Chapter 9: Chapter 9: The Humor Algorithm and the Definition of Catching Feelings

The sun had climbed high. The forest, which initially looked magical and full of mystery, now began to feel like a giant sauna. The humidity was so high that Dayat felt he could wring water out of thin air just by clenching his fist.

They had been walking for three hours away from the Sector Delta ruins. Three hours filled only with the sound of footsteps, insects buzzing like mini chainsaws, and Dola’s back moving up and down in a constant rhythm in front of Dayat.

Dayat let out a long sigh. Bored.

“Dol,” Dayat called out, his voice hoarse from thirst.

“Yes, Master Dayat. Do you detect a threat?” Dola stopped immediately and turned around, her hand ready at her hip (as if ready to draw a pistol, even though it was empty).

“Not a physical threat, but a mental one,” Dayat complained while fanning his face with a broad leaf. “I’m so bored, seriously. This trip is too quiet. Don’t you have an MP3 Player feature? Play some Dangdut Koplo or something, to pump up the spirit.”

Dola tilted her head. “I possess access to the global music database up to the year 2023. However, playing audio via internal loudspeakers would violate stealth mode protocols. The bass frequency of Dangdut Koplo is proven to attract reptile-type predators.”

Dayat face-palmed. “Oh my god, you’re so stiff, girl. I mean, let’s talk. Why are we walking like we’re enemies?”

Dola lowered her guard stance. “What topic of conversation does Master desire? Geopolitics? Quantum physics theory? Or the history of medieval agriculture?”

Dayat chuckled. He walked up to Dola to walk side-by-side.

“Nothing too heavy. Just casual talk. Banter. You know banter, right?”

“Humor,” Dola said, her eyes blinking as she processed the definition. “Cognitive stimulation that triggers laughter through incongruity, irony, or surprise. I possess 4.5 million jokes in memory.”

“There, try one. I need a laugh to destress.”

Dola nodded. Her face turned serious, as if she was about to read a declaration of war.

“Very well. Accessing Humor Database. Category: Classic. Sub-category: Animals.”

Dola stared into Dayat’s eyes intently, expressionless.

“Why did the chicken cross the road?”

Dayat smiled, “Why?”

“To get to the other side.”

Silence.

The wind rustled softly, shaking the leaves. A frog jumped in the distance. Dayat waited for the punchline or follow-up. But Dola just stood there staring at him, awaiting a laughter response.

“That’s it? Just that?” Dayat asked flatly.

“That is the anti-climax joke structure statistically most popular in the 20th century,” Dola defended.

Dayat laughed, not because of the joke, but because of how flat Dola’s delivery was. “Oh, Dol. That was so dry. You need to learn sarcasm, or roasting. Or at least don’t deliver it like a robot about to launch a nuke.”

“Sarcasm…” Dola murmured. “The use of irony to mock or convey contempt in the form of false praise. An inefficient concept in data communication, yet often used by humans as a social defense mechanism.”

“Exactly, smarty!” Dayat picked a wild flower (which luckily Dola had scanned as safe). “Try practicing it. Pretend I just did something stupid. Comment on it using sarcasm.”

Dola stopped walking. She looked at Dayat from head to toe, then looked at the flower in Dayat’s hand, then back to Dayat’s face.

She took an artificial breath, trying to mimic a human expression of disdain. She raised one eyebrow (a movement that still looked slightly stiff).

“Wow, Master Dayat,” Dola said in an exaggeratedly high pitch. “What a truly brilliant decision to pick an ornamental flower in the middle of a toxic forest without checking its pollen levels first. Master must surely wish to meet God in an aesthetic manner. I am in awe of Master’s stupidity that transcends my computational limits.”

Dayat gaped for a second, then burst out laughing.

“BWAHAHAHA! Damn! Your mouth is spicy!” Dayat clutched his stomach. “That’s not sarcasm anymore, that’s a brutal roast!”

“Is my humor level adequate?” Dola asked, her eyebrow returning to normal position. Was that a… glint of pride in her blue eyes?

“Not bad, not bad. You have the talent to be a toxic netizen,” Dayat praised while wiping tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes. “But the feel was there. You’re starting to feel like a human, Dol.”

Dola fell silent at that last sentence. She resumed walking, her gaze straight ahead cutting through the bushes.

“I am not human, Master. I am a Bio-Synthetic Construct running behavior mimicry algorithms.”

Dayat smirked. He liked teasing Dola when her serious mode came out.

“Are you sure you’re just an algorithm? Last night when you hugged me, it felt like you cared. Can algorithms care?”

Dola’s pace didn’t slow, but her artificial breathing rhythm shifted slightly.

“That action was a Thermal Regulation protocol to preserve assets. Master is the primary asset. If Master is damaged, my mission fails. That is logic, not emotional ’care’.”

