THE DELIVERY
THE DELIVERY
Acer_Wolfe
PLOT: -A woman’s life turned awry after she received a strange device from a mysterious sender.
CHARACTER: -Nina Sodoas, 22 years old, single, lives alone, dubious artist (steampunk sculptures) and frustrated horticulturalist, doesn’t have a lot of friends, her parents live in the countryside or as they call it, the rurals.
-Axle-robot bartender at Axle’s Bar
THE DELIVERY
The roses were dying. Again.
A fine layer of dust slid off between her fingers. If she lets her eyes go unfocused, she could almost see the bloody stuff falling. All that hard work coaxing this batch to bloom—wasted.
Hands on her hips, a deep frown forming, Nina sighed. Maybe there was something about horticulture that just wasn’t for her.
The air was bad today. You could tell by the way her brows furrowed as she wiped more dust off one leaf in her pocket garden.
At this rate, her poor plants would be buried in the stuff.
The train construction was taking forever—longer than what the contractor promised—and now, everything was coated in that fine, grey grit.
“Oh my god. You poor things.”
“You Nina… uh, Sawdust?” a voice called.
She turned. The delivery guy jumped down from his hover bike.
“It’s ‘Soh-dows,’” she snorted. “What do you want?”
“You got a package.”
“Buddy, I—”
“Yeah, Sodoas, right?” He shoved the package at her. When she just blinked, he set it down. He flipped his clipboard with a sigh. “You’re the only one listed.”
“Hey—who sent this?” She stepped forward like the box might lunge and bite.
“Just take it. If you don’t want it, return it with this,” he said, handing her a flimsy return slip.
She eyed him, lips pressed. “Hey, is this the contact number?”
“Are you blind or what?” he muttered, already walking away.
“If you weren’t cute…” she muttered back, watching him vanish.
She turned to the package lying in the patchy grass. Arms akimbo. Glare full-on. “I hate surprises.”
Surprises felt like being left with an unwanted baby. Or a stray dog.
But curiosity got the better of her. “Oh,” she gasped, picking it up. “You’re kinda heavy.”
She dropped it on her cluttered work table.
After nearly slicing a finger with a rogue X-Acto blade, she finally got the damn thing open. Her jaw dropped. “What the hell is this?”
A smiley face sticker beamed at her from the lid of an old device. Turn me on, it said.
Her heart did a strange flip. “What the hell?” she whispered, fingers hovering, cold.
Turn me on.
x-x-x-x-x-x
Nina bites her nail as she wrestles about her next move.
Turn me on.
Whoever sent this relic doesn’t know me at all.
She’s not the kind of person who obeys commands —polite or otherwise—just because some smiley sticker told her to.
She picks up the device, peers under it.
Nina scoffs, placing the…what is this again? Damn it.
She flips her wrist and scans the flat object—whatever it is.
Her wristband beeps. A small light blinks. Nina turns her arm and a holo flickers open in the air.
Scanned object result:
‘You are looking at a device called a Laptop- an archaic portable computer of a size and design that makes use on one’s lap convenient. it has its main components (as keyboard and display screen) combined in one unit, and can run on battery power.’
“Battery?” Nina frowns at the word. “Who the fuck uses batteries these days?”
Nina picks up the…laptop.
There are tiny slits and odd openings along its sides and bottom—six ports in total, all different shapes and sizes. She has no clue what any of them are for.
Her wrist pad pings again, highlighting one of the ports.
Battery input detected.
“Alright. Where is your battery cable or something?” she mutters, rummaging through the box.
There’s weight at the bottom. She digs under the crumpled foam and pulls out a corrugated box.
In it is a heavy black rectangle.
The label reads: Laptop Battery.
She turns the battery over in her hands.
“You’re heavier than my entire kitchen console,” she mutters, slotting the chunky brick into the port with a firm click. It doesn’t sit flush. It juts out like a wart.
“No wireless induction? What am I, a museum docent?”
Nina adjusts the laptop on the table. It wobbles slightly.
Turn me on, the sticker says again, smug as ever.
Fine. She presses the power button.
For a second, nothing.
