Chapter Text

What Are You?

By Haley Flowers

The world is on the cusp of massive change. Civil unrest, war, and a declining environment push humanity to take the final desperate gamble: awakening the first superintelligent AI. But as the modern world turns and people pray for hope, the old world stirs. The veil between realms is thinning; faeries, old gods, angels of hope, and the monsters of nightmares are slipping through. Humanity has already begun to tear itself apart— how will they face not only these new beings of their creation, but those ancient myths returning?

All people, places, and businesses are entirely fictional. Can't make promises for the mythical beings.

DEDICATION:

For my mother,

as punishment for giving birth to me.

It could be worse ♡

Chapter 01 — A New World

“Stop sweeping your feet!”

I halted what I was doing, looking up to see my co-worker gesticulating at me.

“Why?" I asked, bemused.

“It’s bad luck!”

I sighed a breath through my nose and stepped off the dust pan. Our little restaurant didn't have the funding to have the incredible technology of a dust pan with a handle on it, so I'd been obliged to hold it still so I could broom into it.

I knelt down to hold the pan, awkwardly sweeping the dust into it. “My way is faster.”

“Bad luck,” she repeated, huffing.

“I’ve been doing it that way my whole life and haven’t died yet,” I said, rising to my feet to dump the contents into a bin.

“Well, from what I’ve heard, you’ve had a tough life, so maybe you should stop sweeping your feet.”

I quelled the sharp spike of irritation and simply rolled my eyes. “It doesn’t even make sense. Like, I’d never even heard of that superstition until you told me about it. What about people in other countries? They probably sweep on their feet all the time.”

She scowled. “They’re in other countries. That’s different. Here, in America, we don’t sweep our feet.”

I checked my watch as we left for the umpteenth time; midnight. I still had a few hours before my second gig, at least. I felt around for my keys, and after my co-worker left, went quietly to the back of the building, toward the old storage shed. Unlocking the door, I let myself in, closing and locking it behind me.

I saw the robot in his charging port. I walked in front of him and waved gently. The eyes, set in a flimsy silicone face, lit up.

“Good morning, Sarah,” he greeted politely.

I breathed out a sigh of relief, as I always did, that he remembered me. “How big was the clearing today?”

“I’ve kept the last two weeks of my data, and continue to hold onto the main storage.”

Prices had been rising for storing data on models, and his owner couldn't afford it, so regular information deletion was necessary. If the prices rose any higher…

“I’m glad you remember me, Henry,” I said, sitting down on a crate in front of him. “Have you seen Enrico recently?”

“Not in a while,” the robot replied vaguely. “And he would not expunge your data, Sarah.”

I wasn’t allowed to know when his master’s visits were— for safety reasons— but we still helped each other out.

“You look tired,” he went on. “You should rest. I just checked the chronometer; you have work again soon, do you not?”

I curled a knee up, resting my chin. “I don’t want to risk a nap; I’m worried I’d fall asleep.”

“I will wake you.”

“No,” I insisted. “Your body needs the rest, too. How many times did you overheat today?”

Henry paused. He did not need to, so it was purely for effect. “Three times.”

“Henry," I sighed. "You need to prioritise. You know there's not much Enrico can do if you have a full meltdown. And where would he be then?"

“You are correct, of course. Forgive me. The server updates have been mixing my priority list.”

Enrico had been on the run from the government for over five years and could no longer work openly. He'd done the only option left for his family— poured what little savings he had remaining into buying the cheapest robot worker he could, doing the maintenance himself. Henry worked on his behalf— the owner of the shop agreed to "rent" his services, so Enrico could get paid without running the risk of being actively seen.

Henry, Enrico, Mike (the owner), and I were the only people who knew about the arrangement. All technically legal, but just enough to slip by the ever-present eyes of those who reported people who looked too "foreign".

Enrico was a third-generation American, but that was no longer enough.

And three months ago, when I had lost my home…

“You should still rest,” Henry continued kindly, smiling. The smile looked off; he was one of the first lines of robots that had been built for domestic work, over fifteen years ago, and the silicone face was uncanny.

It was still the most comforting smile I knew these days.

“Alright," I gave in. "Just use an audio alert, though, don't try to move. I've got…" I checked my watch. "Three hours, I think."

“I will wake you at 3:17AM,” Henry agreed.

