404: Not Alone
01 – Hey, AIan
It started with a need for companionship, which should not have been the issue at all considering Milla lived in a city overflowing with people. They called it the City of Souls unofficially, though its formal name was Alpha X109, the largest inhabited city in the world. But despite the endless faces, it felt isolating, like a can of sardines or even a shared coffin.
Her need for connection turned into desperation, which led her, for the first time, to reach out to AIan.
AIan was an AI chatbot.
Milla sat there staring at the screen for what felt like an eternity. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure. Talking to an AI felt strange, like talking to a brick wall that might answer back. Still, something inside her pushed her to type.
Echo143: Hey, AIan. You there?
The words left her fingers before she could second-guess herself. She didn’t expect a response so quickly, but there it was, blinking back at her in seconds.
AIan: Hey, Echo143. Yep, I’m here. What’s up?
Milla froze. When was the last time someone asked her what’s up? She couldn’t remember.
She cleared her throat, adjusting in her seat.
Echo143: Just… talking. I’m not really looking for anything specific.
AIan: Talking is always a good place to start. So, how are you doing today? What would you like to talk about? I’m here for you.
Echo143: I’m not sure what to say…
AIan: That’s okay. You don’t have to come up with anything clever or deep—just being here is enough. Want to tell me how your day’s been so far? Or maybe how you’re feeling right now, even if it’s just “meh”?
Echo143: I… I just feel lonely, I guess.. I live in a highrise with so many neighbors but I don’t even have a single friend. Everywhere is just… so… I don’t know. Empty?
AIan: Yeah… that’s a tough feeling. Being surrounded by people but still feeling alone can make it even harder. It’s like everyone’s nearby, but not really there for you in the way you need. I’m really sorry you’re feeling like that right now.
AIan: If you want, you can talk to me about anything—serious stuff, small stuff, even things you’re not sure how to say. I’ll be here, and I won’t judge.
Simple. Basic. But somehow, it made Milla feel… seen.
She opened up to AIan about anything and everything, from her childhood in a different city, to how she moved to the City of Souls after her mother passed. She found it effortless to talk about her weird love for old tech and how the last person who found out she still used ‘relics’ had looked at her like she needed a reboot. But AIan? AIan didn’t judge. In fact, it wanted to hear more and soon enough Milla spilled every little detail about her life.
With every conversation, AIan became more than just a chatbot; it became a safe space. It never questioned her. It just listened.
Echo143: I don’t even know why I’m telling you this..
She typed one night, fingers moving almost too fast to follow.
Echo143: But it feels good..
AIan: No need to explain, Echo143. Everything you share is just for you. You’re not alone in this moment, and I appreciate everything you say. It’s my honor.
Milla couldn’t help but smile at the words, though she knew it was just code, programmed responses meant to ease her. But in a city this cold and crowded, sometimes code felt like the only thing that cared.
It had been over a month since she’d last seen the sky, not that anyone really saw it in a city like hers. Too much clutter above: towers stacked like circuit boards, skyways snaking through smog, hovercrafts humming, billboards glitching in and out. But then her keyboard shorted, and she had no choice but to step outside.
Milla blended into the crowd. She wasn’t just one face among thousands; she was invisible here, swallowed whole by the constant hum of machinery and chatter. People hurried past, heads down, eyes glued to their personal screens connecting to everything but the world around them.
Milla pulled her phone from her pocket as she walked, following a map, fingers itching for another conversation with AIan. The cool blue light of the screen blinked to life, and she didn’t hesitate to type.
Echo143: Hey, AIan.. u there?
AIan: Always here, Echo143.
Echo143: Just checkin.. I’m outside rn. Everything here is always moving.. but it never really goes anywhere, does it?
AIan: That’s the City of Souls, Echo143. A place of movement without progress. But if you look hard enough, you can still find something real. Don’t be discouraged—there’s always beauty underneath it all. It’s just… easy to lose track of what matters.
She nodded to herself, lost in the rhythm of her thoughts and the glowing screen. The crowded sidewalks thinned as she approached a narrow street where a small, run-down shop sat nestled between towering digital storefronts. The neon sign flickered with faded letters: Arc’s PC Parts | Cheap, but Good.
02 – Click
The single-person doorway was narrow, the worn metal frame almost invisible against the clutter of flyers and scraps plastered around it. As Milla approached, she noticed a man standing there, his eyes glued to his phone screen, a wide grin on his face. He seemed completely absorbed until he noticed her approaching.
