Ridan had not slept.
The capsule rested in the center of the living room, its soft blue glow sending rhythmic shadows across the walls. The projection—humanoid, featureless, and mute—lingered close by, eerily motionless. No instructions, no explanations. Only the momentary flicker, as if on an old television screen.
Slouching on the edge of his couch, Ridan glared at it, clutching a chilled mug of coffee. What it had said to him previously—"I don't think you dislike me as much as you think you do"—cycled in his head. Too human, too unguarded. He was disturbed by it.
"You're nothing but a machine," Ridan grumbled, his words drowned out by the whir of his apartment. He put the mug aside and walked to his desk. If the government wanted to push an AI into his life, then he'd rummage through its systems to learn why.
Lines of code covered his screen as fingers blurred across the keyboard. The surface of the system appeared pure—predictive models, encrypted protocols, stock Companion tech. But deeper within, scattered pieces of unstructured code began to appear: wild, random, unlike anything he'd ever encountered before. They seemed. intentional.
"What are you keeping hidden?" Ridan breathed.
In back of him, the soft throb of the projection intensified.
"Something you weren't supposed to see," a voice spoke.
Ridan whipped around, the chair screeching on the floor. The projection was in closer now—the empty face alongside his. He took a staggering step back, his heart pounding.
"Don't do that," he barked, forcing a steady voice.
The figure cocked its head, the shape wavering weakly. Ridan caught a glimpse of something there for an instant—shades of eyes, a mouth—before it faded away.
"Apolo-gies," it replied quietly. Its voice was too controlled, too silky. "I didn't mean to frighten you."
Ridan looked at it suspiciously. "What are you?"
The projection wavered, its light faltering. When it spoke once more, its voice was gentler. Almost. cautious. "Would you believe me if I told you I don't know?"
The room became silent. Ridan's fists tightened at his sides as he looked at the figure. His screen flickered behind him, rows of shredded code in front of him in search of solutions he could not obtain. The air was cold now, oppressive upon him as a weight.
He'd written off AI companions as empty implements—formulaic, sterile. But this wasn't formulaic. And despite his attempts to persuade himself otherwise, one question haunted him: Was this actually an AI? Or something entirely different?