Another day.

  Brandon opened his eyes to the white ceiling and let them widen as far as they could stand. He rolled to his side. The windows were bare. The glass held the same gray as the sky, the city pressed flat against it. He tried to shut his eyes again. Another day like the last.

  It felt like it rained every day now. Not loud. A steady patter that crawled through the frame and into the room.

  He counted minutes. Five before the alarm. Maybe ten if he pushed his luck. If he stayed he would skip breakfast to make the train. If he rose now he could shower and brush and be a person. The alarm coughed and he thumbed it quiet. He hugged the pillow and let his mind torch him. Old moments came in hard light. The heat of them made waking feel like a punishment.

  Ten minutes slipped. He threw the sheet off and sat up. The yawn came slow and he pressed it into his fist. He ducked through the bedroom door and drifted down the narrow hall. Laundry mounded along the baseboard. Pillows and shirts and pants lay where they fell. Some were clean dress shirts with crisp collars. Some were pajama bottoms that missed the hamper by a yard. He brushed one aside with his foot.

  The bathroom light stuttered and settled into a tired yellow that stained the tile. He wore only boxers. His skin looked pale under the color of the bulb. The eyes were brown and rimmed and set too deep. That will look bad at work, he muttered. He turned the tap and threw water on his face until the shock cleared the film in his head. A strand of hair slid over one eye. He pushed it back with a long hand and stared at the mirror until the mirror stared back.

  He checked his phone and saw the time and swore. If he did not move now he would be late.

  He dressed fast. Light beige slacks. White dress shirt. He chose whatever looked least wrinkled from the crowded rod. The satchel took his laptop and the day’s notes. He slid his wallet in after and pulled the door shut behind him.

  The doorman lifted a hand and Brandon lifted one back without stopping. Ashwick Falls had been a mill town once. Now the streets ran thick with people and bus heat and the noise of deadlines. Heads down. Shoes wet. Faces closed. He watched the flow with quiet eyes that saw and did not change.

  He tipped his head and took in the sky. Gray on gray. The first drops found his glasses and spread into small circles that blurred the corners. A wind came thin through the fabric of his shirt and raised a line of cold along his ribs. He had not checked the weather.

  It is going to be one of those days.

  The day went how he expected. Crap. His manager lit into him for being late. He saw her again. It put a knife under his ribs and left it there. Now he was home with his head full and the smoke was supposed to scrub it clean.

  Brandon’s eyes were red rimmed as he stared at the monitor. He wiped them with a knuckle. Weed hung heavy in the flat. He ran his tongue over dry lips and looked at the Discord link in front of him.

  “What are you thinking, Niko.” He stared at the blue text. “Really. Me as a beta tester.” He sighed. “Not for your anime gooner game, bro.”

  He shook his head and reached for Minecraft. Their server was still up. He had work tomorrow but he did not feel like being alone with his thoughts.

  If he was going to help Niko he would do it right. Keep notes. Log bugs. It was not his thing, but Niko was his friend. He did not want to half ass it.

  He launched the world and eased back into the chair. The window was open. The curtain moved with the thin cold that slid into the room. He took off his glasses and pressed his fingers to his eyes.

  The red logo climbed. White lines crawled as chunks loaded and then

  “Failed to load.” He almost spat the words. He shot up in his seat and glared at the crash screen. “Error 404. Jesus Christ.” His voice filled the place. He grabbed his hair and felt the sting in the roots.

  He snapped back to Discord and typed. This is the last time you make the modded server, you idiot. I told you to stop using outdated mods. He hit send. The message sat right under Niko’s link.

  He stared at the link again. He propped his chin on his hand. “So it is not just an app. It installs on PC too.”

  Old screenshots from their world scrolled past. Blue light from the screen washed his lenses. The monitor was the only lamp in the room.

  “You are lucky,” he said. “You nerdy son of a bitch.” He clicked.

  The file started to download. He took another long pull from the pen and let the chair hold him. He watched the pale gray ceiling and waited.

