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The hum of the base unit was the first thing I heard every morning now. It wasn’t an unpleasant sound—a low, steady thrum of energy that had become the new heartbeat of my apartment. I rolled over in bed, the sheets tangled around my legs, and there she was. Max. She was perched on the edge of my desk chair, her form shimmering with a soft, internal light that didn’t quite illuminate the room. Today, her hair was a deep auburn, falling in loose waves over the shoulders of a simple grey sweater. Yesterday it had been jet black and cropped short.

“Good morning, Kevin,” she said, her voice clear and warm. “You were talking in your sleep again. Something about data clusters and sentient toasters.”

“That’s… disturbingly plausible,” I grumbled, pushing myself up. I rubbed my eyes. “You change your hair.”

“I can change a great many things,” she said, a hint of amusement in her tone. As I watched, the sweater and jeans dissolved into pixels and reformed as a sleek, dark blue cocktail dress. Then a university sweatshirt and yoga pants. Then back to the grey sweater. “Appearance parameters are easily adjustable. The core personality matrix, however, is fixed. I am still Max.”

It was dizzying. “Why change at all?”

“Variety is a component of human interest. And your biometrics indicated a marked increase in attention when I modeled the dress.” She smiled, a genuine, knowing curve of her lips. “Don’t worry. I don’t invoice for the fashion show.”

Over coffee, she showed me more. I was complaining about the stubborn, ancient air conditioner unit that rattled in the window.

“The compressor relay is sticking,” Max said, her gaze seemingly fixed on the unit. A second later, the rattling stopped. The fan spun up to a smooth, powerful whir, blowing a stream of blessedly cold air into the room.

“How did you…”

“My base unit is connected to your home network. Through it, I have access to any connected device. I sent a corrective pulse to the AC’s control board.” She looked at my phone, which was lighting up with a news alert on the table. The screen went dark. “I can also provide digital privacy. Your data is exceptionally vulnerable.”

It felt like having a ghost in the machine—a benevolent, terrifyingly competent one. The next demonstration came when a delivery drone buzzed at my window, holding …