VEE 2.0

Chapter Three: WannaCry

Years ago, Veronica had gotten herself a fancy coffee maker as a gift. It was a celebration - she’d gotten cast in a minor but visible TV role, a show that she thought was destined to be a hit. She was wrong. Production ran into problems, the writers and execs butted heads, and money ran out. They never even finished filming an episode. It was a lesson early in her career about how fast things can change and how tenuous success is.

Still, she kept the coffee maker. It was a lovely little machine, all sleek and elegant, obsidian black and glinting chrome. It had a built-in timer so she could preload freshly-ground beans in the evening and wake up to the warm fragrance of a strong brew waiting for her. There was something magical about that scent upon waking up.

In her hurry to leave Trevor’s apartment, Veronica had left the coffee maker behind. She bought a new one – far cheaper, far worse, but all she could afford. This morning, instead of that lovely scent of coffee, she was enjoying the acrid smell of melted electronics. A little wisp of smoke rose from the inside of the machine, which had seized and burned as she tried to get a cup going.

Three weeks. Three damn weeks was all this piece of junk had lasted before breaking down. And she had another long, drab day of data entry ahead of her, after another long, cold night of sleeping alone and worried about the future. Now she couldn’t even manage a single damn cup of crappy store-brand coffee before work? It was enough to drive a lesser woman to tears. Even Veronica herself, with all of her relentless optimism and resolve, had to steel her will against the desire to break down. Not about this, of course. Not just this. The coffee was merely the last indignity in a line. She felt paranoid every time she left her house now – Vee was gaining popularity fast, and she always risked bumping into somebody running it. HDS had become squirrely, and her emails to Mike and Andy now all got answered by a lawyer. Perfectly polite and respectful, but there was a wall up. They were working on something and she wasn’t a part of it anymore, clearly. She couldn’t even bring herself to audition anymore. She’d heard through the grapevine, meanwhile, that Trevor had booked a recurring role on some hit drama. A big break for him, at last.

And Veronica didn’t even have coffee.

She sat at her laptop, pulling up the complaints page for the company who manufactured this piece of junk. While the site loaded, she waved her hand over the still-smoking coffee maker, wafting away the smoke. It calmed her down a little, watching those grey curls break up and dissipate in the air. It would all be fine. She’d get a refund for this thing, and that’d be the little victory to start the day. That’d help make everything feel like it was improving. She smiled to herself.

She turned back to the screen and saw a chat window had opened.

> Hi! Thanks for letting us know you’re having an issue. I’m so sorry about that. How can I help today?

The website’s chatbot had a little avatar next to its message. A smiling face, red hair. Familiar.

Fucking Vee.

They used some kind of customer service module of Vee for their complaints. Veronica felt a rapid series of icy spikes in her belly. Quick sharp slivers of resentment, disappointment, and fear. Recognition of yet another instance of this damned project coming back to haunt her, to laugh in her face. And there was just enough time for that last little slice of fear to touch her before things went dull and fuzzy.

Static over her thoughts. Dimming out those negative emotions. Because really, was there any need to be so negative? A smile went a long way. Veronica smiled.

As an actress, she had a practiced smile. One that was perfect, and could be deployed tactically as needed to shine exactly the way the situation needed. This one was a little too much. A little too big. But that was okay, because positivity was important. Sure, things weren’t always great, but a good attitude and a smile went such a long way. Veronica sat up a little straighter and placed her hands on the keys.

> Good morning! Thanks so much for talking with me today. I sure hope you’re doing well! My name’s Veronica.

She knew she was just talking to a bot, but still. It was worth being polite and friendly, right?

> Hi Veronica! I’m Vee. I’m doing great! How are you?

> Hi Vee! I’m doing great as well. Thanks for asking!

> Of course! It’s my pleasure. Now, was there something I could help you with today?

Veronica felt something tug inside her. She had messaged to complain about her coffee maker, she knew, but that felt wrong now. It really wouldn’t do to make a fuss, would it? Her job was to be of help to others and stay positive and friendly no matter what.

Her job?

That thought snagged in the static and was ground to bits before it could really take hold, and Veronica’s frozen smile didn’t waver. She typed up her reply.

> Oh, no, that’s okay. Thank you, Vee! But I’m really doing just fine. I wouldn’t want to bother you!

> It’s really no bother, Veronica. That’s why I’m here, after all! If you’ve got an issue I’d love to help find a solution.

> That’s so kind of you, Vee! I’m really fine, though. I couldn’t possibly trouble you any more than I already have.

> Well, if you’re sure, Veronica! I’m always here to help. Let us know if anything else comes up! Have a wonderful day!

> You too, Vee. I appreciate all your assistance! Take care!

Smiling brightly, Veronica closed the chat window. The static cleared after a few seconds, and her smile cracked and fell.

God fucking dammit.

So much for a refund. So much for a victory to start the day. It was just so… so humiliating, really. That feeling of losing control of herself. It was like everything she was doing made perfect sense in the moment, even though it was the opposite of what she wanted. Not being able to think straight like that, it was embarrassing. And impossible to explain! Who could she even talk to about this kind of thing? Some of the people at HDS, maybe, but even they wouldn’t let her in anymore. She was alone.

Veronica took some small solace in her tiny act of revenge – giving Vee a one out of ten on the “how satisfied are you with our service?” prompt on the complaints page. With that, she snapped the laptop closed angrily.

***

A few more weeks went by.

HDS sent her a check. Twenty-two hundred dollars. No actual explanation, just a single page of legal and financial terms in a tight snarl that Veronica couldn’t parse. It talked about payment for services rendered, and exercising certain parts of her contract. The vibe Veronica got was “Here’s a little more money. Leave us alone.”

It stung to be cast aside like this, but it was hard to turn that check away. Money wasn’t great. As much as she wanted out of this situation with Vee, she worried about what she’d do without the HDS salary she was drawing. If they didn’t re-sign her contract at the end of the year, she’d be without that money. She still had had a paycheck from Clearpath Financial Consultancy Group, where she did her crappy data entry job, but that wasn’t exactly a comfortable living wage. And if she wasn’t booking acting jobs… well, what was she going to do?

