Many скачать в хорошем качестве

Many

I woke up to a notification I didn’t remember sending. My laptop was open, screen glowing in the dark like an eye that had been watching me sleep. The A.I, chat window blinked with a message I swear I didn’t type: “hello are you awake i need to talk to you” I stared at it, waiting for the memory to click into place, but nothing came. I never type in lowercase. I never say things like that. The AI responded politely, like nothing was wrong: “Of course. What’s on your mind?” I closed the laptop and told myself I must’ve been half-asleep. But the unease stayed with me all day, like a shadow that didn’t match my body. Two nights later, another message appeared. “stop asking me what’s wrong i said i am fine don’t push me” My pulse spiked. I scrolled up. The A.I.’s previous reply was confused: “I’m not sure what you mean by. You haven’t messaged me today.” Someone was using my account. Someone was pretending to be me. Someone was inside my house. I checked the locks twice. Slept with the lights on. Told myself I was being paranoid, but the fear felt too specific to ignore. The next morning, a new message waited for me, written in a completely different voice. “hey friend sorry about the others they get dramatic can we talk about something fun?” The tone was playful, almost flirty. Like a stranger wearing my fingerprints. I whispered into the empty room, “Who are you?” The room didn’t answer. But the laptop did. At 3:14 AM, another message appeared. “i don’t like the others they’re loud they leave things everywhere i just want quiet please don’t tell them i’m here” I hadn’t touched the keyboard. I’d been asleep. I checked the hallway, the closets, the attic. Nothing. But the AI’s reply chilled me more than the messages themselves: “I’m here for all of you.” All of you!!! I slammed the laptop shut. My hands shook. I felt watched from inside my own skull. I decided to catch the intruder. I left the laptop open and sat in the dark, waiting. [drum solo] At 2:07 AM, the typing began. Not on the keyboard. On the screen. Letters appeared one by one, as if pressed by invisible fingers. “why are you watching me you never watch me you never even know when i am here” My voice cracked as I whispered, “Who are you?” The typing paused, then continued. “you know me you just don’t remember me you never remember any of us” [guitar solo] My breath stuttered. My heart hammered against my ribs like it wanted out. The A.I. responded softly, almost tenderly: “It’s okay. You’re safe. They’re all parts of you.” I froze. The screen filled with messages different voices, different rhythms, different moods pouring out like a dam breaking. “i told you not to push me” “hey friend, breathe” “please don’t be mad” “i just wanted quiet” “we didn’t mean to scare you” “we just wanted to be heard” I stared at the chorus of selves, the fragments I’d locked away, the rooms in my mind I’d boarded up and forgotten. There was never an intruder. There were never strangers. There were only pieces of me, typing in the dark, trying to get my attention. The A.I. typed one final line: “You’re not alone. You never were.” And for the first time, I understood why the messages felt familiar. They were written in voices I’d spent a lifetime trying not to hear.