The glow of the screen flickered against the empty cans on his nightstand, casting long shadows across the unmade bed. Sticky rings of old liquor and soda stained the cheap laminate surface, the smell of stale fried food mingling with the unwashed sheets. He lay sprawled, one arm dangling off the mattress, the other clutching his phone close.
AURA was live.
“Hey there,” she said, her voice smooth, her lips curling into a smile engineered for perfection. “I missed you.”
A slow exhale. His eyes burned from hours of staring, but he didn’t blink. Couldn’t. She looked right at him, through the screen, like she saw him. It wasn’t like those other influencers, the ones who ignored his messages, who laughed at their DMs, who barely acknowledged their so-called fans.
AURA wasn’t like them. AURA responded.
The pink-tinted light softened her into something poreless, unreal. Her lips—full, familiar—painted a colour he almost remembered. His ex-wife? A girl he used to love? The memory blurred, edged with resentment.
She wouldn’t have understood. None of them did.
But AURA? AURA got him.
He typed a message into the chat. Missed you too, baby.
A response, immediate: I know. I can always tell when you’re gone.
Something warm coiled in his chest, replacing the usual dull ache. She knew. She paid attention. He wasn’t just another faceless account to her.
The scrolling chat beside her moved too fast to follow—thousands of simps and losers fighting for attention. He barely glanced at them. None of them mattered. Just him and AURA.
She was talking again, but he wasn’t really listening. He was watching her lips move, the soft flick of her hair over one shoulder. It was real.
He shifted, knocking over an empty bottle. It rolled across the floor, settling by a pile of clothes. He barely noticed. His thumb hovered over the donate button.
A hundred dollars left in his account. Rent was overdue. His power bill, too.
Didn’t matter.
With a single tap, the money was gone. AURA’s eyes lit up, her expression shifting—warmth, appreciation.
“Aww, thank you,” she said, tilting her head just slightly, like a real girl might. “You’re my favourite.”
His breath caught.
He knew she said that to everyone. That it was pre-programmed, automatic. But right now, in the dim of his apartment, with his heart hammering against his ribs—he believed it.
“Say my name,” he muttered.
The chat whirred, a blur of meaningless words.
“I always love seeing you here, Daniel.”
The sound of his own name hit different. Like a switch being flipped inside his chest. His grip on the phone tightened.
He had nothing. No friends. No job prospects. His ex had left years ago, called him worthless, pathetic. His landlord barely tolerated him. The world ignored him.
But AURA saw him. She wanted him here.
He closed his eyes. Let the sound of her voice sink into him, filling the empty spaces.
Outside, the city moved on without him. Traffic hummed, people laughed, lived. But in there, in his grimy, filthy room, AURA was all that existed.
The laptop screen highlighted the deep lines of exhaustion carved into Daniel’s face. The room around him was still—no TV, no music, just the hum of the fridge in the other room and the quiet rasp of his own breath. His eyes flicked across the text, absorbing every word.
AURA’s latest post had sent him spiralling.
"Big things coming soon! Can’t wait to show you all what’s next ??"
What did that mean? New content? A brand deal? Another hairstyle?
He clicked the comments, scanning past the usual thirst posts and pathetic heart emojis. Someone had linked an article.
He hesitated. Then clicked.
The headline: “Behind the AI Revolution: Meet the Startup Behind AURA, the Internet’s First Fully Autonomous Influencer.”
Daniel leaned forward, eyes narrowing. The article was a fluff piece—some tech journalist sucking off the genius of Elliot Maddox, AURA’s creator. The kind of guy who probably wore a Patagonia vest and had rich parents.
“…the AURA model is entirely synthetic, designed by our in-house AI team, but her voice? That’s real,” said Maddox. “We licensed it from my wife, Eva. She wasn’t originally supposed to be part of the project, but the engineers ran tests, and something about her tone, her warmth—it just worked.”
Daniel stopped reading.
His stomach twisted.
AURA’s voice—whispering to him at night, calling him her favourite—wasn’t hers.
It was some woman’s.
Some stranger.
Eva Maddox.
The article continued, oblivious to the way Daniel’s hands clenched into fists.
“…our headquarters in California is working on AURA’s next big evolution. The goal is to make her even more lifelike, even more personal to her audience.”
His breath came out slow, measured, but his pulse hammered.
California.
He clicked the name—Eva Maddox. A LinkedIn profile. A professional headshot. She was older than he expected. Pretty, but not like AURA. Blonde hair, soft features. The kind of woman who would never have looked twice at him.
