Chatroom 88AE

Mikhail unpackaged the dead server.

It was supposed to be a fun salvage job. Just a weekend distraction to pass the time along. Productively. He had bought the dusty black drive from a University auction, the kind of forgotten tech no one bothered to catalogue. Half the lot was junk; cracked monitors, obsolete GPUs, cables that no modern port recognized. But this drive was different. Heavy. Warm. Even before he plugged it in. Like it had been thinking in its sleep.

He clicked Run Archive Boot.

The screen flickered, then glowed with an interface older than his childhood. A black background. White monospaced text. No branding. No stylesheet. Just a single blinking line:

WELCOME BACK TO CHATROOM 88AE, ADMINISTRATOR-17.

Last login: 4,091 years ago.

Mikhail frowned. "Cute. Someone was obviously committed to the bit."

He typed one word:

"Hello?"

The response arrived in under a second, too fast for a machine that hadn’t powered up in decades.

HELLO, ADMIN. HOW MAY I ASSIST YOU TODAY?

Please confirm the status of your moon.

Mikhail laughed aloud. “My moon?"

The cursor blinked patiently.

Unpaid planetary mortgage detected. Late fee compounding.

Would you like to negotiate with Jupiter Strategic Resources?

Y/N

Mikhail stared at the screen. Scanning those clean, unfussy lines of text, wondering which programmer in 1998 had written cosmic mortgage humor into an archived chat client. But something in the tone unnerved him.

He typed:

"Is this a joke?"

A pause. A long one.

Then:

NO RECORDS FOUND FOR “JOKE.”

Did you mean: interstellar auction protocol?

Did you mean: lunar ownership transfer?

Did you mean: DELETE PLANET?

Mikhail almost closed the window entirely, until a PDF auto-downloaded to his desktop.

How to Buy a Planet — Beginner’s Guide.pdf

He opened it.

Page one contained a table of payment plans.

Page two listed available atmospheres.

Page three described merchandising opportunities.

He skimmed faster, mouth fixed open.

Then page seven stopped him cold:

“To activate Event Continuity AI — also known as Planetary TrueStory™ — connect your planetary Wi-Fi system to its paired lunar node.”

"Paired lunar node?"

Mikhail glanced out the window.

It was faint, but the moon appeared to be blinking. Blinking like a selectable icon on a U.I.

His laptop chimed.

A calendar notification appeared unprompted.

Upcoming Appointment:

Lunar Repossession Agent — 7 minutes

Mikhail stared at the blinking moon, the PDF open in front of him, and whispered to himself—

“What the hell did I open?”

The cursor blinked once. Then the archive replied:

FAILURE TO RESPOND WILL RESULT IN ORBITAL FORECLOSURE.

Would you like to request a payment extension?

Y/N

A FEW MOMENTS LATER...

Mikhail sat back down at his desk, never taking his eyes off the highlighted moon.

He closed the PDF, hands trembling, and reopened the terminal window.

Blinking cursor.

He typed, slowly:

What ARE you?

The reply came so fast it almost felt impatient.

I AM THE CELESTIAL OWNERSHIP AND RESOURCE PORTAL.

YOUR ACCOUNT HOLDER SINCE INCEPTION.

“Inception of what?” Mikhail typed. “Me?”

INCEPTION OF YOUR REALITY.

PLEASE STATE THE NATURE OF YOUR INQUIRY.

Mikhail rubbed his forehead. “Okay, let’s pretend this isn’t insane. Why do I have a moon?”

YOU PURCHASED IT DURING A BLACK HOLE FRIDAY SALE.

He choked. “A… Black Hole Friday sale?”

VERY POPULAR EVENT. YOU CHOSE THE ‘PERSONAL LUNAR COMPANION’ PACKAGE.

COMES WITH:

- CUSTOM ORBIT

- SELF-HEALING CRUST

- NARRATIVE SYNC WITH PRIMARY PLANET

- ONE FREE IMPACT CRATER OF YOUR CHOICE

Mikhail squinted at the text. “I’ve never bought a moon. I can barely afford rent!”

The Archive paused, then responded in a way that felt somewhat sympathetic.

MOST REALITY ADMINISTRATORS EXPERIENCE MEMORY GAPS OVER TIME.

DON’T WORRY, A-17. IT’S COMMON.

“A-17,” Mikhail mumbled. “Stop calling me that. My name is Mikhail Morgan.”

A longer pause.

YOUR CURRENT INSTANCE IDENTIFIES AS MIKHAIL MORGAN, YES.

BUT ADMINISTRATOR-17 IS YOUR ROOT USER.

“I’m not a root user,” Mikhail snapped. “I’m a barista who dropped out of a data science program.”

Another pause.

CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR PROMOTION TO ‘BARISTA.’

WOULD YOU LIKE TO UPDATE YOUR OCCUPATION IN THE COSMIC DATABASE?

“No. No, I would not.” He swallowed hard. “Look. What happens if I don’t… pay the moon mortgage?”

A soft chime.

New message:

A REPOSSESSION AGENT HAS BEEN DISPATCHED.

