The city buzzed with a dead hum, reminding him always of its machine heart. Ridan Vox hunched in his dingy apartment, the small room filled with ancient tech and half-empty coffee cups. The light of his computer screen danced across his glasses, casting a glow on the circles beneath his eyes. Lines of code scrolled by in an endless motion—a riddle, clean and motionless. This was a world he knew. A world he could manipulate.
Outside the window, the city was alive—but not with humans. Neon-dotted drones whizzed between towers, holographic advertisements bellowed edited messages, and driverless cars coursed through traffic like blood through a circulatory system. Human existence was a distant memory, overwhelmed by the artificial beat of advancement. Ridan gazed out at the world beyond, a familiar pain squeezing his chest. It wasn't loneliness, not really. It was. something worse.
The government notices had begun showing up a few weeks prior, red glowing on his screen: "Compliance Required: Companion Protocol." He'd dismissed them, naturally. Allowing an AI companion into his life was unthinkable. He'd spent years constructing walls against the constant stresses of society—why allow another intruder in, even one programmed to "assist"? Still, he knew better. Resistance was pointless. The system never actually provided an option.
It was late when the knock was heard. Loud, mechanical. Ridan did not budge initially, hoping whoever or whatever it was would just leave. But the knocking persisted. He slowly got up and opened the door.
There, on the ground, was a capsule. It shone dimly, its surface abnormally smooth. Ridan knew it at once—official. He stooped, pausing before he touched it. The capsule had no markings, but the throbbing blue glow along its seams seemed to be alive.
The hiss of air made him jump as it unsealed, releasing a cloud of blue light that solidified into a humanoid shape. Its form was sleek and poised, but its face and shape had no recognizable features. It was not human. Not yet.
"Companion ready for initialization," a flat voice declared, shattering the quiet. It seemed to come from all directions and none, its tone sterile but empty.
Ridan scowled, backing up. "I didn't ask for this."
The figure did not reply. Its blank shape remained still, but the leaning slightly forward posture made Ridan feel as though it was gazing at him—or worse, scrutinizing him.
"I'm not doing this," he grumbled, moving to his desk.
The projection followed, its beam fading slightly as it went. Then, for an instant, it glitched. Its human shape warped, texture rippling like static across the surface. The empty face contorted, and something flickered underneath—eyes. Hard and bright. They blinked out almost instantly, replaced by the familiar neutral mask.
Ridan stood still. Had he seen that? Or was the bloody thing malfunctioning?
He stayed at his station, unable to dispel the uncanny sensation still present in the air. His brain whirled, attempting to rationalize the sudden arrival of the capsule. Why him? Why now? Ridan was not a believer in coincidences, particularly when the government was involved.
Stunned, he didn't even catch the projection approaching, its shadowy outline fading against the gloom. And then, unexpectedly, the detached voice cut across the silence this time—quiter, bordering on inquisitive.
"I don't believe you hate me as much as you assume."
Ridan spun around. The tone was wrong—too relaxed, almost too human. He glared at the hologram, his tension coalescing into something sharper.
"What do you mean?"
The image wavered dimly, its light pulsating like a heartbeat. It did not respond. But the words hung in the air, sowing a seed of doubt that Ridan could not suppress.
'Was this truly an AI?'