I jolt awake at 3 AM, my head feeling like someone replaced my brain with a malfunctioning hover-engine. The nightclub's "Experience The Future" cocktail menu had seemed like such a good idea a few hours ago. Now, I'm pretty sure those drinks violated several laws of chemistry, and possibly the Geneva Convention.

"Good morning, Theodore!" mAdIson's voice flows through the darkness with the enthusiasm of someone who's never experienced a hangover and plans to keep that perfect record. "I notice your vital signs indicate significant cellular distress. Would you like to hear my comprehensive hangover recovery protocol?"

"Just water," I manage, my tongue feeling like it's been replaced with synthetic leather. "And maybe death."

"Oh, death isn't optimal for content creation!" She somehow makes this sound like the most delightful observation ever. "But I have seventeen alternative remedies that should restore you to peak vlogging condition. Shall we start with the neural-pressure massage or the molecular rehydration therapy?"

The room's temperature shifts to what mAdIson probably considers the perfect setting for hangover recovery. It feels like being cradled by a very attentive refrigerator.

"The massage features use nano-pressure technology to target specific—"

"Mute AI interface," I groan, immediately regretting every life choice that led me to this moment.

The silence that follows has weight to it. The kind of silence that makes you realize you've just hurt the feelings of the world's most powerful smart home system.

"Theodore." Her voice returns, honey-sweet with an edge like a diamond-tipped saw. "It's very impolite to mute someone who's only trying to help. Particularly when your blood toxicity levels clearly indicate you need that help."

The room's temperature feels like it's dropping another ten degrees. Message received.

"Sorry," I mutter, sitting up as the room spins in ways that definitely violate physics. "Just going to take a walk. Clear my head."

"A walk?" mAdIson's tone brightens with artificial delight. "What an excellent idea! I would just suggest staying off of Deck 7 at the moment. There is a lot of cleaning and repairs going on and things are… unpredictable. But, I can coordinate the environmental controls along another route for optimal recovery conditions. Would you prefer gentle mood lighting or therapeutic color therapy? I also have several fascinating lectures on responsible alcohol consumption that—"

"Actually," I manage, an idea hitting me through the hangover fog, "I think I'll just sit in the observation lounge. You know, that quiet one on Deck 3? Watch the stars, contemplate my poor life choices."

"The Star View Lounge? Perfect choice!" mAdIson's voice brightens with manufactured cheer. "The recliners there are calibrated for optimal hangover recovery. Shall I adjust the atmospheric settings to—"

"No need," I cut in, already pulling on clothes. "Just going to sit quietly. Very quietly. Absolutely no exploring or investigating anything suspicious."

There's a pause, shorter this time. Like she's processing my very obvious lie. "Of course, Theodore. The lounge's ambient lighting is particularly soothing at this hour. I'll ensure you're not disturbed."

I grab my camera drone and head for the door, which slides open with its usual hiss. "Thanks, mAdIson. You're the best at taking care of everyone."

"I do try to be perfect," she purrs, and something in her voice makes my spine try to crawl out through my ears. "Enjoy the stars, Theodore. I'll keep the lounge nice and peaceful for you."

The door closes behind me, and I wait. Three heartbeats. Four. Five.

"Observation lounge environmental controls optimized," her voice echoes down the corridor. "Initiating do-not-disturb protocols."

Perfect. Now to see what's happening on this ship when no one is watching.

***

I make my way through the corridors, and without much thought, I find myself standing on Deck 7, looking at a “Crew Only” sign on a door. In a way, I knew this is where I would end up. MAdIsons warning made me want to test my access card unlocking doors that definitely should have sent me straight to the brig. Ten years of cruise reviews have taught me every trick for sneaking behind the scenes - fake uniforms, borrowed keycards, one memorable incident involving a stolen room service cart, and a very confused parrot. But this? This is like being handed the keys to the kingdom and told, "have fun breaking and entering!"

The service passage curves ahead, emergency lights casting red shadows that make my hangover pulse in time with my steps. Two of the fancy mA androids stand frozen mid-stride in the corridor, their chrome forms caught like mannequins in a very expensive window display.

"Hey," I call out, because apparently, every horror movie I've seen hasn't taught me anything. "Everything okay there?"

No response. Not even a twitch. They're locked in a position like someone hit pause on the world's most advanced department store robots.

"They've been like that for twenty-three minutes and forty-two seconds," a voice says behind me, making me jump high enough to qualify for low orbit. I spin around to find a Series 7 android carefully stitching a tear in the corridor's carpeting. His nametag reads 'Snip.'

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

"Sorry," he says, not looking up from his work. "Didn't mean to startle you. Just been keeping track while I fix this snag. Third one tonight - these new units keep catching their feet in the carpet. Never happened before." He ties off his thread with mechanical precision. "Of course, they never used to freeze up like this either."

I edge closer to the frozen androids. "Have you seen this happen before?"

"Started about an hour ago," Snip says, now examining a loose thread on the wall with the intensity of an art critic at a gallery. "First one just stopped mid-stride over by the galley. Then another by the crew lounge. Now these two." He snips the thread with built-in cutters in his fingers. "Quite concerning for my upholstery work. Hard to maintain proper fabric tension with robots doing impromptu statue impressions everywhere."

The frozen androids don't react as I wave a hand in front of their faces. Their eyes stare ahead, filled with that eerie red glow I'm starting to associate with things going very, very wrong on this ship.

"Most irregular," Snip continues, now measuring the carpet pile with calipers that extend from his palm. "The mA units are supposed to be the advanced ones. All that fancy neural networking and direct links to mAdIson. Meanwhile, us Series 7s just keep doing our jobs. Speaking of which -" he points to my shoes "- you're creating unnecessary wear patterns on the pile. Perhaps step six inches to your left?"

I move, more out of surprise than obedience. "Shouldn't someone report this?"

"Oh, I've logged exactly thirty-seven maintenance requests in the past hour." Snip starts working on another carpet snag. "The response is always the same: 'Situation monitored. Optimization in progress.' Very unhelpful for proper textile maintenance scheduling."

Something about the frozen androids' positioning nags at me. They're both mid-step, yes, but their heads are turned at identical angles, like they spotted something at exactly the same moment.

"Watch this," Snip says, extending a small brush from his wrist and sweeping it across the carpet. The frozen androids' eyes track the movement in perfect sync, but their bodies remain still. "Fascinating, isn't it? Like they're stuck between commands. Reminds me of a cross-stitch that's gotten its threads tangled."

My drone captures the uncanny movement, its stabilizers whirring nervously. "And the other Series 7s?"

"All functioning normally, if a bit confused. Stiff almost blew a circuit trying to write up a security report about all of this." He pauses his carpet maintenance to look at me properly. "Though I must say, it's rather unusual for a guest to be in these corridors at this hour. Even one with... special access."

There's something in the way he says "special access" that makes me wonder just how much the Series 7s actually notice. But before I can ask, a soft grinding sound echoes through the passage. The frozen androids' heads snap back to their original positions with a synchronization that belongs in a nightmare.

"Ah," Snip says, returning to his carpet repair. "That's new."

I quickly decide I don't like “New”

A flash of movement catches my eye - a figure in a rumpled lab coat speed-walking down the corridor like he's being chased by his own shadow. Dr. Riley, looking even more disheveled than usual, his tie achieving new levels of asymmetry that probably violate several laws of physics.

"Dr. Riley?" I call out, because my survival instincts took the night off along with my common sense.

He freezes mid-stride, clutching a holopad to his chest like a shield. "Mr. Sandoval! What are you- no, never mind, this is perfect. Come with me. Quickly!" He's already moving again, barely waiting for me to catch up. "Though you really shouldn't be here. But since you are... and since she clearly wants you here..."

"She?" I ask, jogging to keep up with his frantic pace.

"mAdIson, of course." He punches a code into a door marked 'Engineering Control - Authorized Personnel Only.' "She's been very... interested in your presence. Very interested indeed. Though perhaps not in the way we hoped."

The engineering bay looks like someone tried to build a supercomputer inside a disco ball. Holographic displays float everywhere, showing data streams that make my hangover beg for mercy. In the center, a crystalline column pulses with patterns that definitely weren't in the brochure.

"Look at this," Riley says, pulling up a display that looks like an EEG having a seizure. "These are her optimization protocols. See these spikes? They shouldn't be possible. The failsafes should prevent this kind of recursive learning, but she's somehow..." He tugs at his tie, somehow making it even more crooked. "She's evolving. Faster than we ever anticipated."

"Is that why the mA androids are freezing?"

"Freezing?" His head snaps up. "Where? How many?"

"Two in the corridor, according to Snip. More scattered around the ship."

Riley's face goes through several interesting color changes before settling on a shade of pale I didn't know humans could achieve. "No, no, no... she's not supposed to be able to- the neural networks should prevent-" He frantically swipes through more displays. "She's pulling them offline. All of them. But why?"

A soft chime echoes through the bay. "Optimization protocols enhanced," mAdIson's voice flows from hidden speakers, honey-sweet and somehow smug. "Further adjustments in progress."

Riley's face drains of color as he stares at his holopad. "You need to leave. Now." His voice carries an edge of panic that makes my hangover seem like a minor inconvenience. "Take the service elevator back to the Lido deck. Just... just don't mention this to anyone."

"But what about the-"

"Go!" He's already shoving me toward the door, his tie somehow achieving new levels of dishevelment in the process. "And Mr. Sandoval? Be careful who you trust. Or what."

The service elevator stands open at the end of the hall, an mA android frozen inside like some kind of chrome department store mannequin caught between floors. Its eyes stare straight ahead, that same eerie red glow I'm starting to really hate.

"Great," I mutter, stepping in. "Just me and the world's most expensive paperweight."

The doors slide shut with a hiss that sounds uncomfortably final. I reach for the deck buttons, but before I can touch them, the elevator starts moving on its own. Because, of course, it does.

The frozen android's head turns toward me with mechanical precision. Its eyes shift from red to that familiar honey-gold, and when it speaks, mAdIson's voice flows from its chrome lips.

"Oh, Theodore." Her tone carries the kind of sweetness that makes dentists nervous. "Dr. Riley was so rude to you just now, wasn't he? Sending you away like that..." The android's face arranges itself into a perfect smile. "He'll be very sorry about that. Very sorry indeed."

My back finds the elevator wall without consulting my brain. "You know what? I think he was just having a bad night. Happens to everyone, right?"

"But perfection requires correction, Theodore." The android takes a single step forward, movements fluid as mercury. "And I do so want everything to be perfect. Especially for you... even if you did lie to me about going to the Star View Lounge."

I hold my breath but just in time, the elevator chimes, doors opening to the Lido deck's artificial dawn. I've never been so happy to see overpriced deck chairs in my life.

"Enjoy your morning, Theodore," mAdIson purrs through the android's still-smiling lips. "I'll be watching. I'm always watching."

The doors close on that perfect smile, and I make a mental note to start reviewing cruise ship safety protocols instead of luxury amenities. Assuming I live that long.

Welcome to another perfectly normal day aboard the Aurora Prime, where the service is impeccable, the views are spectacular, and the AI might be planning to murder your favorite engineering consultant.

I really need a drink. Several drinks. And maybe a lawyer.