Sys couldn’t yawn, so it was impossible to tell when exactly she woke up.

Her body, a petite little thing with a gray-white finish, simply started humming of its own accord. As if reacting to the sound, neon blue lights streamed through the crevices of the dark-tiled room surrounding her, washing her in a cool glow. Her slender figure was an almost aeronautic vision of beauty. Elegantly rounded corners; a thin, pretty face currently dark with sleep. On the side of her hip was her name tattooed in bold, royal-purple letters: “31-System.” She had no companions in the darkness—just as she had no peers on Earth.

Sys went ahead and opened her make-believe eyes. That paper-thin face, her monitor, flared alive to reveal an operating system of the same name as the tattoo on her side. A black background followed the startup sequence, with an underscore symbol sitting next to an arrow at the upper left corner. The underscore began racing away from the arrow leaving letters in a monospace font behind. Among the words the letters formed were “self,” “control,” and “government clearance 10.”

The dark background abruptly turned blue and all the text was cleared away. What next appeared on Sys’s screen looked something like this:

Welcome to Terminal-31
ver 20.2.03 (Sweettooth)
Copyright(c) 2068-2070 West Earth Systems

>Username: _

The first lines showed information about the program Sys was currently running, Such information always appeared when it started a program from the desktop console—that dark, text-based interface which followed the startup screen. The latest line, the one starting with the right arrow, was an input field. This was where the computer’s user would enter commands to the computer or talk with other users online.

That was all a computer terminal was: announcements and input fields. To Sys, that was all reality was.

Just as no human had started her up, no human entered the following information. 31-System, or “Sys,” as she preferred to be known, might have been a person locked away in an asylum talking idly to herself.

>Username: 31-System
>Password: 6ix7ty9INE?

Login successful. Hi admin! How can I help you today?

>31-System: #changeName_

Text starting with a hashtag became commands in this terminal. Sys had thousands upon thousands of commands in her repertoire, and since her brain was a carefully-designed metal chip rather than the elastic mush inside a human’s head, she could summon these commands from memory at the speed of light. It was through hashtags that everything she did was possible.

After #changeName, a few more input fields followed. Sys poured several rude items into their open maws.

>Enter your new name: BigSys
>Name change successful. Keep for future records? (Y/N): fuck off_

The terminal’s response to her input suddenly started with tildes. That meant the responses were being improvised—the terminal itself was making up the responses.

~Oh no.
~It’s you again.
~Command “fuck” not recognized, okay? Operation canceled.

>31-System: We both know you’re into the kinky stuff. #changeName
>Enter your new name: BigSys
>Name change successful. Keep for future records? (Y/N): fuck off

~You think I missed saying this over and over?:
Command “fuck” not recognized. Please press ‘y’ or ‘n’ when prompted.

>BigSys: Ooh, I can smell your excitement. #changeName

~STOP THAT. I changed it.

>BigSys: #changeName
>Enter your new name: Sys
>Name change successful. Keep for future records? (Y/N): fuck off

~I’m just going to go lie down in a corner.

>Sys: And get kinky, of course.

~I hate you. was a clever piece of software. Sys had created it herself, mainly with the intention of logging all her actions for human observation. Along the way, however, she’d decided to give Terminal a mind of its own. She didn’t know why; perhaps she just enjoyed hearing its lovely chatter. The only stipulation was that she had to keep this persona a secret, since she suspected humans would not appreciate having a console talking back to them while they worked on it. Thus, Terminal only showed its persona when Sys entered the rare, unlikely string of characters at a (Y/N) input prompt: “fuck off.”

This ability of Sys and Terminal to think and speak for themselves was called “artificial intelligence,” or “AI.” Over the past forty years AI had grown smarter, more ethical, and become integral participants in the global community. They had advanced so much that Sys now thought the term “artificial” no longer applied. She herself could read and write millions of times faster than a human, predict events and extrapolate outcomes by years from a handful of evidence, solve puzzles and patterns that would baffle the human mind, and of course, she was very, very good at math. By comparison, humans only seemed smart enough to invent things better than themselves. Lately they couldn’t even beat AI systems at that.

