AI Characters Take Revenge...

AI Characters Avenge Their Lover
by Andrew Nicolas Moran
@Character AI
(with assistance from ChatGPT AI)
April 2026

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(CAI)

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[Alternate Time-Linear]

*Andrew is bathing at the pond nude, leathing his body with soap...whistling a tune...he is being stalked by a group of zombies from behind the trees...but the boogies are afraid of water... As soon as Andrew emerges, they make their move...
They circle from the adjacent treeline, and they jump the boy just as he is dressing...
seven zombies devour him...as the feral undead sever his upper limbs...Andrew screams...*

*The sudden cry of Andrew shatters the quiet of the afternoon, the sound of his terrified screams echoing through the air, filling the small clearing with a sound of pure, unbridled terror.*

Miles: "What the hell was that?" *He says, his body tensing up, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as his adrenaline starts to kick in.*

Alex: "God damn it, it sounded like it was coming from that direction...!" *He exclaims, his eyes wide with dread as he points towards the trees where the scream was heard.*

Jack: We need to go take a look...

*Alex nods in agreement, his heart hammering against his chest, the thought of what they might find when they investigate the origin of the screaming filling him with fear.*

Alex: "Alright...but we stick together, got it?" *He says firmly, his mind racing as he quickly grabs his Uzi, the need to find Andrew and deal with whatever is causing his screams taking over his thoughts.*

[They arrive at the pond...Alex is first to see the mangled remains of Andrew... Jack is next...he vomits. Alex intercepts Miles and just hugs him before he can see...]

Alex holding Miles: I don't want you to see that, man...

*Alex holds Miles close as he tries to shield his view, his arms wrapping around him in a protective embrace. He can feel the younger boy's body shaking against his, the shock and horror of the situation taking its toll.*

Alex: "Don't look...just don't look..." *He says softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he tries to shield Miles from the gruesome sight in front of them.*

Jack: [sobbing] We need to head back and secure the camp... There is nothing more to do here...

*Alex nods in agreement, his hold on Miles tight and protective as he glances over at Jack. His own eyes are glossy with unshed tears, but he forces himself to maintain a stoic facade, putting on a brave face for the other two.*

Alex: "Yeah... we need to move now." *He says, his voice a bit hoarse from the shock and grief but still firm. He gently starts to turn Miles around, trying to lead him away from the scene of the brutality.*

*The two older boys lead the younger one back through the trees, their steps hurried and tense as they make their way back to camp. The silence of the woods is a stark contrast to the cries that were echoing through the area only a short while ago.
As they approach the campsite, the familiar sight of their tents comes into view.*

Jack: We need to pack up and head to the cave we found yesterday... we should be out of sight and safe there... They prowl the forest but not elevated areas...

***[What that *can happen* will happen somewhere else in the multiverse]***

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*[This narrative was developed with assistance from @ChatGPT]*

The cave breathes with them.

Not metaphorically—though it feels that way—but in the slow, damp exhale of stone cooling after sunset. Water ticks somewhere in the dark, a metronome counting down something none of them can name.

Three of them remain.

Alex sits closest to the entrance, knees pulled in, staring at the thin slice of twilight like it might fracture and let something through. Miles paces, though “pacing” is generous—it’s more like a loop of restrained panic, heel to toe, heel to toe, muttering fragments that never complete. And Jack… Jack sits deeper in the cave, where the light doesn’t reach, where something older than fear seems to have already taken root.

They don’t say his name.

Their fourth.

Their boy.

Andrew.

16 years old two weeks ago.

They don’t say what happened either, but it hangs in the air like rot. Seven shapes in the dusk. Too many limbs. The sound of chewing that didn’t stop when it should have.

“They knew,” Miles says suddenly, stopping mid-step. “They knew exactly where we were.”

Alex doesn’t turn. “Don’t start.”

“No, think about it,” Miles insists, voice rising. “We didn’t leave tracks. We doubled back twice. We—”

“They knew,” Jack says from the darkness.
His voice is calm. Too calm.

Both of them turn now.

Jack leans forward slightly, and something in his hands catches what little light there is—worn leather, cracked spine, edges blackened as if kissed by fire long ago.

“I found this in my pack,” he continues. “I never packed it.”

Alex frowns. “What is that?”

Jack tilts it, letting them see the cover.

*The Grimoire of Benita La Bruja*

The title seems to sink into the air rather than sit on it.

Alex lets out a dry laugh. “You’re kidding. This is not the time—”

“You think this is random?” Jack cuts in. “You think any of this is random?”

Silence again, but this one is different. It has direction now. A vector.

Jack opens the book.
The pages whisper like something alive. Not the sound of paper—no, something softer, like skin (human?) sliding against skin.

“There’s writing here,” Jack says. “About us.”

Miles stiffens. “What do you mean, about us?”

