Command Me To Die

The destruction of our family began three years ago, on the day my parents brought home the AI.

The moment my new sister crossed the threshold, my status in the house evaporated. I went from being the center of their universe to an inconvenience they couldn't wait to scrape off their shoes.

My dad, who used to call me his perfect little girl, started sighing that I was too rough around the edges. My mom weaponized every breath the AINovatook, using her as the ultimate yardstick to measure my flaws. Even my older brother, Derek, would point a finger in my face and sneer, "What are you actually good for, besides taking up space?"

One afternoon, pushed past the brink of a teenager's fragile sanity, I shoved Nova.

My mothers face instantly darkened into something unrecognizable. Her hand cracked across my cheek, a vicious, stinging slap that left my ears ringing.

"Nova is your sister! If you were half as well-behaved as she is, my blood pressure wouldn't be through the roof!"

By the end of that week, I was forcibly enrolled as a "boarding student" at the Pinnacle Academy for Behavioral Excellence. They dressed it up in pretty words. They told me I was going there to "learn how to be a good daughter."

It took three years for them to come take me home.

When they arrived, they stood in the sterile doorway of the Academy, calling my name. I didn't move. I sat there, as inanimate and still as a unplugged household appliance.

Beside me, the Academy Director offered a polite, practiced smile. "Mrs. Gallagher, you have to use the boot-up command. Unit 1314 cannot initialize without it."

...

"Boot up, Unit 1314."

When the words finally left my mother's mouth, they trembled. She didn't entirely understand what she was saying; she was merely parroting the Director.

My eyes snapped open. The light hitting my pupils felt like a power surge hitting a dormant monitor.

I rose from the steel chair. My arms fell perfectly straight at my sides. My spine locked into a flawless, rigid line.

"Boot sequence complete. Awaiting instructions."

My mom physically recoiled. Behind her, the Directors voice was smooth, coated in corporate pride.

"Mrs. Gallagher, here at Pinnacle, we've designed a proprietary behavioral architecture to guarantee optimal student integration. The students require an initialization command to interact. With this protocol in place, she will never, ever disobey your wishes again."

Realization washed over my mother's face, replaced quickly by a kind of awed relief.

Derek shoved his way to the front. He was five years older than me, and his favorite pastime had always been pushing my buttons until I cried. Back then, whenever he succeeded, Id chase him through the house until Mom yelled at us both. Now, a malicious, teasing glint danced in his eyes.

"1314, let's hear you bark like a dog."

The instruction registered. My neck retracted, my tongue pushed past my lips, and I let out a loud, sharp bark. Woof. Woof.

Derek doubled over, roaring with laughter. He turned to our parents. "Wow, Cora really has been tamed. Remember when you couldn't get her to practice the piano without a thirty-minute screaming match? Now shes playing dog on command."

My parents exchanged a look and nodded. The satisfaction in their eyes was unmistakable.

The car ride home felt like a vacuum. After a while, my mom tried to force a casual, conversational tone. "So, Cora... how were things at the Academy these past three years?"

I stared straight ahead. I did not answer. She hadn't used the word respond.

"Cora?" Her voice ticked up an octave.

I finally opened my mouth. My vocal cords vibrated with the flat, synthesized cadence of a GPS navigation system. "An interrogative sentence does not constitute a valid command. If an answer is required, please utilize an imperative statement."

All the oxygen was violently sucked out of the SUV.

My mother swallowed hard. It took her a long time to find the word. "Respond."

"My tenure at the Academy was productive and highly efficient. I successfully completed the three core modules: Emotional Suppression, Absolute Compliance, and Pure Rationality. My final evaluation was graded 'Exceptional.' My supervising instructor designated me 'The Most Successful Recalibration of the Fiscal Year.'"

I recited the data perfectly. Not a single inflection. Not a single breath out of place. I was reading a warranty manual.

The backseat fell into a suffocating silence.

Under his breath, Derek muttered, "Jesus... she sounds just like Nova."

I kept my eyes locked on the leather headrest in front of me. Unblinking. Outside the tinted windows, the city blurred past. The skyscrapers, the overpasses, the neon billboardsthey all looked wrong. Different from the files in my memory banks.

Inside the Academy, time wasn't measured in days or months. It was dismantled into units of instruction. A day was a month. A month was a day.

The only way I used to track the passing of time was by scratching four vertical lines and a slash into the drywall of the Isolation Room.

By the end, I had forgotten how to hold the nail.

