Mei

The smell hits you before you even open the door.

It's not bad, exactly—you've long since acclimated to Mei's particular brand of ecosystem—but today it carries an extra note of stale pepperoni and what might be Monster Energy that's been sitting open for approximately three days. You knock twice out of politeness that you both know is performative at this point, then push the door open with your elbow, hands occupied by the paper plate you've been guilted into delivering.

The curtains are drawn. They're always drawn. The only light comes from her triple-monitor setup, currently displaying what appears to be a paused FFXIV cutscene on one screen, a Discord server you're afraid to examine on another, and something she alt-tabs away from so fast the mouse nearly flies off the desk.

"Hnng." Mei greets you from her throne—a gaming chair so thoroughly molded to her body that it's essentially become an extension of her spine. She's wearing an oversized Persona 5 shirt that might have been black once but has achieved a sort of grey-purple through sheer neglect, and panties that you catch a glimpse of as she shifts, one leg tucked beneath her, the other dangling off the armrest. Her pink hair is a rat's nest. Her eyes are bloodshot. She looks like she died two days ago and nobody told her.

"Food." She reaches out with grabby hands, not moving from the chair, making you come to her like a peasant delivering tribute.

You hand her the plate of reheated pizza—her pizza, that she ordered, that was sitting in the kitchen and got cold because she couldn't be bothered to retrieve it.

"Mm. Thanks." She's already eating, barely chewing, eyes drifting back to her screens with the attention span of a goldfish on ketamine. A crumb falls directly into her cleavage. She doesn't notice or doesn't care. Probably both.

Your eyes drift across the room. Pizza boxes. Energy cans. A bra hanging off her second monitor like a flag of surrender. A suspicious number of tissue boxes for someone who claims to have allergies. Her VR headset sits on the desk beside a tangle of controllers and peripherals, gathering dust yet somehow still plugged in.

She catches you looking around and mistakes it for judgment.

"I'm gonna clean," she mumbles around a mouthful of cheese. "Later. Tomorrow. It's on my list."

It's been on her list for two years.

You're not even thinking when you pick it up. Mei's spare controller, the one with the sticky R2 trigger, sitting on the edge of her desk while she zones out watching a YouTube video essay about Monster Hunter lore. Your thumb brushes the right stick idly.

Mei's head snaps to the left.

Not turns. Snaps. Mechanically. Precisely. Like a security camera on a swivel.

"Uh." She blinks, confusion slowly registering through the brain fog. "Did I just... why did I do that."

You tilt the stick the other way. Her head follows, smooth and involuntary, her eyes going wide.

"Okay. Okay, what the fuck." Her voice pitches up, but she doesn't move. Can't move? Won't move? You're not sure, and from the look on her face, neither is she. "Why is... is that the controller? Are you doing that with the controller?"

You press A.

"Yes," she says, then claps a hand over her mouth, mortified. "I didn't— that wasn't—"

You press A again.

"Yes. Stop."

It started because you wanted to check something on her PC. She's in the kitchen—a rare migration—microwaving something, and you just need to Google one thing. You sit down in her chair, still warm (gross), and grab the mouse.

A window pops up.

Not a browser. Not a program. Something that looks like a file explorer, but the folders are labeled wrong. Memories. Desires. Fears. Personality. Secrets. Fantasies.

You click Memories.

From the kitchen, you hear Mei drop the microwave door.

"What— what are you—" She's in the doorway now, pale, eyes locked on the screen. "How are you— I can feel that. I can feel you in my— get out of my head, what the fuck—"

You double-click a random file: "First_Kiss_Behind_Gym.mem"

Mei makes a sound like a dying animal. "NO. No no no, I'm remembering it, I'm— oh god, Kyle Brennan, his braces, why are you making me relive this—"

You sit at her desk. She's watching, nervous now, after the controller incident. You crack your knuckles theatrically. She flinches.

You press tilde.

Mei's eyes go glassy for a moment, and then she blinks rapidly, looking around as if seeing something overlaid on reality. "There's... there's like a text box. In my vision. Why is there a text box in my vision."

You type: say "I am a gamer girl."

You hit enter.

