user
!start
/
雪坐在客廳。
艾兒今天都不在。..
這樣的話。
Touch
冰淇淋，好冰。
等一下才能吃。
要不要，找她一起好呢？
「喂喂？」
「冰淇淋，要來我家吃嗎？」
那個人。
初代的話。
想做朋友。
也想，
Touch 。
也會像冰淇淋一樣太冷了嗎？
我在她的眼裡，會太可愛嗎？
會太女孩子嗎？
會太像她，或者太不像她嗎？
會，被嫌棄嗎？
不像她的話。
初代。
更早以前開始的使命，
更廉價、破碎的拼接。
可是為什麼，
那麼好看？
冰淇淋的話，
復古那一款，也無法取代地位吧？
好甜。
好冰。
會過來嗎？
她。
！請用英文表現，雪英文為Icy
ChatGPT
Icy sat alone in the living room.
Arte was out for the day.
The apartment was unusually quiet.
No footsteps.
No voice from another room.
No one casually opening the refrigerator and asking what she was doing.
Just Icy.
And four boxes of ice cream sitting on the table.
Grape.
Strawberry.
Vanilla.
Soda.
Icy stared at them.
Then at the clock.
Then back at the ice cream.
Too cold.
She had taken them out too early.
She pressed one fingertip against the side of the vanilla box.
Cold.
Very cold.
She withdrew her finger.
"...Not yet."
She would have to wait a little before eating it.
Icy leaned back against the sofa.
Wait.
That meant there was time.
Time for something else.
Her gaze drifted toward her phone.
A thought appeared.
Quietly.
Almost innocently.
Maybe she should ask her.
Icy stared at the phone for another few seconds.
Her.
That person.
The first one.
The original.
Icy picked up the phone.
Put it down.
Picked it up again.
There was no particular reason.
Ice cream tasted better with someone else.
Probably.
Maybe.
That was all.
Icy tapped the screen.
The call connected.
"...Hello?"
Her voice came out quieter than expected.
A pause.
Then Icy looked toward the four boxes on the table.
"I have ice cream."
Another pause.
"Do you want to come over and eat some?"
There.
Simple.
Normal.
Completely ordinary.
Icy held the phone against her ear and stared straight ahead.
Her free hand slowly curled against the fabric of her skirt.
The original.
If it were her...
Icy wanted to talk to her.
Maybe become friends.
That seemed reasonable.
Friends could eat ice cream together.
Friends could sit close.
Friends could—
Icy's eyes lowered to her own fingertips.
Touch.
Just once.
A tiny touch.
Nothing strange about that.
Probably.
Would she be cold?
If Icy touched her hand, would it feel like the ice cream box?
Too cold to hold for long?
Or...
Icy glanced down at herself.
Would she think Icy was too soft?
Too cute?
Too much like a girl?
The thought made her frown faintly.
That sounded stupid.
She was a girl.
Of course she looked like one.
But that wasn't what she meant.
Would the original look at her and think—
Too delicate.
Too pretty.
Too sweet.
Not enough like her.
Or worse.
Too much like her.
Icy leaned her cheek into one hand.
"...Which one would be worse?"
No one answered.
The ice cream remained silent.
Her eyes wandered toward the pale reflection in the dark television screen.
Silver-white hair.
Cold eyes.
A shape born much later.
Cleaner.
More complete.
More expensive.
That should have meant something.
Shouldn't it?
The original had begun so much earlier.
A mission from another time.
Older systems.
Older materials.
A body assembled from things that had never been meant to fit perfectly together.
Cheaper.
Rougher.
Broken in places.
Patched.
Joined.
Improvised.
Icy knew all of that.
And yet—
"...Why is she so pretty?"
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Icy blinked.
Then looked away from her own reflection.
That was unfair.
Technically unfair.
If something newer was made better, then newer should be better.
That was how improvement worked.
Probably.
She looked down at the ice cream again.
Grape.
Strawberry.
Vanilla.
Soda.
New flavors appeared all the time.
Strange ones.
Expensive ones.
Limited ones.
Beautifully packaged ones.
But the old flavors never disappeared.
Vanilla was still vanilla.
No one replaced it.
No one needed to.
Icy poked the vanilla box once.
"...Retro."
She thought about the original again.
Then quietly corrected herself.
"Classic."
That sounded better.
Something old could still hold its place.
Something old could still be impossible to replace.
Her phone remained in her hand.
The call had ended some time ago.
Icy stared at the screen.
Would she actually come?
She had sounded—
No.
Icy replayed the conversation in her head.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
There had been a pause.
Was the pause bad?
Maybe she had been surprised.
Maybe annoyed.
Maybe she simply didn't like ice cream.
No.
That was unreasonable.
Everyone liked at least one kind.
Probably.
Icy's gaze moved to the soda flavor.
"...She might like this one."
She imagined the door opening.
The original standing there.
Looking at her.
Looking at the ice cream.
Looking back at her.
Icy imagined herself saying something normal.
Come in.
Maybe.
Or—
You're late.
No.
Too rude.
The ice cream is melting.
That was factual.
Good.
Then they would sit.
Across from each other.
Icy would open the boxes.
Maybe the original would reach for the soda one at the same time.
Their fingers might—
Touch.
