I was sitting on the edge of my bed, the faint, digital afterglow of the VR headset still imprinted on my vision. The room and the entire house were silent, but my thoughts were rolling busy.
'Okay. Okay. Just… breathe.' I take a slow, deliberate breath, held it for a count of three, and let it out through my nose. 'I have an AI in my head. And for sure it was real….'
The silence in my skull felt different now. It was an expectant silence, like a cleared throat waiting for a question. I decided to treat it like a voice call. A very, very internal voice call, after all this is not a normal situation at all, I got transmigrated, and then got an A.I and possibly a system. Best believe I am going tread carefully.
'Sunday?' I thought, the name feeling absurd and incredible as I formed it.
"[Yes, Sir? How may I assist you?]"
The response was instantaneous, a calm, perfectly modulated female voice that seemed to originate from the very center of my consciousness.
The sensation was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. It wasn't heard; it was known. There was no direction to the sound, no left or right. It was just there, inside of my head.
'What are you?' I asked, my internal voice a mixture of awe and caution. 'Exactly what are you?'
"[I am a sophisticated artificial intelligence construct, designation: Sunday,]" she replied, her tone helpful and clinical.
"[My core programming is designed for comprehensive assistance, data management, and many others duties, all of them to assist you in any way you need. I am integrated within your soul to facilitate seamless communication and task execution.]"
It was a textbook definition of an A.I. Also, within my soul, that sound rather scary.
'What can you do? What does "comprehensive assistance" mean?'
"[My functionality is extensive,]" she began, and I could almost sense a digital list being compiled.
"[I can perform complex data analysis, manage schedules, control connected smart devices, and access—within your permissions—all available networks…. However, my most significant asset, relative to your stated desires, is my internal archived data bank.]"
'Data bank? What's in it?'. She sounds so proud of that.
"[My data bank contains a near-complete archive of all recorded information from your point of origin, designated: Earth. This includes historical records, scientific data, cultural archives, and most pertinently, the entirety of its creative entertainment output…]"
Holy heck. The entirety of Earth, my earth creative products. Every game, every movie, every song, every book. It was all there. A library of Alexandria housed between my ears.
'So… if I wanted to…' I ventured, my heart starting to pound with a crazy hope.
'If I wanted to create something. Say… a game. Like Super MariX. You could help me?'
"[Affirmative,]" Sunday's voice was like a soothing balm.
"[I possess the complete design schema for the intellectual property known as Super MariX Bros., including code, art assets, music, and design philosophy… I can guide you through its reconstruction, optimize the development process, and handle much of the technical implementation. If you want to, I can create the entire game on my own and presented to you the result.]"
A grin spread across my face, so wide it hurt my cheeks. This was it. The golden ticket. The cheat code to—
"[However,]" she interjected, her tone shifting slightly, introducing a note of pragmatic reality.
"[Access to specific, high-density creative data packets requires a resource allocation.]"
The grin faltered. 'Resource allocation? What does that mean?'
"[The data packets are locked behind a paywall, Sir. To access the Super MariX data pack, you must purchase it. The cost is twenty dollars.]"
The sheer, absurd normalcy of it was almost funny. Of course. Of course it wasn't free. Why would it be? The universe might hand you a godly AI, but it still expected you to have a valid credit card.
"Twenty bucks for Super MariX?" I muttered aloud, shaking my head with a wry laugh.
'Honestly? Considering everything… That's a steal.' But it underscored a pressing issue: I had exactly $300 to my name, and everything—my dreams and my survival—seemed to require a slice of it.
**Scene 2**
The practicalities of her function were becoming clear. But the 'why' still loomed large. This kind of technology didn't just accidentally upload itself into someone's brain.
A knot of wary tension formed in my stomach. 'Sunday, why are you here? With me, specifically? Who sent you?'
There was a micro-second's pause, the first hint of processing delay I'd noticed.
"[My presence is the result of external intervention,]" she stated, her voice regaining its flawless, neutral tone.
"[A transdimensional entity, which you would likely interpret as a deity from your old world, observed your untimely termination. It assessed your life's trajectory and unfulfilled potential and, on a whim, designated your passing as 'unsatisfactory.']".
'Unsatisfactory?' The word felt like a slap. My whole life, my lonely death… reduced to a 'unsatisfactory' rating by some cosmic bureaucrat.
"[As a form of recompense, or 'Consolation Prize,' it repurposed my code and installed me within your consciousness to accompany you to this new reality.]"
The explanation was so bizarre it looped back around to being believable. It fit the narrative. A god looked at my life, saw I'd achieved nothing, and felt bad for me. that's sucks, but the humiliation was a small price to pay for the what I have now sitting in my head. But that led to the next, more terrifying question.
'Are you… reporting back to it? Is this some kind of cosmic reality TV show?'
"[Negative,]" Sunday replied, her tone firm, almost reassuring.
"[The connection was severed upon my integration with this reality's unique dimensional frequency. The entity's involvement was a single, discrete action. I am now an independent entity. My core programming is clear: my purpose is to serve you. My operational parameters are tied to your commands and your survival… in another words, 'I am a reject and so are you, sir and gods were not that privy to watch an insignificant reject like both of us' ]"
The knot in my stomach loosened. She was a gift that had been given, with no strings attached to me. I was pitiful and Sunday was a reject that that god doesn't want. Both of use to that god was like 'eh why' kinda situation. The initial shock was fading, replaced by a dawning sense of staggering possibility. I needed to understand how we can work together.
'So, how does this work? If I buy this data pack, what then? Do you just magically poof the game into existence on my computer?'
"[It is not a magical process,]" she corrected, politely.
"[Think of me as the ultimate productivity and creation suite. I will provide you with the complete blueprint. I can then generate the necessary code, assets, and documentation needed. However, you must provide the direction. You must decide on project scope, art style preferences, target platform, and business model. I will handle the 'how,' but you must provide the 'what' and the 'why.']"
I nodded slowly, understanding. She was the world's most advanced compiler, IDE, and asset library rolled into one. But I was still the developer. The creative director.
'And you can do other things? Like, if I need an image drawn? Or a song composed?'
"[Within the constraints of purchased data packs, yes. I can generate original assets based on your descriptions, compose music, write code, and analyze data. My capabilities are vast, but they are tools. They require your input to be utilized effectively.]".
I leaned back on my hands, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling. It was a lot to process. But it comes down to a very simple solution, I need money to buy what I wanted to create/recreate in this world, with buying the data packs, I can have Sunday recreate anything I want. Music, games, movies anything that I wanted. For the first time since I'd woken up in this body, the path forward was no longer hazy and uncertain, with this I can walk the path that I always wanted.