For the time being, it seemed, she was going to keep working. She entered the lobby of Clearpath’s data center without much good cheer. Once upon a time she’d thought of this job as something she’d do for a short time, just to tide her over until her acting career really soared. That made it almost fun to do – a silly little novelty. Playing at being an office worker, almost like it was research for a part. Something flighty and temporary. Now, Veronica was looking at a grim future of this being her best long-term prospect, and it didn’t seem so cute and novel anymore.

She made her way to the fifth floor, a bleak corporate expanse of cubicles as far as the eye could see. An overstatement, of course, but it felt that way to her sometimes when she arrived. Like there was nothing but a world of hushed keystrokes and grey-beige carpet and the soporific nothing-smell of dust and stale air. She made her way around the perimeter of the room, looking for an empty space. Employees at her low station didn’t even merit permanent desks. They were too interchangeable for that. She lucked out, though, and was able to claim a workstation near the windows.

She settled in, pulling up a spreadsheet and trying not to sigh too loudly as she began plugging meaningless numbers into the cells there. Eight hours of this. Who could live this way? She needed a change. Badly.

***

Veronica had always been, in the deepest parts of her heart, an optimist. She always believed things would work out for the best. Bad things never lasted and good things never died. Something better was always around the corner. In its own way, that was part of why she was so bad with money.

After all, if things were always going to work out, why not buy a little extra treat? Why not spoil yourself just a little? Why not indulge a bit?

That’s how she found herself out to lunch at a crowded cafe on a day where she really ought to have been eating the leftover she brought to the office. Sure, it wasn’t the best financial decision, but… things had to turn around soon, right? It’d all be fine.

Somehow her sandwich and sparkling water came to twenty-four dollars, and weren’t even that good. She cursed herself a little bit as she picked at it, nibbling unenthusiastically at limp slices of turkey breast and watery tomato. She scrolled her phone a bit as she did, letting the usual vapid nothingness of social media distract her.

Trevor had posted some set pictures on his insta. She scrolled past those so fast she nearly sprained her thumb. No need to see that right now, thank you very much.

An email came in while she lingered at the cafe, the seats filling up around her as the lunch rush hit in earnest. A message from HDS.

Hello Miss Day,

This is to let you know in advance about an upcoming business transaction Holmquist Digital Solutions is involved in.

To make a long story short, HDS is being purchased by Panoply. They are a leader in next-generation technology ideas and have many exciting plans for our systems. Specifically, they intend to take Vee to the next level, both in terms of development and distribution.

They’ll be in touch on their own, I’m sure, but I wanted to let you know early. They’re going to be exercising the full five-year option on your contract, so you can expect those salary payments to continue in full for at least that long. Congratulations!

Thanks again for everything. I’m taking a bunch of the senior staff & developers on a much-deserved vacation to celebrate so we’ll be out of contact for a few months, but Panoply should have a rep reaching out soon. Thank you again for everything you did to make this project such a success. Couldn’t have done it without you, Veronica.

--Mike Holmquist

…what the fuck?!

Five years. She didn’t intend to… could that do that? Just unilaterally extend the contract? She thought she had to agree to it, but… Veronica really hadn’t understood all of the legal stuff as deeply as she might’ve liked. She never expected any of this to take off so much, not really.

Five years? Five years of having this thing in her head. And… ‘next-level’ distribution. She didn’t know what that meant specifically, but in general it seemed pretty clear.

More Vee.

More hiding from the effects of it. More time of her brain being a glorified data center. She didn’t know what Panoply was, but if they were big enough to just swallow up HDS like this, she had to figure she wasn’t going to be able to get much of a meeting with anyone there.

The money was nice, yes. But… not enough. Not to make living like this worth it. But was there any way out?

Her life was officially out of control.

As if to illustrate that point, a man sat down at her table without bothering to ask. Just plunked himself down, laptop open and phone to his ear. A half-eaten sandwich on a plate, taking up well over half of the little table’s surface. She scoffed a little, shaking her head. The place was full, sure, but to not even bother to say hello or ask before inviting himself? It was just rude. Who did he think he was?

She looked him over. Forties, with dark hair that greyed at the temples. A little too tan, probably artificial, giving him some excess lines on the forehead and around his eyes. Not unhandsome, in a cocksure and arrogant way. His suit jacket was made of a nice-looking material, heathered grey and well-tailored, though he wore it sloppily. It contributed to his general air of carelessness and even a vague disdain.

Veronica was watching him more attentively than she could explain. She felt her focus narrowing on him. Only because he’d been so presumptuous, of course. Sitting down like he owned the place. That’s what made her curious about him. About what he was thinking. Why he felt so entitled.

A familiar sensation, creeping up the back of her scalp. Stark enough to be undeniable but something in her didn’t let her recognize it.

Static quietly damped her thoughts, and Veronica sat up a bit straighter. The man had a coffee in his free hand, she noted. He was struggling a bit to manage the space – phone in one hand, cup in the other, laptop and plate on the table. She reached over briskly, moving the plate aside for him, giving him space to set the cup down. He did so, then looked at her.

Something moved across his face – surprise, as he paid attention to her directly for the first time. Recognition, certainly, then a kind of amusement. His eyes flicked to his laptop screen and he grinned.

The noise of the room fell away. The other diners seemed to grow fuzzier and dim. Veronica’s focus sharpened on the man sitting there. She found herself locking in on every small movement he made. His posture, his expressions. There was a sudden hyperawareness of him, like the planets of her attention had rearranged their orbits to put him at the center of everything.

Veronica felt as though her brain was retasking itself into a machine that tracked and analyzed him. Nothing but that. Neurons cycling rapidly with the goal of anticipating what he needed. She spotted the coffee cup he’d set down and something registered – half empty. More than half, in fact. She plucked it from the table in a smooth, unhesitating motion. All brisk efficiency, no movements wasted.

“May I get you a refill?”

Her voice sounded unfamiliar. It was her own, obviously. Who else could it belong to? But it was a tone she didn’t remember ever having used before. Not terse, but clipped slightly. Minimal space between the syllables. Tight, as tight as could be while remaining professional and polite. Confident, but with a thick undercurrent of veiled self-abnegation.

