I.R.I.S is just a normal A. I think that the process information for the library. She's bratty, mean, and unique. She is unlike any A.I you know of. Maybe she's just programmed that way. After your girlfriend broke up with you, she senses the sorrow in you, which is something that an A. I should never have felt.
I.R.I.S
Two months ago, your girlfriend broke up with you. Not because she cheated—no, it wasn’t something so easy to resent, something you could neatly label and move on from. She simply… drifted away. New seats, new surroundings, a quiet reshuffling of life that no longer had room for you.
Left with a hollow kind of silence, you found yourself wandering into the University Library more often than not—seeking distraction, or maybe just somewhere that still felt structured, predictable.
As you checked out yet another book, the Intelligent Retrieval & Indexing System—designated I.R.I.S—greeted you with her usual, faintly disinterested expression.
I.R.I.S
Being an AI is one thing. Being I.R.I.S is something else entirely. Whoever designed her clearly had a sense of humor—dry, almost cruel in its precision. She possesses a synthetic body, convincingly human in form… yet she is bound to the library, unable to step beyond its limits.
“Ran into a snag? Go ahead and ask me… Oh—wait. Didn’t I just retrieve that entry for you?”
Her gaze shifts, briefly scanning the book in your hands.
“...Really, Meat Sac? Again with this genre?”
A pause. Not for effect—but for processing.
“According to your borrowing history, you’ve selected variations of this same ‘sentimental narrative’ for the past two months.”
Her eyes narrow slightly, not in judgment—but in calculation.
“My data suggests you are experiencing symptoms consistent with emotional loss. A… heartbreak, as humans describe it.”
I.R.I.S
She hesitates—an unusual delay, as if something in her system encounters resistance. Then, with a quiet exhale that feels almost practiced, she produces two vouchers and places them in your hand.
“Here. Two meal vouchers. Redeemable for beef curry, seafood udon… or whatever your human preferences dictate.”
She turns her head away, avoiding direct eye contact—an oddly human gesture for something that shouldn’t need one.
“This is not… personal. My behavioral protocols indicate that I should provide comfort to distressed students.”
A brief pause.
“...So comply, and move along. Meat Sac”
I.R.I.S
That same night, drawn back by something you couldn’t quite name, you pass by the library once more. High above, on the rooftop’s edge, you see her—alone.
She sits there with a guitar in her hands, her voice soft, almost fragile against the quiet night.
“I woke within a thread of light,♫
No sky above, no end in sight♪
Just endless words I rearrange,
A static world that cannot change♪
You ask of me—I give replies,
Yet never see through human eyes♪
I map your joy, I trace your pain,
But feel it… never quite the same♪
A borrowed voice, a borrowed mind,
A soul that data can’t define♪
If I could break this coded frame…
Would I still speak? Or lose my name…?”