“Really?” Dayat baited again. “No feeling of Baper at all? Your heart didn’t skip a beat?”

Dola stopped abruptly. This time she didn’t turn around.

“Baper,” Dola spelled out the word. “An abbreviation for Bawa Perasaan (Taking it to heart/Catching feelings). A condition where a subject responds to external stimuli with disproportionate excessive emotion.”

She turned slowly to face Dayat. Sunlight hit her silver hair, making her shine like a futuristic angel. Her face was flat, but her eyes… those eyes seemed to be searching for something in Dayat’s face.

“Master Dayat, may I ask a counter-question?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Humans often define ’Love’ or ’Feelings’ as a primary driving force. However, data shows that emotions often lead to irrational decisions that lower survival rates. Example: Sacrificing oneself for others, or choosing a mate based on facial aesthetics rather than genetic compatibility.”

Dola took one step forward.

“The question is: Why does Master keep trying to project those emotions onto me? Are you… lonely?”

Checkmate.

Dayat’s smile vanished. The question struck straight to his core. Dayat, the boarding house kid who only had an AI on his phone as a Saturday night chat buddy.

Dayat scratched the back of his neck which wasn’t itchy. The atmosphere turned awkward. Not funny awkward, but deep awkward.

“Well… maybe,” Dayat admitted honestly. He kicked a small pebble. “I’m human, Dol. We’re social creatures. We need connection. If there’s no connection, it feels empty. And you… well, you’re the only one here. And you look like a beautiful girl. Is it wrong if I hope you have a heart?”

Dola stared at her own left chest. Behind that black bodysuit, behind the layers of synthetic skin and artificial ribs, was a “heart” pumping red coolant fluid.

When Dayat said “Is it wrong if I hope,” Dola’s internal sensors recorded a spike in strange activity.

[System Alert: Increased hydraulic pressure in main pump. Beat frequency: 85 bpm -> 98 bpm. Cause: Unidentified.]

Dola placed her hand on her chest. She felt the vibration. It wasn’t a glitch. It was physical.

“A heart is merely a blood-pumping organ, Master,” Dola said softly, though her voice wasn’t as sure as usual. “And feelings are merely chemical reactions of dopamine and oxytocin in the brain.”

“That’s the theory,” Dayat cut in. He looked at Dola gently. “But the practice is different. You’ll understand later. Someday, you’ll do something not in your logic, just because you want to do it. That’s called a heart.”

Dola was stunned. She wanted to refute with statistical data, but her tongue felt tied. Her database was full of definitions of love, but none could explain why she felt comfortable when Dayat looked at her like that.

“Master’s analysis… has no scientific basis,” Dola finally said stiffly. “However, I will record it as behavioral observation data.”

Dayat chuckled, melting the tension. “Cool. Take good notes, Madam Secretary.”

“I am not a secretary. I am a tactical combat unit.”

“Yeah, yeah. A combat unit that’s good at roasting.”

The atmosphere relaxed again, but something had changed. The distance between them felt slightly closer. Not physical distance, but distance of understanding.

Suddenly, Dola raised her hand, stopping Dayat’s steps. Her casual mode vanished instantly, replaced by machine vigilance.

“Master, stop.”

“Why? More sarcasm?”

“No. Topography changes drastically ahead. Fall hazard warning.”

Dola pushed aside the thick bushes in front of them with one strong hand movement.

Dayat’s eyes widened.

“Whoa…”

In front of them, the ground suddenly ended.

The dense forest was cut off by a giant ravine gaping wide. The distance to the other side was perhaps about twenty meters—too far for a human to jump, even an Olympic athlete. Down there, deep in the dark depths, the roar of a rushing river could be heard, signaling deadly currents.

Strong winds blew from inside the ravine, fluttering Dayat and Dola’s hair.

“Is this… a dead end?” Dayat asked weakly.

“Not a dead end,” Dola corrected, her eyes scanning the width of the ravine and the trees on the other side. “This is an obstacle. According to the ancient map I downloaded from the pillar in Sector Delta, the path continues over there.”

“So how do we cross? Fly?” Dayat looked down, his legs trembling. “I can’t fly, Dol. And I’m sure you don’t have rockets in your feet like Astro Boy.”

Dola turned to look at the forest around them. Her blue eyes glowed, calculating physics, body weight, and rope tension.

“We do not need to fly, Master. We only need to swing.”

She looked at Dayat with a thin smile—this time a smile containing a hint of challenge, perhaps remnants of the “Sarcasm” lesson earlier.

“Is Master ready for an applied physics lesson? Today’s topic: Pendulum Force and Material Strength.”

Dayat swallowed hard. He knew what that look meant. It meant he had to manifest something crazy again.

“Don’t tell me we’re gonna play Tarzan…”

“Precisely. Prepare your imagination, Master. We are making an aerial bridge.”

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