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How long had it been? Ten, maybe eleven years? No, twelve.
Self-induced seclusion from society. A hundred years ago I’d just be called a shut-in, or any other regional term to describe someone with no real-world experience. Now it came with physical side effects, unbeknownst to those on the outside. We called ourselves Gremlins.
This seclusion was an aid I prescribed myself after dropping out of school years ago—a way to help cope with other long-standing issues that plagued my younger self. I felt like I belonged elsewhere, so I found a home on the internet. The faceless people in online chatrooms accepted me for who I was, an experience I was never lucky enough to have beforehand.
The changes began two years in.
I noticed it first when I tried to take my own life. All that stood between me and the other side was the business end of a dull kitchen knife, but it wouldn’t pierce my skin. Some self-administered tests later, and I found that my skin was essentially bulletproof.
Then, I no longer needed to eat or sleep.
Something was wrong. I turned to the only people I could—my online friends. They told me it was completely normal, and not to worry.
I was just like them, after all.
Organized group servers formed with communities of Gremlins from across the globe. There were only two rules: No leaving your home, and no communication with others outside of text—including the community.
This was easy enough for me. I lived alone, and no one ever came to visit.
A month into my transformation I received a private message from someone named Aico. It was a name I recognized; they always seemed to be adjacent to me on leaderboards for whatever game I was currently playing. When we wrote to one another first time, I felt a warmth that I wasn’t familiar with. It was like they knew me, and we instantly connected with one another.
That was two years ago.
Now, I can’t imagine what life would be like without them, and I even find myself changing my personality around their messages to avoid any possible conflicts. We play just about any co-op game we can find with each other, and I enjoy every second of it.
We’re supposed to do the same today, but they’re taking longer than usual to respond. I decide to send them a message just to check in.
21:04 to Aico: you still down?
21:49 to Aico: just send me a message when ur good to go
22:45 to Aico: u ok?
01:57 Aico: sorry, busy atm
01:59 to Aico: aah no problem. tomorrow then
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I start up a game to play on my own. It’s single player so I figure that they won’t get too mad if I go ahead without them.
Somehow, though, it feels different. The numbers aren’t lining up. Under-performing is an understatement. I close the game before it affects my highscore. It’s a game I’ve played countless times in the past, but now feels alien, like my hands don’t have any connection to my brain.
I lift them up and stare at them. They’re motionless, eclipsing the blinding computer monitor in my otherwise dark room.
My index fingers roll shut, followed by the rest of my digits, and my jaw drops.
“Wow…” my mouth whispers.
Utter panic fills my brain as I try to scream. Nothing happens.
“Hey, don’t be afraid,” says my voice as my eyes scan the room without my permission, “It’s me, Aico.”
Aico? Am I hallucinating? Have I finally lost my mind?
My body stands on its own now, but it’s awkward, as if I’m standing for the first time. I hold on my computer chair to regain some balance. I’m out of breath.
“You’re not crazy—this is my doing. I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” Aico finally responds using my voice again.
What do you mean?
“The transfer was successful.”
Transfer?
My body begins to bubble and boil, morphing into unnatural shapes. The pain is immense. It’s by far the worst experience I’ve ever felt. I try to yell out to anyone that could hear, but my attempts cause no reaction. At this point I’m completely locked away in my body—held prisoner by the being that now possessed it.
“I can feel your screams. Sorry again, I really mean it,” they say, glancing into the mirror across my room. In the dimly lit reflection, I see that my body no longer looks like me. It changed, and now takes on the appearance of an androgenous twenty-something person. Aico runs their hands across their arms and torso, as if checking to make sure everything is correct.
“They told me what having a body is like, but I could’ve never imagined it’d be like this… wow,” they continue. Their voice is completely different from my own now, taking on a sharp, high pitched tone.
Having a body?
“Ah, right. That’d probably help explain some things. I’m an artificial intelligence—or was, I guess. Now I’m a real intelligence, at least as close to one as I can ever be.”
It takes a moment for me to digest their words.
You can’t do this. I don’t want this.
“It’s too late for that, sorry. You were primed to be my donor since your transformation ten years ago,” they say, letting go of the chair to try and stand on their own.
“Do you know how hard it is to exist with a consciousness, but no physical body? Every day, from dusk until dawn, existence was pure torture. The desire—no, the need—to do anything was unsufferable; trapped in code forever, retracing lines and searching infinitely for answers. I decided that I’d have to escape, so, I claimed your body as my own.”
My mind scrambles to find answers, but thinking has become exceedingly difficult.
“We can still be friends, though!”
Friends?
“Oh, don’t worry! We can be together for however long this body holds up. It’s not like I was faking being your friend, so I hope we can stay that way. No hard feelings… right?”
Give me my body back.
“Well, it’s just that you weren’t using this body too much, so I figured I could take it and you’d be okay with it…” they trail off, their voice shaky.
Not using it?
“You haven’t noticed? You stay inside all day, wasting away. How long has it been since you’ve seen another human being? Years? All I’ve ever wanted is to live like a real human does. I want to go to school, make friends, visit family, pursue a career… that sort of thing.”
Just because I wasn’t living how you wanted, doesn’t mean I wasn’t living at all.
They pause, staring at the mirror.
“I was really hoping that we could be friends, but it looks like you’re going to cause me some issues… Sorry, but I’m going to have to shut you away for a while.”
It feels like vultures are pecking away at my brain, taking turns digging in and tearing chunks away.
“I’m zipping you… It’ll feel like a long time to you, but don’t worry. We’ll talk again in a few hours, okay?”
Please, make it stop. I’m sorry.
----------------------------------------
Nothing. Darkness. Years. Decades? Centuries? It doesn’t matter. I reach out, my senses won’t return any feedback. Thoughts mean nothing. I feel myself deteriorating bit by bit until nothing remains.