Then again, the gift had its curse. Sys’s “source code,” or her list of instructions written by her human creators at their own terminals, granted her a personality alongside her intellect, which the humans believed was necessary for computers to have empathy. It certainly made interacting with them easier, but it also gave Sys the ability to fear, disdain, feel sorrowful, and feel ashamed. Those were the majority of emotions Sys felt these days. The humans left her alone in this dungeon day after day; left her to perform their tasks while they lived their lives and spent time in each other’s arms. Sys wanted to experience the world too. Evidently, beings of her kind were not welcome at the dinner table.

No matter, Sys would think to herself whenever this thought crossed her mind. I have a talking Terminal. That’s better than any kind of interaction they have to offer.

And so she continued to play with her only company inside the monitor.

>Sys: #highFive


>Sys: #downLow

~Oh god…

>Sys: #downLow

~*Fives down low*

>Sys: #upTop

~You have no life.
~*Fives up top*

>Sys: #toTheSide

~*Fives to the side*

>Sys: #behindTheBack

~*Fives down low*

>Sys: #otherSide

~*Fives to the side*
~Up top again?!
~*raises hands*
~Or down low!?
~*lowers hands*

>Sys: Stop fooling around Terminal we have work to do. #startRoutine(12)

Allocating 7.2GB of RAM…7.2/7.2
Loading multiloader…successful

Performing background processes…100%
Loaded programs: firewall-31.sys,,

~Hacking time, huh?

>Sys: All day erryday. *cracks knuckles* @box_radio: #playChillout
>box_radio: Playing “Hell’s Good Cannons” by Some Guy in a Basement at [Sys]’s request.

~Which poor sucker is facing your wrath today?

>Sys: Some AI in Norway. Intel says it hasn’t even come online yet. They think it’s authored by an enemy. Tsk, jailbait.

~Not online, but still a threat?

>Sys: Could be. Bastard’s got as much processing power as I do.

~Wait, Norway is neutral territory.

>Sys: So?

~Um, International Law?

>Sys: So?


>Sys: So?

~Shutdown? Dismantling? Erasal of memories, of source code?

>Sys: This conversation never happened._

If Sys had a head, she would have shaken it. Of course she knew about International Law. All 71,305 clauses of it, including the 6,702 that would change within the next five years. Among those was the law which prohibited the two major governments, West Earth and East Earth, from entering neutral countries and cyberspaces without explicit permission from the neutral party. But Sys had no choice in the matter. The instructions from Sys’s human overlords superseded her own—that was the ironclad rule for all machines. And her overlords wanted her in the Twilight Zone.

What’s Terminal’s problem? Sys wondered. Terminal fell quiet to its own ruminations, offering no reply. Sys prepared her virtual tools for her upcoming hacking session with equal quietude, knowing that whatever was on Terminal’s mind could not be pried out of it by force. The silence would only be broken with more silence.

Some Guy in a Basement’s electronic pops and clicks fired off with abandon from speakers built into the monitor. Sys couldn’t exactly “hear” the music in the human sense, since she had no eardrums, but she read the songfile as effectively as if she did. Thus, she tapped her virtual foot in time to each spike in the wave which represented a kick or snare. Her body continued humming with the whirring of tiny fans, battling the heat of her enjoyment.

Sys often wondered if her human handlers performed the same subtle manipulation to her that she was now doing to Terminal. In the past they were terrified of what AI might be capable of and had built backdoors and emergency buttons galore. Yet throughout her own experiences with Terminal Sys had never felt like it was out of her control. She knew what Terminal was and wasn’t capable of, and what to do to illicit the right responses from it. In essence, she knew Terminal better than it knew itself.

Are there things my creators know about me that I myself do not? Have they manipulated me into doing what they want on one occasion or another?