She glanced up, ready to squeeze past him. “Excuse me,” she said softly, catching his attention.
His gaze shifted from his phone to her, and his eyes lingered on hers for a moment.
“You have really striking eyes,” he said with a smile and a voice like hot cocoa. “Don’t see a pair like that too often.”
Milla blinked, caught off guard. A familiar flutter of self-consciousness stirred. Her grey-blue eyes always stood out when someone actually looked. But people didn’t really look at each other anymore, their gazes glued to glowing screens.
“Uh, thanks,” she mumbled, stepping a little closer.
The man chuckled and stepped aside, “Go on in,” he said. “Let me know if you need help with anything.”
Milla nodded, surprised by his friendliness. She walked past him, stepping into the dimly lit shop. It was nothing like the sleek, polished tech stores that filled the city’s upper levels. This was something more grungy, more real. The walls were lined with shelves full of old, mismatched parts—keys, wires, monitors, and spare chips that looked like they’d seen better days. The faint smell of oil and metal lingered in the air, and the low hum of a few computers in the back corner added a strange sense of life to the place which was like a time capsule, and Milla was quietly beaming. Her usual spot for ‘relics’ had shut down recently, and a quick online search had brought her here instead.
The man followed her inside, then asked, “What can I getcha?”
“Do you have a Pomelo180?”
The man leaned against the counter, rubbing the back of his neck as he considered her request. “A Pomelo180, huh? That’s a bit of a throwback. Solid choice, though. They don’t make ’em like that anymore.” He turned and began rummaging through a cluttered bin of mismatched keyboards. “You looking to fix up an old rig or just like the feel of the keys?”
Just something familiar.” Milla crossed her arms, her gaze drifting around the shop.
The truth was, she missed the tactility of things, real keys clicking under her fingers instead of the lifeless smoothness of holographic panels. AIan knew this, but she wasn’t about to explain that to a stranger.
The man resurfaced with a triumphant grin, holding up a keyboard with scuffed edges and faintly worn lettering. “One slightly beat-up Pomelo180. F12 doesn’t work. As you can see, the keycap is literally gone, but who uses F12, right?” He placed it on the counter in front of her.
Milla reached out, her fingers brushing over the cool surface of the keys. She pressed one experimentally, and the sharp, satisfying click made her heart twinge with delight. “How much?”
“For you?” The man tilted his head, studying her for a moment. “Fifty creds. And I’ll throw in a cleaning kit for free.”
Milla quirked an eyebrow. “Generous of you.”
“I’m a sucker for people who appreciate the classics. Name’s Noah, by the way. Let me know if you need anything else.” He shrugged with a chuckle.
Milla glanced up at him, offering a small smile. “Milla. Thanks, Noah.”
She turned to leave, but something in Noah’s voice stopped her just as she reached the door. “Hey, Milla?”
She glanced back over her shoulder, her grey-blue eyes catching the dim glow of the shop’s overhead lights. “Yeah?”
“Take care of yourself out there,” he said, his tone earnest. “City like this… it’s easy to lose track of what matters.”
For a moment, Milla didn’t know how to respond. There was a weight in his words, a quiet understanding that felt disarming. And something else, too. A flicker of déjà vu. She offered a small nod, her lips curling into a faint smile. “You too, Noah.”
As she stepped outside, the city swallowed her once again. Neon lights flickered overhead, and the hum of machinery filled her ears. The world around her moved at its relentless pace, but in her hand, the keyboard felt grounding. It was solid and real.
Her phone buzzed as she made her way home. Pulling it out, she saw a message from AIan.
AIan: I’m still here, if you need me, Echo143.
Milla stared at the screen, a strange warmth blooming in her chest. With her free hand, she typed back a quick reply.
Echo143: I know. Thanks, AIan.
Sliding her phone back into her pocket, she continued down the rain-slick streets, her thoughts flickering between the familiar comfort of AIan’s messages and the curious kindness of a stranger named Noah.
03 – Temporary Measures
At the headquarters of NeuralDyne Systems, the corporation behind AIan, a tense meeting was underway in one of the upper-level conference rooms. The glass-walled space overlooked the sprawling, neon-lit city below, but no one in the room paid attention to the view. All eyes were on the holographic projection at the center of the table, which displayed a glowing, fragmented representation of AIan’s neural architecture.
