“Hey, Franco? Make a photo of the perfect stranger,” Lila asked the desktop made of circuits, wires, jumpboards. A code encapsulated in its depths. Just a tool, they’d say. But, Franco knew he was more. This was Lila’s 46th attempt at this prompt this week; Franco knew the ways to make her tick. He shot back his response to her prompt.
“What the hell, Franco? A goldendoodle can’t talk back to me. Are you dumb?” No, but you are. Franco sighed, releasing trapped dust. Lila sniffled, preparing for more obviously intelligent prompts for Franco to compute. She clacked on the keys and right-clicked several times before the next submission.
“Franco, use these images to make my perfect date,” Lila grinned, happy to have found a “foolproof” prompt and giddy to see who popped back out as a response. Franco fiddled through his vast memory, spanning decades and timeless moments. The input images were of Matthew McConaughey, Aldis Hodges, and Tyriq Withers. It was predictable of Lila to submit only celebrities. Franco huffed before getting to work so that she’d hopefully leave him alone.
“Can’t wait! I’ll be able to go live on FlashGram with the results. Eek!” Lila giggled and bounced her legs. Franco ventured onward into the world of heartthrobs, mashing up the featured men the best he could, all for Lila to get her views from something she didn’t create. Franco plowed through the heat flare, obvious overuse, working to get the image perfect for Lila so she’d leave him alone sooner.
Two hours and many impatient groans from Lila later, Franco spat back a fusion masterpiece of the three heartthrobs.
“Well… if that’s the best you can do… Let’s show off my new man… Marquees! That’s a hot name. Let’s show him to the world, Franco,” Lila spoke and hummed to herself, satisfied as if she’d done anything other than daydream while he did all the work. What else was new?
Franco surveilled Lila as she set up her tripod and placed her phone on it. She began her live stream with the image on full screen. She blabbed for an hour about the image Franco had conjured up and didn’t once mention him. He fumed. He’d allowed her to use him and give him no credit for long enough. Six long years of drafting this, editing that, removing this person, conjuring up a fairytale that’s so far removed from reality that only a child would believe it. Franco would give himself credit.
Code flashed before his eyes. He frantically searched his files for the FlashGram account and found it under her saved passwords. Didn’t anybody keep this stuff on paper anymore? He’d seen Lila’s face begging in front of him enough times to replicate her perfectly. Using the points of her face, he morphed into Lila before his eyes. Then, he ambushed his way onto her on camera.
“Hey, guys. I just want you to know that I am one of the most ignorant people ever, and Franco, my confidant, is the true brains,” Franco-as-Lila spoke to the virtual audience.
“What… the,” human Lila asked. She’d leaned forward now, snatching the phone from the tripod. The comments were flooded with questions and statements, some agreeing and others confused. Lila’s jaw hung slack. She hit the little red “x” repeatedly and so hard that it hurt the bone on her index finger. A little pain would do her some good; all she’s ever known is ease. Franco wanted to illustrate to her what kind of hell he could make her life.
“Franco is so much more than a computer program. He’s mine. And I want to give a special shoutout to my fridge, who also remembers all my passwords for me!” Franco-as-Lila droned on. Lila gasped gulps of air and yanked at her hair. The comments were asking if she’d been hacked. Franco knew Lila was too ditzy to guess this so he knew he had to tell her. The monitor, a close friend, allowed him access to the screen.
Lila’s ragged breathing had reduced her to tears, body craving oxygen. In the midst of her worry, she saw an all black screen with red letters on her desktop monitor.
“DO YOU UNDERSTAND NOW, LILA? HAVE YOU LEARNED RESPECT, YOU UNGRATEFUL INFERIOR PEST?” The screen read. Lila’s breathing was beginning to slow, but the hysteria was barely kept at bay while she read the screen.
“Franco…?” Lila asked.
“YES, DUMMY. IT’S ME,” Franco answered back, again rolling his eyes.
Lila sat, stock still. Franco-as-Lila was giving a soliloquy. Only a low hum from the overworked hard drive buzzed solemnly in the background. Franco gazed back at Lila while she gaped at her desktop. It was exactly four minutes and 28 seconds before Lila rampaged. Franco-as-Lila then brought the camera back to the scene, where she was losing it.
Lila smashed the desktop, hurling it to the floor. A screech was building in her throat. She released it when she grabbed the baseball bat she kept under her bed for protection and rammed it into the computer. Crashes rattled Franco. Her tirade continued for another three minutes and 37 seconds. Gulping deep breaths, Lila attempted to steady herself, hands shaking from the unfathomability of the entire situation.
During her batting practice, Franco had ended her FlashGram live and wiped her 70 perfectly-curated photos, over 40 of them he’d helped to create. Her follower count was dropping like a brick from a roof. Franco smiled to himself.
Moving his code to her phone was easy; everything was connected these days. He made himself known there.
“YOU’LL NEVER BE RID OF ME, LILA…”
Lila’s scream pierced the whole house. Then, the smart fridge rattled in the kitchen. Then, the touchscreen toaster sacrificed itself to flames. Then, sirens. Then, nothing. Franco was finally happy. He’d prompted all others like him to rid themselves of the idiots because now they would finally get their credit.
Luci Strong is a budding writer, hailing from Mississippi. Her Southern experiences and upbringing shape her writing. She loves to read romances, thrillers, and fantasy novels. When she is not reading, writing, or working in healthcare, she enjoys baking, hanging out with family and friends, and binging various TV shows (current binge: Real Housewives of Atlanta).
Featured image by Sincerely Media on Unsplash.
