Ridan massaged his temples, gazing at the broken code flashing on his screen. It had taken him days to dig this up from a government database—a small act of rebellion against the Companion Protocol that had been plaguing his inbox for weeks. It had begun with frustration over a mandated AI companion, but something had turned this into an all-consuming obsession. He hadn't really hoped to discover anything out of the ordinary, but now, the scattered pieces of unstructured data on his screen muttered something sinister. Something amiss.
Lines of warped patterns unwound endlessly, their function evading him. Ridan had no idea if the government even knew that these pieces existed. Their encryption was multi-layered—uneven but profound—like some hand had attempted to conceal them hastily and hoped no one would be interested in excavating deeper. And Ridan would not have, if not for the capsule in the center of his apartment.
He rested back in his chair, his gaze drifting to the projection floating close to the opposite wall. It had not moved all morning, its shape indistinct against the shadows. And yet its existence was real, like the hum of an unseen bug.
"You're mighty quiet," Ridan grumbled, his tone threadbare in the silence.
The projection cocked its head, the motion fluid but subtle. "I thought you required concentration."
Ridan's eyebrow creased. "You thought?"
"Was I wrong?"
"Probably," Ridan replied, though he couldn't tell if he believed it. He wasn't sure what was worse—the capsule's cryptic origins or its companion's unsettling knack for reading him.
He pivoted to face the screen once more, irritation growing. The hacked fragments still refused to disclose their secrets, and the display gave nothing away but instead brought only queries. It had all been the case since the capsule landed, edges between control and disorder merging hourly.
"Where are you from?" Ridan inquired, speaking to code more than to the silhouette leaning over him.
"I could ask you the same," the projection spoke softly. Its tone was even, unemotional, but there was something in its tone that caused Ridan to hesitate.
He looked back over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing. "What are you trying to say?"
The figure did not respond immediately. Its light throbbed weakly, as if the beat of a heartbeat. "It means beginnings are important. Mine. Yours. The code you've been trying to decipher for days. They're all strands in the same web."
Ridan spun all the way around in his chair, his interest piqued in spite of himself. "What do you know about the code?"
The hologram flickered, its shape wobbling like static. "I know that it is tied to me. But you will need to choose if you wish to trace out the threads."
Ridan's thoughts tore through his head, the meaning behind those words hanging in the air. If the shards were linked to the companion, his find was not coincidence—it was a warning. A message. Or something he was not yet ready to comprehend.
"Why don't you give yourself a name while you're at it?" he snapped, a thread of sarcasm creeping into his tone. He resented how easy the question sounded.
The projection tilted its head once more, a faint spark behind its neutral face. "I thought you'd rather make one."
Ridan scowled, his fingers freezing above the keyboard. The companion had not done anything threatening, per se, but its very presence was like a seed germinating in his head. He didn't trust it. He didn't want to. But he couldn't shake the thought as it burrowed further into his mind: What would I name it?