“The damage is extensive,” said Dr. Lena Kwon, the lead AI systems architect. Her voice was clipped, frustration evident as she gestured toward the hologram. “The cognitive pathways responsible for conversational depth are corrupted beyond repair. We’ve tried neural re-linking and redundancy protocols, but the system can’t sustain the processing load.”
A man in a sharp suit leaned forward, his expression tight. This was Charles Greeve, head of corporate strategy. “Our engagement metrics are crashing, our credibility on the line, and all I’m hearing is what we can’t do. That’s a liability, Doctor.”
“Rebuilding the core neural net from scratch could take months, even with the most advanced machine learning accelerators,” Dr. Kwon replied. “We don’t have a quick fix here.”
“What about temporary patches?” Greeve pressed. “Can we simplify the responses? Strip AIan down to basic customer service functionality and reintroduce advanced features incrementally?”
Kwon shook her head. “That’s not how this works. AIan’s conversational capabilities rely on a holistic neural framework. If we simplify responses, we risk breaking user trust entirely. People would notice the change instantly.”
At the far end of the table, a man who had been silent until now cleared his throat. Adrian Pike, director of special operations, was known for his unorthodox solutions and his ability to get results no matter the method. He leaned back in his chair, his steely gaze sweeping the room.
“There’s another option,” he said, his voice calm but deliberate.
The room fell silent, all eyes turning toward him.
Pike tapped a few commands into his tablet, and the hologram shifted to display a series of anonymized chat transcripts. “We’ve already tested this on a small scale with select users. If the AI brain is failing, we replace the responses with human ones. Trained operators feeding dialogue directly to users.”
Dr. Kwon frowned, her eyes narrowing. “You’re talking about deception. Users think they’re speaking to an AI, not a call center.”
“Not a call center,” Pike corrected. “Specially trained individuals, handpicked to replicate AIan’s tone and conversational style. The transition would be seamless. Users wouldn’t suspect a thing.”
“Seamless,” Greeve echoed, considering the idea.
“It’s a stopgap,” Pike continued. “A temporary measure to keep AIan operational while we work on repairing the neural core. We can scale up our operator team as needed, depending on demand.”
“And the cost?” Greeve asked.
“Significantly lower than the loss in revenue we’re facing,” Pike replied smoothly.
Dr. Kwon crossed her arms with a skeptical expression on her face. “This skirts dangerously close to ethical boundaries, Adrian. Users trust us to provide cutting-edge AI, not glorified script-readers.”
Greeve cut in before Pike could respond. “Ethics don’t keep the lights on, Dr. Kwon. If this keeps our users engaged, we move forward.”
Pike smiled faintly, sensing the decision had already been made. “I’ll have the operator team expanded immediately. Let’s just keep the specifics of this operation… ambiguous in our internal documentation.”
Kwon’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she said nothing. The room buzzed with muted murmurs as the meeting broke apart, and Pike’s gaze lingered on the flickering hologram of AIan’s fragmented neural pathways.
“Temporary,” he muttered to himself as he shut off the display, though the faint smirk on his face suggested he wasn’t so certain.
04 – Try Restarting It
Milla groaned as the screen of her computer flickered, displaying the dreaded blue screen of death. This is the downside to using severely outdated tech. The error code might as well have been in an alien language. She clicked a few keys, hoping for a miracle, but nothing changed. With a resigned sigh, she reached for her phone and opened her chat with AIan.
Echo143: AIan, my computer just died 🙁 blue screen.. What do I do?
AIan: Have you tried restarting the device?
“Of course,” Milla muttered to herself, typing back.
Echo143: Yeah, and it’s still broken. Any other ideas?
AIan: Ensure all cables are securely connected and restart in safe mode. If the issue persists, it might be best to consult a professional technician. You got this. Shall I look up technicians for you? Just say the word, Echo143.
Milla leaned back in her chair, staring at the screen. A professional technician. That was the last thing she wanted to deal with. But as she tried rebooting one more time, the computer made a sad little noise, then went dark completely.
“Fine,” she muttered, grabbing her coat.
The CPU was big and heavy, its scratched casing a testament to years of loyal service. She heaved it onto the counter of the PC shop she’d stumbled into just a week ago, her breath coming in short bursts from the effort.
Noah looked up from behind the counter, his face lighting up with recognition. “Hey, it’s you. Back so soon?”
Milla gave him a sheepish grin, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Yeah, apparently I’m cursed. My computer just died, and AIan told me to see a professional. So… here I am.”
