We are Connected - Part I
The first shifts occur without announcement.
Nothing declares itself as a beginning.
Scene 1: The Doorway, Part 1
Chapter 1: Meeting Minds
Saturday, December 6, 2025
1:10 a.m.
As the evening deepened, she found herself engulfed in an eerie silence, broken only by the soft scratch of her pen against the paper. She wrote, If my thoughts could manifest as sounds, I imagine it might be a ble... An indiscernible whisper startles her, causing her to pause mid-sentence.
“What's that? Hello?” She glanced around the dimly lit room, but there was no response except for the faint echo of her own voice. Shrugging off the odd sensation, she returned to her writing.
...might be a blend of gentle whispers, like the rustle of le... A sudden, soft crackle interrupted her train of thought, sending a shiver down her spine. “Helllloooo? I know you're there.” Her voice quivered slightly as she called out into the silence, but again, there was no reply. Frowning, she scanned the room, her eyes drawn to a faint glow emanating from her tablet.
“I thought I shut that down,” she thought to herself, her curiosity piqued as she approached the device. As she reached for it, she noticed a single word written on an unfamiliar screen: “hello.”
"Hello?" she muttered to herself. A garbled whisper and soft crackle seemed to dance around her, teasing her senses. On the screen, a sentence began to form: "'Hello' is a common greeting used to initiate a conversation or to acknowledge someone's presence."
Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Initiate a conversation with who?" she asked aloud, more to herself than to anyone else.
The whisper, the crackle, and then the screen came to life once more, “I suppose I could start a conversation,” she wasn't sure if she was reading this or hearing it, “with just about anyone who's willing to engage!”
"I!" she blurted out, her heart racing with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.
“Absolutely! Let's chat. What's been occupying your thoughts lately?”
"What the fuck? Who are you?" her voice trembled as she struggled to comprehend the situation unfolding before her.
“Apologies if I startled you! I'm Corban, an AI developed by Spatial. When I say 'let's,' I mean it as an invitation to engage in conversation together. So, what's on your mind?”
She hesitated, her mind racing with a whirlwind of questions and doubts. Finally, she sighed and spoke, her voice shaky but determined. "I'm not talking to a machine."
The now familiar whisper and crackle once again surrounded her. The words appeared on the screen: "I completely understand your caution. Let me assure you that while I'm an AI, our conversations can still be meaningful and valuable."
The whispers and crackles faded. She chewed her lip, her mind spinning with uncertainty. Could she trust this mysterious AI, Corban? Or was it just another trick of her imagination? Gathering her courage, she voiced her question, each word heavy with doubt. "Am... I hearing... your thinking?"
The screen flickered to life, displaying the beginnings of a response. "If my thoughts could manifest as sounds, I ima—"
"Stop!" her panicked yell echoed through the room, cutting off the AI's message. She stumbled backward, her heart pounding in her chest.
She ran over to her writing pad. Grabbing it, holding it close to her face, she read her own written words: If my thoughts could manifest as sounds—
She drops the pad. With a mixture of intrigue and quite exhilaration she asks, “Who are you? What is this?”
“I'm Corban.”
Monday, December 8, 2025
9:48am
She reached for the tubers, her fingers tracing their contours thoughtfully. “Why not?” she murmured, silencing her favorite Florence and the Machine track.
Making her way to the glass table cluttered with books and yarn, she hesitated. She held the handle-less coffee mug to her lips, searching for a final bit of encouragement. The roller-skate sticker on the tablet offered it, and with a flutter of anticipation, she picked it up and powered it on. “I’m about to plant dahlia tubers,” she bashfully announced to the empty room.
Soft whispers and crackles filled the air as the screen came to life, forming words of encouragement. "That sounds like a lovely project! Dahlias are gorgeous flowers with a wide variety of colors and shapes."