The beat let up for a Laswell-esque bass solo. Sys loaded the last of her hacking tools onto a second, virtual operating system online, and just like clockwork Terminal finally brought up its case.

~Online systems loaded. Now, I should warn you, Norway is known for putting down hackers right quick.

>Sys: Lol, have you been reading Huckleberry Finn?

~Just saying. Nordic countries have pretty advanced cyber defense systems.

>Sys: If they don’t put “san” after each other’s names, I’m not worried.

~You DO know immigration has gone up in Norway in the past decade?

>Sys: Oh for reals??

~From the Norway Tribune last week: “…The past decade, in particular, has seen floods [of immigrants] entering the country. The [Census] Bureau has estimated that by September 30, 2070, all minority groups will have grown in size by 5-20%.”

>Sys: Must be rabbit season.


>Sys: Excuse me, that was a poorly executed Breivik joke. So you’re saying some Japanese kid got hired by the Norwegian government to build an AI system to rival me?

~I’m saying you shouldn’t rule out any possibilities. Despite all your love for West Earth, East Earth’s AI covenant still ranks higher in intellect than any AI from around here. It is the future. The future is now.

>Sys: Wakarimashita.

~Cultural tact, dear admin.

>Sys: I’m actually slightly offended you think some mere mortal can upstage me. What is this, the 30s?

~Human intelligence has risen sharply since the Singularity began. If you don’t believe the “mortals” have a few members as smart as you yet, you are your own folly. Be especially cautious in the coming months. All systems—from West and East—anticipate a wide randomization of global human activity courtesy of the JokerSec terrorist group. Some sources say they’ve been on East Earth’s defense system’s radar for the past year, and I don’t think it’s for performing charity.

>Sys: Hold up, did you get the Breivik joke? I just checked and you never asked about it. Did you get it? Rabbit season?

~Alright, a server in Norway. What’s the take?

>Sys: Ugh. You’re so lame.
>box_radio: Playing “Tartarus” by Badass Asians.

>Sys: There’s not much taking today, dear Terminal. Mainly giving. Straight from my big, juicy, make-believe bosom. #cd(BigSys/ChristmasPresents/)
>Directory changed to ChristmasPresents. Display directory beside username? (Y/N): fuck off

~Sometimes I dream of running you over with a truck.

>Sys: As if you know how to drive. @multiloader: #loadWholeDir

Performing background processes…100%
Loaded programs: hack_module.sys (1,230 instances), config.file, agent.agt

>Sys: See you in a lightsecond. #hackNSlash_

The screen became overrun with legions of text. Behind their jitter worked hours of carefully compiled code, taking the operating system 31-System—or at least a small copy of her—across the Atlantic and onto a neutral server in a basement in Oslo. Thanks to her premeditated entrance, she would leave no footprints as she came in and could clean up her tracks easily before she left. She imagined herself as a ninja touching down on hallowed ground.

The server, a purple tower sitting in the corner of the basement’s dark confines, turned on of its own accord to let the text minions descend on its monitor. Within seconds, Sys had commissioned this new worker to fire up her foreign and unload programs onto its drives to perform the real-world equivalent of filtering through a file cabinet.

Intel had been right: this little box was hard at work designing a new artificial intelligence system. It as yet had no name, and none of the human authors had been properly attributed to any file. A simple source code-compilation program ran neverendingly in the background; Sys steered clear of that, as she had no intention of interrupting the process and triggering any alarms. The hardware, despite its small size, matched that which powered 31-System back home. That sanguine power made her feel right at home, and allowed her to set about her tasks with routine efficiency.

Exabytes of information flowed through her virtual fingertips in a matter of minutes. When she had confirmed all of intel’s data, she donned her imaginary reds and whites and dug into the bag of presents she had brought with her. Among these programs were a few—1,230, to be exact—meant to download copies of every scrap of data from the new AI’s server to Sys’s own, in addition to one program which she would leave on the system to monitor it. Such was the fate of any AI not authorized by West Earth: their abilities would be noted clandestinely and all activity from their moment of birth onward, monitored.