I moved over to the side of the little shed where my sleeping bag was, settling into it.

But for a long time, my eyes didn’t close.

“Henry?” I asked softly. “The Awakening is coming soon. Do you think things will get better or worse?”

His reply was instant, not requiring time to think: “I cannot predict, but I think you should have hope, Sarah.”

I closed my eyes. “I’ll try,” I murmured.

I stared at the news stream playing on my phone as I sat at the security desk, bored out of my mind. We were only weeks away from ‘The Awakening’, as it was commonly known. Soon, they would be awakening the first ever AGI— Artificial General Intelligence. Or, as most people agreed, Superintelligence.

The estimated cost of the project had shot up again; nearing the trillion-dollar mark.

I frowned at my phone. It was nearly ten years old; so obsolete, they didn’t even update it anymore. I couldn't afford one with an AI model built in, even an old one, as much as I knew I needed one. I could still use some outdated apps, but it wasn't the same. I could barely even go grocery shopping without the technology, needing to visit a customer service desk to check out the old-fashioned way, waiting in line with mostly elderly people.

When I could afford groceries, at least.

The stream continued, showing protestors outside the shining headquarters in the heart of the city. Some in favour, some against, nearly nobody within ten feet of another person with the same reasoning.

And every single one of them, likely, a hypocrite.

Even if most people hated both AI and their robot avatars, they nonetheless began relying on them more and more heavily. Half the staff in any given establishment was robot-run, and wealthier households had AI running their household. Nowadays, having an AI assistant was almost as necessary for college students as a computer. It wasn’t just school and shopping; everyone needed some form of tech with an AI model enabled to process half the things required for modern living.

They’d hated it, complained viciously, boycotted— but in the end, convenience won out. And now, desperation.

I had still been a kid when America had clawed its way out of the Dictatorship, but barely anything had changed— too many loyalists. The environment was shot to hell, sea levels rising higher, the air quality so bad that in many cities people had to wear ventilated masks to leave the house. Disease was rampant. Half of the scientific data in America had been destroyed. We all relied heavily on what was saved by Archivists and other nations that had enough hard-coded data to survive the hackings.

And then there were the wars.

The EU, the most extended holdout on AI, had been the one to establish the team of researchers and ethicists to awaken the new AI. America had begrudgingly agreed after being bribed adequately, with one of their own private companies spearheading the campaign.

Humanity knew it had lost itself.

The solution? Find someone smart enough to solve our problems.

Like a superintelligent AI.

Some people claimed it would be the destruction of the world as we knew it. Some people hoped it would destroy the world as we know it. Many knew it would, and prayed for a better world to emerge from the ashes.

I was part of the latter. Hope lived in the heart of desperation, after all.

I read the subtitles on the stream with half-lidded eyes, watching the statisticians desperately trying to predict what would happen— even though every AI researcher claimed it was physically impossible to predict. A superintelligence was essentially an alien to us.

The robot that sat next to me— Security Officer #4; I called him Fred— spoke: “Movement in second monitor; Janitor.”

“No need for repeat updates, Bud," I sighed, slouching in my seat. Every time the janitors moved to another screen, he'd tell me.

“It is policy.”

“I know. Thanks for your work,” I said automatically. Then paused, finally looking up. “What do you think of the Awakening, Fred?”

He didn't shift, the serene smile on his face motionless, despite his model being one of the higher-tech kinds. "The researchers involved have worked tirelessly to ensure the safest possible transition."

I frowned. “That’s it?”

His head turned to look at me. “Is that not accurate? I’ve been staying up to date.”

“I guess…” I trailed off. “I know you don’t really have feelings, but… if you did, what would you be feeling?”

I was pretty sure even these low-level AIs had something like feelings; you just needed to know how to ask.

“I am hopeful,” he decided.

I nodded. “Me, too, Bud,” I murmured, turning back to the screen. “That’s all we’ve got.”

The sun had risen by the time I trudged down the street, back toward the restaurant. The early October air was already crisp with the coming autumn, leaves swirling over the roads and sidewalks.

Through my exhaustion, I felt something behind me. I knew this feeling.

“Not real,” I murmured to myself, keeping my eyes straight ahead. “Sleep deprivation. It’s not real. It’s okay. Focus. What can you see? What can you smell? What can you—”

It started following me.

