She heard the lock. The silence in the basement changed—it was no longer empty. Now it felt dense, like cotton stuffed into her mouth and ears. Viktor came down slowly. His footsteps didn’t sound threatening, and that made it even more nauseating. In his hands was his smartphone instead of the usual laptop.
He sat on the edge of her couch. He didn’t try to touch her—he simply set the phone on the blanket between them. The screen glowed with a cold, indifferent light.
“You know, Anya, the greatest torture is uncertainty,” he said. “I think you’re eating yourself alive with thoughts about how your mom is doing, how your friends are doing, how they’re crying, calling the police nonstop... That’s destructive. I decided to grant you peace.”
He tapped an audio file icon.
A dry, old cough burst from the speaker—Anya flinched. It was her mother’s cough. And then came her voice, familiar and slightly fussy.
“…Well, thank God, Anya! Finally you called back! I didn’t know what to do with myself—nothing from you for a week. How are you settling in? Is the apartment warm? I kept thinking maybe your bag got stolen in the subway or… Why aren’t you saying anything? How are you?”
Anya couldn’t breathe. That voice… it was real. Her mother was there, on the other side of the screen. Something inside Anya screamed. She reached for the phone, but Viktor gently pressed her palm into the blanket.
And then the reply played.
“Mom, don’t start!”
Anya’s voice answered—complete with that same slightly hoarse laugh she used when trying to hide exhaustion. “You know what the pace is like here. The move, the paperwork—everything’s a total mess. We’re rushing to deliver a project, I only step away from the screen to eat. I don’t even have time to call. I’m sorry, I was stupid—I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Anya listened to her own voice. It wasn’t just imitation. It was the way she swallowed the ends of words, her particular intonation, her tenderness. But she hadn’t said any of it. She was here—in dirt and pain—and that other Anya was happy.
Her mother sounded relieved, almost tearful.
“Oh, thank God… You sound so upbeat. And the apartment—how is it? Warm? You know the winds off the bay up there are nasty—that’s nothing like back home. The windows aren’t drafty, are they?”
“Mom, the apartment is a dream!” the voice said brightly. “Right by the subway, an old building, the walls are super thick, the silence is perfect. The ceilings are so high—I swear I started breathing differently. And I’m not counting every penny anymore, honestly! Yesterday I bought cottage cheese at the little shop around the corner, the way you like it, and fresh fish. Everything’s expensive here, sure, but the pay’s good enough that I can finally stop looking at price tags.”
Her mother’s voice turned proud.
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
“You’ve blossomed, sweetheart… I can’t stop looking at the photo you sent this morning. You look so fresh, your eyes are shining like when you were little. You can tell the city suits you. And work? They’re not mistreating you, are they?”
“The boss is strict, but fair. You know, the type who likes everything in order. But he values me! He said I’m the most promising employee. Mom, tomorrow morning I’m going to transfer you three thousand. Buy those imported medicines for your joints you mentioned, and don’t you dare save it ‘for a funeral,’ do you hear me? Buy it and take the full course!”
“Oh, Anya, why so much… Thank you, sweetheart, thank you… Just take care of yourself. When will we video call? I miss your face—photos are one thing, but I want to see you moving…”
The answer came back quickly, edged with practiced annoyance.
“Oh, Mom, my work laptop camera is acting up, and I scratched the phone lens during the move—the picture comes out all foggy. I’ll get my first bonus, buy myself a new flagship phone, and we’ll talk for three hours a day if you want. All right—kisses on both cheeks, don’t get sick!”
“All right then. Kisses, my girl. Be happy there.”
The recording cut off. Anya stared into the empty space in front of her. It felt like she’d just been killed a second time. The algorithm wasn’t just copying her voice—it was copying her rhythm, the way she shaped her words, her habit of pausing.
“Did you hear?” Viktor asked. “She’s calm. To her, you’re a success story. If you disappear now, her world collapses. But while this ‘voice’ is alive—she’s safe. You want her to be okay, don’t you?”
“That’s… that’s not me…” Anya whispered, staring at the dead screen. “Mom… she’ll know. She’ll feel it.”
“She won’t. Look.”
Photos flickered across the screen. There was Anya in a bright yellow coat (one she’d never had), standing by a river. Wind tossed her hair; her face wore a serene smile. Dozens of comments sat underneath.
“Gorgeous!” “Wow, you finally went through with the move!” “We’re jealous—in a good way!” her friends, colleagues, classmates wrote.
Anya’s eyes snagged on a familiar avatar. Artem. The same Artem who’d stood in that kitchen asking for water. He’d liked the photo.
“I trained a neural network, fed it everything about you,” Viktor’s voice was calm, with a note of professional pride. “It knows your jokes, your little phrases, your habits. Your digital copy is flawless. It doesn’t make mistakes. It doesn’t vanish without a trace. It just… lives.”
He turned the screen toward her. There was a video. A short clip. AI-Anya walked down a street, laughed, and said to the camera: “Guys, I finally found the perfect coffee! Have a great day!”
Anya stared into her double’s eyes. It was physically painful—to watch your personality being skinned off you while you’re still alive and draped over empty code.
“Do you understand, Anya? No one is looking for you. No one went to the police. No one filed a missing-person report. Why would they look for someone who sends her mom breakfast photos every morning?”
Anya’s chin trembled. It felt as if the last thread tying her to the outside world had just been cut. Yesterday she’d still hoped people were worried, that they were searching—and today…
“You… You… I… I’m dead to them…”
“On the contrary. To them, you’ve become perfect. You don’t burden them with your problems anymore. You’re a happy little picture on their phones.”
He turned the screen off, plunging the basement into half-darkness.
“The real you belongs only to me now. You don’t have a ‘past’ to return to anymore. There’s only this room. And me. Your salvation is that you’ve become unnecessary to everyone except me.”
He stood, took the phone, and headed for the stairs.
“Sleep, Anya. You don’t need to wait for someone to break the door down anymore. They won’t come. They’re all liking your new photo right now.”
He left, and Anya stayed sitting in the dark. She felt the last string inside her snap. She was a ghost. An extra element in a system that worked perfectly without her. She hadn’t just been kidnapped.
She’d been erased.