visible. They told a story that words couldn’t manage. Or, more often, people simply didn’t say the words out loud.
The next exhibit piece wasn’t like the others. It was still separated into an “AI Slop” side and “Real Art” side, but this was digital, shown on screens. The first was of a family sightseeing happily on a bridge that suddenly, completely without warning, collapsed amid their panicked faces and screams. It seemed so real, but Milo’s robotic eyes could see through it more easily than human eyes might, the mistakes and nuances that proved it was fabricated. It was unsettling to watch, even more so wondering why anyone would want to create such a thing.
The second side was actual news footage of people helping real victims of a bridge collapse, digging them out of rubble, getting them the medical aid they needed, and reuniting them with family members who had been separated during the disaster. It was still a tragedy, a real tragedy too, but focused on something good, on how humans could help each other even in the worst of times.
“Milo?” Rowan asked, and Milo realized Rowan was staring at his face.
Milo touched his cheek and felt the wetness before he had even registered leaking. “Is it… self-hatred or cannibalistic in some sense to dislike art made by my own kind?”
Rowan laughed, but this time in apparent surprise. “Don’t think of it like that. Humans input the prompts to produce these things. AI handled the output, but it wasn’t your people making or creating anything. The humans behind it weren’t making or creating anything either. It was all just production without thought or emotion. Without a real human element, art becomes flat, even disturbing. But you have that human element yourself, Milo. Ifyoucreated art, it would be nothing like this.”
“And others like me could produce real art someday too?”
“I… honestly don’t know yet if there ever could be others like you.”
