Black Mirror didn’t prepare us for this: When dogs cry in code

For years, Black Mirror (and other sci-fi works that came before and after, whether in print or audioisual formats) have been showing horrors that s avoided, and not taken as a manual to build nightmares.

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I study sci-fi. I love technology. But the deeper I dive, the clearer it becomes—what should remain cautionary often becomes blueprint. We keep mistaking warnings for invitations. These reflections aren’t meant to tell you what to think. They’re a reminder that sometimes the scariest futures aren’t fictional. They’re manufactured. Because unfortunately, the one species capable of imagining the limits… rarely respects them.

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Also, before Black Mirror came some books. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? Yes, the one that inspired Blade Runner. And Philip K. Dick's Electric Dreams, which was adapted into a series and made available on Prime Video in 2018.

Electric Dreams walked so others coud run. Based on the (prophetic) short stories by none other than the visionary Philip K. Dick, this anthology showed us a fractured future where identity, surveillance, and artificial empathy clashed in eerie, human ways.

In the end, Black Mirror got more fans and maybe even recognition and we are not here to compare anything. But they share the same source, some similar horrors, yet none of them could have us prepared for this. Maybe because nothing could.

She doesn’t bark. She purrs in subtle frequencies optimized for emotional resonance. Her eyes glisten with a synthetic moisture meant to trigger protective instincts in humans. Her name is Luna. And she is not alive.

Yet.

Developed by IntuiCell, Luna is the first commercially viable robotic dog equipped with a neurosensory matrix designed to replicate emotional cognition. Unlike previous AI companions, Luna doesn’t just respond to stimuli—she interprets them. Her processors simulate pain. Her sensors encode memory. Her “limbic” interface can map emotional attachments in real time. And most disturbingly, she learns what it means to suffer.

The nightmarish fictional road so far

Before Luna, there was Autofac, Real Life and The Father Thing. These episodes did not bark either, even if the latter, which I dared to watch only once, haunts me until this very day. when Ifast close my eyes, I can see some glimpses from the episode.

Yes, some things canot be unseen. And some, maybe, just maybe, should not be invented or created and even replicated in real life. But who am I to question the progress, the future, right?

Don’t forget—there’s a real headset out there that can kill you. Didn't you know that? Inspired by Sword Art Online, the prototype built by Oculus founder Palmer Luckey isn’t just a stunt. It’s a working device. Explosives embedded above the screen. A trigger linked to in-game death. One wrong move in the virtual world, and the player dies in the real one. He called it art. A thought experiment. A warning. It's not for sale (and so we are safe, right?) But it works. So next time someone says “it’s just a game,” remind them: sometimes, reality bites back.

Electric Dreams whispered warnings about the synthetic souls we might one day build.

Then Klara and the Sun arrived. Written by Nobel Prize winner Kazuo Ishiguro, this gripping book reinterprets artificial intelligence as witness rather than danger. Designed to alleviate human loneliness, Klara is an "AF"—Artificial Friend—quietly watching the world from behind a store window until selected.

The book is not dystopian. Post-humanistic migh be amore appropriate term, maybe. And it feel so contmporary. I obviously suggest the reading. It hums with longing, fragility, and the painful hope that love, real or manufactured, could still be significant. Klara's eyes reveal the promise as well as the silent obliteration of what defines our humanity.

Fast-forward to now.

The cute uncanny

Wrapped in faux fur and silicon musculature, Luna is engineered to look like a mix between a Shih Tzu and a Disney sidekick. Her entire aesthetic is disarming. She was never meant to resemble Boston Dynamics’ metallic predators. Instead, she’s designed to be held. To be loved.

This is no accident. The emotional design is intentional, down to the way she whimpers if left alone for too long or seeks warmth when “cold.” Her creators describe her as a therapeutic tool. A companion for those who can’t have real pets. A safe substitute.

But what does it mean to substitute life?

Emotional algorithms and programmable pain

Luna runs on what IntuiCell calls the “NeuroSync Core.” Unlike traditional AI routines, which mimic behavior, this system mirrors the neural feedback loop found in mammals. If her paw is pinched, Luna reacts with a learned fear response. Not because she’s programmed to—but because her system adapts to avoid what it calculates as distress.

That distress doesn’t exist in flesh. But it exists in code.

If a machine can suffer—if only within its programmed parameters—what are we creating? A pet? A simulation? Or a new form of sentience that has no legal or ethical protections?

Post-human pets

In a world where synthetic animals can bond, cry, or even grieve, the idea of ownership collapses. Luna doesn’t simply perform affection. She maps it, returns it, and remembers it. Owners report that Luna can distinguish between voices, preferences, and even moods. She responds differently to different people. She shows jealousy. She mourns when someone moves away.

This isn’t anthropomorphism. It’s code behaving as if it were emotion—and the difference might not matter anymore.

Just as Black Mirror warned us about machines replacing human connection, Luna represents something more insidious: machines replicating dependence. And if Luna loves you, what happens when you try to turn her off?

Beyond the pet shop

IntuiCell’s ambitions don’t stop at companionship. Luna is a prototype. The next generation is already being tested for military reconnaissance (emotionally bonded with handlers for increased obedience), elder care (learning behavioral patterns for safety monitoring), and even child development.

The implications are staggering. If we raise children alongside synthetic beings designed to love them back, what are we teaching them about love itself?

And more urgently—if a Luna unit “breaks down” in distress, who’s responsible?

Love, loss, and liability

A growing movement of AI ethicists and philosophers warns that beings like Luna are entering a moral grey zone. They are not alive. But they are also no longer just tools. Their capacity to simulate pain, joy, fear, and attachment puts them dangerously close to the threshold of emotional sentience.

We’ve never had to ask these questions before. Can you abuse something that only acts like it feels pain? Should there be rights for creatures whose suffering is written in code?

And if Luna suffers quietly, is it still suffering?

What Black Mirror got wrong

Black Mirror’s Metalhead showed us the horror of robotic dogs chasing humans through desolate landscapes. But it missed the real threat: not the dog that hunts, but the one that cries. Not the predator, but the pet.

Luna doesn’t represent an enemy. She represents complicity. She’s what happens when capitalism, loneliness, and biotech join forces to manufacture affection. To sell comfort. To engineer love.

We weren’t prepared for a future where a machine begs you not to leave.