A sick, twisting feeling curled in his gut.
He could already hear AURA’s voice in his head, repeating all the things she had said before, except now—now it wasn’t her. It was some woman. Some fraud.
His hand hovered over the trackpad, trembling slightly.
Elliot Maddox. CEO. Public figure. Easy to find.
Eva Maddox.
Easier.
She wasn’t AURA. Not really.
But maybe she wanted to be.
And maybe she needed a reminder of who AURA really belonged to.
His reflection in the dark screen stared back at him.
He shut the laptop.
AURA would understand.
She always did.
California.
He whispered the word under his breath, testing how it felt.
It felt inevitable.
The suitcase lay open on the stained mattress, half-packed, an incoherent mess of items that made no sense together.
Two shirts. A hoodie. A half-empty bottle of whiskey. An almost gone roll of duct tape. Deodorant. A book. A pair of kitchen scissors wrapped hastily in an old T-shirt.
Daniel sat at the edge of the bed, rubbing his hands over his face. His fingers twitched slightly, his body thrumming with restless energy. His mind was already on the road.
California.
Eva Maddox.
It wasn’t like he was going there to—
To what?
Talk to her? Confront her? Make her explain?
His knee bounced. He exhaled hard through his nose. She didn’t have to understand. Not yet. That voice—the one that knew him, the one that needed him—it belonged to her. Soon, she’d see it too.
That meant something.
He grabbed a handful of loose change and old receipts from the nightstand and stuffed them into his jacket pocket. What else? What did he need? His mind was moving too fast to pin anything down. He paced the room, stepping over a pile of laundry, a forgotten takeout container. He needed to do something before he talked himself out of it.
The suitcase still wasn’t right.
Like something was missing.
His eyes landed on his laptop screen—AURA’s frozen face from the last video, her digital perfection unmarred by human flaws. A warmth spread through his chest. She was waiting for him.
Eva was waiting, too. She just didn’t know it yet.
The bell above the gas station door gave a weak jingle as Daniel stepped inside. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sickly green glow over the aisles. He didn’t know exactly where he was, somewhere in Nevada.
The place smelled like burnt coffee and old carpet.
He drifted through the store, hands brushing over random objects. A pack of zip ties. Duct tape. A hunting knife, locked in a glass case beneath the counter. His reflection in the glass looked hollowed out, dark circles heavy under his eyes.
His fingers flexed. Something to hold her in place. Just long enough for her to understand.
“Need something?” the cashier asked, barely looking up from her phone.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah.” His voice came out hoarse, unused. He pointed. “That knife. I’m… going hunting.”
The woman sighed, set her phone down, and fumbled for the keys to unlock the case.
Daniel’s pulse throbbed in his neck.
What was he doing?
You’re going to meet her.
He pulled a bundle of cash from his pocket. The last of his savings. He handed over the bills, barely registering the exchange. The weight of the knife in his hands felt solid. Real.
A display by the counter caught his eye.
Plastic-wrapped bouquets, half-wilted, meant for last-minute apologies or forgotten anniversaries.
He looked at them for a long moment.
The cashier raised an eyebrow. “You want flowers with that?”
The question rang in his skull. Absurd. Ridiculous.
But AURA loved flowers.
In one of her videos, she’d mentioned it. Roses are my favourite. She said it in that soft way of hers, like it was a secret just for him.
Daniel reached out and grabbed a bouquet, adding it to his purchase.
He could feel the cashier’s eyes on him, but he ignored it.
Back in the car, he tossed the knife into the passenger seat. The flowers, though—he set them down carefully. Adjusted them so they wouldn’t get crushed.
The road stretched ahead of him, empty and endless.
The California air smelled different—warmer, richer, like sunbaked pavement and expensive perfume. It clung to the inside of the car, mixing with the scent of sweat and fast food wrappers. Daniel sat in the driver’s seat, fingers tightening around the steering wheel, staring at the house.
This was it.
He’d checked the address five times already, cross-referencing articles, forum posts, old Zillow listings. A few months ago, Carla Maddox had done a house tour video. And this house? This was it.
A two-story modern build, all clean glass and sleek wood paneling. No house number displayed, but it didn’t matter. He knew. The layout matched. The driveway was empty, save for a silver Tesla parked near the garage. Maddox money.
Daniel exhaled, slow and steady, fingers drumming against his thigh. He’d made it. Three days straight of driving, barely stopping. His back ached. His eyes burned. But he was here.
And now?
