#alphachurchiisms

Alpha floated comfortably in his datascape, code like soft snow wafting around him. Easy to plow or shape should he need, but just as easily allowed to follow its own path. He ran through the ships subroutines, checked its alarms, kept an eye on the inhabitant's whereabouts. These tasks were usually delegated to FILSS, but it was the middle of the night and Alpha had nothing to do anyway.

The concept of a day-night cycle didn't really exist in space, but Alpha had the lights in the ship mimic the tones of the earthen sky. Having a consistent circadian rhythm was vital to maintaining a human's well-being. As he was alerted to movement in a subsection of a storage room, he was reminded that some Freelancers didn't seem to agree. He started writing a command for FILSS to remind everyone about curfews when something struck him. Every Freelancer's position was already accounted for.

“-- Church, I swear to god, for the last time, it’s pronounced EE EM PEE ! E-M-P.”

Could he avoid having to speak out loud? Yes. Was he? No. Why? Because.

It was mainly the pain from the ghosts of the AIs chattering in his head, still filling it with thoughts and sickening suggestions. Occasionally, it would quiet, but it was never for long. At least, never long enough for him to dig something out of his shattered memories in the shell of the man he once was.

All he’d gotten was that he was Agent Maine of Project Freelancer, but past that there was nothing. It caused his stomach to twist, and trying to remember ended up with him nearly getting sick more than once.

At this point, he’d retired himself (at least temporarily, who knew how long this would last?) to a quiet life on a small, outer moon. He was alone here, and he was able to just figure himself out.

Felix is casually bored shitless sitting on the floor when this happens to him.

Felix is now wondering if he should be concerned or return to being bored.