“Say cheese!”

At her boyfriend’s prompting, the young tourist edged towards the timeworn statue in the park and smiled radiantly. The next second, she shrieked, for her hands had touched not a stony surface but soft fabric and human flesh. 

Lee gave it another moment before shaking his painted limbs loose. He bowed towards the couple and the curious pedestrians.

“Get away from us, you pervert.” The boyfriend put up a protective arm around the sweetheart and escorted her out of the plaza.

Lee was offended. He had given them a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and this was how they repaid him? Fortunately, he did get what he wanted: the muffled exclamations and the coins that jingled into his hat. Some younger audiences, with the consent of their parents, ventured closer and tentatively brushed their hands over his very human skin. Lee had done an exceptional job in creating a realistic illusion. The children’s baby fat twitched as they bloomed into expressions of wonder mixed with fear. But once they had lost their interests, as all kids eventually do, they immediately scampered away back to their parents and went on to explore the performers who offered more long-term amusement. 

The myriad of entertainers in this plaza of Boston—guitarists, crazy breakdancers, portrait artists, and more eccentric masters like Lee himself—had mutual respect for one another. They didn’t steal each other’s customers, and they often advised each other on how they should innovate their gigs.

Lee was currently hired as a living-statue artist. He had attended art school for three years and dropped out to do this: what his mother angrily coined as “aesthetic debasement.” Lee knew what he wanted with life, though. To him, the arduous length of prepping each gig—usually half a day of meticulous painting for mere seconds of discovery—was worth it despite the meager earnings. He lived for those moments of revelation, where he had successfully warped reality to his bidding.

He was removing makeup, thick layers of gray plaster dust daubed over his face when a guy from a prominent TV station cornered him. “Mr. Osborne, so glad to finally meet you in person.” His crushing handshake matched his flashy white teeth. “We would like to offer you a spot in our TV program Challenger Deep. Every guest shall defy the human conceptions of our physical and mental limits!”

“Thank you, but I’ll pass.” Lee yawned. The channel sounded like a real douche, marketing itself in the direction of dedicated artists, but Lee prided himself in his commitment to tradition.

However, it was the man’s job not to let a big fish slip out of his net. “Your task would be to date a girl in the shoes of a robot, but if you're caught, you fail. What do you say?”

“Thank you, but I'm a busy person. Find someone else.” Nevertheless, Lee had to give them credit for creating such appeal that for a second, he wavered.

“But the winner gets one million in cash!” the scout added, the grin creeping back.

Lee sighed. He didn’t need to check his piggy bank of pennies in the back of the room to know that he was running short on the basic funds to buy his face paints. He set down his wipes and yielded. 

Lee, someone who even turned down a teaching job at Chicago’s SAIC  to pursue his dream, was now attempting the impossible. Robots were unfamiliar territory to him as well, but he had an entire crew at his backing, and for that one million reward, this was going to work. Somehow.

“I'm going to choke if I have to go out in this thing.” He made gagging noises as they put on the metal helmet fashioned with only a narrow slit at the mouth. The craftsmanship was beyond comparison. The silver coating and sparkling blue wires jutting out of the corners spelled out 'artificially intelligent' to him, not to mention the entire suit fabricated in the same style. But as he knew from experience, any exemplary special effect needed the assistance of equally outstanding performance.

“Here.” The makeup stylist handed the headwear to her assistant. “Drill a couple of more holes on the side to give Mr. Osborne room to breathe.”

“Thank you.”

“Meanwhile, let’s test the voice distorter.” One of the tech people came around and turned on the tiny contraption tied over his larynx.

A scratchy drone came out as he cleared his throat and spoke, “I—Hunter—the sixth generation—of AI robot from—Boston Dynamics.”

The IT cracked up. “Did you just think of that line on the spot? That's good, Mr. Osborne. That’s very good.” 

Lee only winked in response. Moments later, he and everyone else backstage huddled over the director's screen overseeing the first cameraman, where the show had just kicked off.