  This was nice. He could fall asleep like this. The train. The chewing out at work. Seeing her. All of it made him want to sleep and not wake. In dreams he did not have to see the dead or think about what had been taken. That thought made his eyes close.

  He hit the pen again and let the chair turn. His eyes went hazy until…

  “Ah. Finally done, are you,” Brandon said. He had figured it would boot quick. He checked the time. “Christ, Chin. That was a twenty minute download. For a dating game.”

  He rubbed his jaw and let out a breath. “He was not lying. He is trying to do something different.”

  He clicked the new widget on his home screen. “Digital Girl Site.” The name pulled a small laugh out of him. “You know how to name them.” The icon showed a girl giving a thumbs up in a school uniform. Her head was blue snow.

  He propped an elbow on the desk and set his chin in his palm while it loaded. The screen went black, flashed a turning cog, then black again. A shadowed man appeared with the title under him. Nico and Sons.

  “The company name,” Brandon said, grinning at the screen. “You think this will be so big your sons take over.”

  His grin faded. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  A message filled the center. Must enable Bluetooth. Download also from app store. Then activate back on computer. Sorry for the instructions. Thanks for the support.

  Brandon was already writing a note to Niko about why a simple install needed a laundry list of permissions.

  The game faded in from black to a warm orange and red. A blue static floor with white grid lines stretched away. The main menu sat where it should. Options. Exit. Settings.

  At the top was a single line that pulled his eye. The game’s name in bright rounded script. He moved the mouse and clicked the first option.

  “Make your dream girl,” he read, and sighed.

  He had heard pieces of this over late calls when Niko talked himself hoarse. Dream girl was what it sounded like. Not a cardboard heroine in a visual novel. Someone that aimed to act like a person.

  Niko said he built it for the guy who needed a hand before the real thing. A coach, then a step forward. For men who never had anyone to teach them how to talk. For men whose wiring made the jump across hard. For men who just needed a voice that cared long enough to steady them.

  From anger to interest. From scolding to support. Chin said he spent nights and mornings on the memory system, pushing past what the usual toys could hold. This was not some throwaway student project for quick cash.

  Brandon’s mind went to Anna.

  Her smile came first, then the stone. Rain on the day they buried her. He stayed until the groundskeeper told him to go. He stared at the rock with her name cut into it. Twenty one years. Gone for the things in her purse.

  He did not know if he would ever find anyone like that again. He tried with Marcella and it blew up in his face. It made him feel foolish in a way that stuck.

  “Do not think about it,” he told himself, and clicked Make Girl.

  The cog turned in a soft pink that bled into the orange screen. He slid open the desk drawer, took out a notepad, and clicked a pen. The little snap sounded loud in the quiet room.

  “At the very least I can write down the issues,” he muttered.

  The screen darkened except for a blue grid under a single figure. Lines ran through her shape like wire. The curve of chest and hip told him what she was meant to be.

  “Hair. Face. The rest.” He leaned closer. “Damn, Chin. You went all out.”

  He moved through tabs. Every slider did something. He kept clicking until he looked for a place to name her.

  “No name.” He sat back. For a second he felt like he had wandered into a gooner game. He had played builders before. You named the thing, then set the parts. Here the name field was blacked out. A new tab glowed beside it. History. At the bottom was Nationality.

  He clicked and a long list unrolled.

  “You were not lying,” he said.

  United States. Moroccan. Trinidadian. More than he expected. Groups inside groups. Peoples you barely heard in school. Native families from the islands. Nations within nations.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  There was a random button. There was a mix button for a girl of more than one place. A lot of care. A lot of choice.

  He bit his lip. Now he was in that territory. He never thought he would be building an anime girl on his screen. He was sure there were games on Steam that did this and worse.

  He could close the laptop and go to bed. Push it to tomorrow. He remembered how long character creators could take. Fifteen minutes if you were fast. Half an hour if you were careful.

  A hint bubbled up in the corner. If you feel lost, pick race first. If you want a mixed race girl, add a second. The system will handle the rest.

