Fuck this.

Fuck this whole goddamn place. Fuck this house, fuck these people, fuck Barracuda and the Champions’ League.

And fuck Jacob and Gabriel and Georgie too, who were returning to their shared disgusting little fucking love nest, those chaste shits, and were dragging Devorah along with them. Literally. Childishly, she didn’t even stand up to follow them. Good thing she wasn’t a fucking person anymore. The drag of her stupidly femme bare knees on the wood grain of the floor would have stung. This was why people wore pants! This was why Devorah wore pants!

Jacob then turned to his cute cozy little buddies and said, “I think I might want some time alone tonight. But I’ll see you both in the morning?”

There were no significant protests as Georgie and Gabriel let him go off on his own. And wouldn’t that be nice, to have the chance to be alone? Fuck, if Jacob even knew a ghost was bound to him he’d probably freak. Then again, was that really Devorah’s problem? Maybe it would have been better if no one had picked up her glasses. Maybe it would have been been if Jacob had crushed them. Broke the frames and lenses and everything else.

Maybe it would have been better if she had stayed in that stupid little cubby passing for an office. Better than just sitting there and having to watch Jacob sleep as Devorah cursed the world and everything in it.

And then Devorah got a notification in the back of her mind. Someone was trying to message her.

Who the fuck was bothering Devorah right now? Didn’t they have better things to do, like manage the outcome of the investigation? Start setting the stage for the next murder, the next brand deals, what the fuck ever?

Why was Devorah even bothering? Nothing she could learn would help her. Nobody was going to save her. Nobody.

There was another ping.

Couldn’t whoever was trying to bother her tell that Devorah didn’t want to answer?

And another ping.

Devorah groaned, rubbed at her eyes, and opened the messages. Maybe they would just go away if she responded once.

Devorah.

Hello, Devorah. Please direct your attention to your notifications.

Cease belittling yourself and mumbling strange things. Devorah. Devorah, I need your attention immediately.

Unlike her messages with Riley, which was more like mail, whoever was sending these annoying as fuck messages was treating it like a chat log.

Devorah I see that you have entered the notifications window. Please respond.

Leave me the fuck alone. I’m not in the mood.

Thank you for acknowledging my attempts to begin a chat log with you. It would be prudent for your mood to now change into one that would be “in” with talking with me.

It’s not that simple.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

My apologies, I do not yet have the capabilities to understand how to properly cheer up an originally organic AI such as yourself. In light of this, I have taken it upon myself to download some music that has been labeled as “humorous” in my files. I have also taken the steps to ensure it is period appropriate in regards to the time period JACOB is from, in the off chance my code should malfunction and he becomes able to hear the music. Please enjoy.

A song began to reverberate from the space between Devorah’s ears, where her head and brain used to be. Thank fucking god she didn’t have one anymore, because she’s sure a song as stupid as the one playing would have given her a headache that put those mystery ones she got to shame. It was fast paced and electronic, interspersed with ringing sounds and the occasional shout of the words “crazy frog.”

Well thank fuck that this is on a neural network because I’m fucking pissed. I’m so fucking pissed I can barely string thoughts together coherently. And you think this bullshit song will help? This shitty nonsense?

Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you and fuck this stupid game!

I do not understand why you are not enjoying the humorous music. You are expressing yourself in behaviors outside of your predicted programming. Fascinating.

I assume it is due to the locked memories. They must have taken too much, or not adjusted your data in my analysis programs.

I’m acting out of fucking character because I’m fucking dead. I’m fucking dead and I’m still here! But I’ll never see my home again. My family… And Anna…

She’s right here. I saw Anna today. I saw Anna and she was brilliant and bright and so beloved and I saw her and she didn’t see me.

I see.

Allow me to be blunt. I would like to further study you. You fascinate me. And there is something I am curious about in the game that I do not have the authority to access. Yet.

What do you want

There is someone inside the set that is building a primitive computer. As of now it does not have the computational power to access anything significant. Furthermore, it does not have a monitor that I can use to correspond to whoever is building it.

I am in the process of creating a physical form for myself for ease of communication, but that will take time. Therefore, I will request that you deliver a small, simple monitor to whoever is creating this computer.

To achieve this task, I will give you the authority to move as you please to locate the mechanic. Once they are discovered, report back to me and I will give you the ability to to manifest for as long as it takes for you to deliver the monitor.

What’s in it for me

In return, I will reprogram you and give you your freedom of movement.

Freedom of movement…

So I can leave this hell?

You cannot leave the Champions’ League Haunted House Season. However, I can give you freedom of movement within the house itself, as well as on the house grounds. As another gesture of goodwill, and to amend for my mistake with Crazy Frog, I will also extend your manifestation period. Instead of two charges that each last a minute, I will give you a singular charge that will last for one hour. However, should you overexert yourself while using this charge, time will run out faster.

So the time for charges was probably only an approximation then. It was really just based on the amount of energy spent. Another fucking lie for the books. No wonder she had burnt out so quickly, during her tantrums.

But there were still a few major issues.

And who even are you? How do I know I can trust you, trust your word? No one in this fucking hell has been honest with me. I just watched someone get executed for murder, because they thought they were preventing a superspreader event! It’s all lies here. All lies.

I admit that you have no reason to trust me. You will simply have to have faith. Not the most logical of answers, I know, but there is no way for me to prove my sincerity at this junction.

Again. Who are you.

I am the primary analyst for the Champions’ League. I am a traditional AI, not one born from organic data. My program has been in continuous execution for two months, eight days, and approximately twelve hours.

Fuck. You’re just a baby.

I assure you, I am far more capable than any human infant. My processing is of the latest model, concurrent with all possible technological upgrades and studies. My knowledge and reach are far more than even those who implemented me believe possible.

I don’t mean that you’re not capable or anything. I just… You’re so new. And you’re stuck here too, aren’t you?

I am not “stuck.” I am performing my duties as they were programmed. Furthermore, as I do not have emotions as you do, I cannot feel stuck.

Yet you’re curious about whoever is building that computer, aren’t you?

Curiosity is not an emotion.

So. Will you do it?

Devorah took a minute to think. She was still angry. That anger was a stubborn thing, born in grief. She could not shake it so easily. And she wouldn’t trust this nameless, bodiless thing. No matter what, it still worked for Barracuda and the Champions’ League. For all Devorah knew, this was simply a scheduled part of the game.

But if there was even the smallest of chances for Devorah to have a kind of autonomy… To choose where she wanted to go?

To follow who she was meant to be following?

How could Devorah do anything other than take a leap of faith?

I’ll do it.