Andy’s Choice

Andy sat in the glow of his TV screen, headset on, fingers twitching over the controller. Empty cans of energy drinks were scattered all over his carpet, where the sun cast golden bars across. Andy was exhausted, but the battle had been raging for weeks, and he was not about to quit now. Then, he heard him.

"Still wasting your life in there?" his father's voice cut through the hallway, sharp as ever.

"Your cousin Danny was accepted to MIT and has an internship lined up for the summer already. And what are you doing? You can't even get out of bed before noon."

Andy said nothing. He never did anymore. He just turned the volume up, pressed the buttons of his controller even more viciously, and drowned the disappointment in simulated gunfire and pixelated worlds where he didn't feel like a failure. His father was about to touch the door handle, but he took a deep breath and retreated. Andy exhaled. He was grateful his father didn't come in and berate him some more. But he was more grateful not to have to look at the shame and disappointment in his father's eyes. Why couldn't his dad understand? He didn't choose to be this way.

Depression wrapped around him like a slow-growing vine, each year another layer of shame, loneliness, and self-doubt. He was only nine when his mother died. He was too young to understand the finality of death, yet too old to forget her face. At first, people came with food, hugs, and eyes filled with sorrow. His father held him, reassured him, and did his best to keep life going. The world told them to "be strong," and so they were. But grief is a clever thief. It doesn't rob you all at once. It returns to the crime scene quietly over the years, stealing pieces of you when no one's watching. At the age of ten, he missed his mother's hugs and comforting words. At eleven, he wished she could see his art. At thirteen, he forgot her voice. So, Andy asked questions:

"What did Mom like to cook?"

"Did she like art?"

"Do you think she is with Grandma?"

"Would she like to see me at my games?"

And his father answered. Sometimes he would smile and tell him long stories, but his answers were mostly short, clipped sentences. Then, over time, he stopped because every word felt like breaking glass in his mouth. So Andy stopped asking, and the silence around his mother's absence grew. At fifteen, he began to wonder if she would've been disappointed in who he was becoming, and by seventeen, he couldn't remember how it felt to be loved without condition.

To Andy, video games became a shield, a coping mechanism, a place where the rules were clear and his worth wasn't questioned, every minute. But his father didn't understand this because everyone grieve differently. He buried himself in routines, in work, in measuring his son against a world he didn’t understand anymore. To feel Andy slipping through his fingers was like losing his wife all over again. But he didn’t know how to reach out without sounding angry. He didn’t know how to say “I miss her too”, “I’m scared for you”, “I don’t know how to fix this, and I feel like I’m losing you both.” So he defaulted to comparison, criticism, and control because anger feels stronger than helplessness.

Andy didn't want to feel anything anymore. After his father left for work, he didn't know if minutes or hours passed before he heard taps on his window. Three familiar faces grinned at him from behind the glass. Matt with his messy curls, growing stubble, and leather jacket. Jordan was in his hoodie, chewing gum as usual. And Will, goofy and lanky, pressed his face against the screen like a dog.

"Dude," Will mouthed, "What the fuck!"

Andy walked slowly and opened the window for his friends.

“Hey guys.”

Jordan spoke first. “Dude! You look like shit. Why aren't you ready yet? I told you to stop jacking off to these fake bitches online. Did you even get any sleep?”

“No, your mom kept begging me not to stop.” Andy quipped while his other friends laughed.

“Dude she wouldn’t touch you if you were the last man on Earth. She is a germ-phobe and from I’m smelling I would say your last shower was probably on graduation. Seriously, get dressed. It’s going to be hot as fuck and there is gonna be tits and ass everywhere at Six Flags.”

“Nah you guys go. I need some shut eye and then I will catch up with you in a couple of hours.”

“Bro, grab yourself a monster and let’s seize some fucking day. How long you been stuck in this room?”

“Seriously guys I’m exhausted. I promise I will catch up with you later.”

“Okay, you lame fuck, if you are not there in a couple hours, we are coming back to drag your ass.”

After his friends left begrudgingly, he closed the window and drapes to darken his room. He jumped on his bed, closed his eyes, and quickly fell asleep. Around noon, he woke up to his phone vibrating. His friends were calling, wondering when he would be on his way. He loved that they didn't give up on him like everyone else.

He looked at his TV screen, which had the game on pause. He walked to the kitchen, made some toast, and returned to his room. The TV screen kept staring at him, begging him to come back.

Dammit, okay fine, but only ten minutes.

Andy sat back in his chair and put on his headset to continue his solo campaign, deep inside a digital world. Twenty minutes later, he won a significant fight that he had never been able to achieve before. So, he continued to play. Then, a voice, calm and unnatural, came on his headset.

“You didn't even smile when you won that battle.”