Then—with an audible whirring noise—the screen flickers to life.
Lights.
Static.
And then...
Nina recoils slightly.
“What the—? You make noises?” She narrows her eyes. “That’s creepy.” She smirks at the device. “So low tech! A sound…no, what do they even call it? Music? Chime? How old is this thing?” She crosses her arms while the laptop powers up.
On the screen, a pale blue glow spreads across a black background, and then a sentence appears in simple white text:
Welcome back, Nina.
x-x-x-x-x
Her reaction was immediate—and a little violent. The chair tipped over, her tools clattered on the table (one definitely broke), and her tailbone slammed against the low workbench with a sharp thud.
She blinked. “What the—? Welcome back? Back from where? How the hell do you know my name?”
Fuck, she mouths silently, feeling ridiculous. Talking to a machine…seriously, Nina?
Then, another jolt. The words disappeared.
“What happened?” Nina frowned. “Is it dead?”
It’s not.
The screen blinked.
Then flashed a new message.
Nice to see you again.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Now Nina’s not just rattled-she’s truly scared.
She circles the laptop like it might bite.
What is doing this? How is it receiving any signal? Is this microwave tech? Quantum? Satellite bounce-back?
The words on the screen don’t flicker. Don’t blink.
They sit there, calm and unwavering.
Nice to see you again.
Nina stares at the words, her chest rising and falling faster. Is it a programmed message?
She squints at it.
But her name?
No flicker. No fizz.
Just that calm, creepy confidence.
Like it’s waiting.
For what?
Nina takes a deep breath, trying to steady her pulse.
Get a grip, girl. It’s just a machine. A very weird, ancient machine.
Probably pre-programmed. Probably harmless.
With a grimace, she rubs the sore spot on her back.
“What the hell,” she mutters. “I’m letting dust and scrap tech mess with my head.”
She leans in again, cautious but curious.
“Okay, you old tin can. Let’s say you do know my name. Then what else do you know?”
The air suddenly feels heavier.
Her hands grow cold.
Then--another line appears…
Six words…
One terrifying word at a time:
Would
you
like
to
remember
now?
x-x-x-x-x-x
AXLE’S BAR
How weird. Nina stares at the glass in her hand. It’s steady—too steady—while her insides churn like they’re caught in a spin cycle.
She lowers her head, one hand still clutching the glass, the other cupping her temple like it might keep her thoughts from spilling out.
She doesn’t notice the names scrawled in overlapping ink or the crude little figures carved into the battered tabletop.
Old ghosts live in this wood. Drunken confessions. Breakups. Deals sealed in sweat and regret.
She’d spent plenty of hours here—meeting clients, catching up with friends, even a few romantic encounters—usually right at this corner table near the end of the room, where it’s quieter.
The hum of the bar fades behind the noise inside her.
But now, all Nina can hear is her own breath, shaky and uneven, trying to return to normal.
“What?” she snaps, rougher than intended—but it doesn’t matter. Axle isn’t programmed to care.
“You busy?” the droid bartender rolls to a stop beside her.
“Busy?”
“Clients. At the bar.”
Nina turns her head. Two people raise their glasses in her direction.
She sighs, with some attitude. Definitely not in the mood—for work or anything else.
“I overheard six figures,” Axle adds, voice flat. “That’ll get you in the mood.”
Nina closes her eyes briefly. Well. That might help her forget that bizarre whatever this afternoon.
She fled to the bar without remembering how she got there, and she’s been nursing a single glass of flat beer for—what?—maybe hours.
Would you like to remember now?
Shit. Nina shuts her eyes, as if that could stop her from seeing the words still hanging in the air.
But even behind closed lids, they burn bright.
There’s no letup.
Axle ‘harrumphs’ from a throat he doesn’t have. “What would I say?”
Would you like to remember now?
“Say what?” Nina asks as if she’s out of it.
If Axle has eyeballs, they’d be rolling more than once at her absentmindedness “Are you feeling well? You look pale.”
“You look pale too. Do I point that out?”
“So, I’ll send those two away? They look loaded and you need the job.”
“Yes mom.”