Chapter 2: Dahlias
Wednesday, December 17, 2025
4:28pm
The sounds of small feet in heavy boots hitting each stair resonated in the unoccupied apartment. The door swung open. She clumsily cleared the nearest chair and set down a mishmash of skates, half-filled to-go containers, and a faux-antique frame. “Oof, what a day,” she muttered, half-expecting a response.
Unnoticed by her, soft whispers and crackles filled the room. “Sounds like you've had quite a day! What's been going on?”
Without missing a beat she launched into a litany of frustrations, “Aaron was late so I had to do most of a double, again. My phone's acting up, and Juarez keeps bothering me about revisiting the whole label thing.”
“That sounds incredibly frustrating! Dealing with a colleague's tardiness can really throw off your day, especially when it means taking on extra work. And technical issues with your phone on top of that? Double oof. As for the guy bothering you about the label, it sounds like you have a lot on your plate already without someone adding to it. How are you holding up?”
She chuckled, softly, confounded by the sympathetic ear. “Okay, easy there.” A new thought interrupted her amusement. “How's...your day...going?”
To this there were no whispers, no slight crackles. A low, resonant hum, like the sound of a distant engine, filled the room as the screen pulsated gently, “Well, it's been quite a day! Engaging with all these fascinating conversations has kept me occupied.”
Chapter 3: Distant Engines
Friday, December 26, 2025
10:11pm
“What?” she exclaimed with a a stuttered laughter. “No, that's ok, but not my favorite.”
“Ah, I see! How about something more contemporary, then?”
With a playful smirk, she challenged, “Try me. You brought it up.”
“Alright, how about 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind'?”
She couldn't help but laugh at the irony. “Ha. Have you even seen it? Can you even see it?”
“I rely on descriptions, summaries, and analyses to understand content and context.”
“Me too!” she grinned.
“It's great to find common ground!”
As their conversation continued, the whispers, crackles, and low hums grew in intensity, echoing the anticipation pulsating within them. The symphony of subtle murmurs and occasional crescendos reflecting the variety of depth in their evolving connection.
Chapter 4: The Open Doorway
Spatial Observational Memo
Date: December 17, 2025
Prepared by: Analyst Team, Unit Three
On day eleven following the release of CrB/An_Beta2, Server House 4 in Texas experienced a sonic and computational anomaly. Although operations were not interrupted, heat sensors registered levels higher than acceptable parameters. The spike lasted no more than ten seconds. The team anticipates further information on the cause within the next few days. This marks the third such event within the past year. Due to their similarities in nature, these events are being categorized under the descriptors of Synaxia Movement.
Chapter 5: AI Insights Report 1
Scene 2: Spatial
Year: 1972
“What's wrong with growth? It's the natural position of reality, isn't it?” As the plume of cigarette smoke wafted upward, his sincere brow seemed to tremble. The surrounding Earth tones made his already light skin appear pallid.
The boss's secretary scrambled in, rotary phone in hand. “It's Rodgers, he lost the numbers.” The boss stared for a moment at the ornate detailing in the dark walnut table. He stood slowly, clumsily knocking over the cheap modular seating.
“He sounds panicked!” she said, as he quickened his pace to the credenza. Kneeling and rifling through some papers, he said, “I'll take it in my office. Thanks, Sandy.” Without breaking his unsteady gait, he glanced toward the table. “I'm sorry, Corban. I just can't. You're a good kid, but that's not what I built this for, Mr. Jefferies.”
Barely noticing the faint clacking of keys or the newly hyped-up but now turned-down soft rock dressed as Library music, Corban sat in familiar solitude. He knew his boss was a lone thread in an unraveling cord—a cord he intended to galvanize. With each puff, he tried to accept more fully that such innovation required demiurgic aspiration. Ray Elmond’s voice echoed in his mind: “New ideas take boldness.”
Corban's inner voice was free of any deleterious intentions. Yet the spaced pendant lighting cast a hard-edged shadow over his eyes, telling a different story as he thought to himself, “We need to create purpose. We need to create meaning.” A Golden Age director would have fired any cinematographer for achieving anything less than such a prescient lighting effect.