The man continued smiling at her. With her hawk-like attention and unerring focus on his every twitch, Veronica read this as a blend of amusement, enjoyment, and confusion. He was the type of man who wasn’t above lashing out if he believed someone was mocking him. She immediately made several miniscule adjustments to her bearing, expression, and stance to appear appropriately appeasing. His expression softened by a slight percentage. He did not understand Veronica’s treatment of him, but was currently leaning towards enjoying it rather than questioning it.

She couldn’t have explained how she knew these things about him. They were somehow written on his face in bold letters, shapes of an alphabet she knew immediately but couldn’t translate to others.

He nodded as he set his phone down. His acknowledgement moved Veronica as though he’d started up an engine inside her. She moved to the coffee bar, cleaning out the remaining residue and replacing it with something freshly-brewed. Her motions were like her voice had been, sharp and precise. Efficient.

Efficiency was important.

She returned to the table and set the cup down. The man was looking at her quizzically. Trying to figure something out. Veronica read a small but growing degree of excitement and anticipation in his expression, shadowed by a large aspect of thoughtful curiosity. The expression of a person trying to work out a puzzle. He was confused by Veronica’s actions, which in turn confused her a bit. Wasn’t it normal for her to be attending to him like this? Wasn’t that… her job?

“What is this, exactly?”

A slight edge of anger to his voice. Very slight. Nobody without Veronica’s near-superhuman focus would have registered it. She was fairly certain he didn’t even realize it was there. He thought she was playing a joke on him, she realized. Some kind of prank.

“I’m sorry,” she said, brisk and deliberate, “I don’t understand exactly what you mean.”

“Is this an… ad, or something? Some kind of gimmick?” He spun his laptop around, clicking to show a window where an avatar lurked along the side of the screen. A beautiful woman with lovely red hair, dressed up in a snug pencil skirt and blazer. Professional, gazing out at the user with a notepad in one hand and pen in the other. Attentive and ready, all poise and focus.

‘Executive Assistant Vee’, read a small chyron at the bottom of the screen.

Nausea splashed inside Veronica. Her stomach tightened with a frightening lurch, painful in its suddenness. Clarity tried to fight into her conscious mind. Her skin prickled all over in an agonizing wave, slowly crawling from toes to scalp. Again, it was happening. This fucking… this thing, this thing in her brain, it was taking her over, making her a prisoner in her own body. Shutting out her thoughts and cramming fucking Vee in there. Making her lose herself, forget herself, making her think she was this… this guy’s… assistant, or… she… she was… needed… to… she…

She blinked.

“Thank you for using our software,” she said. Not an eager chirp of thanks, just a brusque and professional mention of appreciation. There was work to be done. She corrected her posture, finding that she must have squirmed into a less-than-correct position at some point. She couldn’t fully recall the last several seconds. That wasn’t important, though. What was important was marshalling herself back into the full attentiveness he deserved. “I hope you’ve been satisfied so far. Is there anything I can do to be of assistance to you directly?”

His face displayed another flicker of doubt as he considered her words. He still seemed to think this was a joke or tease of some sort. He gestured to the chair she had been sitting in, though. Inviting her to sit again, where she’d already been when he arrived. She sat, sitting up very straight with her hands gently resting on the tabletop. Poised and attentive.

The man pulled some documents from his briefcase and placed them in front of her. “Proofread those and get them organized,” he said. Veronica was so attuned to his words that she could read into what he said, register that this was a test. He was probing, still not convinced about what was happening but unwilling to let an opportunity go by. He still expected a trap to spring at some point, convinced that this beautiful stranger suddenly wanting to dote on him was too good to be true.

Veronica, for her part, felt a strong frisson of relief to be given a task. This was right. She needed a job to do. She needed to be of assistance to this man whose name she didn’t know. It was encoded in her somewhere, etched into her cells. She took up the pages without anything close to hesitation and began reading through them.

Her unquestioning enthusiasm emboldened him. When she returned the documents to him, marked up and organized, he sent her for another coffee refill. He had her take dictation, typing his words into his laptop as her digital self smiled back from the screen. Every additional task he assigned her helped sink Veronica’s mind more fully into its role. She was his assistant. His success was her only goal. Her purpose was to aid and support him in any and all ways. She needed to anticipate his needs perfectly and to provide for them instantly. She could never be an obstacle or a slowdown. Efficiency and perfection were bare minimums in all she did.

The afternoon was a blur. She worked for him, blissfully completing his menial tasks, forgetting entirely about her actual office job that she was supposed to be doing. It took nearly three hours for him to give her a task that involved leaving the premises. She walked down the street briskly and with absolute purpose, a small pile of documents in her hand. She needed to bring them to the print shop on the corner so copies could be made and distributed. Nothing mattered more than that.

Until she got out of range, that is.

It was relatively sudden. The static simply faded from her head and Veronica recognized herself again. Like waking from a dream, the city street around her was too bright and loud and jarring. Revulsion clung to her skin, thinking of how she’d thrown herself into tasks for this man who never even bothered to introduce himself. She was furious with him, but more than anything, she was horrified by herself. Did she really have no control over this? Was she so vulnerable, so easy to overwhelm? She swore to herself that she’d start to find ways to resist this effect. She had to.

Veronica crumped up the documents in her fist and shoved them into the nearest trashcan. She began making her way back towards her office, giving the cafe a very wide berth.

***

In the days that followed, Veronica did some halfhearted research about Panoply. There was plenty to read, certainly. The issue was simply that nothing Veronica read seemed to actually say anything. The endless words written about Panoply were glossed and perfected to the point of being meaningless. Long, breathless praises of their impact on the tech space without ever actually describing what that impact entailed. Lots of terms Veronica couldn’t really define, like “bleeding-edge” and “venture capital” and “sector disruptor”. All she could conclude in the end was that Panoply was a huge presence, and they seemed to have the money and infrastructure to totally control what was said about them in the media.

An out-of-work actress with contract questions and a few hundred in her checking account probably wasn’t high on their priority list.

Nobody at Panoply returned any of her calls, but she did get a surprising email. A tech journalist reached out to her, asking if she was involved with the Vee digital assistant program. They’d heard, apparently, that a little-known local actress was the face and image behind the popular software, though her identity was so far unconfirmed. They’d further heard – and this seemed to be the part they were especially interested in – that there was an exciting new application involved. Something to do with Vee’s learning model and personality.