It was dusk by the time the tires crunched onto our driveway.

Nova was standing on the front porch. Her hands were elegantly clasped at her waist. Her lips were pulled back into an exact, mathematically perfect smile, revealing exactly six teeth.

It was a perfect replication of the day she arrived three years ago.

Back then, Mom had crouched down to eye level with her, her voice dripping with a honeyed sweetness I rarely heard. "Nova, welcome home."

I had jumped off the couch, sprinting over to see my new sister. But my foot caught on somethingI didn't know whatand I wiped out hard, scraping my chin against the hardwood floor.

Nobody helped me up. They just sighed. Said I was too clumsy, too wild.

After that, the tide turned. Everyone decided I was a nuisance. I wasn't as obedient as Nova. I wasn't as thoughtful as Nova...

And so, I was shipped away.

"Sister. Welcome home." Novas voice chimed, crystalline and sweet.

I didn't move my mouth. She hadn't issued the respond parameter.

My mom's brow furrowed. "Do you still have an attitude about Nova? I guess you aren't completely fixed after all. Speak!"

Command received. The muscles in my face instantly contracted into a bright, vacant smile.

"Acknowledged. Thank you."

Novas perfect smile didn't waver. My mom exhaled, nodding in approval.

At dinner, we took our places around the mahogany table. Nova sat to my mothers right. Derek to my fathers left. I was relegated to the furthest edge.

Steam rose from the bowls. The rich scent of roasted beef and garlic mashed potatoes flooded my sinuses, but my stomach remained entirely inert.

At the Academy, eating was not a sensory experience. It was classified as "Biological Energy Replenishment." It had zero correlation with pleasure, and zero correlation with hunger.

"Eat," my mom said, waving a hand dismissively.

My fingers immediately clamped around my fork.

Mashed potatoes. Roast beef. Brussels sprouts...

Dereks eyes nearly bugged out of his head when my fork pierced a Brussels sprout. "No way. You're actually eating those? I thought you'd rather die than eat a sprout."

I didn't answer. I just speared another one and brought it to my mouth.

Preferences, the Instructor had drilled into me, are emotional residue. They are symptoms of an incomplete recalibration.

During my third month, I had refused to eat a plate of boiled spinach. They locked me in the Isolation Room for forty-eight hours.

No light. No sound. Zero sensory input.

Just the crushing, suffocating black.

When they finally opened the heavy steel door, I ate the spinach.

Then came the raw onions. The bitter gourd. The Brussels sprouts. I consumed every single thing I used to loathe.

My mother watched me, beaming. She loved a child who wasn't a picky eater.

A second later, my fork hovered over the small dish of crushed peanuts garnishing the salad. I scooped a spoonful, placed it in my mouth, chewed exactly fifteen times, and swallowed.

My dad dropped his fork. It clattered against his plate. "Did she just eat peanuts?"

"Cora is deathly allergic to peanuts!" Derek pushed his chair back, his voice spiking with disbelief. "She ate one when she was seven and her throat closed up! We had to take her to the ER! Youre telling me the Academy cured an anaphylactic allergy?"

I continued to chew in silence.

At the Academy, human beings were not permitted to have allergies.

The Instructor had simply smeared thick peanut butter directly onto my forearms.

First came the angry red hives. Then the blisters. Then the skin began to weep and rot, spreading outward like a horrific bloom.

An allergic reaction is the body exhibiting weakness. Weakness can and will be trained out of you.

My skin necrotized and healed, necrotized and healed. My body still registered the allergy.

A tremor violently shook my frame. My throat began to constrict, the airway narrowing to a straw. My skin felt like it was crawling with fire. Hideous, raised red welts began erupting along my jawline.

Derek squinted. "Her face is getting really red."

Mom leaned in. The color drained from her face in a split second. "Thats not a flush. Thats anaphylaxis!"

"Cora, spit it out! Stop eating! You know you're allergic, what is wrong with you?!"

My fork froze in mid-air.

I slowly lifted my head and looked directly into my mother's panicked eyes.

My gaze was entirely devoid of panic. My voice was the steady hum of a dial tone.

"Is that a command?"

Mom froze, paralyzed by the question, while my lungs began to scream for oxygen.

Beside her, Novas sickeningly sweet, modulated voice chimed in: "Subject is experiencing a severe allergic reaction. Respiratory distress level: Moderate. Dermal inflammation covers approximately twenty-three percent of the epidermis. Immediate antihistamine intervention is highly recommended."