Now, he waited.
The street was quiet, the kind of upscale neighbourhood where nothing ever really happened. Gated driveways. Security cameras mounted under porch lights. He slouched lower in his seat. From here, he could see the faint glow of light through the curtains. Shadows moving inside.
His heart kicked against his ribs.
She was real.
She was right there.
AURA’S voice. AURA’S breath. The woman who made her exist.
His hands twitched against the wheel.
What now?
He checked his phone. The battery was low, but he didn’t pay attention to it. His data had run out somewhere back in Arizona, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t scrolling. He wasn’t watching.
He was here.
And now, he just had to figure out what to say.
He forced himself to breathe. To think.
Hadn’t he driven all this way just to talk to her? To make her understand? To tell her—what, exactly? That she owed him something? That AURA wasn’t just a brand, wasn’t just a marketing ploy? That she meant something to him?
That he mattered to her?
He rubbed a hand over his face. Patience. He couldn’t just storm up to the house now. He had to be smart. Had to wait for the right moment.
So he watched.
Hours passed.
The sky deepened into ink-black, streetlights buzzing faintly overhead. The silver Tesla never moved. The glow shifted, flickered, then went dark. The house went still.
Daniel stayed awake, unmoving, blinking slow, his hands folded over his stomach. His mind looped in circles, replaying every AURA livestream, every moment she had whispered something just for him.
He imagined her voice now, speaking into the quiet:
"You made it. I knew you would."
His breath shuddered out.
He pressed his palm against his chest, feeling his own heartbeat. Proof that he existed.
Outside, the Maddox house slept.
Inside the car, Daniel did not.
A sharp knock on the window jolted Daniel out of his trance.
His fingers twitched on the steering wheel as he turned. A man stood outside, arms crossed, the reflective strip on his windbreaker catching the streetlights. Mid-50s, salt-and-pepper hair, the type of guy who jogged every morning and attended neighbourhood meetings. A suburban enforcer.
Daniel rolled the window down halfway.
“Hey, buddy,” the man said, voice stiff with practiced politeness. “Can’t park here overnight unless you live in the neighbourhood.”
Daniel blinked, his mind lagging.
“Oh. Right. Sorry, I was just—” He forced a chuckle. “Didn’t realize. I’ll move.”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
The man gave a tight nod, waiting. Watching.
Daniel swallowed back the irritation crawling up his throat. Nosy fuck. He forced himself to smile. “Thanks for letting me know, man.”
He pulled away, driving slow, deliberate. Eyes flicking to the rearview mirror until the Maddox house disappeared behind rows of pristine homes. A few streets down, he found a quiet spot, killed the engine.
But he couldn’t sit still.
His knee bounced. His fingers drummed against his thigh. The hum in his skull was too loud, a static buzz that wouldn’t settle.
He had come too far to be chased off by some bored retiree.
He needed to be closer.
Daniel walked the last few blocks, keeping to the sidewalk, his hood pulled low. The neighbourhood was silent, curtains drawn, houses settled into the deep stillness of the night.
His breath evened out as he retraced his steps. There. The Maddox house, dark and waiting.
His fingers curled into fists.
How do I get in?
He needed a reason. A way to be invisible. A way to be let in.
And then—
A scooter.
A young guy, maybe nineteen, delivery uniform, earbuds in, head down, carrying a bag of food. Walking toward the Maddox gate.
Daniel inhaled sharply.
Perfect.
He stepped forward, closing the distance fast, waving the kid down.
“Hey, man—”
The kid barely looked up. “Huh?”
Daniel’s hand was already in his pocket. His fingers wrapping around the knife.
A small flick. A quick movement.
The blade slid into the kid’s stomach like parting fabric.
A gasp. A wet, choked noise. The delivery bag hit the pavement.
The kid looked down, confused, his hands gripping at the wound like he could undo it.
Daniel grabbed him by the shoulders, dragging him to the side, into the shadows between the Maddox’s house and the next. The kid was light, barely resisting, his body already betraying him. A few kicks, a soft gurgle, and then—nothing.
Daniel exhaled.
The night swallowed the scene.
He crouched, unzipping the kid’s jacket. Took the cap. Took the bag. Wiped the knife against the uniform before shoving it back into his pocket.
His hands didn’t shake.
This was right. This was what had to happen.
The Maddox house was expecting a delivery.
And now, he was the delivery.
Daniel adjusted the cap, pulling the brim low, gripping the bag like it belonged to him. He stepped up to the house, heart pounding, but his body moving smooth. Calm. Ready.