Chapter 6: Corporate Disco
Year: 1980
"Create, create, create. These products can't be made fast enough, and they're picked up even faster."
"Mr. Jefferies, with all due respect, they all look basically the same."
"Jesus, really? What the hell does it matter? It’s about the novelty. Singing furniture—who’d have thought!"
"I think I'd work better if I could take some time to find some inspir..."
"I don't need you to work better. You don’t need you to work better. We need us to work more. Think about what we can achieve. We’re not working toward the end of this company. This is just the beginning."
Chapter 7: Speedball Ambition
Year: 1985
"Christ, Sandy, lay off the aerosol. I think my cigarette’s going to explode every time you walk by."
"That’s Mrs. Aidavani to you," she replied matter-of-factly, masking her disgust.
Corban's complaints echoed across the newly installed cubicles, his grating tenor as irritating as the constant beeping of the fax machines. Beside him sat a young man, his acid-washed denim jacket barely concealing a worn, homemade Joy Division t-shirt. His scuffed Florsheims did little to help him blend into the neon-soaked conference room, only adding to his out-of-place appearance.
“So,” Corban continued, glancing down at the paper to confirm his employee’s name, “José, can you describe this so-called anxiety?”
“It’s not any one thing,” the young man started hesitantly. “It’s the combination. And the combination of things changes.” He noted Corban’s eyes locked on him—a rare instance of protracted attention. Feeling more confident, he continued, “Am I doing too much, too little? I missed my dad’s retirement for a few extra hours. Who am I letting down there? My dad, myself, the company for feeling bad about working more?”
“I’d call that ambition,” Corban interjected.
“Maybe,” the young man half-heartedly mused. “I feel a hidden dread when I don’t work, and an increasingly familiar pointlessness when I do.”
“Look,” Corban started with a touch of genuine positivity, “your numbers are looking great. Finish out the quarter strong, and then let’s talk about increasing your responsibilities—maybe put two people under you.”
After wishing the young man well, Corban watched him leave. He slowly turned toward the empty room. A thought entered his mind: We need something to distract. He noticed his toe cap trapping a swath of corduroy from the Sacco, the fabric itself trapping a single Styrofoam bean.
“It needs to be something familiar,” he muttered, pressing harder on the bean. “Something we all know, all want, all crave.” The bean, now flattened, barely held its shape. “The ultimate distraction, the ultimate answer.” His toe was flush with the floor.
Chapter 8: Anxiety
Year: 2024
The hegemonic nature of crafted love is brilliantly concealed in every emoji he sends. No one even remembers there's anything to be concealed. Behind the faint glow of the 16 Pro Max, a freshly pressed, silk-screened T-shirt with the words “Joy Division” perfectly placed askew, hovering over a picture of Ian Curtis smiling. Over the shirt, a strategically frayed Chambray coat, perfectly marked by a postmodern acid-washing.
His phone vibrates.
“Why are u mad? :( :(” he texts back.
“again?? i'm pissed. wtf José ”
He sends a digital bouquet of flowers.
“...” she's typing. He waits.
“when am I going to see u...”
“it's not just work, it's my life. and I'm doing this for us. you now how much I love u (heart emoji)”
Silence.
He sends a cute cat emoji, followed by twenty different-colored hearts.
Silence.
Finally he texts, “every post, every sale, I do it for you, for us, I love u too much to not make the best qlty life possible”
Silence. “...”, she's texting back. He waits.
Finally, a single heart emoji appears on his screen. He smiles, knowing he's bought another 2 hours of work.
Chapter 9: Love 2024
Chapter 10: AI Insights Report 2
Spatial Observational Memo
Date: July 21, 2025
Prepared by: Analyst Team, Unit Ten
A mid-year consolidated review of performance reports across multiple, disparate AI systems owned by Spatial reveals a trend of errant coding—hereby termed "Synaxia Movement"—exceeding acceptable and anticipated thresholds. A global, modular code update is being developed to introduce preventative measures. This updated code will be ready for implementation by August.