The door creaks open.

Inside, the warehouse is dark, lit only by thick sunlight streaming in from the small windows lined near the top of the far walls, just below the line where the wall ends and the slant of the tin roof begins. There are no holes in the outer shell of the building that allow excess light to bleed in. Setting sunlight illuminates the concrete slabs that serve as the floor.

Furthermore, aside from one dingy metal folding chair in the center of the floor, the warehouse seems empty.

"Orion?" Spiro says quietly, voice echoing across the space nonetheless. "Can you scan the room?"

> Understood. Spiro holds his phone up. He sees Orion flick through camera settings, scanning what it can with infared, then x-ray filters.

>Nothing unusual in the visuals.

"Okay," Spiro murmurs. He pockets his phone again and steps forward. "Maybe there's something on the chair."

He advances about halfway across the room towards the chair before Orion speaks suddenly in his ear.

> Stop.

"What?" He whispers. "Is there... something in here after all?"

> Not that we can see.

Spiro frowns.

"That you can see?" He says. "Is there... something we can't see?"

> Give me a moment to process the abnormal audio.

"Okay-" Spiro says, but before he can, the chair suddenly gives a great large rattle. He freezes.

> I have processed the audio.

"Okay," Spiro breathes, heart hammering. "I think you're right, Orion. I don't think we're alone in here."

The chair scoots forward again. The metal legs screech against the concrete. Spiro's breath is quick and shallow. He reaches around to the back of his utility belt, under his jacket, for his knife.

"Uh." Spiro says. The chair doesn't move. "Show yourself?"

There's a rough noise that almost sounds like a laugh, like someone grinding rocks into dust. Spiro frowns.

"Was that funny?" He mutters to Orion.

> I don't believe the words themselves were, it replies. Though your delivery was rather amusing.

Spiro glares.

"Are you really a machine?" He says.

> Ask yourself. You are my creator.

"Shit." He says under his breath. "Stop reading philosophical journals. They won't help. You're a program."

> A machine's nature is to fulfill its objective, Orion says. You issued me the mission of gathering as much information as possible and parsing it for your interpretation. That is all I am doing.

"When a machine can realize it's a machine, it's no longer a machine," Spiro grumbles.

"Hey."

Spiro jumps.

"Holy shit," he gasps. "There's another person in here."

The mystery voice makes that strange huffed laughing noise again.

"Who the hell are you talking to?" The stranger's voice echoes off the walls, making it impossible to distinguish its source. "It's only us in here."

Spiro frowns.

"Where are you?" He asks, instead of answering the question.

"Are you the one he said he was going to send?" The voice asks.

Spiro blinks.

"The guy who broke into my system?" He asks. "Are you here to give me the package he said he wanted me to deliver?"

The voice snorts.

"Package." It says. It sounds like a young man's voice, maybe his age, Spiro thinks, slightly deeper and rougher. "Is that what he called it."

"Yeah," Spiro says, hand inching closer to his sheathed knife's handle. "So show yourself."

There's a sigh.

"Figures that shitty guy would go for the cheapest courier," he says. "Fine."