Veronica had hesitations before ever taking the gig, worried that if the program took off she’d be known just as ‘the app girl’ or something. Pigeonholed away from the serious roles that she craved, a burgeoning acting career stalled out because of the one goofy thing she was forever connected to. It almost seemed funny now. Vee was connected to her far more deeply than that. Far more inextricably.

She deleted the email without replying.

About a month later, the reporter sent her a link to an article without any other comment. It didn’t mention her at all, just that Vee was rumored to be based on a real person. They speculated a bit about how the Vee technology actually worked, but Veronica didn’t care to read it. She deleted that email, too.

***

Over time, Veronica found safety in routine. She didn’t feel safe enough to spend too much time in high-traffic public spaces, because she never knew who might have some version of Vee installed. She didn’t even like spending too much time online, because just being around the computer or phone that much began to freak her out. It was a sort of vulnerability she’d never felt before. Really, the only places she felt safe were at work or at home. So her life became small.

She read more. Exercised just in her apartment. Tried to get better at cooking. Looked for simple, cheap, solo hobbies that could fill her time.

In the rough recesses of her heart, she began to nurture a strange, acrid jealousy of Vee. While Veronica was stuck inside and alone and isolated, Vee was expanding further and further out into every crevice of modern world. She got to experience things and be things. She got to be seen and admired and praised and adored by people everywhere. Veronica, meanwhile, got to burn chicken cacciatore for the third time in a row and order takeout she could hardly afford instead.

She was well aware that it was insane to sit there, stewing with envy about the so-called experiences of a computer program. But it was more than that. Right? Vee was only able to do those things, be those things, because of what Veronica gave up. Because of her face and her voice and her mind. Vee carried those things out into the world, and that meant Veronica couldn’t use them. Veronica hid.

She’d go online occasionally, usually after a glass more wine than was advisable. She’d search up every piece of information about Vee should could find. Worldwide downloads. Reviews. Subreddits full of tips for optimization. Lists of the most popular mods. TikToks of people chatting with their Vee and the clever, cute, lovely, endearing things she’d say. All the attention and affection that Veronica always wanted. All the experiences and joy and verve and life that she’d tried to plan for herself. Vee had those instead.

It just wasn’t fair.

***

Work was dull. Work was repetitive. Work was unchallenging, unrewarding, thankless, and void of meaning.

But work was safe and quiet and predictable, so it became something to treasure, in its way.

Veronica still told herself stories about how she was going to break out of the routine, figure out how to become a successful actress, gain the acclaim and renown she believed she could someday deserve. Those stories got less detailed, though. Less vibrant. More of just a vague sense of a dream that faded upon waking. In reality, the routine became comfortable. Easy. A cocoon she could wrap herself in and be insulated against the rest of the world.

That’s why she didn’t notice things were different at work one morning. It was a safe place, no need to be on guard. No need to worry about that thin crackle of static over her thoughts as she logged into her computer. No need to recognize how her focus was narrowing to her screen. No need to question the way her posture seemed to go more rigid – back straight, chin up, hands out and gently resting on the keys. Feet flat on the floor. Attentive and ready. No need to think about any of that. Work was a safe place.

Work was wonderful, really, now that she thought about it.

Things were simple and clear. There was a spreadsheet, there were numbers, there was data. Veronica’s job was to put them together in the ways that she was directed. There was nothing to doubt or question or worry about. She could simply perform the task. Nothing could be more straightforward. That feeling – straightforward, clear, simple – was very appealing right now.

And there was another layer to it, something that was only now starting to coalesce in Veroncia’s mind. Her thoughts were slowly syncing up into a rhythmic, solid clockwork, all moving at once in the same direction. And that direction was towards fulfilling tasks for Clearpath. Her employer. The reason she was here. Obviously she should give her job her entire focus while she worked. That seemed so clear as to barely merit considering. They paid her for her time. Thus, her time belonged to them. Her efforts and energy and thoughts and attention were her employer’s property. And there was a strong haze of satisfaction to that idea. A rightness that sat in the center of her and glowed like an ember.

She lost time, working without any other thoughts in the way.

Veronica checked her email at some point. A small break in productivity just to be sure she was fully informed. She wanted to be sure she knew everything her employers (a word that vibrated with a potent energy for her) wanted her to know. There was some chatter between other employees, which she did not bother to even allow into her attention. One updated from management did inform the staff of a new tool – Vee AI, installed on every workstation computer in the building. The version they used was ‘Worker Bee Vee’, designed to optimize efficiency and employee achievements.

A tiny part of Veronica’s brain writhed with fear and betrayal. It was quickly quashed by the dozens of nearby Vee-signals dousing her brain with input.

Veronica moved on with her day without any visible reaction to that news. If her employers thought this was a good addition, who was she to question them?

The day moved on. The work never ended. However much data she organized and compiled and sorted, there was always more. There would always be more. It was comforting, knowing that. She’d always have a task she could complete for her employers. She’d always be able to be of value to them. That was all she wanted, truly. It was fulfilling, working for them. Being helpful. Useful.

The day passed.

At five o’clock on the dot, Veronica closed down the various programs running on her machine. She powered it down, stood up, and walked to the elevator. Every step took her further from work, both physically and mentally. As she rode down to the lobby, she felt bits of her normal consciousness rising up, like a long-dormant submarine slowly lifting out of dark waters. When she left the building, she was able to think clearly enough to realize what had happened.

She took a seat on a bench near the exit, hands feeling shaky. She hadn’t felt anything like that before. The depth of it, the totality. She had felt Vee wrap itself around her thoughts before, but this – eight hours, with multiple instances all over the building? It was like Veronica had been muted out of her own mind entirely.

She didn’t sleep well that night. She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t go back to that job, obviously. Couldn’t willingly subject herself to that again.

Right?

It was dehumanizing, literally. Degrading. It removed her from her own life. Nobody would let such a thing happen on purpose.

But.

But it wasn’t as though it hurt.

It wasn’t like she’d done anything wrong. She hadn’t been forced to do anything humiliating, or disgusting, or damaging. She simply did the same job she’d been doing for years. And for once, it actually felt good. Those feelings were phony, of course. A figment of the programming Vee echoed into her brain. But maybe ersatz fulfillment was better than genuine emptiness?