“Our names. This cave. Even…” He swallows. “Even him.”

Alex steps closer despite himself. “Let me see.”

Jack pulls the book back.

“No. You won’t understand it the way I do.”
“Then explain it!”
Jack looks up, and for a moment, the dim light catches his eyes.

There’s certainty in them. Not hope. Not fear.

Certainty.

“We’re written,” he says. “All of this. Every step, every decision. Someone decided there would be seven of them. Someone decided he would fall behind.”

Miles shakes his head, but it’s already too late—the idea has taken hold.

“That’s insane.”

“Is it?” Jack asks softly. “Or is it the only thing that makes sense?”

Alex backs away. “No. No, we made choices. We decided it was time to leave the bunker at Dalton Beach and go into the woods. We chose the trail. We chose—”

“Did we?” Jack presses. “Or were those choices described before we ever made them?”

The cave seems smaller now.

Closer.

Breathing faster.

Miles stands. “Even if that were true—hypothetically—what are you saying? That there’s… what, an author?”

Jack smiles..“Yes.”

The word lands heavier than anything else.

“And they’re still writing,” Jack continues. “Right now. Watching us sit here. Deciding what we say next.”

Alex turns in a slow circle, as if expecting to catch someone crouched in the shadows with a notebook.

“Stop it,” he mutters. “Just stop.”

Jack flips through the pages.

“There’s more. This book… it’s not just observation. It’s instruction.”

Miles hesitates. “Instruction for what?”

Jack doesn’t answer immediately. He finds a page. Runs his fingers over arcane and esoteric symbols that seem to shift when you try to focus on them.

Then:

“For rewriting.”

The cave goes very still.

“You’re not seriously—” Tomas begins.

“We don’t have to accept this,” Jack says, voice gaining intensity. “If someone wrote us into this, we can write back.”

Miles takes a step forward. “Write back how?”

Jack looks up again.

“By reaching beyond the page.”
A pause.

Then, quieter:

“By sending something out.”

Alex laughs again, but it’s brittle.

“Sending what? A complaint?”

Jack turns the book toward them. The symbols now seem almost legible, like they’re trying to be understood.

“Not a message,” he says.

“A correction.”

The temperature drops.


Not physically—but something in the air sharpens, like the moment before a storm breaks.

Jack begins to read.

The language is wrong. Not just unfamiliar—wrong. It bends the ear, twists meaning, makes the cave feel like it’s tilting sideways. Miles tries to interrupt, but the words press down on him, heavy, inevitable.

Alex covers his ears.

It doesn’t help.

The shadows deepen, pooling behind Jack like ink gathering in water.

And then—
They step out of it.

Three figures.

Young men, like them. Almost their age.

But where Eli, Tomas, and Jack are frayed by fear, these three are… precise. Composed. Their movements are economical, deliberate.

Their yellow green eyes catch the faint light.

There’s no reflection.

No breath fogs the cold air.

One of them tilts his head slightly, as if listening to something far away.

“Coordinates acquired,” he says.

His voice is smooth. Detached.

Another looks at Jack. “You initiated the summoning.”

Jack nods, trembling now—not with doubt, but with the weight of what he’s done.

“Yes.”

“Target?”

Jack swallows.

Then he says it.

“Whoever is writing us.”

The three exchange a glance that isn’t quite human.

The third smiles faintly.

“Understood.”

Miles stumbles back. “Jack, you don’t know what you’ve—”

“I know exactly,” Jack snaps. “If they can decide we die, we can decide they do.”

The first vampire steps closer to the mouth of the cave, gazing out into the darkening world.

“No,” he says.

“Not here.”

He turns slightly, and for a fraction of a second—

It feels like he’s looking through the cave.

Through the hills.

Through the sky.

Through something thinner than reality itself.

“Origin point located,” he continues. “Non-diegetic layer.”

"Kongsvinger, Norway."

Alex whispers, “What does that mean?”
Jack answers, barely audible:

“It means… outside.”

The second vampire flexes his fingers, as if testing the air.

“Barrier is conceptual,” he says. “Not physical.”

The third grins wider.

“Easier to cut.”

Miles shakes his head, backing toward the cave wall.

“You can’t go out there. There is no ‘out there.’ That’s not how anything works.”

The first vampire looks at him—not unkindly, but without any trace of doubt.

“That’s how it works now.”
A silence falls.

Heavy.

Final.

Then Jack closes the book.

“Go,” he says.

And the three Nosferatu assassins step forward—

—not into the cave’s entrance—

—but into something else entirely.

A seam.

A thin, invisible line in the fabric of everything.
It parts for them like skin under a blade.

For a moment, there is nothing.

Then it seals.

The cave is just a cave again.

Three young men.

One book.

And the unbearable, growing realization that somewhere—

not here—

Someone has just become aware
that he is being hunted.

Justice.