The only thing alive in the apartment was the phone screen. It cast a pale, bluish-gray square onto Haizumi's face, highlighting the tired eyes that had seen way too many pixels and not enough sunlight.
It was 2:00 AM. The world was asleep, but the servers were screaming.
Haizumi's thumb twitched. Muscle memory. Scroll. Stop. Scroll. Stop. He opened LetsChat!, the app icon grinning with that cheerful, deceptive green.
[You have joined 32 Servers]
Thirty-two communities. Millions of people. And the notification bell at the top? Still a hollow, unlit outline. Dead silence.
"Aight, let's try this again," he muttered.
He tapped on the first icon: "Galactic Heroes [OFFICIAL]."
The chat log was moving so fast it was just a blur of neon text. Pure chaos.
LiMx: LMAO DID U SEE THAT EPISODE??
Fhenora:[GIF SENT: A cat exploding]
ur dad: which episode?
LiMx: THE FINAL!!!!
Haizumi hesitated. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He typed slowly, checking his spelling, trying not to sound too desperate while still sounding... you know, human.
Haizumi: Hello everyone.
Send.
He watched the message bubble appear. For a split second, it sat at the bottom of the chat.
Rqcky Ace:[STICKER SENT: A dancing banana]
ur dad: anyways, who wants a new banner?
ItzMeTS: ME ME ME PLSSSS!!!!
And... gone. His message was pushed off the screen by a dancing banana and a wall of caps lock. No acknowledgment. No "hello." Just the relentless current of the Hive Mind swallowing him whole. One second he was there, the next—deleted by apathy.
Haizumi swallowed the lump in his throat. "Owh, okay. Tough crowd. Pissed off."
He switched servers. "Digital Artists United." Maybe here. Maybe creators were chill.
Haizumi: Hey guys, really struggling with shading tonight. Anyone up?
The chat paused. Someone was typing. Haizumi's heart jumped. Finally.
YOU ARE DUMB! (MOD): Read the FAQ before asking questions. Check pinned messages.
impxstxr (MOD): Yeah, don't clog general chat, dude. Move it to #help-desk-3.
"Sheesh, relax," Haizumi whispered, shrinking back into his pillow.
He didn't move it to #help-desk-3. He just closed the server.
"These bastard moderators… ugh, don't welcome people then." Haizumi muttered while a bit mad.
He tried the "Night Owls" server. Ignored. He tried the "City Chill Chat." Ignored. He tried a random meme server. He got a single "clown face" emoji reaction, and then the chat shifted to some trending TikTok song he didn't know.
Thirty-two servers. Zero connections.
"I'm drowning with these bastards, ignorant babies," Haizumi whispered to the empty room. His voice sounded rusty. "It's like screaming in a stadium where everyone is glued to their phones."
It wasn't just tiredness; it was burnout. Deep, soul-crushing burnout. Trying to exist in a digital space that didn't want him was frying his brain.
He swiped the app closed with a violent flick of his thumb.
He opened the browser, intending to just look up the weather, maybe find a reason to touch grass tomorrow. But the algorithm was faster. It knew he was sad. It knew he was lonely. It knew exactly what time it was.
[POP-UP ADVERTISEMENT]
The banner was sleek, minimalist, and strangely calming. No flashing lights. No loud colors. Just a soft, matte gray background with white text.
TIRED OF THE NOISE?
For a limited time only: The Social Engagement Replica (Series 5).Customizable. Empathetic. Yours.
PROMO PRICE: $2,000 (MSRP $20,000)
Haizumi blinked. "$2,000?"
That was his entire savings. But for an android of that caliber? It was suspiciously cheap. Like, criminal.
His thumb hovered. He shouldn't. It was pathetic. Buying a friend? That was a new low, even for him.
Popped. A notification from LetsChat! appeared at the top of the screen.
Haizumi's heart leaped. Did someone reply?
[LetsChat!: SH!T EYES server: Trending now! "Top 10 ways to stop being a loser." Click to join the conversation!]
"Wow. Thanks, universe," Haizumi deadpanned.
He clicked the ad for the robot.
The website loaded instantly. Anima-Tech Solutions. The design was professional, sterile. It didn't look like a toy store; it looked like a medical clinic.
He scrolled down to the reviews. He needed to know if this was a scam.
Product Rating: ★★★★★ (5.0/5.0)
Total Ratings: 27,299
He clicked "Read Reviews."
"No written reviews available."
Haizumi frowned, the blue light reflecting in his narrowed eyes. "That's weird."
Twenty-seven thousand people rated it perfect, but not a single one left a comment? That's statistically impossible. Unless...
"Unless they're embarrassed," Haizumi muttered, desperation filling in the blanks. "I mean, who posts 'Bought a robot friend because I'm lonely' on their public profile? They keep it private. Makes sense."