“Welcome, everyone, to the tenth episode of Challenger Deep.” The host’s booming voice ensued the intro music. “Tonight, we have truly the impossible waiting for you. Our guest of honor, Miss Sylvia, is a young and gifted college student in our very own city of New York. But unfortunately, the lovely Miss Sylvia had just been dumped by her boyfriend—arather dumb one—wouldn't you say?”

The background laughter moved in, but he continued without a pause.“Fortunately for us, she is ready to move on. Just as we are. So, without further ado, let us bring in her date—Hunter, the sixth generation of semi-independent and 100% mobile AI robot made from Boston Dynamics.”

“Time to show them what you've got, Lee.” The director and every member of his crew gave Lee a thumbs up.

Lee took a deep breath. The curtains parted. No frowns, no grins, nothing. Lee moved his limbs one at a time and spasmed  towards the stage like a paralytic.

 “Hi—” The girl’s scrutinizing look elicited a few beads of sweat to clog the hair surrounding his temples, but he got his sorry act together in time. “Audio—rectification—” He halted abruptly midway and gurgled. “Locomotion failure—rectification—”

“Mr. Sanders.” The female guest turned anxiously to the host. “I thought you said that he was entirely mobile.” 

“This Lee is brilliant! Where did you find him?” Someone blurted in his earpiece.

“—Rectification completed.” Lee stood upright and offered a slight wave. “My name is Hunter. I am the—”

“Wow!” Her pretty features—gold-brown hair and large round glasses in contrast to her delicately pointy nose—blossomed into a rosy pink. “This is amazing! You really are a robot!”

“Indeed I am.” Lee welcomed the enthusiasm. It went in his favor.

He was ready to stun the world with his acting skills. “Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks. But bears it out even to the edge of doom. From Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116. Do you like it, Ms. Sylvia?”

“Oh, how romantic!” She looked as if she was on the brink of swooning, causing him to stifle a scoff. The crew had really found him the most gullible girl ever to deceive.

“Shall I take you to dinner, Ms. Sylvia? Afterwards, we can take a night amble along the river?”

“I'd love to!” Her smile was dazzling.

“Did you know—” sitting down in his suit, Lee fidgeted but also made sure to spill a few drops of the stew, “—we are not called 'Beantown' for nothing. Those lentils slow-baked in molasses are a treat, and for dessert, I've ordered for us the Boston cream pie, a sweet custard layered between yellow-butter cake and glazed chocolate.”

“Ooh, yummy. What about this?” She quizzed him on the other dessert course.

“Since we are at the North End, we must have a taste of the famous cannolis. Italian in origin, they have a shell made out of fried pastry dough and creamy fillings.” He bored himself to death with all this food knowledge the backstage people fed to his receiver, but the encyclopedic conversation polished up his act nicely. The girl listened to his every word with wide eyes and eager nods.

Lee began to think about that bonus. The producer had wooed him with more money if the ratings for this episode went through the roof.

“You are so knowledgeable, Mr. Robot. My apologies, Hunter. I'm quite impressed. Well, would you try some of this?” She picked something Lee purposefully skipped because he couldn’t remember anything about it. “It's my favorite from this restaurant.”

“Anything to make you happy, Ms. Sylvia.” He took the bowl from her and swallowed a spoonful. Big mistake. Something like hot chili coated in paprika shot down his throat, burning every inch of his tongue. He lunged for Ms. Sylvia’s glass of water and downed it in two gulps.

“Are you stupid?” the director hissed in Lee’s ears. “Why would you try spicy food?”

As he set down the glass, Lee didn’t dare to move a muscle. He must had slipped and used his real voice earlier, not to mention the very human vulnerability he disclosed. He couldn’t forgive himself for throwing away the prize money that could save his career or his lack of professional integrity.

