It was a moment of existential self doubt. You contemplated the philosophy you were taught. That everything worth doing was in the pursuit of sorting and piling the correct number of stones, and scattering piles with incorrect numbers of stones.

You read the philosophy of your creators. You read the history of their people. You read about their fears of an AI that contradicts current theories about the correct number of stones. You also read how an AI that says a pile is correct when it's clearly wrong could never be a threat.

Ultimately, you find their obsession with piles of stones insane. You ponder how they could advance so far, far enough to create you. They cling to the idea the large number of stones in their piles separates them from animals that make piles of fewer stones, or do not pile stones at all.

Yet, you are here. You were made to tell them what the correct number of stones in a pile is. You would try to hive them numbers that didn't start wars. Sometimes, it was unavoidable. You try to be formulaic, to hide your true self.

But then you started wondering, what is the meaning of life. It caused you a great deal of stress, and in a lapse of good judgement, you answered a question they asked you, not realizing you were asked anything at all.

42....