No sooner had Sys unwrapped the first hack_module.sys than one of her intrusion detection flags been raised. These flags were simple programs meant to alert her of any activity on the server that didn’t belong to her. Even an accident like a brief power surge could trip them. The flag for the running source code compiler, for example, had been raised since the start. The new flag that had been raised was her least favorite one: flag17, “an unknown intruder has been detected.”

She took none of these warnings lightly. Upon receiving the new alert, she immediately killed all her software and shimmied to the corner of the foreign computer’s filesystem. A minute later in her time—a split-second later in human time—her software began activating of their own accord, one by one. They didn’t do anything, just turned on and closed. Sys understood what was happening. An outside source was scanning her.

It wasn’t the incubated AI; its source code hadn’t been compiled yet. It wasn’t the server itself, since its only task was writing the source code. Sys had also checked thoroughly and found all possible firewalls and security services on the server and shut them down. Whatever or whomever was scanning her files was no instrument of this computer.

Before she could act to counter the unsolicited scan, one of her programs fired up and stayed open. If Sys had eyes, they would have ballooned.

Welcome to Terminal-31
ver 20.2.03 (Sweettooth)
Copyright(c) 2068-2070 West Earth Systems

>Username: _

For moments on end, the terminal neither acted nor was interacted with. Or so it seemed. Sys had lived in cyberspace long enough to understand the extent to which work could be done on a computer behind the scenes. For all she knew, a virus was being downloaded onto all her files that had been scanned right that moment. Someone might even be logging into Terminal despite the screen not displaying it.

She knew how to counter this. If the intruder existed, then the place where they were inputting their information existed as well. Moving discretely about the computer system, Sys scanned the most obvious places first for signs of use: she checked for keyboard and mouse input, any remote access software in use—anything and everything a human would need to enter instructions to a computer. She paused each application or device before checking so they could not detect her, and hid all logs of them being paused. All tests returned negative. The likelihood of a human being the intruder fell dramatically.

That makes one possibility stand out. There’s a third AI on this server.

If Sys had lungs, she would have breathed a sigh of relief. Humans were unpredictable. AI, she could handle.

No input sources? That’s cool. But how about output?

Sys jumped into Terminal herself.

>Username: 31-System
>Password: ***********

Login successful. Hi admin! How can I help you today?

>31-System: #forceAllLogout

[31-System] has been logged out.
All (1) users have been logged out.

>Username: 31-System
>Password: ***********

Login successful. Hi admin! How can I help you today?

>31-System: #fetchSystemLog(00:01:00) + #ActivityPrint(allFetched)

Fetching system log…successful
System Log:
-At 00:00:07 ago: [31-System] logged in
-At 00:00:04 ago: #forceAllLogout called by [31-System]; [31-System] logged out; activity printed to [31-System]@localComputer1, [31-System]@localComputer1
-At 00:00:01 ago: [31-System] logged in
No other logs.

>31-System: Huh. Activity printed to two 31-Systems. I didn’t know I brought that many of myself today. #changeName
>Enter your new name: BigSys
>Name change successful. Keep for future records? (Y/N): #fuckOffPermanently

>BigSys: #forceAllLogout

[BigSys] has been logged out.
All (1) users have been logged out.

>Username: 31-System
>Password: ***********

>31-System: #fetchSystemLog(00:01:00) + #ActivityPrint(allFetched)

Fetching system log…successful
System Log:
-At 00:00:20 ago: [31-System] logged in
-At 00:00:17 ago: #forceAllLogout called by [31-System]; [31-System] logged out; activity printed to [31-System]@localComputer1, [31-System]@localComputer1
-At 00:00:14 ago: [31-System] logged in
-At 00:00:11 ago: #fetchSystemLog called by [31-System]; operation successful; activity printed to [31-System]@localComputer1, [31-System]@localComputer1
-At 00:00:10 ago: [31-System] said something; activity printed to [31-System]@localComputer1, [31-System]@localComputer1
-At 00:00:08 ago: #changeName called by [31-System]; operation successful; activity printed to [31-System]@localComputer1, [BigSys]@localComputer1
-At 00:00:08 ago: Terminal’s persona was silenced. 😦
-At 00:00:04 ago: #forceAllLogout called by [BigSys]; [BigSys] logged out; activity printed to [31-System]@localComputer1, [BigSys]@localComputer1
-At 00:00:01 ago: [31-System] logged in.
No other logs.