It made sense. It made perfect, tragic sense.
He looked at the "Buy Now" button. He looked at the dark, silent apartment that smelled like stale coffee and bad decisions. He looked at the LetsChat! icon, the portal to a world that treated him like a ghost.
"I just want someone to say hello," he whispered.
He entered his credit card info. His hands were shaking. A box popped up: TERMS AND CONDITIONS (User Agreement).
He didn't read it. Who reads that stuff? He scrolled to the bottom.
[X] I AGREE.
Confirm Purchase.
Processing...Processing...
[PAYMENT ACCEPTED. ORDER #H-001-SUBJECT-ALPHA CONFIRMED.]
[ESTIMATED DELIVERY: TOMORROW.]
Haizumi exhaled, dropping the phone onto his chest. He stared up at the ceiling, the gray afterimage of the screen still burning in his eyes.
He plugged the phone into the charger, the screen finally going black, and let the darkness take him.
The alarm blared at 7:30 AM. Not the standard, jarring beep, but the driving guitar riff of the Fullmetal Alchemist opening theme—a burst of high-energy nostalgia that had no business being this loud in a silent, gray morning.
Haizumi groaned, slapping the nightstand to kill the music. The track cut off, leaving the room feeling emptier than before.
"Saturday," he mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
No work. No obligations. Just twenty-four hours to kill before he had to drag himself back to the office on Monday.
He swung his legs out of bed. The floor was freezing. He made the bed immediately—straightening the sheets, fluffing the pillow. A small win. If he couldn't control the internet, he could at least control his duvet.
He shuffled to the kitchen, feet sticking slightly to the linoleum. It was a compact space—clean, but dead. He opened the fridge.
"Great."
The blueberry jam jar was a sad sight. Scraped clean, save for a few purple smears clinging to the glass. He grabbed it anyway, along with the bag of bread. He managed to scrape out just enough jam to stain two slices of bread a faint violet.
"This is fine," he told the empty room. "I'll do groceries later."
He took his sad breakfast to the small square table by the balcony window. 6th floor, Canway City complex. Outside, the world looked deceptively peaceful. Crisp blue sky. Birds cutting arcs through the air, free. Below, the traffic hummed—a constant, low-grade vibration of people going places, meeting people, living lives.
Haizumi took a bite of the dry toast and picked up his phone. The screen lit up.
[82 New Notifications]
For a second, the dopamine hit. Eighty-two. Maybe his art took off while he slept? Maybe someone actually wanted to talk?
He unlocked the screen. The hope evaporated instantly.
LetsChat! (75): "@everyone ANNOUNCEMENT: Server maintenance scheduled for..."
Face it Off (4): "Your friend Patsy Hanara posted a new post."
Be Ready (3): "Trending in your area: 'Cat jumps over fence'."
Noise. Just noise.
He tapped on the Be Ready icon. He had a specific notification there, buried under the spam.
[System: Your post in r/MakeYourOwnArts has been removed.]
Haizumi stopped chewing. He tapped the notification. It took him to his profile. There it was—his drawing of Nuna Moonlight, an OC he had spent three nights perfecting. The lighting on her hair, the armor details...
A small red trash can icon sat next to the title.
Status: DELETED.
Likes: 2.
He clicked on the reason.
[Reason: No reason provided by Moderators.]
"Seriously?" Haizumi whispered. He clicked through to the community page. His post was gone from the feed. Ghosted. It only existed on his own profile now.
"I don't know why these mods keep deleting my stuff without a reason. Moderators are the villains of the internet society.," he muttered, resigning himself to the usual BS. He went back to the general feed.
The top post, posted two hours ago:
Title: "Morning Vibes."
Image: A blurry, low-effort photo of a generic white coffee mug on a table.
Likes: 11.4k
Awards: 15 Gold, 3 Platinum.
Haizumi stared at the coffee mug. It wasn't even a nice mug. It was chipped.
He found another WIP artwork post just next to it. Posted by AlohaArtMix. It wasn't even rendered yet, just a sketch, but it already had comments.
He scrolled down to the comments on another new art post—a kid asking for critique.
Restraint_Acetone3718: "Trash. Quit drawing." (532 upvotes)
BendKnees: "Why does the hand look like a claw? lol." (216 upvotes)
The algorithm loved garbage and boosted the trolls. It was a machine designed to crush effort and celebrate static.
Haizumi looked at his own hand, the one that had drawn Nuna Moonlight. Deleted by Moderators for no reason.
"I don't belong here," he said, setting the phone face down on the table.
He finished his dry toast, the taste of blueberries barely there. Tomorrow. The package would arrive tomorrow. And maybe, for the first time, he could talk to something that wouldn't delete him.