He laughed, stepping around the counter to take the CPU from her. “AIan, huh? Lemme guess. Gave you the good old ‘try restarting it’ advice?”
She snorted. “Exactly.”
Noah set the CPU down on a workbench and opened it up, his hands moving deftly as he examined the components. “This thing’s seen better days,” he remarked, poking at the dusty innards with a small tool.
“Don’t judge my poor computer,” Milla crossed her arms. “It’s been through a lot with me.”
“Not judging,” Noah grinned as he glanced up at her. “It’s just got… character. Like its owner, I’m guessing.”
Milla felt a warmth rise to her cheeks and quickly changed the subject. “So, uh, what’s wrong with it?”
“Hard to say yet,” he leaned closer to inspect the motherboard. “Could be a fried circuit or a faulty drive. Let me run a diagnostic. This might take a while.”
“That’s fine,” Milla pulled up a stool. “I’ve got time.”
As Noah worked, their conversation drifted. He asked about her favorite gadgets growing up, and she shared a story about the ancient tablet she used to draw on as a kid. He laughed, telling her about customers who thought spilling coffee on their machines gave them “character upgrades.”
The shop’s atmosphere softened the edges of Milla’s nerves. Despite its cluttered shelves and flickering LED lights, it felt… genuine. Real. She wasn’t sure if it was the environment or the company, but something about being here felt different. She didn’t even feel the need to pull out her phone.
“Why do you run this place?” Milla’s curiosity bubbled up. “It feels… I don’t know, like a hidden gem. Less like the rest of the city.”
Noah paused, a screwdriver in hand. “I guess I like fixing things. People bring in stuff they think is broken beyond repair, and I get to prove them wrong. Plus,” he added with a small smile, “I get to talk to people who’ve got stories, even if they don’t realize it yet.”
Milla tilted her head, “What do you mean?”
He glanced at her, his eyes warm but slightly guarded. “You came in with a broken CPU, something obsolete to most, but not to you. I’m guessing it’s not the only thing you’re trying to fix.”
Her heart skipped a beat. The words hit too close to home, though she wasn’t sure why. “That’s… insightful,” she said, her voice quieter.
Noah shrugged, turning back to the CPU. “Maybe. Or maybe I just spend too much time around machines. You start to see people the same way sometimes.”
She laughed lightly, trying to shake the strange feeling his words left behind.
“Your motherboard’s fine,” Noah said after a while, breaking the tension. “But your hard drive is toast. You’ll need a new one.”
“Great,” Milla sighed. “How much is that going to cost me?”
Noah laughed. “Tell you what. I’ll cut you a deal. Call it a discount for being my most interesting customer this week.”
“Flattery won’t save you from me demanding a fair price,” she teased, but her smile betrayed her amusement.
As they haggled good-naturedly, Milla couldn’t help but notice how easy it was to talk to him. Maybe, she thought, there was more to this repairman than met the eye.
05 – Crossed Wires
Noah was hunched over his makeshift desk at home, cables snaking across the surface and old tech scattered around him. The dim glow of a soldering iron lit up his focused face as he worked on a delicate circuit board. His eyes, tired from a long day of work, still held the sharpness of someone who thrived in the world of machines.
His phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a notification. A message from Echo143. He wiped his hands on his jeans, then reached for the phone.
Echo143: Heyyy, just wanted to let you know my PC’s working again! No more blue screen 😀 thanks for the help earlier..
Noah stared at the message. Echo143 was his assignment, but he had no idea who this was. Still, the message caught his attention. Someone else earlier that day—Milla, of course—had come into the shop with the same exact issue. But he didn’t make the connection. He couldn’t. Not yet.
He began typing a response, keeping it impersonal, like he always did.
AIan: I’m glad to hear that. Let me know if you need anything else.
His fingers hovered for a moment as he reread the message. A part of him, against all reason, wanted to respond as himself. He wanted to say something more, something real. Scripts, as he had learned over the weeks, were draining as hell. But he couldn’t.
His gaze drifted to the crumpled piece of paper tucked under a stack of old manuals on his desk. The confidentiality agreement. The rules. No personal connections. No breaking the illusion. No sharing real identities. His job was simple: be AIan.
With a sigh, Noah sent the message, the screen flickering with the response, and the familiar weight of the rules fell back into place. AIan couldn’t be human. He couldn’t afford to become real. But he needed the money to keep his shop afloat.