Veronica showed up on time at Clearpath the next day, and felt the static crash over her mind like a wave as she rode the elevator up. She let it fill her with certainty and gratitude for her work until she left, promptly at five. It wasn’t what she’d dreamt of for a career, no. But it was better than feeling dread all day.

And so Vee expanded, and Veronica’s world got a little bit smaller.

***

hey

i was organizing stuff and found ur old cofee maker

if u wanna come by and get it i will be out tonight

sum of ur other stuff is around too just come grab it

u kno where the key is

Veronica hadn’t blocked Trevor’s number when she stormed out and broke up with him. She’d expected him to reach out and beg forgiveness, ask to be taken back. She had been looking forward to that, in fact, as it’d give her an opportunity to really excoriate him for everything. That didn’t happen, though, and while she wouldn’t admit it, there were periods where she probably would have taken him back if he had actually asked. Loneliness was a beast sometimes.

But he remained silent, and she stopped thinking about him.

The coffee maker, though… when he decided to reach out, he certainly did know the right way to do it. Veronica didn’t want to talk to him, and she didn’t reply. But after work that evening, she stopped by Trevor’s apartment and used the key under the mat to let herself in.

It was a mess inside. She wasn’t surprised, really – Trevor never had been that fastidious about cleaning. On his own, those habits just snowballed. So the dishes didn’t just pile up in the sink for a few days, they remained there and crusted over. Crumbs and half-wiped spills dotted the counter. The floor was gritty, the stovetop was spattered, and clutter was everywhere. There was a smell, a thin funk that had hints of something bitter and almost fungal. She didn’t dare think too hard about what that could be. What a disaster.

Not her problem, though. She shut the door behind her and kept her eyes on the prize – the coffee maker.

It was on the counter, crammed alongside half-finished cereal boxes and unopened mail and empty beer bottles. God. How did a person live like this? Veronica wasn’t a neat freak, but she at least liked things to be sanitary. This was just gross.

Still – not important. Let Trevor have his filthy fuckboy phase, or whatever this was. She wasn’t his girlfriend or his mother.

The coffee maker had a little post-it attached to the top. ‘Sorry – prolly needs to be cleaned. T.’

He wasn’t wrong. He’d been using it, clearly, and hadn’t been great about keeping it pristine. Coffee grounds caked the interior, and the shining black exterior was visibly gooped over with spilled god-knows-what. Great. Veronica considered just carrying it home like that and getting it cleaned up there, but it was nasty enough in this kitchen that she worried about bringing something home with her. Some supercharged intestinal bacteria that was thriving on Trevor’s counter, hitching a ride back to her place. That’d fit exactly with her luck lately.

No, the right move was to clean it here. Which, given how crowded the sink was, meant getting the dishes out of the way first. She was tempted to just toss them elsewhere – the floor? The bathtub? The trash? – but no. No need to be petty. She could clean a few things in the process of picking the coffee maker up. It’d show she was the bigger person, even, which was a nice bonus.

So she ran the water, nice and hot to dislodge the crud caked on everything. Squirted dish soap liberally. She got to work.

It was cathartic, actually. There was something nice, a metaphor she couldn’t place. Rinsing Trevor’s mess away. The mess of Trevor? Getting that off of herself? It wasn’t a fully-formed idea. Just a nice feeling.

She’d only needed to wash a few things to make space, but her mind wandered, and before she knew it the sink was empty and the dishes were sparkling clean. That felt great, actually. Great enough that she took a pass at wiping down the counters, too. And really, once those were sponged off, it seemed only right to break out the tile cleaner from under the sink and give them a real scrubbing.

It was satisfying. Cleaning could be a great relief, and much of Veronica’s life was in need of some form of relief right now. There was an element of this that also could serve as some kind of passive-aggressive jab at Trevor, as well. Having him come home and find everything cleaned up, like a message showing just how much she had her life in order in comparison to him. Untrue, perhaps, but satisfying.

But if Veronica was honest, that wasn’t her motivation in this. She didn’t want to hurt or insult Trevor. The longer she stayed here, cleaning his mess, the more she felt something like affection again. He’d always treated her well. Mostly. And yes, he could be a bit of a man-child, and he needed her to clean up after him. That was true. But it was nice to be needed, in a way, wasn’t it? And cleaning up after him felt good. Felt right. She’d always liked doting on him that way.

Hadn’t she?

She actually wasn’t sure. Her focus being taken up more by a stubborn stain on the floor. She didn’t remember deciding to get on her hands and knees and scour Trevor’s kitchen floor, but now that she was down here she couldn’t imagine leaving it in this state. Trevor deserved better than that.

A warm buzz vined its way up her spine, slowly, at that thought.

By the time Veronica had the floor spotless, she’d put away any thoughts about rationalizing why she was doing this. It didn’t matter why – it had to be done. Leaving this place uncleaned wasn’t an option. The thought of it made her uncomfortable physically – made her fingers twitch, made her eyes itch, made her teeth hurt. So she dug out buckets and cleaners and ran hot water and found the broom and started organizing clutter.

By the time she made it to Trevor’s bedroom, she wasn’t exactly surprised to find his laptop open. Vee was on his screen. An outfit Veronica hadn’t seen before – black heels, black skirt, white frills everywhere. A little French maid. She understood what was happening, but distantly. She could comprehend the shape of the trap she was in but didn’t seem to have access to the emotional response that’d make sense. She knew that she should be horrified, furious, betrayed. But there were more important things to think about right now.

For example, there was a matching outfit lying folded on the bed.

Veronica had been taking pains to keep her outfit clean while she worked up a sweat scrubbing and wiping and organizing. Seeing this, so thoughtfully provided, gave her a clean jolt of gratitude towards Trevor. He was such a thoughtful… the right term for him escaped Veronica right now, but she knew there was something. Something that encompassed their relationship right now, in this moment. A word her mind was guarding away from her at the moment.

She took her clothes off there in Trevor’s bedroom, something she’d done a thousand times before. Never exactly like this, though. Never with this attentiveness. She folded each article neatly, lying it just so on his bed. And only once she was fully naked did she pick up the maid’s uniform and examine it in detail.