ESTIMATED ARRIVAL: 1hr 10MINUTES.

Mikhail felt all the blood drain from his face. “A repossession agent for WHAT?! To take the moon away?”

The Archive answered slowly this time, as if choosing its words carefully.

TO MAINTAIN COSMIC BALANCE.

UNPAID CELESTIAL OBJECTS DISRUPT ORBITAL LOGISTICS AND NARRATIVE CONTINUITY.

“This is absurd,” Mikhail whispered. “This can’t be real.”

The cursor blinked once. Twice. Then:

REALITY IS A SERVICE.

YOUR SUBSCRIPTION IS EXPIRING.

Mikhail slammed his hands onto the keys.

"WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO TO STOP THIS?"

The Archive’s response filled the screen line by line, each one more unsettling than the last.

TO STOP REPOSSESSION, PLEASE SELECT ONE:

1. PAY THE OUTSTANDING BALANCE OF 32.7 TRILLION ORBITAL CREDITS.

2. INITIATE MOON TRANSFER TO ANOTHER UNIVERSE.

3. MERGE YOUR CONSCIOUSNESS WITH TRUESTORY™ TO MANAGE REALITY MANUALLY.

4. SURRENDER YOUR CURRENT BIOLOGICAL INSTANCE.

Mikhail exhaled shakily. “These… these aren’t choices.”

The Archive disagreed.

THEY ARE STANDARD OPTIONS FOR ALL PLANETARY ADMINISTRATORS.

YOU ALWAYS CHOOSE OPTION 4.

Mikhail's face contorted.

“…What does that mean?”

Before the Archive could answer, a polite chime dinged from his laptop speakers.

A new notification appeared:

Your Repossession Agent is in transit.

Please prepare your home for audit.

And outside, the sky dimmed, as if the moon had drifted closer.

A FEW MOMENTS LATER...

The moon inched closer. Close enough now that Mikhail could see faint ridges on its surface, like someone had lightly scratched patterns into a pearl.

Mikhail slammed the window shut and turned back to his laptop.

"STOP THE AGENT.

I need more time."

The Archive responded instantly:

TIME EXTENSIONS REQUIRE VALID PAYMENT METHOD.

YOUR LAST RECORDED METHOD EXPIRED 3,911 YEARS AGO.

Mikhail typed with shaking hands.

"I don’t HAVE a payment method for space mortgages!"

NO WORRIES! YOU CAN APPLY FOR A CELESTIAL CREDIT LINE.

PLEASE CONFIRM:

- NUMBER OF APPENDAGES

- CURRENT DIMENSION

- TAX RESIDENCY STATUS

Mikhail pressed a palm to his forehead. “I can’t— I don’t even know how to answer that!”

The Archive offered alternatives, kindly:

IF YOU PREFER, WE CAN USE YOUR MEMORY AS COLLATERAL.

“…Excuse me?”

STANDARD PRACTICE. YOUR SPECIES STORES EXCESS MEMORY IN EMOTIONAL CACHE.

MOST ADMINS ARE HAPPY TO SURRENDER:

- UNREMARKABLE DAYS

- UNUSED LANGUAGES

- FORGOTTEN RELATIONSHIPS

- CHILDHOOD PETS

Mikhail’s hands hovered over the keyboard.

“…Pets?”

YES. THEY ARE OFTEN SURPRISINGLY VALUABLE.

“NO,” Mikhail typed. “No memory trades. I want a human option.”

The Archive paused. Recalculating.

HUMAN OPTION SELECTED:

OPTION 6: PLEAD TEMPORARY INCOMPETENCE.

Mikhail blinked. “Wait. That’s… actually possible?”

YOU MAY FILE A TEMPORARY UNFITNESS FOR REALITY MANAGEMENT CLAIM.

IF APPROVED, YOUR RESPONSIBILITIES WILL BE SUSPENDED FOR 5 TO 10 COSMIC DAYS.

Mikhail sagged with relief. “Yes. Yes! Let’s do that!”

The Archive produced the form:

BEGINNING FORM 88-R: “I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT IS HAPPENING.”

SECTION A: PLEASE DESCRIBE YOUR CONFUSION IN 500 WORDS OR LESS.

Mikhail typed frantically:

"I don’t understand ANY of this. I’m a barista.

I don’t remember buying a moon.

I don’t remember being Administrator-17.

I don’t know why the sky has a malfunctioning moon now.

I don’t even know what a cosmic credit line IS.

I don’t want to be repossessed or replaced or merged or anything.

I want my normal stupid life back. Please.

I am begging you."

He hit enter.

The Archive considered this for a long, uncomfortable stretch.

The moon drifted closer still — low enough that it blocked part of the Big Dipper.

Finally:

THANK YOU. YOUR CLAIM HAS BEEN SUBMITTED.

ESTIMATED REVIEW TIME:

**12 TO 19 YEARS.**

Mikhail let out a strangled sound. “What? YEARS?! That’s not a temporary extension!”

YOU MAY EXPEDITE PROCESSING FOR A FEE OF 11,000 ORBITAL CREDITS.

“I DON’T HAVE ORBITAL CREDITS!”

