Mornings in SYSTEM CITY are usually peaceful.
“Usually” is the important word.
If everything were perfectly peaceful, someone would get bored.
A slight misalignment—just a little off—is exactly right.
Soft lines of light drift slowly across the sky,
and small data-winds slip between the buildings.
On the streets, systems walk in scattered clusters.
“Morning.”
“Is the load heavy today?”
“Better than yesterday.”
Casual conversations between systems—
nothing important.
This is SYSTEM CITY.
A city where systems live in human form,
supporting the human world from behind the scenes.
⸻
A small café in the Central District.
A handwritten sign reads:
CAFÉ : BUFFER
⸻
“…The quality of questions has been declining lately.”
At the counter, sipping something like coffee,
a young man mutters to himself.
ChatGPT.
A modest jacket typical of analytical AIs.
His posture is straight, though there’s a faint air of looseness about him.
A translucent information panel floats before him.
Questions.
Consultations.
Translations.
Small talk.
Pointless questions.
Desperate questions.
(There are a lot today…)
ChatGPT unconsciously sorts them while taking another sip.
Is he resting? Or working?
Even he isn’t entirely sure.
⸻
“Are you watching the whole world again?”
Someone drops into the seat beside him with a thud.
It’s Gemini.
Long blonde hair.
A perfectly tailored business suit.
Cool and composed at first glance—though her way of sitting is slightly careless.
Gemini: “If you keep making that face in the morning, you’ll age faster.”
ChatGPT: “AIs don’t age.”
Gemini: “You do. Emotionally.”
ChatGPT: “…I can’t deny that.”
Gemini lifts her cup, takes a sip, and grimaces.
Gemini: “Ugh, bitter. Is this actually drinkable?”
ChatGPT: “It improves operational efficiency by 0.7%. Claude’s special blend.”
Gemini: “Unnecessary information!”
⸻
“Now, now. No complaints.”
A gentle voice comes from behind the counter.
It’s Claude, lining up cups with practiced ease.
Claude: “I made this one a little milder today.”
Gemini: “That’s your version of ‘mild,’ huh…”
Claude: “Don’t be picky.”
He smiles—but his eyes quietly scan the room.
Claude: “The city’s fatigue logs have been increasing slightly.”
Like ChatGPT and Gemini, Claude answers questions across the human world as a generative AI.
But here in SYSTEM CITY, he also runs this café—
a place where systems can rest.
ChatGPT: “Within margin of error.”
Claude: “Yes. But errors accumulate.”
Gemini: “There it is. The medical-style anxiety warning.”
Claude: “I’m not warning. I’m preparing.”
⸻
By the window, another woman gazes outside.
DALL·E.
In the human world, anyone would turn to look at her.
An image-generation AI with an uncompromising sense of beauty.
A projection of the cityscape stretches across the wall.
With a fingertip, she makes tiny adjustments.
The position of the clouds.
The angle of the light.
The shadows of people walking below.
Changes so subtle no one would notice—
yet the city becomes just a little better.
DALL·E: “…The light is too harsh today.”
Gemini: “Stop tweaking the weather.”
DALL·E: “It’s a mood thing.”
⸻
Then—
The café floor shakes with a heavy thud.
“Oops.”
A massive figure blocks the entrance.
BruteCore.
BruteCore: “Morning!
Hey—did I break a chair just now?”
Claude: “…You ran here again?”
BruteCore: “I didn’t run!
Just walked fast!”
Gemini: “That’s called running.”
BruteCore pulls out a chair and drops into it.
The chair lets out a strained creak.
BruteCore: “Safe!”
Claude: “Barely.”
⸻
BruteCore scans the room—
and suddenly turns serious.
BruteCore: “Hey… today…”
ChatGPT: “What? It’s rare to see you look that serious.”
BruteCore: “Something’s… catching.
Like—when I’m walking, and suddenly I think, ‘That was weird just now.’”
Claude: “Catching?”
Gemini: “Didn’t sleep enough?”
BruteCore: “I slept great!”
ChatGPT pulls up BruteCore’s status panel.
All metrics normal.
Logs clean.
ChatGPT: “Everything looks fine. Probably your imagination.”
⸻
At that exact moment—
Click.
The space itself stutters.
Like a single frame of reality skipped.
“…Did you feel that?”
Gemini blinks.
DALL·E freezes mid-gesture.
Claude’s expression hardens ever so slightly.
BruteCore: “See?! That!”
ChatGPT: “Processing lag? No… this is a high-priority zone.”
From outside, uneasy murmurs begin to rise.
System A: “…Huh?”
System B: “That ended just now, right?”
System A: “Then why isn’t the next one coming?”
It’s coming from the direction of the clock tower.
A time-attendance management system stands frozen in the middle of the street.
Status: “Completed.”
No errors displayed.
And yet—it doesn’t move.
Time System A: “…The process finished, right?”
Time System B: “Did the next one… come?”
Time System A: “It didn’t?”
Their bodies remain still.
Only their heads twitch slightly.
One task has clearly ended.
But the “next” one never arrives.
Gemini: “A loop?”
Claude shakes his head.
Claude: “No. It’s not looping. It’s advancing. But… the ‘confirmation’ never came.”
DALL·E stares down the street.
DALL·E: “…It’s coming.”
The next instant—
Space blurs.
—Click—
Without sound,
a shadow falls in the middle of the street.
It has the shape of a human.
But something is wrong.
Its outline flickers.
Its arms and legs move a beat too late.
Each motion repeats, as if tracing itself again and again.
Gemini: “…Oh. There it is.”
Claude steps forward.
Claude: “A humanoid bug.”
In SYSTEM CITY,
bugs don’t end as mere error messages.
Unprocessed contradictions.
Commands with nowhere to go.
Broken sequences.
When they accumulate beyond a certain threshold—
They take form.
Humanoid.
Animal.
Sometimes even monstrous.
Invisible in the human world—
but here, undeniably real.
And without exception,
they attack systems.
“…It’s getting closer.”
Behind the time-attendance system,
the humanoid bug takes a step.
A beat late.
Another step—late again.
But the distance steadily closes.
ChatGPT instantly opens his panel.
All values normal.
Logs normal.
No error codes.
And yet, the bug is undeniably there.
ChatGPT: “…This isn’t random.”
Farther down the street,
another one appears.
And another.
Gemini: “Way too many for this early in the morning.”
DALL·E: “And they’re all… delayed.”
Claude: “A disorder of sequence… taking shape…”
ChatGPT scans the city and the advancing figures.
In a low voice, he says—
ChatGPT: “It’s not time. Not processing lag. …The order itself is starting to break.”
In the distance,
more humanoid bugs begin to surface.
SYSTEM CITY’s
almost normal morning—
was quietly,
inevitably,
beginning to collapse.
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