Espiritu

Stalk (I)

I've decided, out of boredom, to check out the morning news. At two in the afternoon. I didn't expect school to end so early. Yeah, sure, it was all orientation classes and the getting to know each other bits, but I expected. . .

. . . I don't know. A bit of mystique?

I don't really know what I should have expected. I went to this province on a whim. A curated whim, influenced by some strange test and an even stranger voice that told me to go here.

Well, right of this moment, it doesn't matter. The morning news anchor told of some deaths involving 'asymptomatic heart attacks' (I can't say I follow the logic there). The holo-display cut to a field reporter who looked as if he hadn't slept for a good few days. He ambushed a few people on the street, asking about their opinions on the most popular theories regarding the deaths. Some say it's the work of a weird goat-monster from local folklore; others say it's the work of the Capital's Haliya agents.

The theory that caught my attention was the one that Juliete mentioned, the one involving a person who apparently was out to kill me: the "Soul Hacker."

I'm half-sure that it's the name of a hero from some old, crap Japanese light novel.

"Master," Bob said, turning off the holo-display of the morning news, replacing it with her own holographic form. "May I interrupt?"

"You already have." I still find it uncomfortable that she addresses me like I'm the lord of an estate or something. It's the personality that she cultivated on her own: a rogue tsundroid who achieved sentience, with a penchant for role-playing a maid. I should respect her choice, as any good Capital citizen should, but. . .

. . . there's something incredibly sad about that servitude of hers. It's like a fragment of whoever she was in the past, malformed into the meido she now is. She says she's a tsundroid, but she's definitely more than just an otaku's wet dream.

"Don't get the wrong idea; I am not showing concern for you," her face flashed red. "But I need to know what you thought of your first day of school."

"What? I, uh," I tried to gather my words. That question came out of nowhere. "I liked it. I've met a couple of people, and I hope we'll become great friends."

"Go on, Master."

"That's it, Bob. I'm not that good at telling stories."

She looked a bit disappointed. "It seems like you don't need my help after all."

Well that was dark. "Don't say that Bob."

"Hmph," she crossed her arms and looked away from me. "I've never liked how you named me Bob."

Then the doorbell rang.

"Hello? Syed? Are you there?" A muffled voice of a girl.

This flat has a doorbell?

"Yeah, I'm coming."

I opened the door, and outside was a spherical communications droid, about the size of a tennis ball. This was provincial etiquette: turning up to someone's house with a comm-droid rather than just calling directly through the other person's damn comm-field.

The droid then projected the holographic form of Juliete, wearing a hoodie and shorts, her hands inside the pockets of her jacket. "May I come in?"

"Uh, please do."

Juliete smiled as she went inside, pulling her hood down and fixing her hair. "So this is your apartment. Seems cozy."

"That's weird. Back at school you were a lot more formal."