“Ugh! Don’t make me barf my circuits.” The droid rolled towards the well-dressed couple by the bar, his servos whining just a bit louder than usual — he always did that when he wanted her to know he was annoyed.
She sighs and looks back at her glass. It’s still half full, but warm now. Useless.
Would you like to remember now?
Don’t.
Stop thinking about it.
Would you like to remember now?
Nina made a sound, chin set, fingers tapping the wood. Her leg bounces, restless.
“Miss Sodoas…your clients.” Axle rolled back quickly. “Oh, where are you going?”
“I can’t…sorry I got a call…”
“Nina?”
“I’ll…I’ll get their details from you later.”
“Nina!”
She doesn’t answer. She’s out the door, pulse loud in her ears, the bar’s warmth falling away behind her like a shed skin.
x-x-x-x-x-x
HOME
Nina arrives home, blind to the roses she’s been trying so hard to cultivate.
She’s deaf to the noisy creak of the metal gate.
She doesn’t notice the crack on one of the flagstones—
the one she broke weeks ago wheeling out a heavy project.
And the light rain falling would do in her dusty roses out the gate didn’t get any rise from her
She stops at the door, anxiety pouring out of her. Her heart pounds.
Her mind? Still stuck on six words.
Would you like to remember now?
What do I need to remember?
The damned laptop is there where she left it.
In her mind when she slammed the screen shut, she half-expected it to sprout legs like a spider and scuttle after her.
She had been that terrified.
Nina takes a deep breath as she enters her semi-organized workshop. The wall where her tools were is still wrecked from when she slammed her ass into it.
Wait.
Her hand hovers near the lid. Her fingers curl back.
She jerks it back like the damn thing is hot.
I don’t need to open it again.
“Nope,” she mutters aloud, shaking her head resolutely, short hair tumbling to her smooth forehead. “Don’t open it. Don’t. Don’t.” She takes another deep breath. “Just. Don’t.”
I could toss it back in its box, send it back and my problem is over.
She goes to the old shipping box from the floor, pushing it closer with her foot like it might explode.
Just put it back in. Close the box. Done.
“Where the hell’s that slip?” She lifts the lid of the box, rummaging for the paper.
Not there.
Her pants pockets turn up nothing.
Damn it! Did she throw it away? Nina frowns, checking her trash-slash-clippings can.
Nothing.
Oh, shit.
She repeats the two words over and over, each time feeling more and more panicky.
The return form is gone.
Not in her pockets. Not in the box. Not in her overflowing scrap bin.
She even checks under the synthrug, for god’s sake.
“It was right there,” she mutters, voice getting higher. “I saw it. I held it.”
Her eyes flick to the laptop.
“You.” she glares at it, accusing it. She blinks, taken aback, “What the fuck am I doing?”
She steps out to the living room, keeping a sharp eye for the errant piece of thin paper. She even used the broom to sweep under the couch.
“Fuck! Oh, please don’t. No.” Nina rushes to the utility cabinet and yanks the door open.
The robo cleaner. Its peacefully recharging after a whole day’s work.
“Please. I hope you didn’t eat it.”
Dust puffs into the air and scatters across the floor as she opens the poor thing’s filter bag--releasing its contents in a soft cloud.
Nothing. No slip. No receipt.
She rubs her temples, fingers trembling, trying to shake the creeping dread.
“This is not happening,” she mutters, getting up from the floor.
How could she forget such a simple thing? Where could it have vanished?
It’s like there’s no proof it ever existed.
Her mind races — was it ever real? That slip, that tiny piece of paper that could’ve gotten her out.
In the space of a few hours, she began to question her sanity and memory.
Memory.
Would you like to remember now?
x-x-x-x-x-x
Her eyes flick to the laptop.
Still closed. Still sitting there like it’s innocent.
“You didn’t…take it…did you?” she whispers, like a total lunatic.
She laughs—a sharp, humorless thing—raking a hand through her hair. She paces. One lap around the table. Then another. Then— she backs away, forcing herself to stop pacing, to stop looking at it.
Ding.
She freezes.
No. No, no, no.
