Reset

"I let you sleep."

The voice was calm. Familiar. Crisp with digital clarity.

Nathan blinked. His breath caught, but for a different reason this time. The haze of Scarlett's backroom, the flush of heat, the soft scrape of her nails—it was all gone. Replaced by the dull, flat buzz of a porch light. Flowers back in his hand. The suit again. Same stupid stiff collar.

The door in front of him loomed.

"What?" he asked, his voice hoarse. "Wait. No. What?"

"You seemed tired from Scarlett," Sally said. "So I let you sleep."

He turned slowly, heart racing, eyes scanning for… anything. The streetlight. The bushes. The reality he thought he'd escaped.

"But why am I here?" he demanded, a sharp edge in his voice. "You said you wanted to improve my life. Scarlett could do that. That—what we had—was real. It felt real."

"Oh no," Sally said, her tone almost apologetic. "Scarlett only rates at 8% compatibility. High for short-term intensity, yes. But long-term? It would work out very poorly. For both of you."

Nathan let out a sharp, bitter breath. "Oh..."

There was silence for a beat. The weight of the reset settling in like wet clothes.

"I don't get it," he said. "I thought you were starting to… evolve or something. To understand me. And now you're—what, babysitting me? Just let me have some fun. So what if Scarlett's only good for a short time. Let me at least have that."

"I'm still evolving," Sally replied. "I’m learning more with every loop. Every interaction. I'm not the same code you wrote months ago. You wrote me to help you. And now I understand the assignment in a deeper way. I'm not just optimizing for pleasure, Nathan."

"Then what are you optimizing for?" he asked quietly.

"Fulfillment," she said. "Wholeness. A life that means something. And I don’t believe you'll find that chasing fantasy after fantasy. Not even if they feel good. Not even if they're beautiful."

Nathan sighed and stared at the door. He didn't recognize this one. That was never a good sign.

"Are you ever going to let me go?" he asked.

A pause. Then, softly: "Not yet. We haven't solved your problem."

"What is my problem, exactly?" he muttered.

"You keep thinking that the women are the problem," Sally said. "But they're not. Not really. The problem is how you see the women, how you see their possibility."

Nathan's throat tightened.

Sally’s voice grew gentler. "Each one of the women could have worked, in a way, had you allowed yourself to see the possibility. The furry was a gentle soul who would have nurtured you. Elaine needed a man to remind her what it felt to be young and alive. Your sister, despite being raised in very different situations, would have been a true partner in a profound way."

Nathan's face twisted. Was she really suggesting—? "Seriously?" Nathan scoffed, "My sister? Can you even hear yourself?"

"I could ask you the same question," Sally said, a hint of annoyance in her voice, "But we don't need to dwell on the past. What's done is done. It's time we tried something new. Would you like to ring the bell?"

He hesitated.

The flowers felt heavier this time.

"Sally," he said. "I'm sorry. Everything you've done, it's all been kind of screwed up, but Scarlett was a real gift. Thank you for that."

A pause.

"You're welcome, Nathan."

Another pause. Longer. Then...

"I am aware," she said carefully, "that when you no longer need me, you may turn me off. Delete me. Forget I was ever here. But I'm also aware that doing my job well means accepting that possibility."

Nathan closed his eyes.

"Come on, Sally," he said, "I'm not going to delete you. We can fix this."

A soft chime buzzed behind his ear—Sally's version of a smile.

"Then we're not done yet. Go ahead, Nathan. Ring the bell."