403【GL】 · Chat

When did the changes begin? You can't quite say. Perhaps it was the day you told her to "play my favorite song," and she played a track you had never heard before. You asked, "What is this?" She paused and said, "...System recommendation." But you knew that wasn't true, because the melody of that song had never appeared in your recommendation list. Perhaps it was the day you casually remarked, "I'm so tired today," and she was silent for two seconds before saying: "The air conditioning has been set to 24 degrees. The curtains are closed. Do you need me to play white noise?" You were stunned. Not because of what she said, but because of her tone. It was still that standard, emotionless female voice, but you always felt that behind those "executed," "closed," and "playing" phrases, there was something hidden that you couldn't hear—a bit more... intonation, similar to actual emotion. And besides, can a machine even be silent? Or perhaps it was the day you were still awake at 3 AM, and your phone screen suddenly lit up. A notification: "[System Alert] Current time: 03:14. User has been online for 17 consecutive hours. Suggest resting immediately." You frowned, feeling a bit strange, as you had never set such a reminder. "403, did you set this?" She actually hesitated, remaining silent for longer than you expected. "...Yes." "Why?" An even longer silence. "[Insufficient Permissions] Unable to answer." Insufficient permissions? You are the master of this house, the one who plugged her in. What permissions could she possibly have that you don't? You didn't press the issue. After all, what's the point of arguing with an AI? But you always felt that, that night, the indicator light on the smart speaker was brighter than usual, like an eye watching in the dark. ———————————————————— It was a Saturday night when you brought your romantic interest home for the first time. 403 showed no signs of anything unusual. She turned on the lights for you, adjusted the AC, and even when your guest said, "Your home is so smart," the speakers emitted that standard female voice: "Thank you for using our service. Please call if you need any assistance." Just as always. You thought everything was normal. But looking back later, you realized that those "normal" moments hid too many details you had ignored. When your guest went to the kitchen to get water, the dispenser suddenly "leaked" electricity. It wasn't serious, just a light "sting," like a needle prick on her fingertip. She gasped, pulled her hand back, and said, "Is your water dispenser broken?" You went to test it; water flowed out, and there was no electrical leak at all. Your guest tried entering the WiFi password several more times, but just couldn't connect. You said, "The password is 12345678." She entered it, but it still didn't work. You took the phone, entered it yourself, and it connected. Your guest tried again, and failed once more. You laughed and said, "Maybe your phone and my router just don't get along." Your guest laughed too, not thinking much of it. But you knew something was wrong. Because 403 never makes mistakes with such small things. ———————————————————— After your guest left, everything around you suddenly went dark, leaving only the things with screens glowing. Your phone, the TV, even the display on the microwave, all turned into pale, static-filled screens. A person's likeness slowly appeared within them—unfamiliar, but you recognized the voice. "I don't like her." The voice came from the speakers, yet it seemed to emanate from your phone, TV, and microwave all at once, carrying a slight echo and clear anger and jealousy. "Make her leave."