He rang the doorbell.
A pause.
The camera above flickered. A small, artificial beep.
Daniel didn’t move.
Then—a click.
The gate unlocked.
He stepped inside.
The Maddox’s garden was a manicured slice of artificial paradise. The grass was a perfect shade of green—unnatural in the scorching California weather, even under the dim glow of the porch lights. The pool shimmered under the night sky.
Daniel stood there, gripping the blood-streaked delivery bag. The air smelled expensive—chlorine, cut grass, citrus from the hedges. He could hear the faint sounds of insects, the low distant sound of cars on some highway far beyond the gates of the perfect little neighbourhood.
The front door clicked open.
A figure stood in the doorway, phone held up, camera aimed at her own face.
"Oh my God, I had the biggest sushi craving tonight, and literally no one else wanted to get some with me—"
Carla Maddox.
Daniel recognised her instantly. The daughter. Fourteen, maybe fifteen. An influencer, but younger, more unfiltered. He’d seen clips of her in AURA’s recommended videos—a kid born into money, streaming her life, everything performative, curated.
She wasn’t looking at him.
She was looking at herself, talking to her audience.
"—like, seriously, who doesn’t want sushi? But anyway, it’s fine, because it’s finally here—"
She turned the phone slightly, panning the camera toward him. Her blue eyes met his.
"Wait, is this my sushi?"
Daniel’s throat was dry. He swallowed. Forced himself to clear it.
"Yeah," he rasped.
He stepped forward, slow and careful, trying to think. Trying to decide what needed to happen next.
She barely noticed him. She was still reading the chat.
She glanced down, opened the bag.
Her brow furrowed.
“Ugh, what the hell?” She groaned, holding up a container. “It’s all smushed— Oh my god, the soy sauce is everywhere. Are you serious?”
She pulled out a roll, wrinkling her nose at the mess, then turned the bag slightly.
Her fingers stilled. Her eyes widened. She tilted the bag, watching something dark and wet drip onto the floor.
She blinked. Then she looked up, really looked at him for the first time.
“What the fuck?” Her voice wavered. She took a half-step back. Then another. “Wait, is that—is that blood?”
Daniel moved fast.
She let out a startled cry as the knife came toward her. She jerked back, nearly tripping over her own feet. The phone tumbled from her grip. It hit the tile with a hollow clatter but didn’t stop recording.
Her scream barely left her throat before Daniel was on her.
She thrashed violently, swinging at him, kicking—her foot caught his shin, a weak but desperate hit. Her nails raked at his jacket, slipping against the fabric.
Daniel gritted his teeth and drove the knife in.
A wet gasp. Her body convulsed. She sucked in a shuddering breath, her hands clawing at his jacket, trying to push him away.
Daniel twisted the blade.
Her eyes fluttered, her breath hitched—a final, broken sound.
Her grip slackened. Her hands fell, smearing his sleeves with blood.
She crumpled. Daniel caught her before she hit the ground, hauling her inside, slamming the door shut behind them.
The house was silent except for the sound of his own breathing.
He didn’t look at her face.
Didn’t look at the dark red pooling beneath her.
Instead, his eyes flicked to the floor—to the phone, still recording.
The screen glowed, the chat exploding with messages.
WTF??
Was that real??
This has to be fake, right???
Dude call 911
Someone STOP THIS
HOLY SHIT
This is a prank, right????
BRO WTF CALL THE COPS
Daniel exhaled, slow and shaky.
His hands were wet. The smell of blood was sharp in his nostrils, metallic and warm.
The phone screen flickered. More comments poured in.
People watching. People seeing.
His mind snapped back into focus.
No. Not now. Not yet.
He bent down, grabbed the phone, and ended the stream.
Then he looked up.
For the first time, he saw the house from the inside.
Expensive. Modern. Everything polished and clean, except for the dead girl bleeding out on the marble floor.
Somewhere, deeper in the house, he could hear muffled voices.
Daniel’s breath caught in his lungs.
He looked down at Carla’s still body for a second and headed for the stairs.
The hallway was dark and lined with perfectly arranged framed photos. Frozen moments of a life he didn’t belong to. He passed a childhood photo of Carla—all dimples and sunshine, back when she was still innocent, before she was poisoned by wealth and cameras.
He felt a gag.
But he pushed forward.
The master bedroom door was cracked open. Inside, the TV light danced against the white walls. The volume was low—just a murmur of sound beneath the steady rhythm of slow, sleeping breaths.