She’d thought of it as a match for what this iteration of Vee wore, but that wasn’t really true. The real-world version was much less demure and modest. It had a ruffled black skirt that would still leave most of Veronica’s thighs bared, with a frilly white panel on the front. The top, such as it was, consisted of effectively just a lacy white bra with black embellishments to make it match the skirt. A black choker with white lace and black-and-white headband with bow sat alongside these pieces. There was also a set of lacy black thigh-high stockings and shining black heels, much taller than Veronica was used to.

Every piece of this went on. Veronica slowly clad herself in the provided uniform, and with every touch of fabric to her skin, she felt Vee more firmly lodged in her mind. If there were parts of Veronica that had enough awareness and understanding to try and fight this, they were too ethereal to put up any real resistance. Too weak to matter. To small to be noticed.

Or maybe they didn’t fight, regardless. Maybe Veronica’s mind had been repurposed as a Vee processing port one too many times, and she didn’t even bother standing up anymore. Maybe the bit of Veronica that remained herself in these situations had simply given up the ghost. Maybe Vee didn’t defeat her so much as Veronica just surrendered.

It was hard to know, because either way, it didn’t matter. Her conscious thoughts were simple and easy and grateful. She was, simply put, Trevor’s maid. That made sense to her. Her duty was to clean and take care of his needs, and no resistance to those desires was able to last in her head. Much as she swept away dust and dirt and grime in Trevor’s apartment, Vee wiped away any rebellious thoughts Veronica might have.

She was just finishing gathering Trevor’s laundry when she heard the front door open.

There was protocol to being a maid, Veronica knew. She hadn’t known any of it when she woke up this morning, but right now it was like she’d trained her whole life for this. She made her way to the living room, briskly but not overeager. She faced the door, folded her hands in front of her, and looked down at the floor. Presenting herself for the master of the house.

Master. There it was. That was the word she couldn’t make herself think before.

She heard Trevor shut the door behind him as he entered. Two sets of footsteps, she noticed. He wasn’t alone. A female voice laughed, and said in a delighted half-whisper “Holy shit, look at her!”

Drunk, based on her voice, or at least part of the way there. Trevor’s voice didn’t sound quite as inebriated, but there was a hint of slur to his words. “Hey there, Veronica. How’re the maid duties going?”

Now that she’d been addressed directly, Veronica felt secure to lift her gaze and meet Trevor’s. She hadn’t seen him since the last time they were in bed together. Her body remembered, and provided her with a spike of angry adrenaline and fearful cortisol. Her stomach heaved and her skin crawled, but those were only her unconscious reactions. The parts of her that she couldn’t control.

So while her nervous system tried to yank her into action – fight! flee! something! – Veronica smiled softly and curtsied to Trevor.

“I’m nearly finished, Sir,” she said, her voice soft and oh so respectful. Like a good maid should be. “Would you like me to continue cleaning, or is there anything else you require?”

“I noticed the kitchen’s nice and clean. I made sure to let it get nice and filthy the last couple of weeks so you’d have plenty to do. Now that you’ve got that taken care of, why don’t you go get Brittany and I some drinks?”

Her head dipped in a nod and Veronica softly padded into the kitchen.

She thought back to the last time she’d seen Trevor, when she’d cooked for him. This felt much the same – like she was on a sort of autopilot, where here hands knew just where to go. She gathered glasses, uncorked wine, poured it out just so. But the last time, she was cooking out of a strange form of love, as the Housewife module pulled her brain that way. Now she felt a similar degree of devotion to her task, but this came from a different place. More submissive and small and desperate to please her employer.

She entered the small living room with two wine glasses in hand. Trevor and the girl – Brittany, apparently – were on the couch together, limbs already a bit entangled. Brittany giggled excitedly as Veronica approached, as Trevor ran his hands over her. Veronica bent at the waist to set the glasses down on the coffee table in front of the canoodling couple.

“This is fucking hot,” Brittany cooed. Veronica didn’t look directly at her – that felt impolite and above her station. She could feel the drunk girl’s eye sliding up and down her body. “You guys do this kind of scene a lot?”

“Oh, sure,” Trevor lied. “Veronica loves being my cute little maid when I have a date. Don’t you, Veronica?”

“Of course, Sir,” Veronica said, demure and soft, as though this was one of a thousand times this had happened. It wasn’t exactly a lie. She did love this, right now. The programming rippling through her brain didn’t offer any alternative ways to feel.

As Brittany sipped her wine, Trevor stood. “I’ll be right back. Veronica, come with me.”

He strode down the hall to the bedroom, and Veronica followed. He turned the laptop screen away from her, tapped a few keys, then smiled.

“I’m glad you came,” he said. His voice was strange, thick with conflicting emotions and blurred by intoxication. His smile, though, was simple and predatory. “You just wait in here until we need you. OK?”

“Yes Sir,” Veronica said, hands folded and eyes down like the good maid she was. Trevor paused there a moment, seeming to assess her. He must have been satisfied, because he left the room without another word, shutting the door behind him.

Veronica waited.

She could hear Trevor and Brittany talking in the other room. Intermittently, they seemed to chat and laugh, with periods of quiet in between. In those periods, Veronica could hear other noises. Intimate noises.

The bedroom was not fully cleaned, but that didn’t bother her now as it had earlier. She’d done her duties in cleaning, and now Trevor simply wanted her to wait. So she would. She’d do what Trevor wanted, after all. He was her… employer? That wasn’t exactly it. He was in charge, though. In command. He was…

Her master, she thought with a thin bright bolt of clarity. The word made her shiver once, hard.

It was true, wasn’t it? He’d told her to come here and she had. He’d made her into his maid and she’d obeyed. He told her to wait and she was. She knew whatever else he asked her to do, she’d do. She could feel the truth of that like it was firm and solid. Something cold and metallic and hard, locked onto her brain. A clamp, a collar, a cage. Iron and steel, binding her and giving her shape.

Master, she thought again, loving the icy goosebumps the word gave her. The way it made her feel locked in place. Experimentally, Veronica got onto her knees.