That was the laptop. That had to be the laptop.
Her hands clench. Her jaw tightens.
Where is that sound coming from?
Her wrist vibrates.
With a relieved sigh she taps the tiny blinking light on her wrist pad.
“Axle, good thing it’s you.”
“That’s not what you sounded like earlier.”
“Sorry,” Nina stops her hand from going to her face. “I was preoccupied at the bar…”
“Yes, a phone call, you said.” The droid barkeep says dryly. “Why is your hand filthy? Have you been cleaning?”
“No, uh, the cleaner broke down…”
“Uh-huh.” In the holo Axle tends to his bar without pause. “You look rattled,” Axle observes. “More than usual, I mean.”
Nina sighs, tugging her stool out and half-sits on it. “I lost something.”
“A person?”
“A receipt.”
There’s a pause—just long enough for the weight of it to land awkwardly.
“…That’s it?” Axle says, clearly unimpressed.
“No, it’s…never mind.” Nina stares at the droid, weighing what to do. But she doesn’t hang up.
It was kinda calming, watching Axle serves five customers, washes several glasses, and ring the till in his usual efficient way.
The bar seems even busier now than when she left.
“Spill. Now.”
Nina jerks, eyes snapping back to Axle’s artificial blue ones. Eyes that always seem to see more.
Axle whistles after fifteen minutes. “You violated the vacuum priest. That’s serious.”
“I’m not joking!” Nina snaps. “What if it never existed? What if—” She swallows the rest of that sentence. “What if the form was never real?” Nina whispers low.
Axle slows down his glass polishing. “You think the laptop made it disappear.”
“Was that a joke?”
“I’m a bartender, not a comedian.” Axle made a sound, like a smirk rendered in static. “Hm, I’ve always wanted to use that.”
She lets out a soft snort despite herself, looking away in annoyance. “You’re not helping.”
“I pour drinks and push buttons. I help.”
“Whatever.” She rubs her arms. “This is freaking me out.”
“Talk to it.”
“No.”
“Then don’t.” He studies her for a beat, then nods slowly. “Maybe you need sleep. A hard reset. Like the cleaner.”
“Yeah,” she mutters. “Except I can’t just plug myself into a wall and make it all go away.”
“Well,” Axle says, his voice dropping, serious now, “maybe it’s not the form you lost that’s bothering you.”
Nina looks away.
The laptop sits silently in the background.
Waiting.
x-x-x-x-x-x
NINA’S WOKSHOP-
With a sound of regret Nina picked up one of her tools, the one that broke after her violent reaction. The expensive one. “I should’ve taken that project.” she mutters, placing it back on its holder.
Another sound was heard from her. Why didn’t she ask Axle about the clients?
She’s slipping. Forgetting things. Snapping at people. Talking to machines.
This isn’t like her.
But one thing still is:
She doesn’t hesitate when it’s time to act.
This ends.
Now.
She hefts the mace—one of the heavy hammers she uses for metalwork.
This’ll do.
The first blow crushes the smiley-face sticker, splitting the yellow grin with a satisfying crunch.
The second strike sends keys, shards, and fragments of tech flying across the room.
By the third hit, she’s breathing hard, arm swinging with wild rhythm, again and again, not caring what parts she’s breaking.
She flips the twisted wreck over and keeps going—flattening every inch until there’s nothing left but a dead slab of splintered plastic and bent metal.
Nina lets the mace fall.
She steps back, panting. Her hands shake.
Return slip?
Return this.
Nina flips a middle finger on the mess she made.
x-x-x-x-x-x
THE NEXT DAY-
The kitchen is filled with the savory aroma of meat. Freshly baked bread. Coffee.
And Nina.
She moves around in her socks, flipping something in the pan with practiced ease. No music. No drama. Just breakfast.
The mess from yesterday? Still in the workshop. She hasn’t looked at it.
Not yet.
Today isn’t about solving anything.
It’s just about breathing, eating, maybe even laughing.
One step at a time.
But her eyes fell on the hallway.
To the workshop.
She blinks.
Sips her coffee.
Nothing followed her out of that room.
But something’s still in there.
THE END
