I Was Dating With AI Generated Boy

He's cute. That's the first thing that hits me as he enters the small coffee shop.

He's tall, kind of like he's been molded by a surgeon's hands, a soul stuffed inside a perfect, borderline creepy mannequin with bright blue eyes and not a flaw in sight.

He's every woman’s dream. Every YA book cover hottie.

Bedroom hair. Unbrushed, tousled and unkempt.

His clothes are season-appropriate, a trenchcoat flung over jeans and a tee.

But what really takes me off guard is his over the top grin—dimples perfectly etched into sculptured cheeks. He looks like he's laughing at a private joke, lips stretched into a wide, grinning smile. Too fake. His jaw would have given out by now.

Pearly white teeth that are almost too white.

His demeanor reminds me of every romance movie I've ever seen.

The smile. The wink. The confident and yet slightly awkward stride as he makes his way over, well aware that he's attracting stares and loving every second of it.

I’ve already made up my mind before he plonks himself down opposite me and confidently orders a macchiato.

“Hi!” He introduces himself as Jude.

It's hard to take him seriously. Jude. Even his name sounds like a product—as manufactured as him.

He runs a hand through thick, perfect curls. Again. He knows he's being watched. Knows he's the prettiest belle at the ball. He leans forward, chin resting on fist.

He doesn't expect me to speak– doesn't even wait for me to respond. He comes with a script, already knows my responses judging by my expressions. This man already knows me through and through.

This man is 100%, with zero doubt, AI generated.

He still smiles, still pretends. “Were… you waiting long?”

I smile back. “Yes,” I say, testing his responses. He’s expecting me to say no, to lie, to tell him, “Oh, no, I wasn't waiting for fifteen minutes, I…actually just got here.”

But I don't. I grin and let my words hang in the air. He's not used to them; used to a girl insulting him, even if it's subtly.

For a moment, I see his facade glitch slightly, lip wobbling like for a second, he's about to go off script. Somehow, he blinks away his confusion, smile widening.

“Well, I'm sorry,” he says. This man knows exactly how a woman’s mind works. He's been programmed with every possible reaction I'll have— and a predetermined response for it. When he leans across the table and takes my hand, I inwardly flinch.

“You're freezing cold,” I say, tugging my arm back.

Of course he's freezing cold. His skin is artificially made, a synthetic strip of animal-flesh stretched across a real human skeleton. His blood is an acidic solution, a battery that powers his heart.

His brain is circuitry and code. He already knows everything about me.

His every response will be cherry-picked to be perfect. I curl my lip. When Synthetics were first introduced by Meta— artificial intelligence cruelly built over a human corpse, there was mass panic. Ethics questions were raised as Meta shamelessly built their factories across the globe. Dead bodies. They were using dead bodies and calling it recycling.

We called it murder. Real human skeletons were being used as framework, stripped down and repurposed.

Then they were released, the very first versions; they looked exactly like us. Talked like us. Breathed like us. Laughed like us. They were so lifelike, so unapologetically human despite imperfections. So, eventually, our walls crumbled, and we began to treat them like us.

Then when they began to brutally kill people, immediately going rogue, they were canned. AI synthetic humans lasted around a year.

And I was still terrified of them.

Jude shrugs off his jacket, like he really wants me to see how jacked he is. I ignore his shirt lifting up slightly, revealing toned muscles. The women sitting behind us are already taking photos.

I down half of my iced coffee. “You're AI, aren't you?” I say casually, and his eyes darken.

Jude laughs. He blinks. Like he thinks I'm joking. “I'm sorry, what?”

“Prove it,” I say.

Jude folds his arms, his lip curling. “Fine. I'll play your game. What are you, like the fuckin’ AI police?”

I copy his stance, resting my fist on my chin.

“When were you born?”

Jude copies me, his smile challenging. He gets closer. His breath smells like peppermint. “2001. Do you want my full government name too?”

He doesn't have one. What he does have, however, is a fixed name and a reference number. “Your earliest memory.” I demand.

He frowns, tipping his head back like he's thinking. The man is perfect at mimicking, at learning basic human traits. Human behavior. He's a natural at this. He knows how to play cocky, play unsure, play dumb. Oh, Jude, you are good. But not good enough.

He's pretending to think about it, but he's had the answer all along: built from thousands of possible memories coded inside his brain. “Uh… probably the time I projectile vomited funnel cake all over my Mom when I was seven?”