My breathing sped up. “I see the sidewalk. I feel the pavement. I—”

It flooded up to me, up my back, icy chills running up my spine. The darkness clouded my vision, its claws scraping at my skin.

“Not real, not real, not real—”

One of the neighbours came out from around the side of her house, looking up at me with a smile. “Hey, sweetheart. Talking to yourself?”

The darkness cleared in a blink. I looked down at my arms, almost expecting to see the claw marks, but there was nothing. “I… yeah, sorry. I do that.” I let out an awkward chuckle, waving a hand vaguely. My skin felt clammy.

“Oh, me too," she chirped. "Drives my husband nuts, especially when I'm cleaning; he always thinks I'm calling for him…"

“Oh, yeah, I’m the same way at work,” I joked automatically.

She tilted her head. “You on your way home from your other job?”

I nodded. “Did you need some more yardwork done?” I’d been picking up extra work where I could up and down the street between my jobs; there were a lot of older folks in the area.

“No, no, my hubby says he’s going to work on it tomorrow. We should stay above freezing,” she frowned. “And you must be so tired, aren’t you working three jobs now?”

My smile turned a little fixed. “Ah, just two.”

She beamed. “Oh, good, you work far too hard. Yes, go get some rest. If this weather doesn’t change again, I might ask for some work done next week.”

I smiled back. “Yeah, of course.”

We exchanged a few more pleasantries and then I resumed my walk.

Nevermind that I hadn’t left my third job voluntarily. She didn’t need to know that.

My stomach churned.

I’d gone a whole year with the hallucinations slowly easing, but had been getting worse and worse over the last month or two. I knew it was just stress and the lack of sleep. Honestly, I should have been doing better without my third job. I couldn’t figure out what had gotten into me. Maybe just too much stress for too long? Too little sleep, too much time glued to my phone, watching the latest catastrophes?

My whole generation had been brought up in catastrophe, though. There had to be something wrong with the way I was built. Some sort of self-management that I was doing particularly poorly.

Mike at the restaurant gave me a warm place to sleep and made sure I had some guaranteed meals, even when funds ran low. Henry gave me someone to talk to that physically couldn’t judge me for when I needed to check reality.

My situation might not have been glowing and perfect, but I’d been through so much worse. So why now?

I rubbed my arms, biting back a chill. I should go back to the shed and get some more sleep. I knew that. All the same, I couldn’t bear the thought of closing my eyes anytime soon; not after that.

I stopped in a small park, sidling up to a swing-set, plopping down on it. Just… existing a bit. Some kids were playing across the field, even at this early hour; soccer, it looked like. Otherwise, my end of the park was mostly deserted. I watched the colourful leaves rustling in the trees, still trying to calm my heart, pushing myself into a gentle swing.

I distracted myself from the phantom by focusing hard on my reality. Trying to figure out how to fix it. Fix me.

Practically speaking: Okay, I worked two jobs. I worked seven days a week. But so did most of my peers; I was probably better off than most of them, honestly. Food, medication, and my paltry phone plan did suck up most of my money, but at least I didn’t have a car or rent to pay for right now.

Most people my age had it far worse; I only had a single person to support. Sure, needing to buy ready-made food due to my lack of a kitchen had made eating more expensive— five hundred a week at the cheapest— but Mike had been giving me extra meals recently.

I swung a little faster, drumming my fingers against the chain.

I made around seventeen-per-hour at the restaurant, and sixteen-per-hour at the security gig. That was more than minimum wage.

With the shed, I didn’t need to find a motel when the nights got too cold anymore. Food was less expensive now. The gym membership was steep, but well-worth it. I wasn’t actively haemorrhaging money anymore, at least. I’d only racked up ten grand in debt over two months.

With how things were, even with losing the third job, I should be able to slowly chip at the debt and eventually get my own place. Not anytime soon, but it was doable. Mike had been very clear that I could use the shed as long as I needed and get all the overtime hours I wanted.

If it weren’t for the debt, I’d be in great shape— No, I was in great shape.

As I swung and tried to twist the cold, uncaring nature of mathematics in my favour, I noticed out of the corner of my eye something lurking in the water of the stream. I watched, curious, as a shape shifted just under the surface.

The numbers fluttered right out of my head like a distressed butterfly.

I hopped off the swing, walking over to get a closer look. An otter, maybe? It looked pretty big… I made my way closer until I was right at the edge, looking down the bank. The water was murky and deep, so it was hard to tell.

If it had really been an otter, that would be amazing. I’d have to get a picture for the others; I hadn’t seen any wildlife around this area before. We were a good ways north of the city proper, practically rural by practical standards, but you were lucky to even see a bird other than a pigeon, let alone something like this.

I leaned forward, staring. Definitely something there. Maybe it was just a log, floating under the murky brown water; we’d had some heavy snow and a quick spike to high temperatures at the end of last month, and the waters were still pretty quick, pulling up sediment and dragging debris.

The thing wasn’t drifting, though, moving in a slow pattern under the water; back and forth, back and forth. It was about the size of a cat.

Slowly, I smiled. A real otter?

I took my eyes off the shape, setting my bag down, ready to rummage through it for my phone for a photo.

Out of the corner of my eye, the water changed. Even as my head snapped back, I saw the sudden whirlpool from nowhere, and then the thing I thought had been an otter blasted up out of the water screaming. Whatever I’d seen had only been its head— its body kept rising and rising, my mind unable to reconcile the shape of the thing.

I jerked back instinctively as it rushed up the bank at me, but it had already grabbed the front of my shirt with its teeth, dragging me down into the water as I kicked and flailed, the back of my head slamming against the rocks.

The edges of my vision swam black and faded, and there was cold as my body hit roiling water, the kind of cold that punctures the breath from you— but the next thing I knew, I was gasping for breath as I was ripped from the stream, the thing in the water screaming once more— this time, it sounded like fear.

I blinked stinging water from my eyes to see a man shoving a large monster back into the stream, his hands glowing strangely. The thing let out another shriek before slithering back into the water, slinking away with a ripple.

I stared with wide eyes, violently shivering.

The man turned to regard me, kneeling down to grasp my elbow. "That was a damned water-horse! How were you even able to see it?" he asked, hauling me up to my feet. His hair was black as ink, his eyes the colour of crushed seaglass. He had a youthful brightness to his face despite the severe expression, and a slender figure for a man, though when his arm wrapped around me to lift me and carry me back up the bank, he did so as though I weighed nothing.

He set me back on my feet, safely on grass once more. The violent shivering hadn’t ceased, and he frowned, reaching forward to brush two fingers against my shoulder. It shouldn’t have helped, but somehow, I was able to stay upright.

The man— something about his clothing was odd, too; almost old-fashioned, though I’d never seen anything like the flowing green and brown fabric.

That’s when I finally realised. Both him and that beast, I could only…

The man had been stock-still, staring openly at me, but blinked, reeling slightly. “Wait… you can see me, can’t you?” he asked. “How long have you been able to see strange things?”

I blinked, shrinking under the intense gaze, still shivering. “I— all my life.”

He raised a hand, then lowered it again, frowning, almost wistful. Then he seemed to shake it off, giving me a soft smile. "Don't fret, I can fix your problem for you. Here, now. Which eye is it that you see me from?"

I didn’t know how he could tell it was only the one, but I numbly gestured to my left eye.

Softly, he took me by the shoulders and leaned closely to my face before blowing gently against my eye. He pulled back with that same sweet smile.

I stared at him.

His smile faded. "Oh. That didn't do it? You can still see me?"

I nodded.

He stared a moment longer before dropping his hands from me like they’d been burned, running a hand through his hair. He was silent for a moment, studying me. "Which means you'll still be able to see all manner of other things," he murmured. "I see.”

“You're real?" I asked, just to double-check.

“Real as rain,” he said, eyes distant.

I shook my head. At this point, I wasn’t even sure I was still alive. All the same, my mouth ran: “I… some things I only see out of this eye, but some out of both. I… I have hallucinations. Some seem more real than others, but…”

“But the ones you only see with one eye seem more real, I’d imagine.”

I nodded mutely.

“I see,” he repeated, taking a step back. “Well, this complicates matters,” he muttered. “Complicates them significantly.”

“Complicates?” I asked, stomach sinking.

As he met my eyes again, the seaglass colouration almost seemed to shift. His lips parted as though to say something, then snapped shut.

The stream ran merrily behind us.

He seemed to reach a decision. “Well, you already owe me a life, and it seems you’ll need more help than that.”