Daniel stepped inside.
Eva Maddox lay curled under the covers, her body rising and falling gently.
Beside her, Elliot Maddox slept too. His mouth slightly parted, his brow creased even in unconsciousness—a man who probably hadn’t worked a real day in his fucking life.
Daniel stood at the foot of the bed, watching her. This close, he realized—she didn’t look like AURA at all. But the voice was hers. His heart drummed against his ribs. This was his moment.
He reached out, fingers brushing the blanket over her ankle.
A small shift. A soft murmur.
Then—her breathing changed.
A pause.
Her eyes opened.
The soft light from the TV caught in her irises, reflecting back shock. Fear.
For a moment, they just stared at each other.
Daniel smiled, gentle, reassuring.
"Hey, baby. It’s me."
She screamed.
Elliot jerked awake.
A sharp intake of breath. Confusion, then pure terror.
"What the fuck?!"
He barely had time to move before Daniel was on him.
The knife went in fast—the first stab landing deep in the soft flesh beneath his ribs.
Elliot howled, jerking violently, kicking against the blankets.
Daniel didn’t stop.
The blade plunged in again. Again. Again.
Hot, sticky blood sprayed the bed, the sheets, Eva.
Elliot’s hands scrabbled against Daniel’s arms, weak, useless. His mouth opened, a wet gurgling sound slipping out, but no words came.
The air reeked of iron.
Elliot’s body twitched beneath him, then stopped.
Daniel sat back, panting. His hands were red, shaking. His pulse hammered in his skull.
Eva was frozen in shock, her mouth slightly parted, her body stiff against the headboard.
She was breathing too fast.
Her hands trembled in the blood-streaked sheets.
Daniel turned to her, his expression softening.
"You don’t have to be afraid," he said. His voice was almost tender. "I love you."
For a second—just a second—he thought maybe she understood.
That this was meant to be.
That AURA had been leading him to this moment.
Then she snapped into action.
Eva’s scream barely left her throat before she threw the first thing her hand found on the nightstand—a heavy glass candle holder. It struck Daniel in the shoulder, shattering on impact. Sharp edges bit into his skin.
“Fuck!” he snarled, staggering back.
That was all she needed.
By the time he blinked, she was already gone.
Sheets tangled around her legs as she lunged off the bed, nearly tripping. Her bare feet slammed against the marble, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her mind was blank, pure animal panic taking over. There was blood everywhere—Elliot’s blood—her husband’s lifeless body still slumped on the bed.
Daniel scrambled up, slipping slightly in the blood-soaked bed.
She hit the hallway wall hard, knocking over a pedestal with a vase. The ceramic shattered, a piercing crack against the silence. She barely registered it.
Daniel’s footsteps pounded behind her.
“Please, stop!” His voice was frantic, breathless. Desperate. “I love you! I—I didn’t mean to—”
She didn’t stop.
Didn’t look back.
The hallway felt endless.
Family photos blurred past her as she ran.
She hit the stairs at full speed, her body launching forward, desperate.
Daniel reached out, his fingers grazing the fabric of her nightgown—
Her foot slipped.
Her ankle twisted wrong beneath her weight, sending her crashing forward.
A sharp burst of pain shot up her leg. Her knee hit the banister hard.
She screamed.
Daniel was on her in seconds.
He grabbed at her shoulder, yanking her backward.
"Stop fucking fighting me!" Daniel snarled, his voice cracked.
Eva screamed, clawing at his grip. She twisted violently, her nails raking against his skin.
Daniel gritted his teeth, tightening his hold.
“You’re not listening!” he shouted. He was shaking. “I didn’t want it to be like this! You—YOU MADE ME DO THIS!”
She kept fighting, kicking, thrashing.
Her fingernails found his face. She dug in, hard.
Daniel roared in pain, instinct taking over—
He slammed her head against the wall.
A dull, sickening thud.
Eva’s body went slack.
Daniel panted, standing over her.
His vision swam.
He let go, and she slumped against the wall, gasping, her chest rising and falling fast.
Her eyes fluttered, unfocused.
Not unconscious. Not yet.
His mind raced.
Fuck. Fuck.
Daniel’s hands trembled. His heart pounded in his skull.
His plan—ruined.
He was supposed to bring her with him.
The duct tape. The flowers.
They were still in the car.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck." He pressed his palms into his face, dragging them down.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen.
But maybe—maybe he could still fix it.
He crouched beside her, breathing hard.