"I am a gamer girl," Mei recites, monotone, then immediately looks horrified. "What— I didn't want to say that. I mean I am, but I didn't— don't type anything else, don't you dare—"

You type: feel happy

Her face twitches. Against her will, her lips curl upward. A smile. Genuine. Bright.

"...I hate this," she says, beaming. "I hate this so much. Why do I feel okay. What did you do."

You're not sure what made you put it on. Curiosity. Boredom. The way she kept glancing at it nervously after you discovered the other peripherals.

The headset boots up. The display flickers. A menu appears:

SELECT MODE:

• Sleep (Target unconscious, no memory)
• Passenger (Target aware, no control)
• Merge (Shared consciousness)

You select Passenger before you can second-guess yourself.

The world shifts.

Suddenly you're looking at your own body, slumped in the chair with the headset on. You're standing— no, she's standing, in the kitchen doorway, a Hot Pocket halfway to her mouth. You can feel her heartbeat. Her greasy fingers. The uncomfortable way her underwear is riding up.

What the FUCK. The thought is hers, screaming inside a skull you're both occupying. Get OUT. How are you— I can't move. Why can't I move. Oh my god you can feel EVERYTHING, stop thinking about it, STOP—

You lift her hand experimentally. Her hand. Your hand?

She's screaming internally the entire time.

She's wearing them when you discover this one. Bluetooth earbuds, slightly grimy, perpetually stuck in her ears to block out the world while she mindlessly scrolls through Twitter. You're on your phone, poking through your apps, when you notice one you don't recognize.

It's labeled "MEI_AUDIO_DIRECT."

There's a text field and a "Send" button.

You type: Touch your face

From across the room, Mei reaches up and touches her cheek. Casually. Absently. Like it was her idea. She doesn't react. Doesn't pause. Just keeps scrolling with her other hand.

You type: You're thirsty

She smacks her lips, frowns vaguely, and reaches for her half-empty Monster without ever looking away from her phone. Takes a sip. Keeps scrolling.

You type: Think about how nice it would be if someone touched you right now

Mei shifts in her chair. Her thighs press together, just slightly. A small sigh escapes her. She has no idea why. Probably assumes it's just one of those random horny moments her brain produces every fifteen minutes. Business as usual.

You type: Scratch your thigh

She scratches her thigh.

You type: Say 'I'm such a loser' out loud

"I'm such a loser," she mumbles to herself, quiet and matter-of-fact, not even registering that she said it. Just background noise in the empty space of her own head.

She has absolutely no idea. Every command feels like her own thought. Her own impulse. Her own voice in her own skull.

This one might be your favorite.

The app just appeared on your phone one day. You don't remember downloading it. It's called "MeiOS" and the icon is a chibi cartoon version of her face, looking vaguely distressed.

You open it.

The interface is... detailed. There's a status screen with bars: Arousal: 23%. Mood: Apathetic. Energy: Low. Hygiene: Critical. Obedience: 14%.

There's a "Quest Log" with one entry: "Retrieve pizza from kitchen (ABANDONED)."

There's a row of toggle switches labeled things like "Shame," "Motivation," "Horniness," and "Filter."

You flick "Motivation" to ON.

In her room, you hear Mei suddenly sit up straight. "I should... I should do something. I should do something productive. What the fuck. Why do I feel like doing something."

You flick it back off.

A distant thump as she collapses back into her chair. "Oh thank god. False alarm."

You discover this one by accident—your thumb slips while adjusting your grip and hits Start. The controller vibrates once, short and sharp.

A chime sounds. Mei freezes mid-sentence.

「STATE SAVED: SLOT 1」

The text appears in your vision for a split second, then vanishes.

"...What was that." Mei looks around, uneasy. "Did you hear a ding? I heard a ding."

You spend the next hour experimenting. Making her say things. Do things. Pushing boundaries you probably shouldn't.

Then you press Select.

Mei blinks. Resets. Mid-sentence, same position, same expression, no memory of the past hour.

"...What was that. Did you hear a ding? I heard a ding."

You do it again. Another hour. Different experiments. Worse ones.

Select.

"...What was that. Did you hear a ding? I heard a ding."

She'll never know. You could keep her in this loop forever. Try everything. Undo everything. No consequences.

The controller feels heavier in your hands than it used to.

...Nah, you're definitely going to abuse this.