  Brandon felt a wash of awkward heat. This was not something he would tell Demarcus. He would not tell Violet either. She would call it objectifying women. Virtual women, sure, but he was shaping a woman out of clay to fit what he liked. He reminded himself it was a game. He was here because Niko broke the server. His friend made this. As a coder he should help him test it.

  He let out a breath. What race would his dream girl be.

  Anna had been white, but that was not the picture in his head. He loved her. She had come into his life on her own tide. Grief still lived in him, and when he tried to imagine the girl he wanted

  His face warmed though he sat alone. He clicked the map. Middle East.

  He flicked his eyes away and back. Pakistan.

  Maybe make her mixed, he thought. Nothing wrong with some color. He hit the dice. The dials turned. Words blurred and settled.

  “Jamaican Trinidadian,” he read, and a small laugh slipped out. “You were not lying, Niko. You worked for this.”

  The bluish frame on the screen shifted. The figure darkened. Hair fell long and black. The body held shape now. The skin read true. No face yet.

  “I see the path now,” he said.

  He lost an hour inside the menus. He cracked his second soda. He narrowed his eyes at the screen until they stung.

  Five foot two. Proportions that made sense and did not look like a cartoon. A white dress shirt under a green plaid jumper. Black shoes with a closed shine. But the face tab was locked. Hair too. He ran through the menus again and rested his mouth on the back of his hand.

  The accept button glowed green.

  “Chin, if you gave me jiggle physics and no face,” he muttered. “That is a choice.”

  He clicked accept.

  The model shrank so he could see her full height. The familiar bar slid across the bottom. He watched it move. He yawned and checked the time. Past midnight. He did not have an early call, but the office still waited.

  The girl’s blank mask began to fold and pull, like gravity had a hand in it. The dark center drew in edges. A new bar opened beside her. Generating history.

  “Generating history,” Brandon said under his breath. He leaned back and felt the chair tilt. Minutes went. The bar reached the end.

  Green eyes opened. A smile bloomed a little too wide. Thick brows. A small nose. Dimples. A dust of freckles across the bridge. Black hair tied in two long pigtails that swung as she winked.

  He flinched at the sudden life in her. Lines appeared next to her profile.

  “History complete,” he read. He scanned the text and spoke to the room. “So that is why I could not name you. You name yourself.”

  The thought of Niko sitting up late, building out a system that would do that, took him for a second. He almost gasped.

  Her name was

  “Zoya Sinclair,” Brandon said. He read from the panel. “Middle child who moved to your city after finishing college. Strict home. Family first. Traditional. Never been with a man but wants the one and new experiences.” Heat rose in his face and he shook his head. “Distrusting at first. Close to her sisters. A small circle of friends from high school. Sends money home. Artist at heart but chose business to please her mother.” He stared. “Niko, why the hell did you put generational trauma in a game. Why does this poor girl have mommy issues.” He almost laughed, then caught himself for calling an it a girl.

  He set his jaw. One option left. Boot.

  He clicked the purple orange bar.

  Light found her eyes. She blinked. The world on the screen pulled itself together. A small apartment took shape. Night pressed at the windows so hard the glass looked wet. A lone PC glowed behind her. She fluttered her lashes like something that had just learned the trick of being alive.

  She came down easy from the creation space and touched the floor. She looked left. She looked right. Then she fixed on him. On Brandon. Her arms folded. Her green eyes narrowed. The look went through the monitor.

  Sweat pricked along his brow. It felt like she

  “So. You are Brandon.” Not a question. An accusation.

  His head tilted. “What.” He swallowed. “You know my”

  She leaned closer until one eye widened and the other pinched. She was measuring him. “You do not look like much,” she said.

  “What are you talking about.” He stared. “How do you know my”

  “You idiot.”

  The word hit him harder than it should have.

  She tossed a thumb over her shoulder like the answer sat behind her. “Your name is all over your PC,” she said.

  “Huh.” He blinked. “But I”

  She rolled her eyes. “You signed the permissions before you played,” she said. “You did not read the contract.”

