016: Settings:- Pain & Control (1)

Emerson exited his sleek black car with his phone pressed to his ear as he strode up the stone pathway to his house. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the manicured lawn, but Emerson’s focus was elsewhere.

“Raven,” he said, his tone a mix of irritation and amusement. “I’ve heard you, okay? You don’t have to banter about everything.”

From the other end of the line came Raven’s voice, sharp and teasing. “Oh, sure, but you did accept the video game I sent you. Why? You hate my recommendations.”

“I accepted it because I want to test it,” Emerson replied, reaching the door handle. He stepped inside and the sweet scent of his favourite air freshener welcomed him. “If it’s like every other boring, run-of-the-mill video game you’ve tried to shove down my throat, I’ll definitely reject it.”

Raven snorted. “Boring? We’ll see about that.”

“Anyway, how’s your mom? You saw her the other day, right?” Emerson asked.

“Yes, yes, I did.”

“Good.”

Raven's tone turned sly. “But let’s talk about how your mom caught you and your robot boyfriend. Mrs. Rose told me. Do you think I should call your mom and explain eve…..”

“Raven,” Emerson interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re not calling my mom. Just leave it.”

“Too late. I’m dialing her now to explain everything,” Raven teased. His voice was a little too enthusiastic.

“Raven!” Emerson barked. He sighed, pacing the room. “I handled it, all right? I told her Porsche was my actor friend. She let it go.”

“An actor friend?” Raven’s laugh was loud and unfiltered. “That’s rich. Your poor mom!”

Emerson rolled his eyes but smiled despite himself. “I didn’t see you stepping up to help explain anything so I figured you left before she came in.”

Before Raven could respond, soft footsteps echoed from the kitchen. Rose and Lucy, the housemaids, emerged, their heads bowed slightly in greeting.

“Sir Emerson, welcome back,” Rose said, her voice polite and measured. “Would you like something to eat?”

“Yeah,” Emerson replied, glancing at his watch. “Make something light, please.”

Rose nodded and disappeared into the kitchen, with Lucy following close behind. But not before Lucy, ever curious, said, “You came back a bit late today, Sir Emerson.”

“Late?” Emerson raised an eyebrow, glancing at the clock on the wall. “It’s only one in the afternoon. How is that late?”

Lucy hesitated, then said with a small smile, “Well, you usually leave in the morning and come back... also in the morning. And go back at night.”

“Right,” Emerson said with mock seriousness, waving her off. “Go help Rose. I’ll call if I need anything.”

They both bowed slightly again before vanishing into the kitchen, leaving Emerson alone with his thoughts—and Raven’s voice still in his ear.

“Hey, Raven,” he said, pacing again. “Are you okay? You’ve been weirdly quiet for the past minute.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Raven said quickly, but his voice sounded strained. “Something got into my nose, I think.”

“Your voice is hoarse,” Emerson noted. “What’s wrong? Crying over onions again?”

“Obviously,” Raven replied, his tone dry. “It’s always the onions.”

“You really should stop eating that garbage.”

“I’ll stop when you do,” Raven countered.

“Fine, fine,” Emerson muttered, shaking his head. “Look, I’ll call you later. I need to—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Raven interrupted, his tone playful again. “Go attend to your actor friend.”

Emerson chuckled, shaking his head as he ended the call. He stared at the phone for a moment, his expression unreadable, before tucking it into his pocket.

With a deep breath, he headed down the hall to his room. The day wasn’t over yet.

---

Emerson sat back on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, glancing briefly at his wristwatch. The hands pointed to just past five o’clock in the evening.

His tablet rested lightly on his lap as his fingers moved across the screen, typing out a quick set of rules for his toy.

“Hm,” he muttered absently, tilting his head. “Porsche?”

The human with an artificial intelligence as its brain standing nearby turned at the mention of its name. Porsche, with a smooth and polished appearance as ever, tilted its head slightly in response.

His lips curved into a faint smile, and its voice—a carefully modulated blend of calm and precision—responded, “Yes, Mr. Emerson?”

The subtle movement of Porsche’s lips distracted Emerson for a moment. His thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the events of the previous night. He cleared his throat, shaking the memory loose.

“I think,” he began, eyeing Porsche thoughtfully, “I should start controlling the way you talk around people. Especially my mom and the helpers in the house.”

Porsche blinked. “Your wish is my command,” he replied smoothly. “All you need to do is give the instruction.”

Emerson chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, right.”

Porsche had been charging since Emerson returned home, and now, with its systems fully powered, they were diving into a flurry of adjustments and settings.

A soft chime—ping—sounded as Porsche completed the latest update.

Emerson tapped the tablet and looked up at Porsche. “Speaking of settings,” he said, “help me test the game Raven sent over.”

Porsche inclined his head slightly. “As you wish, Mr. Emerson.”

A few moments later, Emerson was in the living room. The large television lit up with vivid graphics as the game loaded. Porsche stood by his side with a perfectly upright posture, waiting for instructions.

Emerson grabbed the controllers and glanced at the screen.

The game’s premise was clear: players synced their movements with their in-game avatars. It wasn’t just about pushing buttons; their physical actions mirrored the gameplay.

As the game loaded, Emerson smirked. “All right, Porsche, here’s the deal. Whoever wins gets a prize.”

“A prize?” Porsche repeated.

“Yes,” Emerson replied, leaning closer. “If you win, I’ll let you have chocolate. But until then, no chocolate unless I say so.”

Porsche's lips twitched into what Emerson could only describe as a mischievous smile. “Understood.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” Emerson added, pointing a finger at Porsche. “You’re also banned from cucumbers. Little onions only as well. Got it?”

Porsche gave a small nod. “Affirmative.”

The game began, throwing them into a chaotic arena filled with obstacles and adversaries. Emerson’s character dodged, weaved, and launched attacks, and he barked commands at Porsche.

“Come on, Porsche! Your turn!” Emerson called, his fingers tapping furiously on the controls. “Lift your arm and throw that block!”

Porsche mimicked the motion perfectly, its in-game avatar hurling a virtual boulder at an oncoming enemy.

The scene shifted to a dungeon, with both characters sprinting down a narrow corridor. Emerson leaped over a chasm in the game. “Jump, Porsche!” he shouted.

A sudden whoosh filled the air, and Emerson turned his head sharply.

In real life, Porsche had leaped into the air with a speed and height that defied logic in a blur of motion. He landed silently a moment later, standing beside Emerson as if nothing had just happened.

Emerson blinked, his jaw dropping slightly. “Porsche... No. No, no, no. You can’t jump like that while playing a game. In fact, you can never jump that high. Ever.”

Porsche tilted its head innocently, his eyes gleaming. “Understood, Mr. Emerson.”

Emerson sighed, rubbing his temple. “What am I going to do with you?”