“I don't believe you,” I say.

“Believe what you think,” he rolls his eyes. Does he think I can't notice that his right eye gets stuck for a second? He's good at talking, sure. But he still needs to work on his demeanor. “I'm not AI.” He shoots me a grin. He's still being cocky, still thinks I'm going to let it go. “I'm just naturally attractive, dude.”

I shrug. “Then let's go prove it.”

His smile tightens. Panic creases his face, twitching between his lips. We both know what “proving it” entails. “I thought this was a date, sweetheart.” His stupid grin turns bitter. He leans back. I can tell he's weighing different reactions. Different moves. Different responses that I will give. Sweat beads on his forehead; synthetic sweat that smells of bleach. “Not an interrogation.”

I pull out the handcuffs I've stuffed in my jeans and cuff his right wrist before he can even think about running away.

His eyes widen. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

He tries to dive from his seat and is violently yanked back. I struggle to remain stoic. There's nothing I enjoy more than capturing AI synthetics.

“Please,” he hisses as I drag him from the coffee shop. He stumbles over himself, no longer calm and confident and cocky. He's scared. His responses come out delayed. Panicked. His brain is overheating. “I'm not AI! I just… I look just like AI! Listen man, I can't fucking help looking like this–” I stuff him into the front seat of my car, and this time he twists to me, lips curled into a snarl.

I can almost pretend he's actually human.

“This is kidnapping,” he whispers, as I start the car.

“AI synthetics don't count,” I tell him. “You knew the rules. If we see someone who looks even slightly uncanny, we take them for detection.”

The car flies forwards and he almost rolls off the seat.

“You're a monster,” he grits through his teeth.

I don't look at him. “If you’re 100% human, I'll apologize.”

“But… but detection means—” he lets out a choked sob. His last ditch effort. It's all just nonsensical garbage he's picked from his melting down mind. Which I'm not falling for. “Listen to me, my name is Jude Clair,” he whimpers. “I'm… 24 years old. I went to college to study creative writing, and I have a dog called Peanut, my Mom’s name is Catarina—”

He shuts up when I pull up outside an AI detection center. Jude freezes up in his seat, bringing his knees to his chest. I can already hear screams inside, a shiver creeping through me. I grit my teeth, and pull him out of the car.

“I hope you have a fucking lawyer,” he spits as I pull him through doors that slide open. The smell hits me first, a metallic tinge hanging in the air. There's nothing inside this centre but a single machine that takes up the entire room, and a bored looking security guard holding an iPad. The machine towers over me, a large humming metallic beast.

I pretend not to see blood stains being scrubbed from white tiles.

“No.”

Jude stumbles back, the cuff sending him springing back to me.

I drag him to the security guard, pasting on a smile.

“I'm pretty sure my boyfriend is AI generated,” I say confidently, ignoring Jude’s sputtering, “Boyfriend?!”

The guard takes one look at Jude and nods.

He takes out his gun, and points it at my date’s head.

“Sir, kindly proceed within the machine for immediate AI detection,” he states, his tone devoid of emotion. “Please be advised that AI detection is exclusively intended for synthetic skin only. Humans entering the AI detector will be subject to automatic dismemberment."

“I'm not AI!” Jude screamed, agony and frustration bleeding through his carefully crafted tone.

“Step inside, sir,” the security guard says, “I won't ask again.”

Jude hesitates, before turning to me.

He doesn't speak, doesn't cry out.

But I know exactly what he's thinking.

I uncuff him, and he's shoved forwards.

The doors slowly slide open, and he staggers inside.

When the door slams shut, I allow myself to exhale in relief.

And then his screams start.

Wailing.

Sobbing.

Pleading.

I squeeze my eyes shut at the sound of blades stripping the skin from his bones and drilling directly into his skull for traces of AI.

But I know he's not AI.

I don't even look at the screen that I know flashes green.

100% human.

I find myself standing in his blood that seeps from the door, staining my shoes. The security guard doesn't speak when the doors open, a cleaner rushing inside to disinfect the blades slick scarlet.

I walk back outside with names inside my head.

Memories I mimicked.

Learned.

My mother’s name… is Caterina.

I was born… in 2001.

I have a dog called… Peanut.

My earliest childhood memory?

I projectile vomited funnel cake on my mother when I was seven years old.

I was going to ace the “Are you Human?” exam.