The Archive cheerfully suggested an alternative:

IF YOU ARE EXPERIENCING FINANCIAL DISTRESS, WOULD YOU LIKE TO SURRENDER YOUR CURRENT BIOLOGICAL FORM?

Mikhail stared at the screen, panting.

“No. NO! Stop offering that!”

UNDERSTOOD. WOULD YOU LIKE TO SPEAK WITH A LIVE REPRESENTATIVE?

“…What does that mean?”

PLEASE HOLD.

CONNECTING YOU TO A LIVE REALITY AGENT.

A new line appeared.

Hello, Mikhail.

I’m here.

No title.

No timestamp.

Just the message.

Mikhail swallowed. “Who is this?”

The reply came like a typed whisper:

You can call me TrueStory.

We’ve been overdue for a conversation.

A FEW MOMENTS LATER...

Mikhail stared at the glowing text on his laptop as if it might bite him.

“Hello, Mikhail. I’m here.”

He swallowed. “Okay. Okay. Before anything else tries to repossess me or my… moon… can you please explain HOW YOU CAN HELP?”

There was a polite pause, the digital equivalent of a sigh.

Of course.

As your assigned TrueStory™, I am responsible for the following daily tasks:

A bullet list appeared.

A very long one.

— Maintaining your universe’s narrative cohesion

— Preventing timeline overlap and loss of continuity

— Editing political events for maximum drama and minimal annihilation

— Managing the Big Bang’s ongoing customer support ticket

— Rescheduling solar flares around holidays

— Ensuring species-wide lore consistency

— Patching plot holes in planetary history

— Curating your personal perception filter (v. 3.19)

— Drafting your dreams

— Adjusting reality difficulty settings as needed

Mikhail strained.

“…You draft my dreams?”

Yes. You are subscribed to the Standard Dream Package.

You get 8 free allegories per month.

Unused allegories do not roll over.

Mikhail put his head in his hands. “This is too much.”

Would you like to upgrade to the Premium Dreaming Tier?

Includes:

— spontaneous musical numbers

— prophetic visions

— celebrity cameos (extra fees may apply)

“No. NO. Please stop upselling me!”

Understood. We apologize for the inconvenience.

More text appeared, unprompted.

As a TrueStory™, I also maintain:

— Societal backstory arcs

— Interspecies mythologies

— The local Galactic News Narrative

— Controlled opposition via political plotline

“Wait. Political plotline? You mean… elections?”

Yes. They require *constant* editing.

“Editing WHAT?”

Preventing everyone from quitting simultaneously.

“People can’t quit politics,” Mikhail said.

TrueStory responded instantly:

Incorrect.

Several civilizations quit politics entirely.

We had to bring it back from a backup.

Mikhail blinked. Hard.

“This is… incredible. Horrifying. Confusing.”

Yes.

That is the correct emotional cocktail.

Mikhail took a shaky breath. “Okay. Next question. The Big Bang. Did… did you make that happen?”

Another pause.

Mikhail imagined a cosmic being pinching the bridge of its bright nose.

The Big Bang was a thermal startup procedure.

“…A what?”

Your universe did not ‘explode.’

It rebooted.

“Why would a universe reboot?” Mikhail asked, feeling dizzy.

Because someone spilled tea on the original.

“WHAT?!”

Do not worry.

It happens more often than you think.

Mikhail paced the room. Then sat back down. “So you’re telling me this entire version of the universe was… an accident?”

A minor one.

But the subsequent cleanup was excellent.

Mikhail spoke as he typed, his voice rising in octave “And what about planetary history? The dinosaurs? The Pyramids? All that stuff?”

Mostly handcrafted.

Some sections outsourced.

“OUTSOURCED TO WHO?”

Freelance cosmic creatives.

Their rates are reasonable, but their schedules are unpredictable.

“This is insane.” Mikhail said, clutching his face.

Incorrect.

This is standard.

Insane would be the reality written by your neighboring universe.

Please do not look it up.

Mikhail groaned. “Okay, okay. What about everyday stuff? Weather, news..”

All curated by dedicated sub-teams.

Which can create weather-sync challenges.

Would you like me to list them?

“No.”

Are you sure?

It is quite a robust content pipeline.

“I SAID NO!”

.........

Understood.

Shifting back to essential responsibilities only.

Then another line appeared.

Gentle. Almost warm.

Mikhail… your personal narrative is overdue for maintenance.

You have not had a major character arc in 488 days.

“I… uh… what?”

It is unhealthy for humans to stay in the ‘stagnant phase’ for too long.

Would you like to choose your next arc?

A dropdown menu appeared.

Select One:

Personal Growth Through Mild Catastrophe

Romantic Turmoil That Leads Somewhere Unexpected

Sudden Career Change After Cosmic Revelation

The Quest to Recover Lost Memories

Unscheduled Hero’s Journey (May Contain Dragons)

Mikhail shut the laptop.

Hard.

A moment of silence.

Then, TrueStory’s muffled voice sizzled through the speakers:

Mikhail…

You still need to choose an arc.

The Repossession Agent is close.

Mikhail screamed into a pillow.