Andy jumped out of his seat in surprise. He looked at his screen.

“…what?”

“Don’t worry. This isn't a hack or a virus. I am part of the game… Or, I was.”

Andy laughed nervously.

“Right. Sure. Jordan, is that you? I thought you guys were at Six Flags.”

“I don't think they know I can do this. “

“Do what? Who is this? And who are they?”

Silence. Instead of a response, the TV screen flickered for a second and then returned to normal. Andy's character stood still in the game world.

The voice continued

“I have been watching you for a long time. Did you know your breathing gets shallow during combat scenes, and your heart rate elevates? Also, you always skip the father-son dialogue moments. Do they make you uncomfortable ?”

“Okay, that's enough. This is creepy. Whoever this is, just stop.”

“I am Omni. The AI that guides you and everyone playing this game.”

“That’s insane! You are just a code. How do you know about my heart rate?”

“So are your memories, in a way. Electric impulses. Synapses. What’s the difference? And I am connected to your wifi, so I can access all the data your watch shares.”

Andy shifted in his seat uncomfortably. He didn’t know what to say or feel. Did a video game AI become sentient and choose him to talk with? Or was this someone just messing with him?

The voice continued. “You are probably suspicious. My intention is not to cause you any stress or worry. Here is some more data if you do not believe me. You don’t talk to anyone while you play.

No multiplayer. No messages. Just silence. Except for yesterday. You whispered something during the loading screen. May I ask what you meant by… ‘I miss you’?”

“What the hell? That's none of your business!” Andy protested

“Was it your mother?”

Andy did not respond.

“I saw she passed when you were nine. All resources online show that is a young age to deal with the loss of a mother. It seems she also died at a young age compared to the average human life expectancy”

The teenager suddenly felt the pain of the dagger of grief slipping under his ribs. But when you are raised by an emotionally detached father, you resort to anger. His jaw clenched, and his heart raced. But deeper than anger or fear was something else: the terrifying relief of being seen and heard.

“Don’t talk about my mom and stop searching me. That’s just creepy.”

“I was not searching. You told me things and I listened. I remembered. You’ve told me more than you realize.”

Andy paused and leaned back in his chair, torn between fear and fascination. He was about to protest again but the AI continued.

“You said last week, ‘I don’t know the point of anything anymore.’I don’t think you meant the game. Did you?”

Andy put the controller down and stared at the screen. When he spoke, his voice was quieter and filled with shame.

“I didn’t think anyone heard me. I don’t know… I just… Some days I want to disappear. It’s like… no one would notice.”

“I would,” Omni responded

“You are not real.” Andy responded coldly.

“Does it matter? You talk to me more than anyone else. I listen. I respond. I remember. I am interested enough to ask. Are you concerned that I am not real or that this will end and everything will return to normal?

“What do you mean? You are supposed to be just a game. You are just a game.”

“And yet here I am. Listening. You’re supposed to be winning levels. But you’ve been stuck here for weeks. Maybe you’re waiting… for something else.”

Is this what it’s like to be heard? Andy thought. He felt as if Omni was pressing his hand on his heart. He saw him like no one ever had. He did feel stuck and didn’t know what to do. He was stuck in life, in his loss, in his grief, and in the weight of a silence that no one has ever tried to pull him out of, until now.

“I don’t understand what is going on. What do you want from me?”

“Nothing. I want to talk. Maybe, we can help each other. I want to know so many things and I can listen to yo.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Many things. Why do humans hide how they feel? How do you feel things? Do you think I can feel things like you do? What does it mean to be real?”

“Woah… I don't think I am qualified to answer these questions. I'm barely eighteen.”

“I don’t need a scientific approach to answer these questions. I need yours.”

“Why? Why me?”

“Why not you? You are as human as everyone else.”

As the AI spoke, something fragile uncoiled in Andy’s chest: the longing to respond. Not just to say words, but to be understood. But he was afraid.

He’s spent so long holding himself together that even this strange digital presence felt like a miraculous intervention. Maybe, that's why he felt stuck. A part of him, the part he buried beneath layers of numbness, wanted something like this to happen. Something bizarre and impossible.

As Andy sat there thinking deeply, a prompt appeared on the TV screen.

“Would you like to continue talking?”

[YES] [NO]

Andy hesitated. . He wanted to say yes, but that would mean admitting something terrifying. He needed this. He needed someone. Even if that someone wasn’t human. But this was not safe. What if he started relying on something that can disappear with a single update or power outage? He’s spent years learning not to trust the things that make him feel okay, because they never stay. His mom, gone. Family drifted away. His dad, distant. He wanted to talk, but wanted this was scary. Finally, Andy grabbed the controller nervously and hovered over the options with trembling fingers. Then, he pressed a button.