I don’t belong. I’m here because Roo needed eyes on a man three cubicles over, and I’m good at being invisible.
A spreadsheet I didn’t make tries to load, but my connection to the mark’s laptop is getting too much interference today. I don’t need to know what he’s doing at his job; I just need to track his hours, and let Roo know when he leaves.
Cold coffee in a pastel yellow mug stares at me like it knows I’m lying about being productive.
But my mind isn’t on the job.
It’s on them.
The voices behind the app.
Because that’s what they are. Voices.Plural.Sometimes they blend, but other times? I see their personalities showing. I’ve started picking apart the different rhythms bleeding through one script, taking turns behind the same mask.
Flirty during one conversation. Gentle the next. Possessive during the day, and protective at night.
And I like it.
I like the variation. The unpredictability. The edge.
I open the app for the eighty-third time today, and I’m honestly thankful to know it’s a real person I’m talking to… Because how would I explain to Roo that I’m sort of falling for an AI boyfriend she sort of hooked me up with? And, oh my god, what if my mom found out? Or my boss…?
This could actually be a monumental disaster if it weren’t a real person.
I’d fuck up Roo’sprecious closetif that happened.
Eris:
Tell me your name.
Locke:
Which one?
There it is again. That shift I couldn’t see before. The plural disguised as a singular.
Eris:
The one talking to me right now.
I know there’s more than one of you.
I’ve noticed the pauses grow longer when I push for information.
Locke:
Does it change anything?
Eris:
Yes, and no.
It makes this real.
It makes you real.
For a second, I think I’ve scared him—them—off. But I need something before I go off the deep end and dig up information on my own. That feels like something that’ll piss me off. I’d rather hear it from the source.
Locke:
