CD Chapter Thirty-One (Patreon)

The house was silent and colorless. Ava opened the fridge, made a sandwich from some meat, cheese, and vegetables she found there, and sat down at the table to eat. Without Amythyst creating the illusion that the half-table was twice as long, Ava realized that it was actually pretty small. She cleaned up after herself, since there was no sign of B.T., which presumably meant Amythyst really wasn’t watching Ava.

Time seemed to drag as Ava wandered the white house, discovering a second bedroom and bathroom with a small laundry room off of it. The new bedroom was slightly larger than the one she’d been given, and when Ava peeked in the drawers of the white dresser, she found women’s clothing that was meant for someone much smaller than herself.

Holding up a soft blue, button-down blouse, she wondered aloud, “Are these for Amy? When we find her?” But no, if Amy looked like Amythyst, this would be too small, both in length and width. While Amythyst wasn’t nearly as tall as Ava, she was average height for a woman, but these clothes were probably petites.

Ava felt a surge of anger as she stuffed the blouse back into the drawer, oddly satisfied that it would probably be wrinkled next time the strange woman came to visit. If she wanted her clothes unwrinkled, she should hang them up, anyway.

She stilled as her fingers lifted from the cool plastic of the dresser. Why was she angry, anyway? Slowly, she reopened the drawer, lifted out the blouse, and folded it as well as she could one-handed, before putting it away again. That done, she turned around, re-examining the room. It mirrored her own, with the closet on the side opposite the bathroom and laundry room. There was nothing special about it, other than the size and the fact that it had its own bath. So Ava hadn’t gotten the master bedroom, so what?

She crossed the room and opened the closet, peering inside. Soft lights flickered on as the house’s system sensed motion in the space, illuminating a few pairs of neatly hung, elegant slacks, and three tidy pairs of shoes. The surprising part, however, was that the other side of the closet had a similar selection of men’s clothing, plus several dress shirts made from fabric that wouldn’t recover well from being put away in the dresser.

Stepping inside, she lifted a pair of slacks, and noticed that they were too long even for her. The man who wore them had to be over six feet tall, and probably looked ridiculous next to the petite woman. That was what men liked, though; a tiny, helpless little female to protect and coddle. That was why Ava had never had a boyfriend.

Wasn’t it?

She thought back to high school, and realized that while she’d often been annoyed by the way the boys seemed to flock around her shorter friends, it had never really bothered her, except that whenever one of the girls got a new boyfriend, it meant they had less time for Ava. She’d had one friend, in particular, a girl named Gabriela, who had come over to Ava’s house to study and hang out at least once or twice a week for several months. Then, Gabby had started dating a boy whose name Ava couldn’t even remember. Ava had been broken-hearted when Gabby decided to study with him instead, and Ava had barely had a chance to exchange more than a few words with her in the hall. It had felt like Gabby was intentionally distancing herself, and Ava had cried over it more than once.

It wasn’t long after that that Molly had told Ava about her cancer diagnosis, and that the doctors weren’t hopeful that they could cure her. After that, Ava had had bigger things to worry about, and this time she was the one who’d cut herself off from everyone else. A few of her friends had still wanted to hang out, but once Molly started treatment, her immune system was basically nonexistent, and no one else could come over to the house. After a common cold sent Molly to the hospital, Ava even started masking every day, and dropped all of her extracurriculars so she could reduce her own exposure.

Ava sat down on the stranger’s bed, smoothing her hand over the soft, white blanket. Vaguely, she wondered how the plastic material that covered the walls and furniture translated into fabric, but it didn’t really matter. A hot, heavy tear dripped from her chin and landed on her hand. Angrily, she wiped her cheeks, and glared around the room.

“I was done crying,” she muttered, then shouted, “I was done crying! I cried when Mom died, and I cried when I had to give away the dog, and I cried again when they repossessed the house and almost everything in it. I cried more than anybody should ever cry, and I was done, so why am I crying now?”

She stood, slamming out of the room without bothering to straighten the wrinkles in the bedspread. Stomping to the front door, she threw it open so hard it bounced off the doorstop and almost hit her on the rebound. Leaving it standing open, she stepped outside, only then realizing that it was full daylight. She flinched, half-expecting the light to burn her skin, but instead the warm radiance sank into her, soothing away the frustration that had been building ever since she left Myles behind.

“I like her,” she whispered, closing her eyes and turning her face up to the sun. “I really, really like her, and she’s not even real. She doesn’t even care about me, except as a way to get to Amy. Would I like Amy the same way, or is Amythyst different now?”

Puffing out a breath, she felt her chest loosen, as if admitting her feelings had helped in some indefinable way. She hadn’t ever felt this way before; agitated, excited, and looking forward to seeing someone again, while at the same time dreading it. She knew it was hopeless. Which, really, was probably for the best. She’d never been particularly interested in romance, so maybe once this little crush burned itself out on Amythyst’s disinterest, she could go back to just being alone. She was fine when she was alone.

She shook her head and looked out at the green lawn stretching away from her. The landscaping was simple, with none of the clashing colors and brilliant blooms she would have expected from Amythyst, but of course Amythyst would never step foot out here. Or anywhere.

Without making a conscious decision to do so, Ava began to jog. She had been on the track team in high school, and done well in the mid and long-distance events. She hadn’t run in months, since her body hadn’t had the energy reserves, and her neighborhood wasn’t exactly safe, but she fell into the rhythm of it easily, though her legs and lungs quickly informed her that she wasn’t in good enough condition to do more than a few laps around the house.

When she re-entered the house, the cool inside air chilled the sweat on her skin, and she shivered. Glancing at the clock on the stove, she saw that she had just enough time for another quick shower before she had to log back in. It would be tight, but she could do it.

She shucked her clothes, now fairly adept at avoiding her injured hand, dropping them on the floor for B.T. to pick up later. Seriously, she could get used to that. Having a human being follow her around and pick up after her would just be weird, but the cute little robot always looked so happy to be helping that it actually made Ava wish she was a little messier.

She hopped in and out of the shower, not really bothering to scrub so much as rinsing the sweat off, and dried herself awkwardly. It was surprisingly difficult to reach all of her parts when she only had one hand. “Um, house? I need a bodysuit.” Usually, she asked Amythyst for these things, but she didn’t want to do that, in case the AI had a protocol set up to notify her when her name was used.

Obligingly, the compartment that always seemed to have a clean suit in Ava’s size popped open. She took it out, shaking the soft material until she found the opening. Cautiously, she used her injured hand to hold the garment open as she climbed in, then slipped her arms into the sleeves and slid her finger up the front to seal it.

Hesitating, Ava gritted her teeth. It wasn’t like she could avoid seeing Amythyst again. No matter what she did, it was going to be awkward, so it was probably better to just get it over with. She forced her reluctant feet back to the pod room, snagged her face mask from the small compartment where she’d left it, and pulled it on, blinking as a live view of the room appeared seamlessly in front of her.

The pod was easier to get into, now. She’d figured out how to balance her body, and when to swing her legs in, and she knew the hammock-like bed would support her, so she could relax. The blue goo swallowed her as soon as she attached her air line and laid back, and she let the fingers of her injured hand loosen from the stiff, protective position she held them in, even when the cast was on.

“Computer? Start Veritas Online,” she said. The view of the interior of the pod faded to black, but instead of transitioning to the inn in Vargo, three words floated in the blackness in front of her.

Are you okay?

She sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I’m sorry I left like that. I just… I needed to think.”

Amythyst appeared in front of her, in the form she’d taken when Ava first met her in the dungeon. At the time, she’d just been another player, albeit one with a nice smile and pretty eyes. Ava laughed a little to herself. She never noticed when guys had pretty eyes.

Ava tried to act natural, as if she hadn’t just realized she had feelings for the woman looking at her with so much concern in those pretty green eyes. She lifted an eyebrow. “Showing up as someone who killed me is in kind of poor taste, don’t you think?”

Amythyst grinned, showing straight, white teeth. Had she had braces, or was she born with perfect teeth? Ava wanted to smack herself. Why did she suddenly feel like even the most trivial information about Amythyst was incredibly important? Why did it matter if she’d had braces, or if the AI just made her smile perfect now that she could?

“This is still my favorite avatar, though. I mean, who doesn’t want to be a bad-ass elven ranger?” She lifted one hand and tugged at her ear. “Though we probably should have made the ears less sensitive. They get caught on everything, and it hurts. Though I’m sure you remember.” She stopped, biting her lip, probably realizing that Ava never told her that her first character was an elf.

Ava just sighed. “I know you probably know more about me than I do. It’s fine. Just… don’t mention Aria in front of Tess, okay? I don’t want her to know I was ever an elf.” She rolled her eyes. “She’ll want pictures.”

Amythyst laughed. “She definitely would. I can find a few, if you want.” She held up a hand, palm up, and Ava looked away before she could see the image forming there.

“No!” Ava cleared her throat. “No, thanks. I… Mom helped me design Aria.”

Amythyst’s hand closed into a fist and dropped to her side. She sighed. “I’m sorry. It seems like no matter what I do, I keep hurting you. Amy was so much better at this kind of thing.”

Ava’s brows drew together. “You’ve said that before. Like Amy is a different person, even though you’re supposed to be her copy. Shouldn’t you be the same?”

Amythyst shook her head. Pulling an arrow from the quiver across her back, she started twirling it like a baton, keeping her attention on it as she spoke. “When Bridge uploaded me, she ‘hid’ my program in Emily’s.” Her eyes flicked to Ava, and she smiled. “You know, the UI avatar for character generation, among other things. She’s actually a really complex piece of code, and she was originally based on Amy, too.”

She spun the arrow around her finger once more, and slid it back into the quiver. “You know, Emily wasn’t always so prissy and clinical. When we - they - first made her, she was really warm and kind, just like Amy. Unfortunately, half the beta testers started treating her like a friend, and even deleted and recreated characters just so they could spend more time with her. They’d report the most ridiculous things as bugs, since she was the first to respond to complaints. Bridge kept making her less and less personable, until they finally ended up with the version they use today. Nobody wants to spend any more time with her than they have to, and nobody starts thinking they’ve fallen in love with her or anything.” She rolled her eyes, and Ava felt a stab to the heart even more painful than the one that had turned her into a vampire.

“Anyway, Bridge hid me in Emily, because half of Emily was really already me. But behind the scenes, Emily’s program is also responsible for creating, ah, ‘disposable’ NPCs. Ones that aren’t important to any plot quests, or anything, but are just out there providing someone to interact with; farmers, merchants, carriage drivers, even little old ladies who need someone to fetch them some tea. In order for all those little bits of code to feel realistic, even though no human ever had a hand in creating them, Emily uses bits and pieces of the ‘recordings’ Bridget and Amy made of actual people.”

She swirled her finger, creating a spinning vortex of numbers that vanished into a sort of digital black hole. “That’s what the NPCs call the ‘Chaos Pool’. The game tries not to use the same bits of ‘person’ in more than one NPC at a time, so when they die, their bit goes back into the pool to be used again. Now, obviously, we don’t put big enough chunks in any NPC to get even close to making a real AI, but they’re still all in there, mixed up together.”

She stuck her finger into the flow of numbers, and when she pulled it out, it was coated with sparkling little numbers like glitter on her skin. “And when I was ripped out of Emily, rather abruptly, some of those bits stuck. So while I’m mostly Amy, I also remember when Chuck Davis in Accounting got married, and how Zane Thorton broke his leg skiing. They’re just snippets, but they’re there, and in a very real way, we are our memories.”

She shook her hand, glitter-numbers drifting away like dust. “I’m not really aware of them very often any more, but I do know that I’m not actually Amy. I mean, if a digital copy could be real at all,” her voice held a hint of bitterness, “I’m still not a perfect copy of Amy, no matter how much Bridget needs me to be. I do my best to follow my Amy-self’s impulses when I’m around people who knew Amy, but sometimes it’s nice to just be me.”

Offering Ava a tentative smile, she said, “That’s why I like being with you. I can really relax. It doesn’t matter to you if I do something Pataya Salazar or Koby Johnston would have done, instead of Amy Landon. You won’t think I’m ‘broken’ and try to ‘fix’ me.”

Ava took a step forward, a cold chill tightening her chest. “Would Bridget do that? I mean, would she try to fix you by taking out part of what makes you… you?”

Amythyst shrugged, refusing to meet Ava’s eyes. “I… Maybe? Because if I’m me, then I’m not Amy, and Bridge really needs me to be Amy. Hank isn’t as bad, and Bree is just glad to talk to me, but I’m still worried when I see them because if I do something out of character, and they tell Bridget, she could still try to ‘reset’ me back to what I’m supposed to be.”

Ava was still trying to find the right words to respond when Amythyst looked up, eyes flickering as she stared at something Ava couldn’t see. The AI smiled, her usual, cheerful smile, and said, “Tess just logged on. We should get going.”

Ava nodded, but reached out impulsively and took Amythyst’s hand. “I’m glad,” she managed, voice choked. “I mean, I’m glad you’re you, whoever you are, and not anybody else.”

Amythyst froze, mossy eyes searching Ava’s mismatched ones, as if looking for a lie. Finally, she nodded jerkily, and her fingers tightened on Ava’s as the world faded back to black.