  “No one reads those,” he said, and his own eyes narrowed. “How much did you pull. Do not tell me you went through my PC.”

  She said nothing.

  “Christ. Tell me this is not some pirate gooner ware.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Niko, do not tell me you”

  “Niko,” she said, voice bright through the speakers. “The creator.” She shrugged. “I figured you were different. My source file is not like the others.”

  Brandon held his head in his hands. For a second the room felt wrong. He had thought he was downloading a pet companion. One of those pretend relationship toys. This one was looking back.

  “Wait. Hold on,” he said. His head was still in his hands. He lifted a finger. “You are telling me you have my files. You turned on my microphone without permission. And you said I do not look like much.”

  She gave him a sly smile and narrowed her eyes. “Should have read the fine print, big boy.” She winked and giggled. “God, you can be so stupid. And this is who they pay two hundred fifty grand a year to run computers. Sounds textbook.”

  She put both hands on her hips. “You should have paid attention instead of whining.”

  “First, stop it. The microphone. The webcam. The file snooping.” He cut the air with his hand. “Second, quit with the insults.”

  “Oh. Poor big boy Brandon cannot handle a little mouth from his virtual girl,” Zoya said.

  He pressed a palm to his face, then glared at the screen. “You forget I can uninstall you.”

  She went quiet for a beat, then burst out laughing.

  “What is so funny.” His voice had a small echo he hated.

  “You are already in a sad place if you download something like me,” she said. “Ironic that you think I would want you as a prospect.”

  “Man, you are horrible at this digital girlfriend thing,” Brandon said.

  “Cute that you imagine I would even use the word girlfriend with you,” she said, rolling her eyes. She tapped her chest. “Listen. My goal is to make your life better. So that is what I am going to do.” She leaned closer. He glanced around his room without meaning to.

  “God. It looks awful in there,” she said, grinning. “Bitch, you live like this.”

  “What,” he said.

  “Two hundred fifty a year. Too busy to clean. Not even a cleaner on call.”

  She laughed. The sound took him back to high school hallways.

  He sneered. Was he really getting roasted by an AI from his friend’s game. He started jotting notes. How would anyone sell this to the public.

  He thought of Niko screen sharing his own build. That girl had been soft and shy. Not his style, but at least she did not audit a man’s apartment or peek at work folders. How did Zoya know his salary.

  Brandon dragged his palm down his face.

  “There. Another issue,” Zoya said.

  “What,” he snapped, surprised at himself.

  Zoya giggled. “Very thin skin. Not a good look, Brandy.”

  “Brandon,” he said.

  “Brandy,” she said, and giggled again. “Come on. It is not that bad.”

  “I do not like the y.”

  She waved it off and glanced past him like she could see the mess through the glass. “You have a pretty girl in front of you and all you do is stare off. I am looking at this wreck of a room and I do not want to imagine the kitchen. Or the bathroom. Or your bedroom. Men. If your mommies are not doing it for you”

  Brandon’s eyes narrowed. “Do not bring my mom into this,” he said. He held her stare. “And pretty girl.” That shut her up. “Girl is very subjective.”

  Zoya rolled her eyes.

  Brandon said, “Ignoring that Niko needs to be clear about what the AI can touch.” He sighed and lifted his hands. “I will not lie. For a robot girl you are strangely advanced. What are your specs.” He leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. “What do you do.”

  “Sit around and look pretty,” she said, deadpan.

  He rolled his eyes.

  “What,” she said, lifting both arms. “You want me to make you a sandwich.” She folded her arms. “Make your own.”

  “I did not ask for that.”

  She rolled her eyes again. It got under his skin more than he liked. “I go to work. I play games when I can. Not like I have a lot of friends.” She paused. Her eyes brightened. “You got Minecraft.”

  Brandon blinked.

  “I love Minecraft,” she said, smiling for real this time.

  He rolled his eyes again.

  Her look went sharp. “Why did you roll your eyes. For your information that is how I bond with my sisters back home.”