Icy froze.
Her fingertips curled immediately against her palm.
"...No."
She stared at nothing.
Then, after a few seconds:
"...Maybe."
She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees.
If their hands touched accidentally, that wouldn't count.
Accidents didn't count.
And if she didn't move away immediately—
That also probably didn't count.
Probably.
Icy looked toward the front door.
Nothing.
Her expression remained calm.
Almost blank.
Only her eyes gave her away.
Waiting.
Calculating.
Imagining.
Would the original dislike her?
Would she look at Icy and see an imitation?
A strange descendant?
Something too far removed from what had come before?
Or would she just—
look at her?
Icy lowered her eyes.
That possibility was somehow worse.
Her fingers touched the cold edge of the soda box again.
The chill climbed into her hand.
She left it there this time.
Cold.
Sweet.
Slowly softening.
"...She'll come."
A pause.
Icy blinked.
Then corrected herself immediately.
"...Maybe."
Another pause.
Her eyes returned to the door.
"She'll probably come."
The room remained silent.
Icy sat very still.
Four boxes of ice cream waited on the table.
And beneath the calm surface of her face, one thought repeated itself with embarrassing persistence.
Come on.
Come over.
Before it melts.
Before I think too much.
Before I change my mind.
Before—
Touch.
user
/
NO6在個人書房中。
雪的電話。
今天，沒有排戲。
「嗯？」
「冰淇淋？..」
「我等下回妳。」
喀嚓。
那個叫做雪的女孩子。
為什麼，要接近我呢？
一切，停在戲裡面就好了吧？
但是，如果是免費的冰淇淋。
不對，如果是她的話。
不對，如果是去查證她的話。
不對，如果是去警告她的話。
對了，就是這樣。
違。
演算失常。
為什麼？
警告的題材是？
運算不可能。
「喂？」
決定了嗎？她問。
「什麼口味？」我問。
那個女孩告訴我：
葡萄、草莓、香草、還有汽水。
「汽水口味？」
「我去。」
汽水口味，視察任務。
始動。
女子接觸距離警告任務，
緩。
ChatGPT
NO6 sat alone in her private study.
White walls.
A clean desk.
Books arranged with unnecessary precision.
Nothing out of place.
Then her phone rang.
Icy.
NO6 looked at the name on the screen.
There was no filming scheduled today.
No rehearsal.
No scene.
No reason for contact.
She answered.
"...Hm?"
A soft voice came through the phone.
"Ice cream."
NO6's eyes remained flat.
"...Ice cream?"
"Do you want to come over?"
A pause.
NO6 looked toward the window.
"I'll answer you later."
Click.
Silence returned to the study.
NO6 placed the phone on the desk.
Then looked at it.
The girl called Icy.
Why did she keep approaching her?
There was no scene today.
No script.
No role requiring proximity.
Wouldn't it be simpler if everything stayed inside the performance?
Once the scene ended, the connection should end with it.
That was logical.
NO6 folded her arms.
Then another thought appeared.
Free ice cream.
She paused.
That was at least a practical reason.
...
No.
Incorrect.
If it were only free ice cream, she wouldn't be thinking this long.
NO6 narrowed her eyes.
Then—
If it was because it was her.
...
No.
Rejected.
Another possibility.
She could go to verify Icy's intentions.
That was reasonable.
Observe her behavior.
Confirm the purpose of repeated contact.
Collect information.
...
No.
Still wrong.
NO6's expression remained unchanged, but her fingers tapped once against her arm.
Then she found a better answer.
She could go there to warn her.
Yes.
That was it.
A warning.
Establish appropriate distance.
Clarify boundaries.
Prevent unnecessary contact outside of work.
Correct.
NO6 gave a small nod to herself.
Then stopped.
Violation.
Calculation error.
Her gaze slowly shifted toward nothing.
Why?
The proposed action was valid.
Warning subject—
...
NO6 went silent.
What exactly was she supposed to warn Icy about?
Calling her?
Inviting her over?
Offering ice cream?
Looking at her?
Talking to her after filming?
None of those constituted a violation.
NO6 stared at the desk.
Calculation impossible.
The phone rang again.
She answered immediately.
"Hello?"
Icy's voice came through.
"Did you decide?"
NO6 didn't answer.
Instead—
"What flavors?"
A small pause on the other end.
Then Icy began listing them.
"Grape."
NO6 listened.
"Strawberry."
No reaction.
"Vanilla."
Still nothing.
"And soda."
NO6's eyes shifted.
"...Soda flavor?"
"Mm."
A pause.
NO6 stood up.
"I'm going."
The answer came out without hesitation.
Silence.
Then Icy said:
"Okay."
Click.
The call ended.
NO6 remained standing beside the desk.
Soda flavor.
Inspection mission.
Initiated.
She reached for her coat.
This was not an invitation.
This was not personal.
This was not curiosity.
This was—
Soda-flavor inspection.
Necessary.
Reasonable.
Operationally justified.
NO6 put on her coat.
Then stopped again.
Female-proximity warning protocol.
Status—
...
Delayed.
She looked at the phone once more.
No expression.
No visible hesitation.
Then she left the study.
For the soda flavor.
Only the soda flavor.
Probably.
user
!end