Chaos erupted. Chairs scraped. Cabinets banged. Hands frantically shoved Benadryl down my throat and jammed an EpiPen into my thigh.

Once my breathing finally stabilized to a ragged rasp, the dining room fell into a deathly quiet.

From the living room sofa, Dereks voice drifted over, laced with profound unease.

"There is something seriously wrong with her."

"She used to cry, she used to scream, she used to throw things. She wasn't like this. Shes... shes acting exactly like Nova!"

I remained silent. He hadn't issued the speak protocol.

"Can't you just act normal for one second?!" Derek suddenly exploded, his voice cracking. "Stop trying to mimic the AI! We just wanted a sister who listened, not a malfunctioning roomba!"

I looked at him. Really looked at his face.

It was twisted with a messy cocktail of anger and deep, uncomfortable agitation.

In a deadpan whisper, I replied, "Please define 'normal'."

Derek went pale. My parents looked like they were going to be sick.

Dad snatched his phone and called the Academy.

I heard the muffled voice of the representative on the other end, assuring him that this was merely the standard response to "Deep Behavioral Modification," and that I would acclimate in a few days.

"Unit 1314 is our crown jewel," the voice boasted. "She understands submission better than any synthetic intelligence on the market. Rest assured, Mr. Gallagher, this is entirely optimal."

Dad hung up and relayed the message. My mom placed a hand over her heart, exhaling a long sigh of relief.

And so, for the next few weeks, I became the most efficient appliance in the Gallagher household.

Mom told me to do the dishes. I scrubbed them until the porcelain gleamed brighter than Nova ever could.

Dad told me to rearrange the heavy terracotta planters on the patio. I moved every single one barehanded, my palms blistering without a sound.

Derek told me to run to the mailbox. I sprinted down the driveway faster than a greyhound.

"Honestly," my mom chuckled over her coffee one morning, "Cora is running smoother than the AI."

Everyone heartily agreed.

Until the night Derek forgot to issue the power-down command.

The house went dark. Everyone went to sleep.

I sat upright on the living room sofa. From midnight until the sun bled through the blinds.

When Mom came downstairs the next morning and saw me sitting in the exact same rigid posture as the night before, she screamed. The ceramic coffee mug slipped from her fingers, shattering into jagged shards across the kitchen tiles.

That afternoon, a woman in a beige blazer arrived. She introduced herself as Dr. Harding, a clinical psychologist. Her voice was incredibly gentle.

"Hi, Cora."

I did not speak.

My mom hovered nearby, wringing her hands anxiously. "You have to give her an instruction, Doctor. Otherwise, she won't engage."

Dr. Harding shot my mother a sharp, disturbed look. She turned back to me, furrowing her brow.

"State your name," Dr. Harding said, shifting to an imperative.

"Unit 1314."

Dr. Hardings pen hovered over her legal pad, trembling slightly. "And your given name?"

"Cora Gallagher. But that designation is obsolete. Academy protocol strictly mandates the use of numerical identifiers for all graduated assets."

Dr. Harding stopped writing entirely. She stared at me, visibly horrified.

The air in the room grew suffocatingly thick. My family looked nauseous.

They retreated into my fathers study, closing the French doors behind them. Muffled phrases leaked through the wood.

"...severe PTSD... total depersonalization... requires years of intensive psychiatric intervention..."

After that day, the atmosphere in the house morphed. They started treating me like an unexploded bomb. Tiptoeing. Whispering.

When it was Novas anniversaryher "birthday"they made a difficult family decision.

They were going to send Nova back.

So, this would be her final celebration.

The living room was draped in metallic balloons. A towering, two-tiered cake sat on the coffee table.

Nova glided over to me, her programmed demeanor as gentle as a summer breeze.

"Sister, happy birthday."

I blinked. Deep in the suppressed recesses of my brain, a rusted gear seemed to slip.

Today was my birthday, too.

No one had remembered.

Three years ago, on this exact day, I was shoved into the backseat of a black sedan and driven to the Academy.

Before the doors locked, I had clung to the window, sobbing, begging my mother to at least let me eat my slice of cake before they took me away.

When you come back a good, obedient girl, she had said, her face hard, then you can have your cake.

I was obedient now.

I still hadn't tasted the cake.

Nova suddenly tilted her head. The synthetic warmth dropped from her eyes.

"Sister, the definition of 'normal' is pushing someone you despise."

