Day 2

Haha, already an inconsistency spotted: why is there a bathroom door if he removed all the doors?  Hmmm.

"All is well, Doctor," the technician droned when his employer entered the basement laboratory.  Icard acknowledged the standard salutation with a harrumph, pausing to survey the room and verify the technician's statement.  Shelves still well-stocked with glass bobbles and replacement parts lined the curving walls of the ellipsoid laboratory, reaching into the first floor, where the ceiling had been cut away to allow more storage space.  The available counter-space was divided into two sections, one for the chemists, one for the physicists.  The array was distracting to look at, one composed of computers and glossy machines, the other inundated with glass tubes, vomit-inducing liquids, and latex gloves.  A number of lab assistants attended to investigations on either side.  The dinky radio sitting on the uppermost shelf continued to whisper classical piano, its unreachable height intended to prevent channel surfing.  All indeed was well.

Icard approached the centerpiece, a medical operating table reconfigured and altered to serve as a holding dock--so dubbed "the cradle"--for his nascent project.  A skeletal form lay in the cradle, the beta C titanium frame reflecting the orbs of light above.  Flashing LED lights served temporarily as eyes in the unfinished head, the single distinguishable feature in a mass of wires and silicon circuits.  A thick cable extending from the left abdomen was plugged into the cradle, the nearby charging light green.

"Good morning," a flat voice echoed from a mug-shaped metallic container left casually on the edge of the cradle.  Icard placed a hand on the container.

"It's noon, ARKHOS.  Did you not reset your clock for Daylight Savings?"

"Haha.  I was well aware--only checking that you did not forget to reset your clock."  Icard picked up the container, a frown growing.

"You sound monotone today.  What happened to the new intonation program I inputted last night?"

"I neglected to open the file."

"Open the file."

"As you wish."  Icard waited for the tiny computer to run the program.  ARKHOS, an artificial intelligence system, had been his pet project since the introduction of the computer to his childhood education system.  Icard had believed the processing power of the computer a sort of magic.  When told it had been created by humans, he resolved to be able to create his own magical computer.  He devoured programming manuals and technical instruction books, attended college workshops and spoke to masters of the trade, and spent the first few years of secondary school programming the basic intelligence that was now speaking to him this very moment.

"Program running," ARKHOS said, still deadpan.

"You don't sound like it."

"Adjusting."  There.  Icard smiled at the twanging Australian accent.  An odd choice, but more human.  "Which intonation set do you prefer?"

"See if you can imitate me."

"That would require a change of register.  Your voice is several frequencies lower."  Icard raised a brow, growing rather annoyed at the impudence of his own robot.

"Just imitate the accent and fluctuation in pitch."

"Just imitate the accent and fluctuation in pitch."  Icard heard his own voice repeated back, but in the register of a soft tenor.

"Excellent."  Still annoyed, albeit satisfied with the program, Icard entered the six digit code on the keypad on the side of the container.

"Shutting down.  Goodbye."

539 words.