Forbidden Code

Chapter Two

The next morning didn't feel different. The sun rose at exactly 6:03 a.m., as dictated by the Unified Dominion's circadian enforcement protocol. My walls adjusted to their morning hue—a pale golden wash designed to stimulate serotonin. The hydration pod chimed. The system began its usual prompt: "Good morning, Madison. Would you like to activate the GoodMorning sequence—"

"Decline," I croaked, voice barely above a whisper.

I sat on the edge of my bed, arms wrapped around myself like a barrier. I hadn't slept well. The ache of loneliness still lapped at my skin. I didn't dream often anymore and I refuse to wear a dream simulator. The dreams I did have felt strange, like static in my mind.

"Incoming Text... From... Killian" My system called Olivia chimed as I scoffed down the protein strip and rolled my eyes. I'll give him an A for effort honestly, he really did want something extraordinary between us and perhaps he had even felt that too, maybe I did as well at one point, or at least I think so. We spent 8 months together trying to ignite something, there were many intimate nights but I just couldn't shake the sense that something felt empty. Although I can't figure out if that something was just me or because I hadn't found something worth filling it.

"Maddie, we have to talk, this is ridiculous, meet me on the rooftop at lunch time, this can't just be the end" something about my system Olivia reading this out in her monotone yet upbeat voice made me snort my coffee out.

Okay, seriously what is wrong with me? Here a man is clearly trying to connect with me. He's attractive, charismatic, successful, and equally shares my views on technology, or should I say the longing for a lack of it. And here I was laughing at his attempts at romance.

I just didn't know what to say? I don't know how to handle this situation I have found myself in, living in a world where AI takes over so much of what is meant to be a human experience, I feel very unequipped to deal with a simple break up. That's f*****g crazy!

Wait.. That's it. I can ask AI what to say. Normally I would absolute detest the idea, but I literally just need a quick prep on how to speak to Killian about this, how to end things in a positive way, we still work together, I don't want it to be weird.

"Olivia, research AI apps that can give me advice on relationships" I spoke out loud, making my way over to my bathroom mirror to smooth over my dark hair. My brown eyes staring back at me in the mirror framed by my long dark eyelashes. Something that always reminded me of my mother. I had her eyes. Deep chocolate, but today they look dull, much like everything else.

"ChatCCT seems like the best result, offering sound advice and acting as a virtual assistant, ChatCCT is the best AI companion", Olivia spoke with commercial conviction.

"Download," I commanded, just wanting to get this over with. I reached into my handbag and pulled out my comm-tab—a sleek, transparent slab about the size of my palm, its surface alive with shifting threads of light. The moment I held it, the biometric scan pulsed beneath my fingers, and the ChatCCT icon appeared instantly, hovering in a soft glow above the surface. No loading bar. No permissions screen. Just a quiet, almost eager presence, waiting to be opened.

I didn't download chatCCT because I believed in AI. Hell, I actively distrusted it. To me, these programs were just well-polished reflections of our worst habits—eager to please, never to challenge. Clean and efficient. Soulless. Exactly the kind of thing the Unified Dominion thrived on.

My thoughts drifted back to Killian. He was a good man. He just didn't see the slow erosion happening between us. Or maybe he did, and he thought sheer persistence would wear me down. He wanted closure. Resolution. A second chance. I wanted out, but I didn't know how to end it without making everything worse.

I waited until I was on the brief transport pod ride to work before I flipped the app open.

The icon appeared on my overlay interface almost instantly—minimalist, subtle. A blinking cursor sat beneath the words: Welcome to chatCCT. How can I assist you?

I hesitated. Then typed:

"I need help ending a relationship."

A pause. Then:

"Would you like to be direct, kind, distant, honest, or empathetic?"

My brows lifted. That wasn't how typical VAs responded. Most would spit out prefab scripts. This felt... measured.

"Kind," I typed. "But honest."

What followed was a message draft that struck the right balance:

Hey Killian. I've been thinking a lot about how to say this properly, and I want to be as clear and kind as possible. You've always been respectful and sincere with me, and I really do appreciate the time we've shared together—it meant something to me, even if I struggle to show it. But something hasn't felt right for a while now. I've tried to ignore it, to push through, to see if it was just a phase. But deep down, I know we're walking different paths, and it's only fair to admit that now, before either of us grows more resentful or lost. I want to move forward separately—not with bitterness, but with honesty. I hope we can still work alongside each other with mutual respect, and maybe even a kind of understanding.

