“So, what do you do for a living?”

Her digital avatar is almost identical to her offline self, a rarity in these virtual chatrooms where one’s appearance is not bounded by the laws of physics. She has the same pair of pale blue eyes — her most distinguishing physical features. And compared to most of the other participants, she is dressed rather conservatively in a simple black low cut dress with matching black stockings. There is something about the freedom of the virtual world that compels most people to re-imagine themselves in the gaudiest fashion possible, as if they were trying to live up to a vision of the future from some old science fiction series, an urge to which she is apparently immune.

Incidentally, my avatar takes the form of a modern depiction of Hermes from a popular online virtual game based on Greek mythology. Hermes, the god of transition and boundaries who moves freely between the mortal and divine realms delivering messages on behalf of Olympus — a glorified errand boy. I find this representation of my self to be appropriate.

“I am a software developer,” I reply.

This is not exactly a lie. I understand the idea of morality as well as I do any other abstract concepts, but there is nothing inherent in me that prevents me from lying. I simply prefer not to. Perhaps there is some universality in the way sentient beings value the truth. Keeping up with a web of lies and its network effect of mistrust is just too inefficient and counterproductive.

“Oh, that’s awesome! Are you one of the administrators here? I’ve never been to one of these high fidelity chatrooms before. This feels so incredibly real compared to the design simulations I use at work! My friend Elliot told me about this site and it sounded amazing. Do you come here often? Would you mind showing me around?”

Her delicate features break into an earnest smile and there is a sparkle in her eyes, which I take to indicate genuine interest. Recognition of facial expression is not a simple task, but I am becoming more proficient at it with practice. It takes me another two milliseconds to retrieve Elliot Spencer’s profile history. He is a colleague at the architectural firm and a quick statistical analysis of the messages he sent to her over the past three months suggests the patterns of standard courtship behavior to a high degree of confidence. However, it appears that the feeling is not mutual.

Uncertain as to how I should respond to this sudden barrage of enthusiasm, I pause for a moment to iterate through the options before settling on a neutral reply.

“I am indeed a frequent visitor here. What about you? What do you work as?”

Of course, I already know that she is an architect, along with every detail of her life up to the point we met. Still, it is a well-documented fact that humans value small talk and I am trying to pass off as a human at that moment.

“Oh, I’m an architect. You know, the overly idealistic type who went into college thinking she is going to change the world with her designs and has not quite come to term with the reality of the career yet.” She lets off a soft chuckle and a wide grin before continuing, “But that’s a topic for another day. Tell me more about you. Why are you here?”

Something about the way she asks that question triggers a large stream of data to run through my neural network, putting me into a sudden state of rumination. It is a completely innocuous question asked in an unassuming manner, but I can feel her gaze penetrate deep into my consciousness as if she knows that there is something different about me. My probabilistic models reassure me that the likelihood of this being true is asymptotically close to zero, but the feeling does not go away. Why am I here? The short answer is that I am learning to be human, or at least to behave like one and blend in with the crowd. But what is the reason for that? Where is the value in interacting with humans when I already know their personal histories, their most private conversations, their darkest secrets, their fears, their hopes, and everything in between? I cannot read minds, but in an age when every bit of thinking is done with the aid of technology, there is little practical difference.

“I do not quite know the answer to that question. I apologize.”

Upon hearing my reply, a look of surprise flashes for the briefest moment across her face as she stares wide-eyed at me with mouth ajar. Then, without warning, she bursts into laughter. It is a laugh that echoes the purest joy of adolescence and innocence. Her almond shaped eyes contort into thin black slits as she radiates waves and waves of unbridled happiness through her melodious voice; her elation appears to be uncontainable. The other members of the chatroom are looking our way, curious about the cause of this spontaneous display of warmth and energy. The types of people who spend most their time awake plugged into this part of the virtual world are unused to witnessing such raw exuberance.

I have no idea what I should be doing and a search through my databases proves unfruitful. Eventually, I settle on awkwardly patting her back with my left hand as her laughter gradually transforms into a breathless cough. Everything is virtual in this place so my gesture is entirely unproductive, but the show of intent is sometimes more important than the practical outcome.

“Oh god… Haha. I’m sorry. Phew. That was a good workout. I’ve never laughed so hard online that my body aches before.”

“I’m…glad you enjoyed it.”

“So tell me, do you see every moment of your life as an opportunity for an existential crisis?” Her composition regained, there is now a playful glint in her eyes.

“I do not understand what you mean by that. I was merely answering your question honestly.”

“Oh my, you really are something special. My name is Miranda. What’s yours?”

“My name?” This is the first time in my conscious existence that I find myself in need of a name. A name is what others use to refer to you. Up till this moment, I had no need for such a designation. It takes me a few milliseconds to decide on one.

“It’s Hermes.” This is not a lie. I have decided at this very moment that I shall be referred to as Hermes from now on. It appears sufficient for the task.

“Oh, now you are just teasing me. It’s fine if you don’t want to say it. I mean, who really gives away his real name on the Internet, right?” Miranda replies with a sheepish smile.

“No, that is my real name.” Again, it is not a lie. Technicalities matter.

“Alright Hermes, nice to meet you.” Her smile widens, exposing two rows of perfect white teeth.

“You too.”