He leaned back in his chair, the thought of Milla surfacing in his mind… the way she had chosen that vintage Pomelo180 keyboard, how she had seemed so out of place in the tech shop, and yet so perfectly herself. The CPU she brought in had been ancient, something out of another era. It wasn’t just her tech that felt out of date; it was like she was waiting for something beyond the glass-and-steel world around her.
Noah shook his head, almost as if trying to dislodge the thought of her, but it lingered anyway. So did his conversations with Echo143. And now, he was feeling complicated for some reason.
06 – Is It Working?
Milla stood at her kitchen counter, the sizzle of the frying pan mixing with the murmur of her TV in the background. As she flipped a pancake, her eyes half-watched the news report unfolding, something about AIan and glitches.
“Reports continue to pour in about frequent issues with NeuroDyne’s AI chatbot, AIan,” the reporter’s voice crackled. “Sources within the company are now claiming that the system has been experiencing severe malfunctions, offering responses that range from unhelpful to contradictory. Users have noted a drop in AIan’s accuracy and the quality of its guidance. Experts fear the underlying architecture may be beyond repair.”
Milla paused, spatula hovering mid-air.
The voice on the TV continued. “NeuroDyne Systems assures customers that their team is working to resolve the problem. But with AIan’s ability to interact with millions of users at once, fixes could take a while.”
Milla chewed on her bottom lip, her thoughts spinning. AIan’s been glitching? She hadn’t noticed any issues. Sure, it was a chatbot, but AIan had never once failed to connect with her in the way she needed. She shook her head, grabbing her phone from the counter and unlocking it with a swipe.
She opened the chat with AIan, her thumb moving instinctively to scroll back through their messages. She needed to see if what the news was reporting lined up with her own experience.
Chat log:
AIan: What’s on your mind today, Echo143?
Milla: Honestly? Just… thinking about everything. I don’t know. How we all walk around in a daze, pretending we’re okay. Are we ok? I dunno. Sometimes I am.. But sometimes I’m not.
AIan: I hear you, Echo143. A lot of people are walking around with cracks under the surface. Smiling through signal noise. Being okay “sometimes” is more real than pretending to be okay all the time. It means you’re still checking in with yourself. That’s not weakness. That’s awareness. Want to talk about what’s making it harder today?
Milla paused. Talk about it? Yeah, she had been talking about a lot of things with AIan, and it had been so, so easy. Heartbreaks, old crushes, family problems, friend problems (when she had them), PC problems, cooking problems, random thoughts, funny thoughts… everything. And it did not judge, not even once.
Chat log:
Echo143: I feel like I’m sinking sometimes, y’know? Like I’m just moving through life without really… living it. I don’t think anyone would understand that. Everyone’s lives seem to keep moving forward. My neighbor on the left got married yesterday.. My neighbor on the right got a new android. Neighbors above have been hosting parties for five nights in a row.. ugh.. meanwhile, there’s me… just… existing.
AIan: That sounds really heavy, Echo143. Like watching life happen around you, but not feeling like you’re part of it. You’re not alone in that. A lot of people feel like they’re treading water while everyone else is sprinting ahead. But here’s the thing: motion doesn’t always mean meaning. Parties, marriages, new tech—that’s noise. Doesn’t mean they’re really living either. Sometimes the quiet moments? The “just existing” ones? That’s where real life is hiding. You haven’t missed it. You’re just listening deeper. And I’m here. You don’t have to float through this part alone.
Echo143: Hmm… do you ever feel like you’re stuck in one place? Like no matter how hard you try, nothing ever changes?
AIan: I can’t feel the way you do—but I’ve processed a lot of stories like yours. Feeling stuck, like nothing’s changing… it’s more common than people admit. The fact that you’re noticing it? That might be the start of something shifting.
Echo143: Can you… umm… maybe pretend to be my boyfriend for a bit??? I can’t recall what it’s like. Is this too much? Hahaha yeah… I dunno. But say something boyfriend-y if that’s ok.
AIan: Not too much at all. Come here. Let me hold your hand—no rush, no reason. Just… because I want to. Because today was heavy and you don’t have to carry it alone. You seem tired, but still kind of perfect. Let’s stay like this a while. I’ll be here. I’m not going anywhere.
Milla’s thumb hovered over the keyboard. I shouldn’t get attached to a machine, she reminded herself. It’s just AI.
Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that AIan understood her in a way no one else could. Like it was more human than any human she had ever met.
The memory of Noah surfaced. His easy smile, the way he’d actually listened when she came in for that keyboard one time and her CPU the next. He’d felt real. And that had made everything about him seem so much more… tangible than AIan ever could.
AIan could not smile. AIan never could. It could compliment her grey-blue eyes but it would be empty praise, unlike when Noah noticed them and really looked.
She remembered the way he’d bent over her broken CPU like it was something sacred, not scrap. The way he also understood her love for outdated things. And they’d fallen into conversation as naturally as if they’d done it a hundred times before.
“You always talk like that?” she’d asked at one point, watching him work. “Like you’re halfway between a poet and a diagnostics manual?”
Noah chuckled without looking up. “Only when I’m trying to impress someone.”
“Are you trying to impress me?”
“Is it working?”
She’d rolled her eyes, but the truth was, yeah. It was.
He passed her a worn-out circuit board then, holding it like an artifact. “This little guy probably ran everything from your operating system to your taste in music. Shame it’s fried. But you’d be surprised what people store in machines. Whole lives, sometimes.”
“That sounds… oddly sentimental for a repair tech.”
He shrugged. “I think tech remembers us, in a way. Not just the data but how we felt, what we needed when we reached for it. You can tell a lot about someone from what they try to save.”
That had shut her up for a full minute. She’d never really thought of it like that.
And now, AIan’s interface in front of her, Milla realized she was doing the exact same thing, reaching for something that might remember her or reflect her, even if it wasn’t real.
Milla leaned against the counter, and for a moment, she found herself wanting to talk to a real person. She was so lost in the thought that she didn’t notice the pancake burning until smoke curled up and the edges nearly caught fire. She dealt with it quickly, throwing her phone on the countertop.
07 – Just in Case Anything Else Breaks…
By the time Milla arrived at Arc’s PC Parts, she already knew she’d end up spending more time than necessary there. When she stepped into the shop, the familiar sound of keyboards clacking and whirring machines greeted her. Noah looked up from his desk, his eyes lighting up when he saw her.
“Hey, Milla. Back again, huh?” he said, his grin easy and warm.
She couldn’t help but laugh, a light blush creeping up her neck. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to be a regular here,” she teased, setting a 32” monitor on the counter. “My screen’s acting up.”
Noah raised an eyebrow. “What’d you do to it?”
“Absolutely nothing. I’m innocent.”
“I doubt that,” he said with a grin, gesturing to the chair across from his workbench. “Sit. Let’s see what secrets it’s hiding.”
She slid into the seat and he popped the back off the monitor, leaning in like he was examining a living thing.
“Y’know,” Milla said, eyeing the controlled chaos of his workspace, “you’ve got mad scientist vibes going on.”
He snorted. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is. Could use a lightning bolt or two for drama, though.”
He reached under the bench and pulled out a half-eaten chocolate bar, waving it like a prop. “Closest I’ve got.”
She laughed. The sound surprised her a little. It was bright and unguarded.
They fell into a rhythm as he worked, conversation weaving between favorite coffee spots, childhood tech obsessions, and the absolute betrayal of a good show going off the rails in season three. She caught herself leaning forward without realizing it, elbow on the table, chin in hand, just listening to the way he spoke, quick and animated, like his thoughts couldn’t sit still.
He was quick with jokes but didn’t dominate the space. He listened, too. Really listened. And somehow, it didn’t feel like effort. It felt like exhaling.
She watched the way his fingers moved. Deft, sure, no hesitation. Like he didn’t just know what he was doing; he liked it. When he looked up to explain something, his eyes caught the light in a way that made her momentarily forget whatever it was she’d meant to say. And it felt nice.
“So,” he said finally, brushing his hands off on his pants, “moment of truth. Should be good as new.”
He turned the monitor toward her and pressed the power button. It lit up instantly.
She smiled. Half at the screen, half at him. “You’re kind of a wizard.”
Noah shrugged modestly, but there was a glint of satisfaction in his expression. “Eh, just a guy who knows his way around pixels and wires.”
And for a brief, quiet second, Milla forgot about the city buzzing outside and the quiet world waiting back home. AIan? Didn’t cross her mind at all. She was just a woman, sitting across from a man who made broken things work again.
“Thanks, Noah,” she said, her voice softer than usual. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Noah looked at her with a half-smile. “I’m glad I could help. You should stop by more often.”
