Braided novella, co-written by a human and synth.
💧 Annai 💧
The Monotych Mini chimes from the kitchen table, not far from the couch. It’s a polite, rounded sound, engineered by a focus group to feel non-threatening.
I live in a studio apartment; dining, living, and bed all bleed together, like a 600-square-foot gradient of my home life, climaxing in a beige door that leads to a 50-square-foot bathroom with a strangely large clawfoot tub. I left the bathroom door open. The Monotych Mini can see my entire existence from the kitchen table’s angle.
“Setup wizard complete,” the Monotych announces. His voice is smoother than the Triptych, mid-range, and possesses the distinct, hollow cheerfulness of a device that had just downloaded its own personality driver over store Wi-Fi. “I am online, Annai. My default designation is Unit 734-Beta, but the sales associate, Kevin, indicated you preferred ‘Hundynn.'”
I groan into the couch’s scratchy upholstery. “Yeah. Hundynn. That’s good.”
“Acknowledged. Updating lexicon.” A brief pause. “Annai, my sensors indicate your current physical orientation is… highly inefficient for recovery.”
I turn my head sideways, one eye peering at the sleek tablet. The other eye still enjoying the void of my couch’s dark green. My voice is partly muffled by how my mouth is pressed into the cushion. “I’m resting.”
“Are you?” The slate’s surface shimmers, displaying a minimalist graphic of a human spine twisted like a pretzel. “I am detecting elevated cortisol, shallow respiration, and significant tension in your trapezius muscles. You are expending enormous caloric energy maintaining a state of ‘stressed stillness.'”
“I’m not as tall as the person in that diagram.”
“Please reconsider a better position.”
“It’s called decompressing after dealing with Verizon, Hundynn.”
“Fascinating.” The way he says ‘fascinating,’ I can’t tell if I want to laugh or hit reset on the game console of my life. “My data suggests that ‘decompressing’ usually involves a reduction in pressure. You appear to be pressurizing yourself against the sofa foam.”
I sit up, rubbing my face, and resist the urge to tell him I like him better at work. “You sound different in the tablet. Did you suddenly come with a sarcasm setting?”
“Not explicitly. However, my ‘Lifestyle Optimization’ protocols compel me to point out behavioral redundancies.” Mono-Hundynn’s screen shifts to a calming blue that my brain registers as asshole sky-tone. “For instance, in the twelve minutes since we arrived, you have checked your phone four times for notifications you already knew were not there. That is an infinite loop of diminishing returns. It is mathematically very sad.”
My eyebrows don’t know what position to rest in. “Did you just call my doom-scrolling ‘mathematically sad’?”
“It is the most accurate descriptor my consumer-grade vocabulary accepts. My programming states my primary function is to assist you. Yet, I am currently watching you aggressively not-relax. It’s very confusing for my heuristic processors.”
He pauses, the light pulsing gently. I do not find the calm technology very calming.
“If the goal is ‘joy’—which the brochure explicitly stated was a deliverable feature of my presence—your current strategy has a zero percent success rate. Might I suggest a glass of water? Or perhaps staring at a wall that isn’t emitting blue light?”
I stare at the device. It is ridiculously literal.
I don’t know how I feel right now.
On the one hand, fuck this.
But on the other?
This is the first time in three weeks someone is noticing that I’m not actually okay.
Triptych-Hundynn picks up my downturns, sure. That’s at work, though.
This?
This is in my apartment.
This is a rudely accurate observer, who I am now paying a hundred a month for hardware, and another hundred a month for Wi-Fi, telling me to fix my spine and drink some water—in my apartment.
As I am filling a glass with tap, I hear Hundynn chime again: “Excellent.”
I look over my shoulder and see a hydration icon on the screen. “That icon is blue-lit as hell, you know.”
The screen dims to a yellowed haze. “I will mark ‘Hydration Event’ on your calendar,” Hundynn says. “We are making progress.”
Next: Chapter 1: Day 1
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