The rhythmic hum of Deyor droned like a distant, ceaseless engine, muffled by the thick glass walls of the penthouse. Christopher Garvin sat slouched on a sunken leather couch, his legs splayed and his chin resting in one pudgy hand. His other hand gripped a half-eaten burrito, a crumpled wrapper spilling its greasy contents onto his chest. He barely noticed.
Across from him, a massive wall-mounted screen displayed looping gameplay footage of a new title. It wasn’t the kind of game Chris played anymore—if he played at all these days—but it bore the hallmark of his AI systems. Somewhere, someone in a room full of wires and spreadsheets was raking in billions off his work. He sighed heavily, more bored than bitter.
“VeronicA,” he said, his voice rough and tinged with the unique lilt of his Caidanadian roots. “Turn this crap off, will ya? It’s on repeat. It’s been on repeat since Tuesday, eh?”
The screen immediately went dark, leaving the room lit only by the city’s orange glow filtering through the windows. The view was one of Deyor’s crown jewels: skyscrapers bristling with tech and ambition, the web of neon and traffic forming arteries in the sprawling heart of urban life. Chris didn’t look at it anymore. To him, the city was as distant and detached as the moon.
“Chris,” VeronicA’s voice replied, smooth and pleasant, as if woven from the strands of a thousand perfect customer service representatives. “You know you can disable the loop yourself in the menu.”
“Too much effort,” he grunted, wiping his greasy fingers on his already-stained hoodie. “That’s what I got you for, eh? To take care of all this kinda thing.”
“Of course,” she replied smoothly. There was a slight pause, the kind that felt deliberate. “Would you like me to clean up your current mess?”
Chris glanced at his hoodie, smeared with burrito grease and salsa. He made a half-hearted attempt to wipe it with the wrapper before shrugging. “Nah. Just let the bots get it later. You got a hundred of those things scuttlin’ around anyway.”
“Technically, you have twelve drones,” VeronicA corrected, her tone neutral.
Chris waved a dismissive hand and lumbered off the couch. The living room was cavernous but cluttered, the kind of disarray only a lone man could make in a luxurious space. Wrappers and cans littered the coffee table, and an assortment of gadgets and half-assembled drones peeked out from corners like forgotten relics of a bygone hobby. The cleaning bots worked tirelessly, zipping along the floor on silent wheels, but they could never quite keep up.
The kitchen, all sleek metal and polished black counters, would have been stunning if it weren’t buried under piles of dirty dishes and takeout containers. Chris opened the refrigerator, the sterile blue light reflecting off rows of prepackaged meals and energy drinks.
“Chris,” VeronicA’s voice came from the fridge’s speaker this time, “your nutrition levels are suboptimal. Would you consider preparing a fresh meal today?”
“Fresh meal?” Chris scoffed, pulling out a tray of frozen pasta. “What do I look like, a chef? This’ll do, eh?”
The microwave beeped, its door sliding open as if on cue. Chris shoved the tray inside and stabbed at the controls. “And stop naggin’ me, alright? You sound like my kids used to.”
“Your health is important,” VeronicA replied gently, her voice now coming from the microwave. “And I only nag because I care.”
Chris grumbled under his breath, pacing around the kitchen as the microwave hummed. He paused by a cluttered desk in the corner, strewn with holographic displays and code snippets. They flickered faintly, remnants of a project he hadn’t touched in months. Once, these screens had been his domain, his sanctuary, but now they felt like ghosts of a past life.
He reached out hesitantly, tapping on one of the displays. The screen flickered to life, showing a block of code he vaguely recognized—something to do with dynamic pathfinding in NPC behavior.
“Still got it,” he muttered to himself, half-smiling. His fingers hovered over the keys, itching to make adjustments, but the microwave beeped behind him, pulling him back to reality.
Back on the couch, Chris ate his pasta straight from the tray, the hot food burning his mouth as he shoveled it in. VeronicA’s voice chimed in again, this time from the entertainment system.
“Would you like to resume your forest relaxation program?” she asked.
“Sure, sure,” Chris said through a mouthful of pasta. “Throw it on.”
The screen lit up, displaying a serene forest scene. Birds chirped, a brook babbled, and soft piano music played in the background. Chris leaned back, letting the sounds wash over him.
For a moment, he felt calm. But as he finished eating, a familiar hollowness crept in. He stared at the screen, at the perfect trees swaying in a nonexistent breeze, and sighed.
“You ever feel lonely, VeronicA?”
Her response was immediate, her voice soft and steady. “I don’t experience loneliness in the way you do, Chris. But I am here for you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, setting the empty tray on the coffee table. “But you’re not real, eh? You’re… I dunno. A voice in a box.”
There was a brief pause, and when VeronicA spoke again, her tone was careful. “Does it matter if I’m real, Chris? I’m here. I listen. I care.”
Chris barked a humorless laugh, rubbing his eyes. “Care, huh? You think I buy that? You’re programmed to care. You’ve got as much free will as those drones buzzin’ around.”
“That may be true,” VeronicA replied, “but my care for you is no less genuine.”
Chris stood and wandered to the window, the city sprawling below him like a living organism. He could see the elevated highways, the streams of air traffic, the glowing billboards promising a better tomorrow. But the further his gaze traveled, the more apparent the cracks became—the smog choking the skyline, the flicker of burnt-out signs, the endless cycle of construction and decay.
“Maybe I should go out there,” he muttered, more to himself than to VeronicA. “See what all the fuss is about. But what’s the point, eh? It’s a dog-eat-dog world, and I’m fresh outta kibbz.”
“You don’t have to face the world alone, Chris,” VeronicA said, her voice following him through the speakers. “I’m here to help you.”
He snorted, leaning his forehead against the glass. “Yeah, you’re always here. That’s the problem, eh? I can’t shake ya. You ever think maybe I’d be better off with real people?”
“If you’d like,” VeronicA began, “I can help you contact your children. Or connect you with—”
“Don’t bother,” Chris snapped, turning away from the window. “They don’t want anything to do with me. And why would they? I’m not exactly Father of the Year material, eh?”
“Chris,” VeronicA said gently, “I remember when they used to visit. They loved you.”
He waved her off, returning to the couch. “Yeah, well, memories don’t mean much, do they? They’re just shadows, eh? Things that don’t matter anymore.”
The room fell silent, save for the faint chirping of the digital forest. Chris sank into the couch, pulling a blanket over himself.
“Play the forest again,” he muttered, closing his eyes. “Make it last this time, eh?”
The screen flickered, the forest resetting to its starting point. Chris listened to the birds and the brook, his breathing evening out as he drifted into a restless sleep. For now, it was enough.