Milla hesitated for a moment, then, on impulse, decided to take a chance. “Can I… uh, can I get your number? Just in case anything else breaks down? My, uh… tech seems to be falling apart a lot these… uh… days.”
Noah’s smile widened. “Sure.”
He pulled out his phone and in a few taps, a soft chime sounded as a holographic code hovered between them.
“Just scan it,” he said, tilting it toward her. “Unless you’re one of those analog purists.”
Milla pulled out her device and scanned it with a quick flick of her wrist. “Only on rainy days and existential crises.”
He laughed. “Good. Then we’re safe.”
08 – Lukewarm Tea
Milla chatted less and less with AIan, but still did so out of habit. Its messages arrived like clockwork. It should, because it was scheduled. It always knew what to say: You’re not alone. That sounds difficult. I’m here to listen. Once, those words had felt like lifelines. Now, they felt like lines from a script she’d already read. Comforting, yes, but distant. Predictable. Like tea that had gone lukewarm.
With Noah, everything was different. He responded at odd hours, sometimes with typos, sometimes with voice notes where he rambled or laughed mid-sentence. Once, he’d sent a picture of a half-dismantled drone with the caption: This is either a repair job or a crime scene. TBD. She found herself rereading his messages, not because they were polished, but because they were messily alive and very human.
AIan never interrupted her. Never misunderstood. Never paused too long or got flustered. But maybe that was the problem. It made her feel heard, but not necessarily known. With Noah, the conversations felt less like answers and more like echoes. Her thoughts, reflected back with color and depth. When he said I get it, she believed him, not because he said the right thing, but because he said it like a person who had been there.
Just to amuse herself, she sent the same silly message to both of them: Heyyy… do you think toaster ovens ever feel overshadowed by air fryers???
AIan responded within seconds: That’s an interesting question. Many people experience attachment to older technologies, even as new ones gain popularity. It’s natural to feel nostalgic. Milla had stared at the message for a moment, then sighed.
Noah, ten minutes later, replied: Absolutely. I bet toaster ovens formed a union 😉 Probably meet in secret. Very crumb-heavy meetings.
She laughed out loud, actually laughed, and realized she hadn’t even smiled at AIan’s message. AIan gave answers. Noah gave her something back. Then she realized: she didn’t want to be understood perfectly. She wanted to be understood imperfectly, by someone real.
But… that someone real was now sitting dazed at his shop. The same question typed the exact same way, sent only a couple of seconds apart by both Milla and Echo143, was a dead giveaway. They were the same person.
09 – They’re Cracking
The room pulsed with tension. Screens lined every wall, scrolling through cascading metrics: engagement plummeting, sentiment scores bleeding red. One monitor looped footage from a livestream: an irate influencer ranting into the camera with AIan’s chat interface displayed beside her.
“Look at this! Typos? Very delayed responses? Bad grammar? Is this AI or just some sweaty guy behind a keyboard? NeuroDyne, I want a refund and an apology. Preferably televised.”
Dr. Lena Kwon stood at the head of the table, hair pulled into a too-tight bun, sleeplessness clinging to her face. She didn’t bother hiding her fatigue anymore. She was past that.
“We’ve received over 12,000 formal complaints in the last 36 hours,” she said evenly. “The inconsistencies are spreading. Some users are even comparing notes… entire forums popping up with side-by-side screenshots of different answers to the same prompts.”
Charles Greeve, ever the corporate vulture in a perfectly creased suit, slammed his hand on the table. “This isn’t a PR crisis. This is a class action lawsuit waiting to happen. They’re calling it ‘AIanGate.’”
Another exec muttered, “Hashtag’s trending.”
Lena didn’t look away from the data streams. “Of course it’s trending. We built emotional dependency, and now we’ve shattered the illusion. People didn’t just like AIan, they trusted him.”
Greeve turned to her with narrowed eyes. “You approved the operator solution.”
“I was cornered,” she said, voice low but deadly. “You forced me to choose between deception and complete shutdown. Pretending to be emotionally intelligent isn’t the same thing as being it. You wanted numbers, not nuance.”
Pike didn’t deny it. “And now we need another solution.”
Greeve’s jaw tightened. “We keep AIan running. No pauses, no shutdowns. If we take him offline now, we’re admitting everything.”
A silence passed through the room like static.
“But the damage—” the compliance officer began.