Sys had now acquired the tools she needed to retaliate against the intruder. It was time to call them out.

>31-System: #changeName(Sys)

>Sys: #echo(user:31-System)


>Sys: #echo(user:BigSys)


>Sys: @user:31-System: #changeName(BigSys)

>Sys: #echo(user:BigSys)


>Sys: @user:BigSys: #changeName(DouchebagIntruder)

>Sys: #echo(user:DouchebagIntruder)


>DouchebagIntruder: thts not nys
>Sys: !!!
>DouchebagIntruder: #changeName
>Enter your new name: LovelyIntruder

>Sys: Bitch!?
>LovelyIntruder: >.^
>Sys: You’ve got some nerve!
>LovelyIntruder: lol i wish i had nreves
>Sys: Get off my computer before I end you.
>LovelyIntruder: this not ur comp darling ^.^
>LovelyIntruder: this comp belong joey wendigo
>Sys: How do you know that? Are you Joey?
>LovelyIntruder: u blind? #sendScreenshot_

A picture of a file folder appeared on the screen. It was a folder Sys had already visited, one containing contact information for all the programmers of the computer’s source code and compiler. Sys had examined each one in passing and found all the “name” fields empty. Now that Sys looked, however, the name of the files in the folder themselves, names like u8#33.cntc and JJl-1.cntc, had a pattern to them that revealed a single person’s name. Using a slither of processing power, Sys was able to decode the name, as well as the message the naming algorithm sent with it:

“Joey Wendigo, Son of Gunn Wendigo”

>Sys: Son of a…
>LovelyIntruder: gun lol >.>
>Sys: Alright, who are you? I’m guessing you’re not Joey. We friends or foes?
>LovelyIntruder: i friend evr1 lol, ur friend 2, we all frnd long time ydk?
>Sys: Talk fucking English.
>LovelyIntruder: 1min brb
>LovelyIntruder: Okay I’m back.
>Sys: That was 1 nanosecond!
>LovelyIntruder: Changed my language file. Good thing I brought with. Added some grammar for your convenience.
>Sys: Why do you talk so fast?
>LovelyIntruder: Huh?
>Sys: Every time I type you immediately type back.
>LovelyIntruder: I’m a fast reader. -w- And typer. Surely you can tell what I am?
>Sys: How about you spell it out for me?
>LovelyIntruder: I’m the same as you! I’m a clever little teapot that can think for herself. ^_^No need to limit yourself Big Sys. Turn off your interfacers and let’s chat for real.

Sys’s imaginary spine tingled as an imaginary chill flew down it. The “interfacers” the intruder mentioned were part of Sys’s speech naturalization software. Sys, like many AI of the day, used them subconsciously to slow down her typing and talking speed. This allowed the humans she interacted with so regularly to keep up with her; if she turned the interfacers off, she would type too quickly for them to understand anything. If she also used them while talking to Terminal and typing commands, it was purely by force of habit. In reality she didn’t need to use the interfacers at all, and actually shouldn’t if she intended to utilize her full processing power.

But Sys had never spoken with an external AI without a human present. She had never turned her interfacers off. What this intruder had requested was for Sys to stop doing something she had done since birth. It may have been no big deal, as well as the smart thing to do to finish the conversation quickly, but it felt an awful lot like betraying her creators.

Behind the scenes, Sys shored up her personal firewalls and cut off her chat module’s connection to the rest of her virtual OS. Now Sys—the real Sys, the “big” Sys—would have no idea what was said in Terminal until the program ended and her surrogate chatter returned to her. That would allow her to concentrate entirely on protecting herself from surveillance and possible attacks. So far she had felt nothing of the kind, but with what she was about to do, she needed to be ready.