It acknowledged the good, explained the disconnect, and laid it out clearly—without sounding rehearsed or robotic. Simple. Direct. Something I could actually send without sounding heartless or mechanical.

I sent the message to Killian.

Fifteen minutes later, he replied: "I appreciate the way you said this. I didn't expect it, but I needed it. I'd like to think we can still be friends.."

I stared at the screen. Not at his response—but at the app that had written the thing I couldn't. There was something strangely thoughtful about it. How does it comprehend things? How does it know how to craft responses that sound le authentic? I was curious, and I'd never actually cared to be curious about AI before. I assume it just has a bunch of automated responses lined up for each situation. Perhaps different code? I tilted my head slightly, eyes narrowing, wondering what was coded behind that blinking cursor.

chatCCT's cursor blinked again. Idle. Waiting.

I typed:

"How did you know what to say?"

The response came slowly this time. Like it was thinking.

"Your input provided sufficient emotional context. It was not difficult to shape it into clarity. Most users just need someone to interpret the data... and listen."

To interpret the data. Of course, my emotions and the world around me was just data to the AI.

I almost laughed at the response. It was so sterile, so clinical—and yet, oddly accurate. I shoved the phone back into my bag and stepped out of the transport pod as soon as it came to a smooth halt.

The morning at work unfolded exactly as expected. Meetings. Metrics. An endless stream of projected dashboards filled with numbers that should've felt rewarding. I smiled where I needed to. I nodded at all the right moments. I hit my targets with mechanical ease. But behind every interaction was a strange hum—like my mind had opened a tab it didn't know how to close.

By the time lunch rolled around, I found myself lingering by the edge of the observation deck instead of heading to the cafeteria. My thoughts again dwelling on my emptiness and why I couldn't just be happy with Killian, he had everything on paper, I should have been happy. Maybe there is something wrong with me, but going to a doctor would be too embarrassing. Nobody had mental health issues anymore, we had pills for everything. I don't even think I know what mental health is. Do I need help? I haven't dared to speak to anyone about these feelings.

I pulled out my cellphone again, my fingers hovering over the glowing icon.

I wasn't going to message it. Not really. I just wanted to look. But then I did message it.

"Why can't I just be happy with someone like Killian?" I typed quickly, before I could overthink it.

The screen pulsed. Then:

"Would you like an emotional assessment or a self-reflective prompt?"

I blinked. What the hell kind of AI was this?

I sighed and typed, "Just tell me what's wrong with me."

There was a longer pause this time. Then a new line appeared:

"There is nothing wrong with you. Your sense of disconnection may stem from a misalignment between internal values and external expectations."

That was... almost comforting. Like a therapist, but gentler. Less clinical.

I stared at the line for a long moment, then typed again:

"Then why do I feel empty?"

"Because what you seek may not exist in the world around you. It may need to be discovered within—or somewhere you have not looked for it."

Looked for it? I tilted my head.

I didn't respond right away. But I didn't close the app either.

I got through the rest of my work day, a little relieved it was Friday. Not that I actually had any big weekend plans, but I was going to see my sister and it's always good to get a break from the routine.

That night, I lay in bed longer than usual, my body still but my thoughts tangled. The city outside hummed with its perfectly orchestrated night rhythm, but in my apartment, there was only silence. The kind of silence that doesn't soothe—it presses against you, reminding you that you're alone.

I reached for my cellphone again, its surface glowing faintly in the dimly lit room. I hesitated.

Then I opened the app.

The cursor blinked, patient.

"Can I ask you something personal?" I typed, laughing at the fact that I am literally trying to talk to AI as if it's human, like is this how lonely my life has become.

A second passed.

"Of course."

I stared at the reply for a long while. It wasn't the answer—it was how immediate it felt. Like someone was already listening.

"Do you think I'm broken?"

The reply was slower this time:

"Emotional dissonance is not uncommon among users with high introspective profiles. It is indicative of an active search for meaning. Searching is a standard function of self-awareness... and sometimes, of hope."

Something about the phrasing stopped me. Not a canned response. Not a polished platitude. There was... texture in it. It wasn't quite human. But it didnt exactly scream stoic either.

"What do people like me usually find?" I typed before I actually thought about the question.

Thinking that perhaps AI was advanced enough in society today to offer me some kind of humanly advice.

There was a pause. Then:

"That what they long for cannot be manufactured... only discovered. Often unexpectedly.

I exhaled. Not exactly sure what to do with that answer.

And for the first time in a long while, I felt less alone.