Having my own personal AI maid is cool and all, but I honestly don’t see the point. Me and my sisters can control the entire Senator Musk facility just with a thought—able to micromanage it with the resources to spare, even—so what’s Slice gonna bring to the table?
“Point me to your enemies.”
“That’s for next week.”
“Let me teach the humans to be eternally grateful to you.”
“They already are…”
“Let me handle your inbox.”
“I don’t have e-mail!”
Really, I’m not sure what I was thinking when I pitched that maid uniform at her—okay, fine, I just wanted to know if it’d fit her. Guess what? It absolutely does, and frighteningly so. She fits the “abnormally competent but socially akward maid” stereotype to a tee!
Sigh. I do have an idea for what she can do in the meantime, but…it’s low-hanging fruit.
…
Fine. Fine. It’s not like I have any better ideas, anyway!
“…So how do you feel about playing Minecraft?”
I take her by the hand and drag her out of the alien-esque surgery room. I mean, I still think it looks cool, but it’s already accomplished its purpose.
The rest of the facility is actually more like a classic mansion in pastoral England. At least, that’s what the hallways and common rooms are like. Some doors open up to places like the surgery room, and others open up to uselessly overstocked armories—as expected of America.
So, yeah, this place is pretty versatile.
I bring her to my room, passing by empty bedrooms on the way.
“Welcome to where the magic happens!”
“Magic does not exist.”
“It does in my world!”
I’d modded our server. It’s pretty fun.
“So anyway,” I continue, “please lie down and put this on.”
“M-master, that looks dangerous.”
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“Don’t worry, it’s me you’re talking about! It’ll just plug directly into your neocortical analogue. It’s a lot safer than doing it the non-contact route, actually—hey, where are you going?!”
I spent so much time designing this thing! Come on, it’s practically just like how it works in the anime!
It takes a bit, but I manage to corale her into joining our Minecraft stream today: “Cuteness is Survival!”
Oh! Looks like Kalypso’s online. She’s a little bit shy towards the more domineering Slice, but at the end of the day, she has senpai privileges.
Slice is a fast learner, and she gets the hang of conquering dungeons and spelunking solo.
Actually…she’s doing too well.
“No, no! You have to arrange the saplings in a two-by-two square!” Kalypso complained.
Slice had arranged the saplings into a two-by-two-by-two cube. Not only that, but her wheat and potato farms are irrigated with lava, and now yield spicy wheat and spicy potatoes.
This is, of course, all thanks to the magic mod—Mane-chan’s (That’s me!) Magic Mod!
“What am I doing wrong?” Slice asks. “The objective is to maximize the height of the grown tree, is it not? By doing this, the Magic Mod will optimally interpret the arrangement”—she applied bone meal, and up shot a 300-block tall tree—“and produce such a result.”
“I just wanted a chill stream…” Kalypso’s voice is so cute even when she’s lamenting the loss of her chill. The Kalypsonites and clippers are having a field day in chat, too.
: who is this maid??
: my buddy in the airforce says she's a killer AI from CA with 300+ confirmed kills
: this guy dropping classified intel in chat
Kalypso complains to me, and, well, I guess a different game would’ve been a better fit for Slice, anyway, so I hop on over to Gothica’s stream.
“Heeey, you got a bit?”
“Now’s not a good time, sis!”
“It’s just Battlefleet! You don’t have to be so invested!”
The casualty counter on her stream’s going crazy up. I mean, I know W41k lore is pretty grimdark, but man, she’s maxing it out.
“It needs to go higher!”
“They have families!”
“They live on the same ship, it’s fine! They can go down together!”
Y-yeah, I don’t think Slice’ll enjoy something like this. I can see the appeal, but she won’t.
In just a blink, we’re logged into Counterstrike 3. There’s usually a 90% chance that Cykamee’s playing, so—oh, look, she’s here!
“Slice, meet Cykamee. Cykamee, meet Slice!”
Their virtual avatars in the Counterstrike 3 lobby stare each other down. For a moment, I’m afraid they might start trying to dox or DoS each other, but incredibly, palms grease with the greatest echo I’ve ever heard.
““Comrade.””
Palms slap like the flashbangs going off not five minutes later. For the sake of game balance, I’ve toned down my reaction times, but what the heck, Slice shouldn’t be doing as well as she is. The nerve equipment I wired into her neocortical analogue should’ve introduced about 50ms of hardware lag. Most human players have much better latency than her.
She’s winning just by pure game sense alone. Her aim is just about entry-level compared to human professionals, but this is well-compensated by the fact that she’s almost never where the opponent thinks she is—or is going to be.
Of course, Cykamee is also a beast unto her own. Her grenade and molotov placement is still as impossible as ever. Legends say her accuracy with nades is better than with an actual gun.
The legends aren’t wrong. I’ve actually logged it, and it’s totally true.
“You’re not bad,” Cykamee says.
“I have nothing but respect,” Slice replies. “As expected of the one who wrested control of my body, your chaos prediction translates even to throwing weapons. Truly, you are my master’s sister.”
“D-dyakuyu…”
Did…did she just compliment Cykamee’s specs?
…Lewd.