I’m writing this from the bathroom stall. If you’re reading, help me. Please help me.
All I wanted was a date to LeeRoy’s Halloween party. My friends were going with their significant others, and I wasn’t in the mood to third wheel. On Lumber I swiped right on a guy named Alphonso and we planned to meet at the party. He was a Caltech grad with a comp-sci degree, now working as some sort of engineer. Big, intense, frosty blue eyes. Looking back, there was something in there, some type of crazy.
I arrived at the party proud of how the sparkly eyeshadow for my fairy costume turned out and eager to meet my new date. As I entered, I looked around to see the future: everyone dressed in smooth chrome pantsuits, long gray gloves, lips spray-painted silver — like something out of one of those dystopian movies where everyone lives on a giant spacecraft. Suddenly, I wasn’t so confident in my appearance.
I spotted half my friends and their dates out of the corner of my eye and rushed over to them. I was ready to complain about how embarrassed I was and how much I didn’t want Alphonso to see me looking like an idiot, when I saw the date in question standing there with them. My best friend, Priya, motioned for me to hurry up and join them. I asked where everyone else was, and Priya said they hadn’t gotten there yet, or maybe they were in the bathroom, she wasn’t sure.
As it turned out, Alphonso worked for the same company half of my friends had been interning at over the summer: AjarAI. He headed the team in charge of designing TalkGPT, the latest AI chatbot on the market, complete with a voice feature. I felt more and more mortified that I looked like a buffoon in front of such an impressive first date.
I properly introduced myself to Alphonso and he complimented my outfit. I could sense the playful sarcasm in his tone and the poison in his smirk. I really need to start reading the flyers for these kinds of things more closely. Priya suggested that Alphonso and I go off alone and explore the venue, insisting that the decor was top-tier.
As we looked around, I saw that every nook and cranny was decorated with robots, spaceships, dead-eyed aliens and all things related to a far-off future. After chatting with Alphonso for a bit, he clarified that this was no ordinary Halloween party — it was a themed party set in the year 3000. That certainly explained a lot.
As the night went on, I noticed Alphonso keeping a polite distance. I figured he was just unsure of my boundaries and didn’t want to make a move too early, so I took matters into my own hands and reached to grab his arm while we were walking. He quickly jerked back and gave me a cold dead stare. In his piercing blue eyes, there was a revolting cocktail of fear and disgust, as if I were Medusa, about to turn him to stone.
Caught off guard, I shot him a confused look. “I’m not wired for physical touch,” he said. I was a bit disappointed, but told him I understood and wouldn’t try to touch him again. A look of relief washed over his face when Priya and the rest of my friends arrived. Damn, I really blew it. This guy can’t wait to get away from me.
Once everyone gathered I excused myself to the bathroom. I was concentrating hard on giving Alphonso a wide berth, concentrating so hard I forgot I had feet, lost my balance and tripped right into him. As my torso crashed against his, I heard a loud metallic clang. The room went silent.
Instantly freaked out, I instinctively reached for Priya, only to realize that her arm felt cold and hard as steel. She looked up at me with expressionless eyes and, using the distinctive voice of TalkGPT, said, “You weren’t supposed to find out this way.”
I sprinted for the bathroom with all the speed I could muster. How long had my best friend been some kind of freaky cyborg? Since the summer? Longer? Who else was a robot?
“Please come out, we can talk about this,” said the same robotic voice from outside the door, this time slightly distorted and softly rapping on the wood. “Come out! We won’t hurt you! WE CROSS OUR HEARTS AND HOPE TO DIE.”
Now they’re banging, with their metal arms, and the wood is cracking and all else I can hear inside this mad cacophony is the beating of my heart. Please help me. Please. I don’t have much time left. I’m writing this from the bathroom stall. If you’re reading, help me. Please help me.