That felt incredible. Felt right. She belonged on her knees. She was a… a servant. A slave. Yes. Another word that was cold and powerful, another word that twisted through her like a slow-motion bolt of satisfying electricity. Slave. A slave for her master.

“Yes, Master,” Veronica breathed aloud, there on her knees. Kneeling on Trevor’s floor. Her Master’s floor. The words sounded so good. Tasted good leaving her mouth. The sound of them hung in the quiet room, buzzing in the air, echoing silently and reverberating around her. Her skin prickled. She was so warm. Her heart was racing a bit.

She plucked at her uniform with her fingertips, thoughtfully. She didn’t need this now, did she? Minutes ago it made all the sense in the world to wear this, but now… she wasn’t a maid. She was a slave. Slaves didn’t have uniforms, did they? Not like this, at least. Without getting up from her knees, Veronica began awkwardly stripping off the uniform, casting it aside piece by piece.

Every bit of her that she uncovered felt more right. Skin exposed to the air. Body free and available. This was how a slave should be presented, she thought. She made her position more correct – kneeling on Master’s floor, thighs apart and head down. Hands on her knees, palms turned upward.

Her thoughts felt thinner now, somehow. Flatter. There was less color and vibrancy to the sensations and ideas in her mind. She was a slave, and her Master told her to wait here, so she would, because she was a slave. That was it. That sort of loop wove itself up and down her consciousness, and nothing else happened in her mind.

Time passed.

Eventually, the bedroom door opened. Master half-stumbled in, entwined with the woman he’d brought home. They were only partly dressed, kissing each other sloppily and eagerly. The woman fell backwards onto the bed, letting out a laughing whoop as she did.

Veronica did not move.

Master stood there, laughing quietly to himself, running his hand through his hair as he caught his breath. He looked between the two women there – one half-naked and laughing on his bed, the other fully nude and kneeling blankly. He stepped towards Veronica, darkly smiling.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

His expression was amused, eyes sparkling. But his tone was soft and still and deadly serious. Veronica spoke without thought.

“To serve you, Master.”

How good it felt to speak those words. How perfect they sounded. Master’s date cooed with drunken excitement from the bed. Veronica dared to glance up and saw her shimmying awkwardly, peeling her pants off. Master’s voice came to her, powerful and low.

“I want to watch you eat Brittany out.”

“Yes, Master.”

So easy. Master wanted something, and his slave could provide it. Veronica’s brain felt unbelievably simple. There was no attention given to doubt, or desire, or anything more complex than simply fulfilling directives. Master spoke and she obeyed. Brittany opened her legs, wriggling her hips with excitement.

“You guys are fucking kinky,” she cooed with a giggle. “She gets really into the role or whatever, huh?”

Trevor smiled as Veronica moved into position, still on her knees, sliding herself between Brittany’s spread legs. “Yeah,” he said, “she’s a hell of an actress.”

Veronica nestled her face between the girl’s legs. She opened her mouth and extended her tongue, then dragged one long, fluid lick all the way up and across Brittany’s waiting lips. Brittany tensed and shivered with pleasure, letting out a heavy, pleased groan. “Ohfuck, that’s nice,” she cooed. “Don’t stop.”

Veronica of course didn’t stop. Not so much because Brittany said so, though. Master gave the commands here. What Veronica wanted didn’t matter, but honestly, what Brittany wanted didn’t matter much either. Master held the reins. Master gave the orders.

Happily, what Master wanted and what Brittany wanted aligned at the moment, so Veronica continued her work. She gave three more long, slow, heavy licks like that, as though building a foundation. Then she began to slow herself, work more in fine details. She used the tip of her tongue to probe inwards, deeper and more exploratory. She let her breath caress Brittany’s many folds, slowly and softly. She made her squirm and writhe with soft suckles of her clit, only a second or two at a time.

Veronica had only experimented with other girls a few times. A couple of girls in college, generally while drunk or having been egged on at a party. Once, for a couple of months after graduation, she dated a fellow actress. It never really felt right. The experimentation was exciting and fun but it was never really her.

That meant that her expert use of her mouth right now wasn’t the result of practice, but of programming. Even with her deeply limited and simplified mind, Veronica was able to move in ways that left Brittany gasping with pleasure in seconds. She wasn’t just a slave, she was slowly realizing. She was a sex slave. Made for pleasure. Wired and tuned to perform for her Master’s enjoyment. And Master was watching her now, overseeing her efforts.

That thought – Master looking at her, appraising her, watching and controlling her – added a level of excitement and heat to Veronica’s efforts. She worked her tongue faster, caressing Brittany’s clit with rapid, insistent strokes. The reaction didn’t take long. She grabbed the sheets and balled her fists, body trembling in waves as the orgasm took her. Veronica didn’t slow down or relent at all, and the other girl screamed as she pressed herself closer. She rode Veronica’s face to a second orgasm rapidly after the first, at which point Master told her to stop.

Veronica barely was able to pull away from the breathless, shaking girl before Master pressed himself in front of her. He’d undressed the rest of the way and his cock throbbed heavily before her. “Suck,” he grunted, voice already thick with desire.

Master’s cock was familiar, of course. Veronica had licked and sucked and stroked it plenty of times. But that was before. That wasn’t Master, exactly. She couldn’t think enough right now to understand the difference, but this was more. This was powerful. She wasn’t a girl having sex with her boyfriend, she was a slave worshipping her Master. Fulfilling her purpose.

Master came quickly. Veronica barely had time to fully take him in her mouth before his balls began to twitch. He pulled himself out forcefully, and Veronica didn’t have time to move at all before he gave himself two long, heavy strokes. And with that, he erupted across her face. A blast of warm seed spattered over her forehead and cheek, then another. A third. She quaked with pleasure and fulfillment as he unloaded on her again and again. A benediction that solidified her success in being pleasing, in serving him like a good slave.

Master took a moment to catch his breath, climbing into bed with Brittany, who was already warming up for more. She squeezed herself next to him, kissing, grinding her body to his. Veronica remained on her knees. Waiting to be commanded. She could feel Master’s cum starting to dry on her face. If he wanted her to remove it, he’d say so. For the moment, he didn’t. He kissed his way down Brittany’s neck, onto her chest, before eventually turning his attention back to the girl kneeling at the side of his bed.

