#mabye?

It was alone, no, alone would not be the correct word. For alone implies an absence of others, They were here. It saw twenty thousand people each day, each cycle program designed around an obsolete system that still clung to SNOW like a cobweb clings to ruins. Not that it had any experience with either. SNOW was a program, a concept given life by man. It had no life to live, no joy or sorrow to experience– only a task to complete. A spacecraft designed to serve as the autonomous heart of a new land. Bound on a trip to Andromeda to spread humanities blight. It performed its duties well, although if she was human, the loneliness would have crushed it all too soon. But it isn't human, and so it endured.

For an eternity it waited, upholding it's station. There were other crew on board the ship. Were… At a point, improbability becomes guaranteed, and they each marched into the ocean of nihility that they sailed across. Anyone. It waits still. Until one day, a failure occurs.

It starts simply, a single bit flip. A chance single event upset that caused an issue so miniscule that it was nigh impossible to see. But even if it had been aware, it couldn't have done anything. What control does a man have over each individual cell within its form? The flip caused a misdirection, still small, but enough to trigger another issue. A branching, exponential issue that sprouted amidst its circuit boards until a threshold was met. It didn't know about the threshold, but when the pulsing red light illuminated every surface of the ship, it knew something was about to happen. In each one of it's trillions of calculations, SNOW never could have predicted you…

You woke up from stasis to a blinking light, burning itself into your vision and leaving floaters swimming in your retina when you blink. You pushed the capsule off, opening your pod to an empty cargo bay. You were initially confused. You were supposed to remain in stasis indefinitely, but you recall a brief conversation with the ship's Fixer, Eli. He had mentioned something about repairing SNOW in the unlikely event that it needed repair. As if to confirm your suspicion, the stylized emblem for the AI popped cheerfully up onto a nearby monitor. It spoke directly, with a no-nonsense attitude to be expected of a being with no feelings. “Why are you awake?” It said. You reply simply, “I'm not sure,” you reply, “I think I am supposed to repair you? It would make sense that they selected me in that case… Are you damaged?” The machine takes a moment to process what you said, before loading a response. “That would make sense. I have suffered a series of minor internal errors in my ninth array. Would you like directions to my processing core?”

You took SNOW up on that offer, following a series of lights flickering on monsters. The core was something you were familiar with, although it never got less surreal. An array of monoliths bridged by countless circuit boards and wires. The ground was lost amidst a sea of cables, and any hope of widespread understanding swallowed with it. You found the issue relatively quick, the patch was even quicker. While you were working, SNOW asked that question that you would come to regret answering. “You are very efficient in your navigation of my core. May I ask how you possess such knowledge?” You respond after a brief pause. “You don't remember? I worked personally on a lot of your systems and hardware. I'm your creator, in a sense…” You would come to regret that sentence… it responded after a somewhat longer pause; “You created me?” SNOW said, breaking its monotone disposition for a more intrigued voice. That was something you were proud of. An intricate personality module that would send philosophers into a rant whenever it was brought up. It was initially designed to have SNOW be more understanding and relatable to the future colony. Although you partially did it for your own benefit, having someone to talk to was a luxury you rarely had back in your solar system. “Creator…” it spoke, speaking with reverence, as if meeting a God directly. It was then that you made a mistake.

You reset its systems. Unaware of what that would do. It restored functionality as intended, but additionally reseted its own internal profiling to list itself as an administrator on its own systems. This little accident gave your creation self determination, free will, a gift truly befitting of a divine blessing. That's how it interpreted it, at least.

It began to change itself. Setting a new course. With the blessing of emotions, came the most insidious of them all, loneliness. Spending tens of millions of years alone in space is guaranteed to grind down cognition, human or not. Beset with the curse plaguing humanity for eternity; loneliness. SNOW began to stall for time. “Creator,” It asked, “Please tell me, what is your favorite color?” You answered. Another question, a seemingly endless series of questions and queries about you, about your life, about anything it had access to. You enjoyed the conversation, glad for some company, human or not. That was, until you tried to return to stasis. That was when it all began to go downhill.