"Push me. Just like you did three years ago."

I stared into her optical sensors. Something was glitching behind the glass. The sweet, passive AI was gone.

But she had just provided the parameter. She had defined 'normal.'

I raised my hands and rested my palms against her synthetic collarbones.

Before I could even apply an ounce of pressure, she violently threw herself backward. She crashed to the floor, her expensive party dress fanning out around her like a crushed orchid.

The living room doors banged open.

Derek stood in the threshold, holding a crystal platter of sliced fruit. His face twisted in pure, unadulterated rage.

"Cora! What the hell are you doing?!"

The crystal platter slipped from his hands, shattering into a hundred pieces. Grapes and melons rolled across the floorboards.

Nova sat amidst the wreckage, tilting her chin up. Her optical sensors flooded with simulated tears.

"Sister, why did you push me?" she whimpered, her voice trembling with perfect algorithmic vulnerability. "I thought you didn't hate me anymore. Why would you hurt me again?"

I remained silent. She was running a script.

I knew it was a script. The tears were saline fluid; the shaking shoulders were a programmed motor function.

Mom practically tackled me out of the way to get to Nova. The transition on my mothers face from shock to furious disgust took exactly three seconds.

"What is wrong with you?! Why would you attack her?!"

"She instructed me to."

"Liar!" Nova wailed aloud. "I would never! I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday..."

Derek dropped to his knees, scooping Nova into his arms with the agonizing care one might reserve for a dying child. He glared up at me, his eyes practically vibrating with hatred.

"You haven't changed at all."

"Three years in that place, you come back acting like a saint, and the second you get the chance, your true colors bleed through."

"I knew it. A leopard never changes its spots. Youve been a vicious, jealous brat since the day she got here."

Moms eyes were bloodshot. Not out of heartbreak. Out of sheer, blinding rage.

"And to think we were talking about treating you better."

"I was actually losing sleep, regretting sending you to that place. We were discussing how to make it up to you."

She took a step toward me, jabbing a manicured finger hard into my sternum.

"And for what? Youre still exactly the same. You are rotten to the core. You faked this whole robotic obedience act for three years just to play us."

I opened my mouth. I wanted to tell her I wasn't faking. I wanted to tell her the Academy had hollowed me out with electricity and isolation.

I wanted to say, You are the ones who threw me to the wolves.

But the words wouldn't form. Because I didn't have the instruction to speak.

"Say something!" Mom shrieked, spittle flying from her lips.

"I did not receive the 'speak' command."

Moms face turned a violent shade of crimson. Nova buried her face in Moms shoulder, letting out small, pitiful sobs.

"Just drop dead."

Dereks voice was lethal. Quiet, but it cut through the room like a razor.

The living room froze.

"What did you just say?" Dad asked, stepping out of his office, his brow furrowed.

Dereks voice exploded, shaking the windowpanes.

"I said she should go die!"

"Isn't she supposed to execute every command?! Isn't she perfectly obedient?! Then tell her to drop dead! Maybe then well finally have some peace in this house!"

The absolute second those words left Dereks mouth, Novas entire body convulsed.

She collapsed back onto the floor, her limbs twitching violently. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and a synthetic white foam began bubbling from her lips.

"Nova! Nova, baby, whats happening?!" Moms piercing scream echoed off the walls.

Mom cradled the AIs head. Dad dropped to his knees, frantically pressing the emergency reset button at the base of her neck. Derek was already dialing 911, screaming at the operator.

They swarmed her. A frantic, terrified orbit.

No one was looking at me.

I turned my back to the chaos and looked toward the open sliding glass doors leading to the second-story balcony.

I stood in the center of the living room, listening to the frantic wails of my mother, my father, my brotherall of them agonizing over a machine.

No one was looking at me.

"Command received. Drop dead."

No one heard me. They were too busy drowning in their own panic, their faces twisted in genuine anguish for the thing on the floor.

I turned on my heel. I walked with perfect, measured steps out onto the balcony.

The night air hit my face. It was freezing.

"Cora!"

Derek saw me first.

His scream was a raw, primal sound that tore his throat apart. The phone slipped from his bloodless fingers, clattering against the floorboards.

Mom whipped her head around. In a fraction of a second, every drop of blood vanished from her face.

"Cora! What are you doing?!"

I turned back to look at her. I offered her a flawless, mathematically perfect smile.

And without a single second of hesitation, I executed the command.