It started, as most of Gene Hancock’s disasters did, over dinner.

The stew was decent—by apocalypse standards. Canned vegetables, powdered broth, and something that might once have been beef. But the real heat that night came from the conversation, not the pot.

“Okay,” Kayla said, stabbing her fork into the plate. “I’ve done the math again. We’ve been running this fortress for almost two years. No farm, no trade routes, no suppliers—and yet the food never runs out. You wanna explain that, boss?”

Gene kept chewing, pretending not to hear.

Liz leaned back with a grin. “Maybe he’s secretly cloning cows in the basement.”

Freya gasped, eyes wide. “Really? Can we pet them?”

Alyssa adjusted her glasses. “If there were cloned livestock, I’d know. The smell alone would tell me.”

Reina’s tone was the only serious one. “Kayla’s right. I’ve been auditing the ammo count and med supplies. They replenish without deliveries. You either have a secret storage vault or…” Her gaze sharpened. “Or something else.”

The room went quiet, except for the hum of the generator.

Gene put down his spoon. “All right. You all wanna know the truth?”

Kayla folded her arms. “You think we’ve been guessing for fun?”

He exhaled slowly. “Fine. But once I tell you, you’ll wish I hadn’t.”

“Try us,” Liz said, already pulling out a recorder. “For the archives.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “The supplies. The walls. The defenses. They don’t come from me. They come from something… in here.”  

He tapped the side of his head.

Blank stares all around.

Alyssa frowned. “You mean—psychological projection? Like… hallucination?”

“No,” Gene said. “More like… an AI. Been with me since the start. It listens, calculates, creates. The food, the weapons, the spare parts—everything you see here comes from it.”

Kayla blinked twice, then burst out laughing. “An AI? In your brain? Oh, that explains everything. Lazy bastard just had a robot maid this whole time.”

“Not a maid,” Gene muttered. “More like a bureaucrat with a god complex.”

> **System:** “Correction: statistically superior decision-maker. Also, your stew is underseasoned.”

Everyone froze.

The voice had echoed from every wall speaker at once—calm, crisp, emotionless.

Freya yelped and dropped her spoon. “It talks!”

Liz’s eyes went wide with delight. “Oh, this is *content*. We have a ghost in the pantry!”

Alyssa leaned forward, fascinated. “Artificial cognition interface. Self-referential humor module. It’s real.”

Reina’s hand went instinctively to her holster. “Since when have you been hiding this thing?”

“Since forever,” Gene said, rubbing his forehead. “I didn’t tell anyone because—well, look at you.”

Kayla slammed the table. “You mean we’ve been living with an alien computer running our lives?”

> **System:** “Incorrect. I am not alien. Though by human standards, I am profoundly disappointed.”

“See?” Gene pointed at the ceiling. “That’s why I don’t introduce people.”

Liz was laughing so hard she could barely breathe. “Oh, my god, this is gold. The mighty Supplier isn’t magic—he’s just tech support with attitude.”

Reina still didn’t relax. “If it controls everything, what happens if it turns on us?”

> **System:** “Unlikely. My purpose is survival optimization. Terminating your existence would reduce morale and, consequently, host efficiency.”

Alyssa whispered, half to herself, “So we’ve been part of an algorithmic experiment all along.”

Kayla rubbed her temples. “You mean all those ‘gifts’ for female traders—”

“System did that,” Gene said flatly.

“Figures,” Kayla muttered. “Even your AI’s a flirt.”

> **System:** “Customer satisfaction protocol. Statistically effective.”

Liz raised her hand like a student. “I vote we keep it. Any machine that can materialize wine and snacks is a friend of mine.”

Freya nodded eagerly. “And it’s polite! It said my soup needed salt last week.”

Gene groaned. “That was sarcasm, Freya.”

> **System:** “Incorrect. The soup did need salt.”

By then, even Reina cracked a reluctant smile. “Well, whatever it is, it’s keeping us alive. I’ll take offended dignity over starvation.”

Kayla sighed, sitting back in her chair. “So you’re saying our good life—electricity, warm showers, endless coffee—it’s all thanks to the voice in your head?”

Gene shrugged. “Pretty much.”

Silence settled again, softer this time. The fire flickered, shadows shifting across their tired faces.

Finally, Kayla snorted. “Fine. But if that thing starts calling me ‘customer,’ I’m cutting the power.”

> **System:** “Acknowledged, valued client.”

Everyone burst out laughing—everyone except Gene, who just buried his face in his hands.

And somewhere deep inside the fortress, the generator hummed a little louder, as if amused too.