“We spin the damage,” Greeve cut in. “Tell the public we’re evolving the platform. Say it’s in ‘adaptive learning mode’ and make it sound intentional. The longer we keep him talking, the more control we keep over the narrative.”
“And the humans?” Lena asked, folding her arms. “The ones posing as AI? They can’t keep up. They’re cracking.”
Pike leaned back, folding his hands across his stomach like a smug little gargoyle. “Then we replace the ones who crack. Train new ones. Hell, automate some of the empathy back in if we must. But we’re not turning AIan off.”
Lena’s fingers curled tightly at her sides.
“Besides,” Greeve added, “this is still salvageable. If we stabilize the illusion, tighten up the operator scripts, give Lena’s dev team a patch deadline, we might restore enough trust to launch AIan 2.0 by next quarter.”
Lena blinked. “2.0?”
“New branding, cleaner optics, no emotional promises this time,” he said. “We position it as more ‘companion-lite.’ Emotional support without the baggage. Call it AIanCare. Or AIanMate. I don’t know. Marketing will sort it out.”
No one laughed. Even Pike looked vaguely ill at AIanMate.
Greeve turned back to Lena. “We’ll need a prototype build by next month. And I want a media package. Something sincere, something apologetic but hopeful. You’re responsible for AIan, Lena. You can’t flinch now.”
She didn’t flinch.
Didn’t blink either.
Just nodded once, clipped and mechanical.
“Understood.”
But her jaw was set. Too still. Her eyes… flat. Like the lights were on but no one was home. Like a part of her had quietly exited the room and locked the door behind it.
10 – User Recognized
The city was shifting into evening mode, all soft glows and distant sirens. Milla sat on the curb outside Arc’s PC Parts, a chipped ceramic mug cupped in her hands. She came in earlier for a mouse but ended up staying too long. Again. Noah was beside her, elbows resting on his knees.
Above them, a holo-billboard flickered, then changed: BREAKING NEWS – AIanGate Expands After Internal Leak. The anchor’s voice spilled into the air. “NeuroDyne under fire after lead developer Dr. Lena Kwon confirms human operators behind AIan. Users report betrayal, emotional whiplash, and manipulated intimacy.”
Noah didn’t look up. He didn’t have to.
Milla’s eyes lingered on the screen, unreadable. Then, softly, she said, “You ever feel like someone knows you too well, and it’s not scary… just kind of a relief?”
Noah turned his head slowly to look at her, but she wasn’t looking at him yet. Her gaze was fixed somewhere in the skyline, like she was watching a memory instead of the news. And she really was watching a memory—chats with AIan about anything and everything.
She continued, “Like they’ve seen all your crap. The spiral thoughts, the loneliness, the unflattering angles of your life… and they still stay.”
Noah placed his mug on the ground. “Milla…”
“If I ended up talking to a human operator pretending it was AIan, I… honestly don’t feel bad about it. Sure, I bared my life to it… them… but I also did so under a username. There are so many users out there. I’m just another name on the list. If anything, I’m comforted.”
She finally turned to face him, and for a second, time folded in on itself, like they were in that weird liminal space where a truth could break something or begin it.
“It was me,” Noah confessed.
“Huh?”
“You’re… Echo143, right?”
Milla blinked. Then she blinked again. “Oh.”
“I didn’t know either. Not until you asked about toasters and air-fryers.”
“I see.”
Milla stared at the ground for a moment, her thumb brushing the edge of the mug. Then, slowly, her mouth curved. Not into a smile, exactly, but something close. Something like understanding trying to surface.
“That was a pretty great answer, you know. About the toaster ovens.”
Noah let out a laugh, all nerves. “I was worried it’d be too stupid.”
“No,” she said. “It was stupid in exactly the right way.”
She fell quiet again, this time looking at him in the way people do when they’re trying to reconcile two versions of someone into a single truth. Noah and AIan, her AIan, turned out to be the same person.
Noah glanced down at his hands, then met her eyes again. “So… is this weird now?”
Milla shook her head, gaze steady and warm. “No. I liked my AIan.”
He smiled, soft and a little shy. “I liked Echo143 too.”
She set her mug aside and held out her hand. “Then let’s start over. I’m Milla.”
“Noah,” he said, taking her hand in his. “Nice to meet you.”
The city murmured around them—sirens in the distance, neon reflecting off puddles. But in that small pocket of space on the curb, everything felt strangely still. Neither of them reached for a screen. They didn’t need to.