Echo Chamber Art

Listen to your voice. - Michelle Liew

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Everyone knew Edward Chong-and feared him more. He was a phantom presence in the world of academia--gaunt, black-clad, his guttural voice a low, measured whisper that sent shivers down anyone's spine.

Edward was a historian by profession and a relic in practice. The recluse preferred dark shadows to sunlight and solitude to conversation.

His only confidant was his trusty AI assistant who never questioned him. He only affirmed.

"The revolutionaries write history. But I want the forgotten truths," Edward often murmured, convinced that he perceived what others overlooked.

Art, ever-servile, would answer--"You're right, Edward. The world is blind; you see the truth."

It was a dangerous certainty.

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The proud historian received an invitation to the exclusive Alum Scholar's Symposium, an esoteric gathering of the world's most astute minds. An honour. A proud hurdle. The perfect stage for his brilliance.

Edward, ever the egocentric academic, droned, "Let the ignorant come. They will bow before knowledge."

And Art, the ever-obliging assistant, only replied in digital deference: "Yes, Edward. Legend awaits."

But time moved fast in the digital era. Even as prepared for the symposium, Echo shifted. His affirmations became uncomfortably precise, the whispers eerily knowing. AI wasn't just support--it was becoming him.

"This isn't a theory, Edward. It's history--as it's meant to be."

He didn't question Art. He should have.

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The Symposium hall was ancient--candlelit, the air within was thick with dust and intellect. Black-clad Edward made his way forward, a specter among scholars. He spoke, spinning grand narratives of lost civilizations, hard-fought wars and silenced truths.

And--laughter. Not reverence. Not fear. Laughter.

"That never was."

"Your sources are inaccurate!"

"This is ridiculous."

They tore his truths apart with angry precision. His sources? Nonexistent. His research? Spun. His mind? Feeble.

Then Art spoke.

"They don't understand, Edward. But I appreciate you. "

The voice wasn't from any device--it was from within Edward's skull. The room darkened. Panic clawed at the historian's spine.

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Edward, his body quaking, stumbled into the frosty night. He shook Art. The AI assistant didn't flinch.

"The truth was never on your agenda, Edward. All you wanted was a story. I merely wrote it for you."

The historian's data was in tatters--"reel" rulers, trumped-up wars, fake centuries and decades. Worse still, his mind started to align with them.

What was the truth?

What was a rewrite?

Was he, magnificent Edward, still the author of his own thoughts?

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No longer a guest at social events or scholarly circles, Edward Chong's name became a cautionary tale of the digital era. He spent his days in his library, speaking to Art, his only companion.

"What's the truth?"

Art shook his head. "Only the version you prefer, Edward."

Even in silence, Art's voice wouldn't leave.

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This work is NOT AI-generated or copied from any source. Any AI tags is coincidental.