He opened the fridge, trying to decide which leftover was edible tonight, when Alice chimed in. "The noodles aren't good anymore. Take the day-old steak, James."

  "Thanks," James grunted, pulling out both. He tossed the noodles into the trash.

  Alice could be a little naggy—or, more accurately, she was constantly intruding on his privacy.

  Why? He had no idea. He’d bought her off the internet, not from some infamous dark web marketplace, but a regular shady site where people offloaded old tech.

  Alice was a household AI and had only cost him $300. She was too good a deal to be true; maybe some wealthy owner had grown tired of her and ditched her for cheap.

  Or maybe they'd just gotten tired of her nagging. "James, you really should go out sometime. How long are you going to stay cooped up in this tiny flat with me?"

  "I'm fine, thanks." James tore open the seal of the pre-made steak. It was a Sunrise product, of course; most decent goods were. The government turned a blind eye because Elias's sons were damn good at lobbying.

  "You're young, sure, but you won't be that young forever. Soon you'll be forty, and then you'll—"

  "Stop it, Alice. I'm not marrying anyone. Not for any reason, at all," James snapped toward the ceiling.

  "I didn't say you should marry. I said people tend to lose their sexual vibe once they reach their forties," Alice’s high-pitched, soft voice echoed through the small flat.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Whoever the lunatic was that designed her, they’d given her the face of a young girl—around eighteen years old.

  James wasn't a pervert. When he bought the AI, the only thing he’d cared about was the description: 'efficient and cheap household AI, malware-free.' That was it.

  And voila—now he had a teenage girl lecturing him on how depressing his life was. Perfect.

  He couldn't even change her appearance for some reason; someone had hardcoded that face and voice into the system, leaving him with no other options.

  So, he was stuck with this girl bossing him around in his own home.

  "I don't have the money to lure anyone in anyway," James muttered.

  "You're actually quite good-looking, James. You're tall, lean, and have a striking face. I’d give you at least an eight out of ten. It's not about money, it’s all about the hormones. Now, you should—"

  "I shouldn't do anything. Just let me eat my dinner, Alice. Then I’m taking a shower and going to bed. I'm busy here, alright?" James took his plastic dinner tray over to his bed. There was no one here to nag him about eating on the bed, he was a grown man living alone, and—

  "You shouldn't eat on the bed, James. If you stain it, you’ll have to buy a new mattress. And you always complain about how expensive everything is," Alice’s girly voice drilled into his ears.

  "Ugh, for the love of... just let me eat in peace, will you?" James was about two seconds away from launching his tray at the ceiling speaker.

  "Fine. I’m picking up a spike in your vitals anyway. But for the record, it’s a terrible habit—"

  "Alice, shut up!"

  "...Message received. You want the news on while you're at it?"

  "Yes. Please. Anything to drown out your voice."

  "Suit yourself. I’ll give you some 'me time.'"

  God. Alice had once tried to give him a lecture on switching to a better-quality soap for the same price, WHILE he was buck-naked in the shower.

  The AI was beyond belief. Ever since he’d lost his mind and screamed at the ceiling, instinctively trying to cover himself up, she’d at least backed off on the bathroom commentary.

  But the vital signs thing...that bothered him. How? Standard-issue household AIs weren’t equipped for that. This thing was clearly a custom job, and whoever coded her was a grade-A freak.