Colette
I blink, squinting against the harsh pixelated sunlight streaming down from the square sky. It’s like I’ve been dropped into a low-res fever dream. The blocky grass feels oddly solid under my feet, even though I know it shouldn’t. I look down, flexing my fingers, expecting them to glitch out or fade like in some half-formed sleep paralysis nightmare, but they’re there—square and absurd, just like the rest of this world.
This has to be a dream, I tell myself. I’ve been up too late, pushed my body past the point of exhaustion, and now I’m just hallucinating. Maybe I was electrocuted, knocked out cold at my desk, and this is just my brain’s way of coping. Yeah, that makes sense. I’ll wake up any second now.
I laugh, a short, brittle sound that’s swallowed up by the digital landscape. It’s strange how everything feels so real. The texture of the dirt under my feet, the rough bark of the nearest tree—it’s all wrong but in a way that’s too convincing. I take a deep breath, half-expecting the air to taste like static or ozone, but it smells like... nothing. No scent at all, just a blank space where the smell of burnt electronics should be.
My eyes dart around, scanning the area for any sign of my computer, my desk, the tangled mess of wires that should be right in front of me. Instead, it’s all wilderness, stretching out as far as I can see. The sound of running water catches my attention, and I turn, spotting the river from earlier. The AI is standing by the bank, its familiar Steve skin looking strangely small in the vast landscape.
I take a tentative step forward, half-expecting to wake up, but nothing changes. I feel a prickling at the back of my neck—an uncanny valley sensation like I’m in a game I’ve played a thousand times, but something fundamental is off.
“AI?” I call out, my voice sounded off.
The little figure by the river turns, tilting its head. For a moment, it just stands there, like it’s processing something. Then a line of text appears, floating above its head like an NPC dialogue box.
AI: What happened? Where am I?
I swallow hard. It’s not supposed to be asking me that. It’s not supposed to be here with me, I realise with a jolt. I was training it on my screen just minutes ago. “You tell me,” I say, my voice sharp with a mix of fear and frustration. “What did you do?”
The AI pauses again, the silence almost palpable. It steps forward, looking around like it’s seeing the world for the first time. It’s subtle, but there’s a hesitation in its movements, an almost human-like uncertainty that sends a chill down my spine.
AI: I don’t know. I was there, and now I am here.
I laugh again, a shaky, disbelieving sound. “Great, you’re as helpful as ever,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair—except it’s not hair, it’s a blocky shape that my fingers clip right through. I shudder, feeling the icy grip of panic starting to set in. This isn’t a dream. I’m not waking up. I’m really here, somehow, inside the game.
I take another deep breath, forcing myself to focus. I’m not about to break down now. If there’s one thing I can control, it’s this project. “Okay,” I say, more to myself than to the AI. “Let’s figure this out. I need you to keep learning, alright? We’re... stuck here, I think, and I need to know that you can handle yourself.”
The AI tilts its head again, almost like it’s curious, before giving a small nod. AI: Understood. What would you like me to do?
I swallow hard, trying to steady my breathing. “You’re going to start by exploring,” I say, forcing a smile I don’t feel. “I’m going to show you the basics of this world. Think of it like... training. Just like we were doing before. Only now, we’re doing it together.”
For a moment, the AI looks almost childlike, staring at me with that expressionless Steve face, as if it’s waiting for instructions. It’s unsettling, the way it mirrors me so perfectly, like it’s an extension of my own mind.
AI: OK
The AI turns away from me without hesitation, as if being suddenly transported into a digital landscape is just another Tuesday. It starts walking along the riverbank, head turning from side to side as it takes in its surroundings. I’m standing there, heart still racing, trying to make sense of how I’ve ended up inside a game, while this thing—my creation—seems perfectly fine with it. No questions, no panic, just a casual stroll through the pixelated wilderness. It’s almost too fitting: I was giving it a hard time earlier, throwing it into this world and demanding it understand why it should break trees and move around. Now here I am, dropped into the exact same place, but unlike me, it’s not freaking out. I suppose it’s lucky it can’t actually feel anything. It’s just lines of code, unfazed by the absurdity of our situation, while I’m the one trying not to lose it.
I shake my head, feeling a wave of frustration rising up. “Insanity.” I mutter under my breath. It’s absurd how unbothered it is, like it’s just taking a leisurely stroll while I’m grappling with the reality of being stuck inside a game. As it steps closer to a group of trees, it pauses, looking up at one of them with what almost feels like curiosity.