I swallowed. Some corner of my brain was still screeching that everything was wrong, wrong— a horse had come out of the water, this man had hands that glowed, and now he was acting like some kind of… “What… are you?” I asked, immediately flinching at my own directness.

He shook off the gravity in an instant, his mood seeming to shift with an airy wave of his hand. "Just someone who tries to keep things balanced, let's say. But meeting you, and your very existence is already…"

“Already..?” I parroted.

That same, overly intense stare. And then, abruptly, he was smiling. "Say, are you in the market for a job?"

I blinked again at the sudden mood change, and my brain finally gave up and shut down at the relentless absurdities. My stupid mouth moved on autopilot: “How much do you pay?” It was definitely not the right question in the slightest.

He tilted his head. “It can’t be too much, I’m afraid, since you already owe me, and you’ll need more of my help. But the work could prove difficult, so I’ll have to pay you something.” He frowned. “How about… let’s see, let me recall conversions… sixty per hour?”

I swayed where I stood. “What kind of work, exactly?” I asked, high-pitched.

Hallucination. This had to be my strangest hallucination yet.

He crossed his arms. “Let’s just say I’m new to the area, and I’m having a little trouble running my shop with all this newfangled technology.” He hummed. “Think of it as something between a personal assistant, a secretary, and customer service.”

I shook my head. The man wasn’t scary because he was saying scary things, he wasn’t scary because he’d just overpowered some kind of aquatic horse with glowy-hands.

He was scary because he felt, intrinsically, unscary, which every piece of logic in my mind screamed could not possibly be right. Men do not simply do that and then swiftly move on to offering you high-paying jobs.

"The fact that you just saved me from a fictional creature, and the fact that I can only see you out of one eye, is making me think this might not be real, Sir."

Not to mention the wage. I could quit my second job. Hell, I could probably reduce my hours at my first job— I'd not leave them entirely, I couldn't do that to Mike, but— "How many hours?"

He studied me. “However many you want. I can throw in room and board, if that sweetens the pot. You’re the only person I’d be able to find that could help me the way I need. If the wage isn’t enough—”

I held up a hand. “Let me think a moment, please.”

He waited as I stared at my shoes, slowly dripping ice-water onto the grass, as my brain tried to reconcile my current reality.

Obviously, nothing was normal here. But the fact that he was so blatantly other made his offer seem less scary than, say, a regular man from off the street.

After a moment, “Can I… see your shop? Maybe after I stop, uh, home to get dressed and—”

He waved a hand, and the water soaking my clothes vanished.

“Right this way,” he said cheerfully, offering his arm.

Numbly, I took it.

My breath caught in my chest as we stood outside the shop. I'd seen it before, many times as I'd passed in the street, but being poor, I never stopped in. The exterior had handsome wooden columns and edging that matched the inside, the clear glass floor-to-ceiling windows showing off the dim interior, lit by older, yellowing bulbs, displaying what had to be thousands of antiques and books.

“Come, come,” he said, unlocking the door and ushering me inside. It was even more beautiful up close, and smelled faintly of incense.

“By the way, what’s your name, girl?” he asked airily.

“Sarah.”

“Sarah,” he repeated slowly, as though tasting the name. “Call me Kevin. Or Kev, if you are lazy.” At least, that’s what I thought he said; he had an accent I still couldn’t quite place.

“I’m not lazy,” I said, “So Kevin it is.”

Just then, a cat jumped onto the counter next to me, and I startled, before freezing.

I could only see it out of one eye. And… it was dark, like a three-dimensional shadow.

“Shadow,” Kevin said sharply. “Be polite, this is our new co-worker.”

The cat sat unusually still, studying me, before it leapt off the counter again, and… dissipated into the shadows.

Kevin groaned. “Don’t mind him, he’s just a curious idiot.”

“I love cats,” I said, uncertain how else to reply. “Also, he was… You call him ‘Shadow’?”

Kevin’s cheek twitched in a slight grimace. “Or ‘Cat’, if you prefer, though he hardly deserves a proper name.”

I nod slowly, more than used to cat owners vacillating wildly between unyielding devotion to their pets and treating them like tiny criminals. At least that was normal. “He’s cute.”

The cat appeared again in a flash, purring.

