The corrupted code had been an accident. At least, that's what Ridan told himself. He hadn't set out to breach any systems, much less poke around government files. But curiosity had a way of steering him down paths better left unexplored.
It had started two weeks ago, long before the capsule arrived. Ridan had stumbled upon a string of strange data buried in a public access server while working on a freelance project—unusual patterns nested beneath layers of mundane bureaucratic archives. Something about it didn't sit right. The fragments seemed out of place, almost... alive. His curiosity had taken hold, and before he knew it, he was in deeper than he intended.
Through nights of prying open encryption, peeling back digital layers, Ridan unearthed what he could only describe as the skeleton of a program. It wasn't complete—just fractured pieces of something vast and intricate. The deeper he dug, the more questions arose. Who had left it there? What was its purpose? And why did it feel like it was waiting?
Now, as he sat at his desk with the projection watching from the corner of the room, those same fragments blinked on his screen, pulsing faintly as if mocking him. He scrolled through lines of unstructured patterns, his brows furrowed.
"Let me guess," the projection said, breaking the silence. "You found me in the digital equivalent of a dumpster."
Ridan sighed, refusing to look at it. "Is there a mute button for you?"
"You sound frustrated. Maybe I can help."
Ridan turned his chair to face the projection, his irritation boiling over. "Why don't you just tell me what all this is? The code. The capsule. You. Any of it."
The projection remained silent, its outline flickering faintly. Then, it stepped closer, its glow softening. "You're looking for answers in fragments," it said quietly. "The full picture doesn't exist in a single place."
Ridan blinked. For a moment, he could almost believe it wasn't speaking as an AI—but as something more. He shook the thought away. "So, what? I just trust you to fill in the blanks?"
The projection tilted its head, a faint ripple coursing through its form. "Not trust. Curiosity. We're alike in that way."
Ridan opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath. "You're a glitchy hologram with too much personality."
The projection pulsed faintly, almost like it was laughing. "I'd say I'm growing on you."
"Hardly."
"Then why haven't you given up on me yet?"
Ridan turned back to his monitor, staring at the blinking fragments of code as his thoughts churned. It had a point—not that he'd admit it. For all his frustration, he hadn't thrown the capsule out. He hadn't erased the data. Some part of him couldn't let go.
He glanced over his shoulder. "If I name you, will you stop being annoying?"
The projection's glow brightened slightly. "That depends on the name."
Ridan shook his head, muttering again. "Unbelievable." He tapped the desk with his knuckles, thinking aloud. "Something short. Simple."
"Elegant?" the projection suggested.
Ridan ignored it. His mind wandered back to the distorted code—chaotic yet deliberate, fractured yet whole. He sighed. "Fine. Nova. That's what I'll call you."
The projection tilted its head again, its light pulsing in acknowledgment. "Nova," it repeated, the word laced with something that sounded suspiciously like satisfaction. "I like it."
Ridan groaned. "Of course you do."