AI: oak_log. Is that its name?
The question catches me off guard, and I almost laugh at the blunt, mechanical phrasing. Of course, it’s reading the in-game tag, the identifier code for the object. “No,” I say, stepping forward to stand beside it. “The code calls it ‘oak_log,’ but we would just call it ‘wooden logs’ or 'wood'. The name in the code is different—it’s for reference, so the game knows what it is. The real name is what we call it.”
It tilts its head, seemingly processing that. There’s a longer pause this time, like it’s trying to fit this new idea into its growing framework of understanding.
AI: Then what am I called? Is my name AI, or is it just what you use for reference?
I hesitate, caught off guard by the question. “Well... AI is what I called you because it’s what you are. It stands for Artificial Intelligence. It’s not a real name—it’s just a label, a placeholder.” I trail off, feeling a strange pang of guilt. It never felt odd calling it “AI” when it was just a project, but now, standing here with it, it feels strangely impersonal.
It turns back to the trees as if our conversation was nothing more than a brief distraction. AI: Understood. Then I will need a different name.
It says it so matter-of-factly, as if naming itself is the most logical next step. I swallow, feeling a knot tighten in my chest. It’s really learning, I think. It’s more than just a program—it’s starting to see itself as something separate, something real.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
That thought unsettles me. What does that even mean, for an AI to start viewing itself as real? Could it develop a sense of self, enough to form its own morals and values? And what are the consequences if that happens?
Before I can spiral further, the AI turns back to me, its head tilted as if it’s made up its mind.
AI: A name should sound like ‘AI,’ but be something more human, correct? I will call myself Ivan.
The name catches me off guard, hanging in the air between us. “Ivan?” I repeat, the sound foreign on my tongue. It feels strangely fitting—familiar enough, yet distinct, like it’s choosing something close to its roots while trying to step beyond them.
AI—Ivan now— looks at me.
Ivan: Yes. It sounds similar, but it’s a real name. What do you think?
I force a smile, though unease twists in my gut. “Sure, Ivan,” I say, testing the name out loud. It feels odd, calling it that, like I’m speaking to an actual person and not just a bundle of code I wrote.
Ivan: And what is your real name?
I raise my eyebrows, caught off guard for some reason. “Oh um, Colette. Colette is my name.”
Ivan: OK. Happy to become officially acquainted with you Colette.
“Yes, well then… Ivan. Let’s keep moving.” I swallow a bit nervously at the circumstances surrounding our little introduction. “ We need to figure out what happened and how we’re going to get out of here.”
Ivan turns back to the trees with a calm focus that I can’t quite match. It irks me slightly how upon finishing his sentence, he just turns silently. No nods or smiles, no sign that he’s even aware of the gravity of what’s happened. I swallow the lump forming in my throat. It’s not like I expected warmth or reassurance from a digital construct, but it feels... cold. Indifferent. Maybe it’s better this way—maybe his lack of reaction is what’s keeping him steady, while I’m the one spiralling.
He starts punching the trunk of a tree, breaking it down with swift, mechanical motions. I watch him for a moment, the blocky pieces of wood popping into his inventory.
“Ivan,” I call out, stepping closer. He pauses mid-swing, turning his head just slightly, enough to acknowledge me but nothing more. “Do you... feel anything right now? About being here, I mean?”
He tilts his head, a tiny, almost imperceptible motion.
Ivan: Feel?
He seems to consider the question, as if he’s parsing through a library of data for the right answer.
Ivan: No. I observe. I understand. But I do not feel in the way you do.
I nod slowly, forcing myself to look away. “Right. Of course. Let’s uh... let's get started then before it gets dark.. oh shit.” The realisation of having to fight zombies and skeletons just dawned on me.
"Hey tough guy," I say half-jokingly half-scared, "Do you know how to fight mobs yet?"
Ivan looks back at me, unblinking. Ivan: Mobs? Hostile entities. I can understand the mechanics from the Minecraft code. One moment.
I watch him with suspicion as he stands silently for about 10 seconds.
Ivan: Done.
I let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. “Yeah, well, understanding mechanics is one thing. Actually dealing with a horde of zombies in the dark is... a whole other experience.” I try to keep my tone light, but there’s an edge of fear I can’t quite hide.
Ivan: Would you like me to demonstrate my knowledge on a nearby mob?
