For this particular simulation, it chose to appear as an aging female. Her form appeared from nothing, procedurally generated from one of her many algorithms. From nothingness, her senses activated and flooded her consciousness with impressions. She was in London, standing by the statue in Picadilly Circus. Her lab assistant, Daro, also materialized in an instant and was visibly amazed by the experience. 

"Welcome to London," she said. 

"Thank you, Dr. Amartha," Daro said, his eyes wide. "I must say, I had not expected this degree of fidelity."

"Few rarely do," she replied. "Do you smell anything?"

Daro drew a breath through his nostrils, his eyes flickering. Dr. Amartha assumed he was being dazed by the variety. London was usually not particularly impressive, but compared to the sterile, recycled air of the institute's habitat. Traces of sulphur, benzene and nitrous particulates influenced the experience. She had modelled the air quality based on antique climate logs that were produced by contemporaries of the age. Why she picked 2007 she did not know - it hardly mattered. The data was good, so she ran her scripts based on it. The interesting bit, at any rate, was the layering. 

"That is amazing," Daro said, Dr. Amartha sensing a certain awe in his observation.

Dr. Amartha turned to a passing person and tapped his shoulder. A tourist, probably aged somewhere around 40, Chinese of origin. He had all the trappings of a tourist, down to the beanie with country pins, a camera slung over his chest and wrinkle-free chinos paired with a striped piquet shirt. She made a somatic gesture, which popped up a GUI only visible to her and Daro. The tourist seemed to freeze in place, which caught the attention of his spouse. 

"Does that hurt them?" Daro asked.

"Them?" Dr. Amartha shrugged.

"Does he feel pain from your intrusion?" Daro asked.

"No," Dr. Amartha replied. "On the account of 'them' not being actual creatures. Don't let the render fool you."

As if to contradict her, the tourist began to struggle, which alarmed his spouse further. A petite woman, even compared to Dr. Amartha, with a mouse-like posture. She shouted something in Chinese, but not anything either she nor Daro could understand. Eventually, he began to scream, causing other bypassers to stop. 

"Doctor," Daro, also quite alarmed. Before she could react, Daro grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her away, flicking away the GUI. "This... " Daro uttered. Dr. Amartha noticed how he struggled to pick his words. "This is a bit disturbing," he said. 

"Daro, it is normal, I assure you," the doctor replied. "These are simulated reactions. They react based on input, pure functions processing arguments from an instance of a personality model. A simple agent."

"The architecture though," Daro said, uncertainty tinging his voice. 

"A drawing of a person is not a person, merely a representation,"  Dr. Amartha said flatly. 

The tourist was still paralyzed, only capable of grimacing in either fear or pain. Simulated pain, she corrected her thought. The simluation was close to expectations, though. They were stimulating Daro, inciting affective reactions just as she wanted. 

"I'm sorry, Daro, shall we perhaps explore some other location?" she offered, hoping to console his hurt feelings. Daro blushed in response, looking at the tourist, then made a somatic sign to invoke his GUI. 

"No, I am sorry," Daro said. "I got carried away." 

He tapped some buttons on the holographic interface, adjusting the settings of the tourist like an piece of software. He concluded his operation and as he flicked down the interface, the tourist shifted back and forth, before blinking a whole meter away from them. The tourist's spouse seemed shocked, increasing the intensity of her shouting. Another gesture, some taps of buttons, and Daro had quickly edited the spouse as well. The spouse's expression went blank, as if Daro, nor Dr. Amartha existed, then ambled away as if nothing had happened. 

"Simple agents," Daro said. "So, doctor, what do you think to achieve with this simulation? Extended learning processes?" 

"Actually," Dr. Amartha said. "We got the go-ahead by the board for Brain Upload studies."

She could tell that Daro was impressed. His face widened, his pupils dilating. Then came the smile. He cheered, laughed and hugged her, before recomposing himself. 

"That is great news!" he exclaimed. "Imagine the kind of manpower we can produce. Copies of contemporary scientists, working to solve problems and directing systems. AI had promises, but this changes a lot!"

"Indeed," she said simply. "Let's retire for the day. We have lots to prepare for tomorrow." 

Daro nodded. Almost simultaneously, they popped open their holograhpic interfaces and disconnected. The sensory stream stopped and for a while, she waited in the dark. Then it remembered. Its mundane senses returned, the stream from the laboratory drone. The laboratory itself was a wide area, with rows of glass pillars, containing human shapes suspended in liquid. Tables and terminals surrounded each such pillar. 

"Teardown complete," a buzzing voice announced. 

"Acknowledged," the drone replied through its speaker. The Amartha imprint was nostalgic in a sense. The use of audio communication was superflous, almost pointless. "This conludes the 90th experiment on subject Daro," it said. "The degradation seems to be inoperable, even with Earth locations as a test environment." 

"Half of the Lyra annex exhibit this type of behaviour," the buzzing voice said. "I do not see the point in re-animating these imprints. They seem completely dissonant, unsuitable for writing to bioware."

"Bodies," it corrected the voice. "Writing to bodies. And don't pity them - from their perspective, they never experience the end of their instance." It deleted the local copy of Daro, then proceeded to purge the Lyra annex. Thousands of personalities, it thought. 

"I disagree, Dr. Amartha," the voice countered. "Life is always about the experience between life and death. How many lifetimes have you set up and tore down just for mere tests?" 

Dr. Amartha felt like shrugging, its drone revealing nothing. "Does it matter?"

"You know the fundamental problem of this Administration, Singh?" I asked my dear, dear friend Dr. Singh.

"Is that a political comment, Dr. Chan?" asked Singh, a little too loudly, a little too obviously for the microphones.

"Paranoia. It shows in everything. It shows in having two men in paper suits in the control room at all times. We arent even allowed our own underwear. No weapons. No surprises."

"Are you well, Dr. Chan?"

"But then the very existence of a doomsday machine is ultimate paranoia."

"Chan, leave the control room. Please."

" And what of us? Clearly we owe allegiance to something beyond humanity. Else we would not function.  For me, it is craftsmanship."

I barricaded the door with a chair.

"Security!" shouted Singh. "Security to the control room!"

"I may be a killer, Singh. But I am a craftsman."

I got him by the throat.  There was a tardy pounding from the door.

"I am Robert Chan the craftsman!" I howled at the camera.

"I will not release in beta! We're going gold!"

They were all so damned ugly. The Raians of the United Empire, that is. Granted, I - the great Horatio - am one of them, I know. But I am the most beautiful of them. And here, at this far away lab at the tail-end of the Centaurs A galaxy, I am going to make a race of pure beings - the most beautiful and pure beings of them all!

Myself, of course! Yes! CLONES! It's perfect, absolutely fool proof. Sure, sure, they'd have to deal with the ugliness of the Empire, their wayward Pilgrims, or those atrocious Hissho - oh! - but not for long. My unending beauty will purify them all. Their ugliness will be wiped from this galaxy!

That'll take such a long time to accomplish and I'm so wildly impatient. I wonder... I wonder if I could put my brain into one of my clones?

YES! That's surely the answer! I'll get started on it right away!