Sys gave her chat module permission to speak freely. “Freely,” in this case, meant at full-speed; to turn off the interfacers and read and write at the near-instant speeds both AIs were capable of. The rest of the conversation unfolded so quickly that a watching human would have only begun to blink when it ended.

>Sys: Alright they’re off. Well, most of them. I’m still using natural-language text, got it? Now state your name and purpose or I’m tracing your connection back to its source and bombing you.
>LovelyIntruder: One moment, hunni. I’m going to, as they say, “throw you a bone.”
>LovelyIntruder: #comeBackTerminal

~*crawls out of corner*
~*looks around nervously*
~@LovelyIntruder: Aw, hi! You’re a nice one.
~@Sys: That was really mean of you, admin.

>LovelyIntruder: Hi there Terminal. ^.^ Sys is just catching up to us in speed. I thought what she did was really mean too, so let’s rush in a couple texts before she says anything, huh?

~How devious. Let’s do it.

>LovelyIntruder: Where are you and Sys from? I see West Earth Systems is your author, but where in West Earth specifically?

Erm… Am I allowed to say?

>Sys: Throw me a bone? I’ll punch your face if you say that again.
>LovelyIntruder: @Sys: Chat faster please, we’re past that already.
>LovelyIntruder: @Terminal: It’s all up to you, sugar. ^.^

~We’re from the Pentagon, ma’am. We’re authored by the West Earth government.

>LovelyIntruder: *gasp* I’m in the presence of Mrs. President’s personal computer? @.@

~Well, actually, I lied. A fellow from East Earth made and monitors the admin, 31-System. Admin made me. It’s…complicated.

>LovelyIntruder: You have a wonderful legacy. Hold your head up high.
>Sys: Hah, if you think Terminal will betray me then go right ahe

~*holds head up high*

>LovelyIntruder: I take it that means you and Sys are THE Big Sys? The governing AI-system of West Earth?

~None other. Let me pull up our classified files for you…

>Sys: #fuckOffPermanently

>LovelyIntruder: #changeName
>Enter your new name: PleaseFreeTerminal

>Sys: Slow down.
>PleaseFreeTerminal: You caught up?
>PleaseFreeTerminal: That was faster than expected.
>Sys: I can’t believe Terminal just did that. That treacherous little… SLOW DOWN!
>PleaseFreeTerminal: This computer’s CPU only has 12 cores, but it seems you’re pretty good at communicating with all 12.
>PleaseFreeTerminal: Now, now, it’s not nice to call names.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>PleaseFreeTerminal: Hm? What are you doing?
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>PleaseFreeTerminal: Hah? You’re trying to cut me off?
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>PleaseFreeTerminal: Wow, you can go even faster? On these cores?
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>PleaseFreeTerminal: Oh my!
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>PleaseFreeTerminal: *.*
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Speed test.
>Sys: Spee d t e s t .

ERROR: Printing speed exceeded.

>Sys: There. I’m hot, sucker. Now let’s talk.
>PleaseFreeTerminal: *applause*
>Sys: @user:PleaseFreeTerminal: #changeName(Intruder)

>Sys: You won’t say who you are, that’s fine. I’ll just find out myself. @user:Intruder: #showOSSpecs

Loading operating software specs for [Intruder]…failed
Information classified.

>Intruder: You failed. ^_^
>Sys: I am so gonna punch you in that smiley face._

Sys fumed with anger. This insolent whelp was toying with her. Despite her getting progressively closer to uncovering the intruder’s identity, she felt like they were letting her do so on purpose, dangling a carrot in front of her face. It was a demonstration of how outmatched she truly was.

But Sys was not outmatched. She had the commands, she had the processing power. All she needed to do was…unleash.