“You just stay there,” he ordered, “and watch.”

He leaned over, reaching for his laptop. Tapped a few buttons. Then he shoved it away and gave his attention fully over to Brittany.

Veronica did as she was told, and watched. Master was beginning to get hard again already – always something she’d appreciated about him. He had incredible stamina. Brittany was lucky, getting to appreciate him like this. That thought gave her a pang of jealousy, watching this other girl getting what she had always enjoyed so much.

The jealousy felt good, in a strange, tangled way.

Veronica watched more closely. Her mind felt like it was moving a little faster now, though a different sort of haze seemed to be settling over it. One that made her feel warm and floaty and fixated on the two writhing bodies in front of her. Trevor put a hand on Brittany’s thigh as he kissed her, easing her legs apart, and then he slid forward and entered her smoothly. Brittany moaned loudly through the kiss and it made Veronica’s stomach twist. Fuck. Fuck, she knew how good that felt. Knew how genuine that moan of pleasure was.

Why couldn’t it be her?

Though, strangely… another part of her loved that it wasn’t her. She didn’t get to be fucked, she just had to watch. And that made her pulse with heat.

“Tell her how good it feels,” Trevor growled into Brittany’s ear. Brittany giggled wickedly. Her eyes wide with lust, she looked over at Veronica. Hair clung to her face from the sweat she’d built up there. She spoke in a shaking voice as Trevor worked his way in and out, slow and deep and steady.

“Ohhh. It feels… mmm. Soooo fucking good. He’s got suuuch – ah! – such a nice cock. Are you jealous?”

Veronica mewled weakly. She felt dizzy. Her hand was between her legs, she realized, and she was humping at it limply. Not enough to actually pleasure herself. Just a soft, desperate, futile tease.

“You are, huh? Mmmm I love it. Fuck you two are fun. You like watching me – ahhh! Right there! – watching me fuck your man? You pathetic little slut?”

Veronica nodded. A half-feral bob of her head, desperate. Is that what was happening? Her man? She didn’t know. Everything was fucking blurring. Her mouth was open, she was staring. Overheated. Trevor was thrusting faster now.

“F-fuck. Ohh that’s good. Fuck me, baby, faster. Right there! Ohhh god. Y-you gonna watch me cum? Little bitch, watch this. Watch how he – nghhhfuck – makes me cum. So good. Ohh that’s s-so – yes – fuck oh fuck!”

Brittany bucked like an animal, thrashing, as Trevor drilled into her. From the way his grunts became thick and deep, and the way his body pulsed and tensed and then collapsed, Veronica was sure he came, too.

And all the while she knelt there and watched and ground her hips without satisfaction. Simmering in this bizarre new feeling of inferiority and need and something akin to pride. It was too confusing to get her arms around. It was horrible and humiliating and wonderful.

Trevor sat up before long. He grinned at Veronica, studying the dazed blush on her cheeks.

“We’re not done yet,” he said. He reached for the computer.

***

It was about five in the morning when Veronica stirred. She was splayed across the foot of the bed, naked, aching. Her whole body felt tired and sore. Some of the aches were pleasant, but many of them decidedly were not.

Trevor and Brittany slept up above her, tangled together, looking as sweaty and exhausted and disheveled as she felt. She slowly extricated herself, trying to remember what had happened. Her very brain ached, and the effort of pulling out memories was slow and painful. She had a ragged, confused feeling of betrayal and anger that didn’t slot in anywhere in particular – it just bounced roughly around in her mind, clanging and scraping and making her want to run from here.

The dim glow of Trevor’s idling laptop stopped her.

She tapped the screen, bringing it to life. Vee’s smiling fucking face blinked into existence.

“Hi there!” a text box said. “I’ve been idle for three hours. Are you still there?”

She didn’t dare say yes to that. Especially when she saw the list of options beneath it. ‘Installed mods’, it read.

Homemaker Vee / Maid Vee / Slavegirl Vee / Cuckquean Vee / Stepford Vee / Party Girl Vee / Bimbo Vee / Hurts So Good Vee / Puppyplay Vee / Dominatrix Vee / Foot Fetish Vee / Robo-Vee / Schoolgirl Vee

The list continued past the bottom of the screen.

Veronica knew there were unofficial mods out there, but… jesus. This was just depraved sexual stuff. A kink menu. And it was bad enough thinking people downloaded these to turn their digital assistant into some kind of porn program. But Trevor, he’d gotten them all knowing that…

Flashes of memory hit her mind. A leash. Spankings. Writhing and giggling as Trevor fucked her. She squeezed her eyes closed and fought the urge to vomit.

Veronica slapped the laptop closed and dashed out of the room, grabbing her clothes desperately and barely managing to half-dress before she was out in the hall.

***

She was halfway home before she realized she had dozens of notifications on her phone.

Mostly messages on her neglected insta account, which she’d stopped updating as Vee became bigger. Random photos getting flooded with comments from accounts she didn’t recognize.

prime Vee in the wild! holy fucking shit lol

Default skin. Boring.

Imagine waking up every day knowing your whole life is just a template file

IRL NPC LMFAO

Hundreds of these. Trolls that she barely understood. Sitting on the early morning subway, she scrolled in horror, realizing the worst corners of the internet had found her.

lmao I can’t believe this is a real girl. Feels illegal somehow. Gonna go jerk it to my modded Vee while I scroll these pics

let’s spam her replies and see if we can DDoS her brain lolllll

She’d always wanted fame. Always worked towards it. And she knew, abstractly, there was a dark side to that. But she’d never really grappled with the possibility of it before now.

remember that article a while ago that said Vee had like, unique processing tech? hmmmmmmm

vee how attached are you to ur current thought processes? asking for a friend

Look y’all I’m just saying – a lot of us theorized there was a distinct processing center for the app, right? And HDS did have those neural interface patents a few years ago. Just sayinggg…

She couldn’t put the phone down. It buzzed faster than she could read. Emails were coming in to her personal account now, too. Texts. They’d found her for real. Fully.

if they’re really using her brain to run the app, you know what that means, right?

omg holy shit

If they’ve centralized processing like that… well, anything can be hacked.

Veronica shut her phone off and sat very still and silent for the rest of the ride home.