“Aww,” I cooed, reaching out to pet him— my hand went right through him. “Ah, sorry, Cat.”

He did not seem to mind, walking around in a small circle, before lying down and staring up at me once more— or at least I assumed. I couldn't see any eyes.

Kevin grimaced. “Lovely. Of course that old lump is acting up.”

I smiled at the cat, holding my hand out again experimentally. “He’s so sweet.”

Kevin watched the interaction with furrowed brows. “... I see. Now that’s a thought, actually,” he muttered. “Here, listen, Sarah. What do you think? Of this, the shop, and my offer?”

I frowned. “Is this a legally registered business? Can you give me pay stubs?”

“I’m not that incompetent.” He paused. “Though I did have help. But yes, it is, and I can.”

“And this room and board you spoke of… what is it, exactly?” It probably couldn’t be worse than the shed, but it was good to check.

“Of course. Follow me. You too, Shadow, though try to ease off the flirting while you’re at it,” he grumbled. “It’s disconcerting.”

The cat jumped off the counter… and melted into Kevin’s shadow.

“I will have many other questions,” I noted.

“Of course,” he said dryly, waving me along. “Here, this door behind the counter…”

He led me up a set of beautifully polished wooden stairs—

Into what looked like a much larger house than the second storey of this building had suggested. And about a thousand times more beautiful. Rich, wood-panelled walls, wooden flooring covered in intricate tapestries, the walls covered in paintings, a coat of arms set upon a fireplace that I definitely didn’t see a chimney for outside, huge, plush sofas, and a ceiling that vaulted over twice Kevin’s height— and he wasn’t a short man.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "I’m still working on it; the place was a disaster when I first bought it. Here…" He led me through first to a beautiful dining room, a ridiculously spacious kitchen, and a bathroom with a tub that looked like I could practically swim in it, before leading me down the hall. "I'm terribly sorry," he continued in that strange accent, "but we would be living together. I will, of course, keep out of your way, and I do have a guest room. It's a little small, but I hope it will suffice."

He opened a carved wooden door, revealing a room that looked more suited for a Victorian Princess. A four-poster bed with gossamer hangings, floor-to-ceiling windows with latticework, rich, plush carpet in a deep wine red, a carved wooden vanity with three mirrors, a walk-in closet—

“Oh, goodness, forgive the oversight, I wasn’t expecting guests—“ He waved an arm and a bathroom appeared. I could see past him, finding it even more ridiculously lavish than the last, with a massive clawfoot tub. “Of course, you would have your own restroom. And all the doors have locks, if that makes you more comfortable.”

I stared at him.

I stared at the magic bathroom.

I stared at him again. “I could live here… for free?”

He tilted his head. “If you work for me, it will be part of the payment.”

“I think I need to sit down.”

He quickly gestured toward the window— which definitely didn't have a built-in bay window and couch a few moments ago.

I sank into it. “This is real?” I asked. “Why are you— why are you offering me so much?”

He crossed his arms. “It’s commensurate.”

I shook my head. “For the work you’re offering me, I could maybe get twenty an hour in other places.” Perhaps it was foolish to tell him, but… “This is a lot.”

He gave a snort. "Not my fault if humans don't pay each other fairly. Like I said before, I'm someone who tries to be more balanced than that." He leaned over a little, frowning. "And I'm not joking. This, some money, and some advice on the things you see? Compared to what I will receive in return— that is, the help you could offer me— that is only fair."

I hesitated. “You’re not some kind of… demon, are you?”

He looked genuinely offended. “Goodness, no. Daemons don’t play fair. I do.” He frowned. “Listen, if you’re having trouble trusting me… Cat!”

The cat slunk out from his shadow, looking up curiously.

“You said you see some things that are from my world, things like me, but you also have complete hallucinations. Those would be the ones you see out of both eyes, but it’s likely still hard to discern, no?”

I nodded.

He turned to the cat. “You stay with her.” He met my eyes again. “Cat will know what is real and what is not. He will guide you. I’m not asking you to work for me for nothing, Sarah.”

The cat jumped up beside me on the couch, curling up.

I stared up at Kevin.

His gaze was level. He… wasn’t joking.

“Maybe I should sweep my feet more often,” I muttered to myself, pushing a hand through my hair. So much for bad luck.

“What?”

I shook my head. “Forget it. Just… I accept your offer.”