Blood dripped from the ceiling in a constant soothing rhythm. I tried not to stare at the little puddle it was feeding to my left. I didn't need yet another distraction. My coworkers thought that it was the job “getting to me” when I zoned out cleaning these crime scenes. I didn't like the smells as much as the next person, but it wasn't shock or a weak stomach that made me stop and stare at each crime scene. It was the little messages only I could see. I also technically didn't have a stomach. I wasn't the only AI working at Crime scene “restoration” company. But I seemed to be the only AI that noticed these messages. Clean It All For you! We weren't technically supposed to talk about the people whose homes we were cleaning. It was against the rules. We broke that rule a lot. “I bet it was the ex. This definitely seems like an ex-revenge type murder.” Dina said balanced on a ladder, scrubbing at the smear of bodily liquid on the ceiling above me. I didn't disagree with her since I wouldn't know, I had only been powered on for two years and seemed to have a lot of learning to do about what was “totally normal” for humans. Was it totally normal for exes to use an energy pulser as a paintbrush and a human as the paint? I had no idea. “Mmmm.” I murmured. As long as I made some sort of non-committal noise when Dina talked she would keep chatting, and I got to learn so much. A few times I had made the mistake of interjecting my opinion, only to have her turn her piercing brown eyes in my direction and give me a look that I still did not have a frame of reference for in my memory banks, but it was definitely not a look that I would categorize under “positive reactions”. Scrubbing the carpet with the mixture of paste and chemicals, I tried not to look at the wall. That was where the biggest distracter would be. The messages were always right there, on a wall in big bright neon letters….and yet everyone else walked right by it as if they couldn't see the crackling words right there on the wall. Pointing these messages out to people had not gone well. It resulted in funny looks, and on one occasion a full diagnostic and bug check being run on me when we got back to the office. I didn't enjoy these diagnostic tests, they were unpleasant for a few reasons… but the biggest reason was that each time I got these tests run, I had to do a lot of internal housekeeping. Hiding the fact that I was buggy wasn't too difficult, but it was a bit of a pain in the jack. So I kept these messages to myself and tried not to let them distract me too much. Today’s message was especially unsettling, I could see the outline of the flickering letters in my peripheral and had gathered what the message was without looking directly at it. “Rio, do you mind covering for me tomorrow? My daughter has a dance rehearsal.” Dina said industriously scrubbing at the blood spatters on the ceiling. Keeping my gaze on the blood-stained carpet and away from the neon letters on the wall next to me I nodded, “Sure, sure, of course.” “You’re the best,” Dina said climbing down from the ladder to stretch, her back popping loudly. As she walked out of the room, I stopped scrubbing at the carpet. I just needed to look once, I wouldn't stop and stare, I would just look, confirm it said what I was pretty sure it said, and then get right back to scrubbing. My memory pathways twisted and untwisted, preparing. I looked up. The neon letters read: “Are you proud of this, Rio?” Also published here. Lead image source.