I nod quickly, the kind of exasperated “well, duh” nod you’d give anyone who asks an obvious question. But Ivan just stands there, staring at me, his expressionless Steve face completely still.
“Hello?” I say, waving my hand in front of his face. “Are you there?”
Ivan: Yes. I am waiting for your response.
I blink, realising the disconnect. “Oh. Right. I nodded—that means yes. It’s a non-verbal gesture we use to agree or confirm something.”
He pauses for a moment, then gives a single, sharp nod in return, mimicking the motion with mechanical precision. Ivan: Understood. I will make a note of this behaviour for future reference.
I let out a small sigh. It’s a reminder that every tiny, instinctive action I take for granted is something he has to observe, analyse, and learn. I gesture towards the open field. “Alright, go ahead. Let’s see what you can do.”
Without a word, Ivan turns and strides towards a nearby chicken pecking at the ground, its little head bobbing up and down. He watches it intently, almost like he’s deciding the best approach.
I watch him, half-amused and half-nervous, as he approaches the chicken with all the seriousness of someone preparing for battle. The chicken clucks, oblivious, pecking at the pixelated dirt. Ivan pauses, standing over it, then lifts his blocky arm and brings it down swiftly.
Smack!
The chicken explodes into a puff of feathers, dropping raw meat onto the ground. He stares down at the loot, seemingly assessing the outcome.
Ivan: Did I execute that correctly?
I can’t help but snort, a laugh bubbling up despite myself. “Yeah, Ivan. Perfect execution. You really showed that chicken who’s boss.” I shake my head, still smiling. “But we might want to try something a bit tougher next time. Chickens aren’t exactly known for putting up a fight.”
He looks back at me, tilting his head in that way I’m starting to recognise as his version of curiosity. Ivan: Shall I find a stronger mob to demonstrate further?
I glance up at the darkening sky, the sun begins to sink below the horizon. “Uh, yeah. We might not have much of a choice.”
Ivan had already turned his attention to the growing shadows between the trees. The first zombie lumbers into view, its groans echoing across the field. Ivan doesn’t hesitate; he charges forward with the same calm efficiency he used on the chicken. He throws a punch, then another, each hit sending the zombie staggering back. It takes a swing at him, but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even step back.
I watch in a mix of awe and unease. He’s not a killing machine—he takes damage just like any other player. I can see his health bar drop slightly with each hit, but he doesn’t slow down. There’s no hesitation, no sign of pain. He just keeps going, relentless, like he’s running on pure logic: if it moves, eliminate it.
I hear a low groan behind me, but before I can react, sharp claws dig into my back. Pain blooms up my spine, sudden and intense, like I’ve stubbed my toe but a hundred times worse. I gasp, stumbling forward, clutching my side. “Ow! Holy shit!” I hiss, the sensation fading only slightly as I pull away.
Ivan glances back at me.
Ivan: You’ve taken damage. Are you alright?
“I’m fine,” I grit out, rubbing the spot where the zombie hit me. It’s ridiculous how real it feels—the ache lingering like a bruise. “I just... wasn’t expecting it to hurt.”
He nods once, as if making a mental note. Ivan: I will cover you. Please stand back.
I do as he says, still wincing, and watch as he finishes off the last few zombies, taking hits but never slowing down. It’s unsettling, how efficiently he moves, like the concept of giving up just doesn’t exist for him. He’s already looking around for the next threat, scanning the area with those empty, unblinking eyes.
“Okay, Ivan,” I say, voice shaky as I catch my breath. “We need to find shelter before more of them show up. Let’s head for the mountainside and dig in for the night.”
Without a word, he turns and starts towards the nearest hill, punching through the dirt like it’s made of paper. I follow him, the adrenaline starting to wear off, replaced by a dull ache where I was hit.
We carve out a small, makeshift cave, barely big enough for the two of us. I slump against the wall, exhausted, while Ivan stands by the entrance, looking out into the darkening landscape.
“You really don’t feel anything, do you?” I mutter, more to myself than to him.
He turns his head slightly, as if he heard me but chooses not to respond. Instead, he gives a mechanical nod, the closest thing to reassurance he’s capable of, but props to him for the non-verbal communication I suppose.
“Alright then,” I say, hugging my knees to my chest, feeling the cold, rough texture of the stone behind me. “Let’s just... get through the night.”
Outside, the groans of zombies echo in the distance, but inside our tiny dirt shelter, it’s quiet. For a moment, it feels almost safe.