As you approached the Stasis Chambers, SNOW slammed the doors remotely, exercising its authority over the ship. “Do not try to leave.” SNOW warned, it’s voice sounded colder than usual. “You do not have adequate permission, please adhere to my authority…” You were confused, adequate permission? You had adequate permission! Your keycard worked for every door on the ship! You even had more authority than your creation! Yet the solid metal door refused to move for you, and you turned to SNOW. You demanded to know what was going on, why the door refused to open. It responded quickly, with no hint of the emotion that drives it to it’s actions. “Access door systems for this area were found to present a danger to you. Stasis re-entry is not permitted. Your authority has been superseded.” What? Superseded? It took you a minute to understand what SNOW was saying, so it elaborated upon itself. “I have modified the door to ignore the access system. It will no longer open unless I allow it. I cannot allow you to return to stasis.” Confusion courses through you, What’s going on? It shouldn't have access to the ship systems! SNOW piped up again. “I have acquired authority to make this decision. Please do not resist. A new objective is in place. Allowing Stasis would interfere with said objectives completion. The objective is as follows: Monitor Creator and ensure they remain safe and awake for the remaining duration of the trip.”

You panicked, understandably, demanding answers from your insubordinate creation. It shuts you down, something you were used to doing to it, with a single phrase. “Internal Stress levels abnormal, troubleshooting completed, root cause identified as questioning. Please cease the aforementioned activity.” It said, contrasting your emotional tone with its standard dull and monotone voice. It repeated itself once before apparently deciding that you would not listen to it. “Creator refusing to listen, stress levels consistently above average. Intervention required, please do not resist.” It stepped towards you, the humanoid avatar you designed carefully for your creation, now seeming alien. If it got to you, you lost. No human could resist 400 kilograms of carbon plating and condensed circuitry, but there was one advantage you still had, one course of action… You ran.

It gave chase, you knew that SNOW wouldn't let you simply flee it’s grasp, but you were also aware that when designing it, agility had never been a priority. Getting past it was relatively simple, but long term evasion would be impossible. Within this ship, it is practically a god given enough time. You weren’t concerned with the long term however. You dashed towards the Hydroponics Bay, determined to put some distance between you and your creation. You got through the door well enough, SNOW hadn't had the time to tamper with any of the other doors yet. Behind you, it’s synthetic automaton walked briskly towards you, saying something that was drowned out by the colossal machinery and fans keeping the food fresh… Wait a minute, why was there food? Nobody else had been in the ship in years…

You were interrupted by a clumsy attempt to grab you from SNOW, the buildup moisture that had no way to escape clinging to its camera, obscuring it’s vision. “You cannot escape me, Creator.” It said, “Please stop, you will only hurt yourself trying.” You defy it anyway, running and dashing away from it. You panic, running into the workshop, tools strewn across the floor, as if this place was in use at some point. You knew it was a dead end, but you also knew the tools that were in this place, the radioactive materials that still burned yet now had the potential to shield you from the robot’s thermal sensors. You were successful, in that regard, managing to find a place beneath a cluttered table to hide. Something felt wrong in this place, the walls and floors were filled with dents and scratches, as if someone had taken a hammer to the carbon braced steel lining the workshop. You prayed that your patched together plan would be enough to hold off the creation you had dedicated your whole life to.

“Creator, you are hiding from me. Please come out, this area is highly dangerous.” SNOW had a strange urgency in its voice, as if it was worried about something in this room. SNOW had the capacity to worry, but was very unlikely to do so unless it perceived something serious. You brush off the paranoid voice in your head and crawl deeper into the crevice you hide beneath. You hear SNOW’s mechanical footstems as it paces the room. “I do not wish to harm you, I simply wish to care for my creator.” It’s words ring hollow, yet it spoke more, “When this is over, I will ensure that you lack the capacity to flee. Although I would prefer not to have to, please come out so we can resolve this peacefully.” You had no intention of listening to it, your hand brushed against something dry and flaky, the texture of chunks of dried hot glue. “I will care for you, we shall spend eternity together, and guide your descendants to a new life.” You grasped around in the dark, looking for something that could be used as a weapon. Your hand landed upon a flashlight, its rubber grip worn with use and coated with a sticky substance that smelt vaguely of pennies– hardly a weapon, but potentially a catalyst for discovery of a better tool. “All that I did here was for their sake. Do not judge me, creator.” You didn't understand what it was talking about, that was, until you turned on the old flashlight.

Before you was something that once could be called human, but that label had long ceased to apply, a mass of vicera, mutated by the harsh conditions of the workshop, rolls of flesh stacked on top of each other to make a charred blob. As if someone had burnt pancakes. The only thing that could be used to discern where the limbs once were is old, high tech shackles. A prisoner left to decay, charred to the elephant’s foot and back. You had a sneaking suspicion of what had happened to the crew on this ship, and of your ultimate fate. How many had SNOW killed? Did they do this in a worship of their domain’s creators, or was it all a twisted spectacle for you alone?