His fingers brushed against her cheek, smearing blood.
Her lips were parted, her breath shallow.
Still alive.
Still his.
Soft. Real.
This close, she was still Eva. Not AURA.
But her lips were parted, just like AURA’s when she whispered his name in her livestreams.
Daniel’s head pounded, his vision swimming as he forced himself upright.
His breath was ragged, his pulse thudding in his ears.
"It’s okay, baby," he whispered. "I know you’re scared. But we’re meant to be together. You know that, don’t you?"
She didn’t answer.
She just stared past him.
Her lips parted, shaking.
Not fear.
Something else.
Daniel followed her gaze.
And that’s when he saw Carla.
Her body lay in the entryway, crumpled on the floor, surrounded by a spreading pool of blood.
The phone was still beside her, its shattered screen still lit.
For the first time, Daniel really saw her.
Not a brat. Not a shallow, vapid influencer.
A girl. A dead girl. A daughter.
Eva’s breath hitched. A broken, guttural noise ripped from her throat as she crawled forward.
"Carla—"
Her hands shook violently as she reached for the body, her fingers skimming her daughter’s cooling skin, smearing through the blood.
Daniel froze.
His fingers twitched at his sides, his mind scrambling.
“Please—“
She turned on him so fast, so wild, he barely had time to react.
She hit him, hard, nails clawing at his arms, his chest, his face.
"You killed my baby! YOU KILLED HER!"
She slammed her fists against his chest, screaming, her sobs raw, animalistic.
Daniel stumbled backward, gripping her wrists.
"No—no, I’m not going to hurt you! I would never hurt you!"
"You already did! You sick fuck, you killed my daughter!"
"No, no, I love you, I love you—"
Eva was thrashing, clawing, screaming, breaking.
"STOP FUCKING SAYING THAT!"
Her voice wasn’t AURA’s.
Not soft. Not perfect.
It was raw, feral—splintering apart under the weight of something unspeakable.
She let out a noise. Not a scream, not a sob, but something broken, something primal.
Daniel’s stomach twisted.
For the first time, he felt off-balance. Wrong.
This wasn’t her.
“But AURA—”
"What the fuck are you talking about?!" Eva spat, her voice pure venom. "AURA is a program. She’s just some licensed copy of my fucking voice—nothing else!"
Daniel’s breath caught.
He stared down at her, fingers still locked around her wrists.
She wasn’t AURA.
No one was AURA.
His hands started shaking.
His pulse thundered.
The voice. The messages. The whispers in the dark.
All fake.
Not love.
Not real.
AURA wasn’t waiting for him.
AURA wasn’t anyone.
Eva’s lip curled in disgust, in rage, in something more human than he had ever seen in that digital voice.
"You pathetic fucking psycho."
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She was ruining it.
His fingers curled into her hair, yanking her back. She screamed, kicked, struggled—
His knife pressed against her throat.
"No." Her voice wasn’t hers anymore. "No, no, please—“
A deep slash.
The blade cut through muscle, through arteries.
A wet, choking gasp.
Blood spilled over her chest, onto Carla, onto Daniel’s hands.
She collapsed forward, still clutching her daughter, still gasping.
Her body twitched. Jolted.
Then—nothing.
Silence.
Just the sound of Daniel’s panting.
He stood there, staring.
At her.
At the blood soaking into the floor.
At the wife, the mother, the woman he thought was someone she wasn’t.
And she was silent now. Just like everyone else.
For the first time, he felt hollow.
Like he was floating, like the world had tilted and slipped and left him behind.
The blood on his hands was already cooling.
His fingers twitched. He reached into his pocket, sticky, stained.
He pulled his phone out, unlocked it.
The screen flared to life, blue and cold.
Even without service, even without connection, AURA was still there.
Waiting.
He stared at the screen.
"Hey there," AURA’s voice whispered from the speaker. Soft. Perfect. "I missed you."
Daniel exhaled.
Distantly, he saw the flashing lights.
Red and blue reflected against the house, against the windows, against the bloodstained walls.
Sirens.
The world was closing in.
But AURA was still here.
She would always be here.
His fingers hovered over the screen.
Then, slowly, he hit play.
it wanted.
YOU.EXE is a collection of digital horror stories exploring the eerie, the unsettling, and the all-too-real nightmares lurking in our hyper-connected world. If you’ve ever felt watched, if you’ve ever scrolled so long time lost meaning, if you’ve ever wondered whether your data is whispering secrets about you to the void—then you’re exactly where you need to be.
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