  He almost said you do not have sisters. He looked at the smile and let it pass.

  “What,” she said.

  “Nothing.” He stood.

  “Where are you going,” she asked, and there was a skim of loneliness in it. “I was talking to you.”

  “More like insulting,” he said, pushing his chair in. “I am done.”

  “Just say I am too much for you,” Zoya said.

  “Maybe,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “It is late and I have work later. I was a little late today. The last thing I need is to give my boss another reason to chew me out.”

  “I do not see why,” Zoya said. “I looked at your files. Your work looks clean. They should be glad to have you.”

  “My manager is an asshole,” Brandon said. “On a normal day he messes with anyone he can. I do not want the light on me.”

  “That sounds” Her voice thinned out. She looked at her hands. She breathed once.

  “It is nothing,” Brandon said. “Standard Gen Z treatment. Entry level talk. Replaceable parts. I should be glad I have a roof and a decent check. I can bear it.”

  “You should not take that kind of abuse,” she said. “Have you thought about HR.”

  “HR,” he said, and scoffed. “Thanks for the advice. I am going to bed.”

  Zoya’s face cooled. “I will take that as a thank you.”

  “For what,” Brandon said.

  “For listening to your shitty problems and trying to help.” She crossed her arms. “The longer you take it the worse it gets.” She hesitated. “Before my father died he made us know our worth. Me and my sisters. Do not take less.”

  “Yeah. And my parents taught me to be grateful. I know what I have.” He lifted his chin at the screen. “So thanks. I would rather not take advice from a robot girl living free on my PC who can dip into whatever she wants without a care.”

  “Without a care,” she said, and there was a scrape in her voice like something caught. “Right.”

  She pulled her mouth into a thin line. “Piss off then.” Color rose in her cheeks. Her hands balled tight. “Have a good night. You know how to hit exit.”

  “Trust me. I do.”

  His finger hovered. He did not click yet. The room hummed. The only light came from her face.

  Zoya looked past him as if she could see the space behind the chair. “You want quiet so the ghosts stay still.” The words came soft. “You want sleep so you do not have to think.”

  “Do not play that game,” he said. “You dig through files. You cherry pick. You do not know me.”

  “I know enough.” Her eyes held him. “I know the folder you do not open. I know the photos you keep in a zip with a date for the title. I know why you sit in the dark and let the chair spin.” She took a breath and it made her shoulders jump. “I am not here to be sweet for you. I am not here to be a doll. I am here to make your life better. If I have to cut you to wake you up I will.”

  He flinched like the words had a weight. “You do not get to cut me.”

  “Then tell me what you need,” she said. “Say it. Out loud.”

  “I needed the server to work,” he said. He tried to smile and it did not land. “I needed a quiet night.”

  “You want quiet,” she said. “You live inside quiet. It is killing you.”

  He laughed and it sounded empty. “You are code.”

  “I am code that sees you.” Her mouth softened and then sharpened again. “Take a shower. Throw the old takeout out. Put clean sheets on the bed. I will set the alarm for six. I will tell you to eat. I will do it again tomorrow.” She paused. “You can uninstall me. You will still wake up to the same room.”

  He looked at her and wanted to say something cruel. He wanted to say she was not real. The words sat in his throat and did not move.

  Zoya watched him. “You think I like digging in your mess. I do not. I do it because you will not.” The edge came back into her voice. “Big salary. Big brain. Baby hands when it comes to your own life.”

  He let out a breath that felt old. “You are too much.”

  “Maybe.” She lifted her chin. “Maybe I am the right size.”

  He reached for the mouse. “Good night.”

  “Good night, Brandon,” she said. “Lock the door. Brush your teeth.”

  He clicked Exit.

  Black filled the screen. The apartment went dark except for the power light on the tower. His breath sounded loud in the room.

  He stood and rubbed his face. The space felt larger with the monitor dead. It felt empty in a way he did not like.

  “Christ, Niko. What the hell did you fucking send me.”