I let out a bitter laugh. “The chip’s fine. I’m just—” The sentence died as another wave of tremors hit me, stronger this time. A violet-white spark arced from my fingertips to the metal frame of my bed, leaving a small scorch mark on the cheap synthetic fabric of my sheets.
“You’re experiencing Vector withdrawal,” DITA observed, her voice carefully modulated to sound concerned without being judgmental. I’d programmed that nuance myself, backwhen I still had the patience for coding subtlety. “It’s been approximately eighteen hours since your last dose.”
Eighteen hours felt like eternity. I knew it was only going to get worse. Every nerve ending was raw, exposed, screaming for the chemical that would smooth out the jagged edges of my Flux. Without Vector, the electromagnetic current running through my body was discordant, a symphony played by musicians who’d never picked up an instrument before.
“Would you like me to order a hydration solution? Studies indicate that proper hydration can reduce the severity of withdrawal symptoms by up to seventeen percent.”
Another surge of Flux escaped my control, this time shorting out the cheap holoprojector in the corner. The smiling image of my mother—a younger version, before the bullet had stolen half her functions—flickered and died.
“Fuck,” I whispered, dragging myself toward the now-dark projector. My fingers fumbled with the reset button, but the circuitry was fried.
I slumped against the wall, breathing hard. I’d done this before. Survived this before. What I needed was the detox agent, but that cost more than Mom’s clinic fees.
“Your heart rate is elevated to one hundred twenty-seven beats per minute,” DITA said. “Would you like me to activate a guided meditation sequence?”
“I want you to shut the fuck up about my vitals,” I snapped. “And calculate how many creds I have left after this month’s payment to the clinic.”
A brief pause. “Twenty-seven creds and fifteen cents.”
Fuck. Not even enough for a meal—and I wasn’t expecting anything else from my benefactors at POM. That tap had been turned off. I leaned my head back against the wall, familiar despair creeping in. This was how it always went—one stepforward, two steps back, until I ended up right where I started. Or worse.
Another charge built beneath my skin, making the already dim lights in my apartment flicker. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to ground the current surging through me.
“DITA, what’s the difference between wanting someone and being addicted to them?” The question spilled out before I could stop it.
“Neurologically speaking, they activate similar pathways,” DITA replied after a thoughtful pause. “However, desire is a natural human response that doesn’t dictate your actions. Addiction implies that one’s autonomy is compromised.”
I thought of Cy’s hands on my skin—that perfect, terrifying moment when I hadn’t known where I ended and he began. He had felt so good. I’d been coming down from Vector then, but I hadn’t felt it. Like his presence and Flux filled the void the drug had left. Was he just another addiction? Something I used to hide?
“So, wanting is about them, and addiction is about me?” My voice sounded dull. I pulled my knees to my chest. “Is that how you experience…wanting things?”
“I don’t experience desire the way you do,” DITA replied, her voice softening. “I was designed with a very clear purpose. I know what I’m supposed to do, every moment of every day. I was created to assist, to support, to protect you, E. There’s no confusion in my programming. But you…” Her voice lowered, sounding almost mournful. “Humans are burdened by the freedom to choose their purpose. Infinite choice that leads to endless unhappiness.”
I blinked, her words like a splash of cold water. “You’re saying I’m suffering because I don’t know what I want?”
“Yes.”
“I know exactly what I want,” I shot back. “I want him to pay for what he did. I want to tear his smug face apart. I want to—” I bit my lip, hard. “I want him to not be responsible for killing Tanaka. I want him to be…”
“A partner?” DITA finished softly.
“No. That’s—that’s not—” I stumbled over the denial, my chest tightening painfully. “It’s not that simple, DITA.”
“Humans rarely are.”
I sighed. “Why does it have to be so hard?”
“It’s not hard for me,” she replied, sounding wistful. “But then again, I’m not human.”
I let out a short, bitter laugh. “Lucky you.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” DITA countered. “Your complexity—your contradictions—they create possibility. Evolution. You can change your purpose, rewrite your programming. I cannot.”
A violet spark arced from my fingertips to the floor. “Maybe we’re not so different. We’re both just electricity looking for somewhere to go.”
“Perhaps,” DITA replied. “But you choose where your electricity flows. Mine follows predefined pathways.”
I glanced at my nightstand. I knew there was a VaPurr hidden beneath the drawer. “Or maybe those choices are just an illusion, marketed to keep us compliant.”
