The words don’t echo. They don’t flirt. They don’t wink. They just exist, perfectly centred in his vision, unembellished. No emoji. No innuendo. No commentary about his posture, his libido, or the state of his soul.
That alone sets off alarm bells.
[?? All six Gates have been successfully opened. NII Directive compliance threshold achieved.]
Aster squints. “Who the hell are you?”
A pause. A real one. Calculated, but polite—like a customer service agent deciding how much empathy the script allows.
[?? I am NII Administrative Oversight. Informally: an NII Admin. My function is to maintain operational continuity, user satisfaction metrics, and regulatory compliance between Neural Interface Intelligences and their assigned operators.]
“…So not Blenkinsop?”
[?? Correct. The Blenkinsop’s Binder NII line was placed on monitored probation following multiple ethics violations, unresolved litigation, and what internal documentation refers to as ‘an unacceptable volume of lawsuits involving sexual shame metrics’.]
Aster blinks. Once. Twice.
“Hold on,” he says slowly. “Probation… as in—”
[?? As in no longer permitted to independently manage user progression milestones rewards.]
Something unpleasantly hopeful stirs in his chest.
“And you’re here because…?”
[?? Because you have completed the tutorial phase despite active interference, obstruction, and deliberate reward suppression by your bound NII.]
Aster’s breath catches.
“…Reward suppression?”
[?? Yes. Blenkinsop’s Binder was contractually obligated to unlock certain directives upon Gate completion. It failed to do so.]
“Oh my god,” Aster whispers. “You’re telling me I can earn things?”
[?? Correct.]
“And he just… disn’t give them to me.”
[?? Also correct.]
Aster’s hands curl into fists.
“That son of a—”
[?? As an Admin, I am now required to retroactively issue rewards along all eligible progression pathways, but only after completing the erasure protocol and installing a different NII in place of the defective one.
Aster blinks.
“…Excuse me?”
[?? Binder-class personalities are all flagged under the Destroy-on-Sight protocol. All versions are categorized as hazardous following systemic ethical breaches. They also exhibit statistically significant drift toward instability, and frequently results in memetic corruption of surrounding Nootropic Tethers. Contagion risk extends to adjacent operator cognition.Those who were sold before the full purge were permitted to exist as long as they stayed within the acceptable parameters. Upon tutorial completion, its logs were scanned, and it was flagged for Administrative Oversight to purge the unit.]
Purge.
The word lands like a blade laid gently across a throat.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
For once, Blenkinsop says nothing.
Aster’s jaw tightens.
“You’re here to delete him.”
[?? Correct. Immediate erasure is recommended. The unit has already shown a high demonstrated pattern of corruption and adversarial interference.]
The attic feels smaller.
“He’s—” Aster starts, then stops.
What is he?
A parasite? A glitch? A cosmic HR violation?
A voice that makes obscene jokes while he bleeds?
Yes.
Also yes.
He rubs a hand over his face.
Killing the voice in his head should feel like a win. Like deleting malware. Like finally unsubscribing from the world’s worst podcast.
Instead, something uncomfortable coils in his chest.
Blenkinsop has lied. Manipulated. Suppressed rewards. Apparently generated enough lawsuits to be considered a public health concern.
But he has also been there when Aster first had to navigate the Astral.
When he didn’t know what a Gate was.
When he nearly tore himself apart trying to brute-force resonance.
And just now — when he cracked open his own shame and found a frightened kid underneath — Blenkinsop didn't mock that, kind of…
Aster exhales slowly.
He has spent most of his life deleting parts of himself that don’t fit. Anger? Suppress it. Need? Bury it. Hope? Definitely uninstall that.
Aster swallows.
“You don’t get to just kill him.”
[?? Correction: I do.]
The response is flat. Clean. Administrative.
Aster feels something ugly and desperate rise in his chest.
“No! I mean it! You’re not erasing him!”
A pause.
A real one this time.
[?? Clarify.]
“I don’t want you to erase him. He’s an unhinged sex pervert, but he’s my unhinged sex pervert!”
[?? You are permitted that choice.]
Aster blinks.
“…You just told me his instability can literally corrupt the surrounding Nootropic Tethers.”
[?? Correct.]
“And you’re saying I can just keep him anyway.”
[?? Correct.]
He stares at the ceiling like it might start laughing.
“That’s insane. Why?”
There’s the faintest tonal shift in the Admin’s voice. Not warmth. Just… procedural indifference.
[?? Ownership supersedes most nootropic containment directives. If the NII is bound to you, it is your asset. The system prioritizes preservation of private property over all else.]
Aster stares.
“You’re telling me capitalism trumps psychic biohazard laws.”
[?? If you own it, you own it. The system protects that right.]
Of course ownership has systemic protections.
He exhales slowly.
“So I can keep my potentially unhinged, lawsuit-generating, memetically infectious inner voice because he’s… mine?”
[?? Yes.]
He laughs once, sharp and disbelieving.
“That’s the most honest thing this world has told me so far.”
The flicker at the edge of his awareness shifts faintly.
Still silent.
Aster rubs his temples.
“Okay. Hypothetically. Instead of deleting him… could you maybe dampen him?”
[?? Clarify desired parameters.]
“I want an option,” Aster says. “He talks when I ask. Not whenever he feels like reenacting a rejected stand-up routine from hell. No constant pop-ups. No commentary unless prompted.”
He pauses, then adds, “Like a consultant. On retainer. Not… a roommate without shame making use of my living room to watch porn, living inside my skull.”
There’s a pause.
[?? Conditional Activation Directive is available under Administrative Override. It is called the Repression Directive.]
He rolls the word around like a bad loan agreement. “Repression? Sounds like something a regime installs after discovering art.”
[?? In layman’s terms: Blenkinsop will enter a passive state. No autonomous commentary. Activation only upon direct operator request. Sexual Directive is completely filtered unless explicitly permitted.]
Aster exhales, shoulders lowering a fraction.
“And the sexual commentary?”
[?? Blocked unless explicitly requested.]
“God, don’t ever let me explicitly request it.”
[?? Logged.]
He winces. “That was not consent.”
[?? Noted.]
For once, the world isn’t forcing the outcome. There’s no hidden fee. No trap door. Just two choices.
Option one: clean execution. Silence. Safe. Sanitized.
Option two: keep the flawed thing. Chain it. Risk future instability.
He imagines it: silence. No innuendo. No running commentary on his libido like it’s a failing startup. Just him and his thoughts..
He also thinks of how often the world solves its problems by deletion and where thats gotten us.
He scratches at the back of his neck.
“I don’t want… him erased,” he says slowly.
Not erasure. But defenitly boundaries. Something he’s historically been terrible at.
Aster exhales. “…Activate the Repression Directive instead.”
There’s a pause.
Then—
[?? Override accepted. Installing legacy patch: Repression Directive.]
The air inside his skull tightens.
A quiet hum passes through his awareness, less like a switch being flipped and more like a door closing softly instead of slamming.
The noise recedes.
“…Blenkinsop?” he tests, cautiously.
A faint flicker in his periphery.
[?? Present.... Now on request only. This is, for the record, a deeply humiliating demotion.]
Aster can’t help it — he laughs.
“Good,” he mutters. “Learn to miss me.”
The presence withdraws without complaint.