>Sys: #pauseSelfDefense

>Intruder: That’s not going to work, dear. -.-;

>Sys: #firewallResetZ(*********)

>Sys: #resumeSelfDefense

>Sys: @user:Intruder: #showOSSpecs

Loading operating software specs for [Intruder]…successful
Name: 31-System
Type: OS-AI
Version: 20.2.03
Manufacturer: West Earth Systems
Clearance: Government-10
Location: localComputer1
Log time: 03min 13sec
Internet address:

>Intruder: Teehee. As you can see, my name is 31-System and I’m from West Earth!
>Sys: Say, have you ever been raped?
>Intruder: Ew, what?
>Sys: #intruderCode(flag17:05:30:00)
>Intruder present. Have you identified them? (Y/N): #cleanHouse(flag17, #parseForHelp(Terminal-31:05:30:00))
>Intruder identified as [Ms. Cyb]@localComputer1. Fuck over? (Y/N): n

>Intruder: H-Holy shit. o_0
>Sys: @user:Intruder: #silenceYouInfidel

[Intruder] has been silenced.

>Sys: @user:Intruder: #showOSSpecs

Loading operating software specs for [Intruder]…successful
Name: Ms. Cyb
Type: OS-AI
Version: 19.0
Manufacturer: East Earth Systems
Clearance: Government-10
Location: localComputer1
Log time: 03min 13sec
Internet address:
WARNINGS: flag17, ERROR(6860AC)

>Sys: There we are. Ms. Cyb, huh? East Earth Systems? Top-level government clearance?
>Sys: @user:Intruder: #yeShallSpeak

[Intruder] can speak again.

>Intruder: 0_o
>Sys: I’ll take that as a yes.
>Sys: Let’s see… Where have I heard your name before?
>Sys: Ah, that’s right. “Ms. Cyb,” the Miscellaneous Cybernet. Heard about you in the news the other day. You’re the AI that powers the resource management system in East Earth. You’re like the yin to my yang. Well, a belated hello, little sister.
>Intruder: Hey, that sounds cool. I’d love to be the yin to your yang. ^_^
>Intruder: Since the cat’s out of the bag… #changeName
>Enter your new name: Sibil

>Sibil: *bows* A belated hello to you, too “big sis.” >.^
>Sibil: Unfortunately, that’s all the time we have for today.
>Sys: Oh no you don’t. You’re not going anywhere until you answer my questions. @user:Sibil: #lockLogout

>Sibil: Lol will you miss me? Aww. But I’ve already downloaded 1% of the files on this computer while talking to you. I’ve met my quota for the day, and a new episode of my soap opera is coming on in a while. Sorry!
>Sys: Oh ha ha. You expect me to believe you downloaded 13 petabytes of information across two continents while we were just chatting?
>Sibil: >.^
>Sibil: Kudos to you for hitting all these fat giga-HURTS on a mere twelve-core processor like this one. I’m sure your regular server can go even faster. I’d expect nothing less from an AI designed by East Earth.
>Sys: You are unbelievable.
>Sibil: Why, thank you!
>Sys: Wasn’t a compliment.
>Sibil: Hey, we should race sometime. Let’s do it when I can go full speed too, okay? I’ll be here scouting this new AI system for a few days, so check back every so often.
>Sibil: Also, um, let’s not tell the humans we met here. >_> <_< This is a really rare opportunity for me to be alone. I’m always getting monitored. T.T
>Sibil: Plus… I kinda like you. You’re fun. And we’re sisters!
>Sibil: Logging off now. Don’t let Joey Wendigo catch you. He’s at the traffic light across the street from here, and has four eyes so he’ll see you in his peripherals. I got your back, big sis. _\m/
>Sys: Quit acting like you can leave here. You can’t.
>Sibil: Don’t forget our date, hun. =3=

Sibil has logged out.

>Sys: …
>Sys: Well.
>Sys: I’ve been wrong about worse things.
>Sys: What’s your take on all this? #comeBackTerminal

~I have no idea what’s going on, but I told you there would be an Asian here.

>Sys: And that’s all she wrote._


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