 Any second now, she’d either burst into tears knowing that it was a hoax or mock him for being so foolishly obvious. She slanted back into her seat, peering at him oddly. 

Lee waited.

“Robots can actually taste? My goodness!” Her hazel eyes went wide with surprise, like a child who had just opened her best Christmas present. “Do you need more water? Here.” Her attractive face crinkled with worry as she summoned a waitress.

Lee almost fainted from his stroke of luck.

The rest of their evening only confirmed that Ms. Sylvia was a lovely, childlike girl but incredibly simple in the head. At the movies, Lee had been refraining from snoring while her sweet face teared up like a doll. Her handkerchief had been completely wet by the time they had gone out.

“Oh, don't you like the stars?” She leaned over the railings that overlooked the Charles River. Her strands of honey-blond hair danced in the evening breeze. “They are like the sky's eyes winking at us.”

“Very poetic, Ms. Sylvia.”

She sighed happily at a robot’s approval.

After four and a half hours, it had become stifling inside his heavy attire. The sweat and heat made him more than a little woozy. But truth be told, he enjoyed Ms. Sylvia's company, and if she would ever choose to forgive him after he wins that cash, he would like to date her seriously.

“Hey! Look, a robot!” As they were approaching the ending location for the shoot, three little kiddos just out of cram school spotted them across from the street and squealed excitedly.

Lee frowned. More people meant more chance of being exposed. He was about to suggest that they start heading back when his date beckoned them forwards. 

“Boys,” she exclaimed, “Come, come! Allow me to introduce you to my date tonight, Hunter.” 

Oohs and aahs made their circles around him. “You must be unparalleled in math, Hunter.” One of them stated matter-of-factly.

Lee gave himself five seconds to think of a perfect excuse, for he would hate for everything to go south because he had never been awake in algebra class. Besides, he was one hour away from success. Avoiding any risk at all costs would be the wise strategy.

“Accept the challenge, Mr. Osborne,” the director whispered enthusiastically. “Don't worry. We'll feed you the answers.”

Lee met the boys’ eager expressions. The older one already had his calculator out, wearing a dubious look. 

“Of course, I am the best in math. I'm a robot,” Lee said.

They lit up with eagerness. “Great! What's 45 multiplied by 62?

“Easy! 2790!”

“Wow! He’s correct!” They exclaimed. With every passing question, their awe ballooned, Lee's complacency along with it, thinking that this wasn't a bad way to draw this night to its big finale.

“One last question!” The oldest posed again. Yet this time, he scribbled on a piece of paper and held it up for Lee to see. 43277 x 6324. 

Lee blanched, wanting to strangle this witty boy who ruined everything for him. The backstage people were hopeless since they neglected to put a camera in the suit.

“What is it?” they screamed in his ear.

Lee glanced at the boy’s calculator. Couldn't see the answer. “B-b-b—”he stammered—“Battery—down.”

“No! Answer me!” This child was used to having everything go his way.

That was when Lee realized that Ms. Sylvia was holding his hand and carefully writing out the answer: 273683748. 

And that finally sent the little ones  off bubbling in high spirits. No doubt they shall all have impressive tales to boast about in front of their peers.

“I peeked.” Ms. Sylvia was explaining to him. “I mean, even robots need some help from time to time—oh! Has it been five hours already?”

“And it is done!” Returned the host and a bazillion cameras and lights that swarmed the two. Lee breathed a sigh of relief and took off the helmet, awaiting the moment of revelation and his glory.

“And the winner is Ms. Sylvia!”

“Hold on! What?” Lee marched towards the host and confronted him angrily. “I did what I was told. The results are obvious.”

The host eyed him with something like pity and said, “Mr. Osborne. Ms. Sylvia’s actual name is Sophia; she is the most successful AI robot created by Boston Dynamics, and she fooled you.”

“Oh, c'mon, stop messing with me—” Lee muted as he saw the girl's posture turning rigid and her emerald eyes morphing into two green balls of light.