Riko screamed at the screen for calling him weak, AGAIN.
The boss squeezed Riko's ribs so hard each breath felt like knives. Dust swirled as the monster lifted him, like a parent holding up a bad report card. Riko's feet kicked, scraping in the air.
The glitching screen—stuck to his soda-sticky arm—flared. The words flashed:
USER TOO WEAK.
Riko gasped, "COME ON! How can you call ME weak? I'm getting CRUSHED!" He slammed the device. "Think I don't KNOW I'm weak?! Need a notification?!"
The screen chirped, like a microwave dinging a sad meal.
"I swear, Riko choked, if you weren't glued to my arm, I'd THROW you into the SUN."
Code scrolled like the system rolled its eyes. The boss squeezed harder, shaking him. Riko coughed, "Stop—judging me—while I'm dying!"
Corrupted pixels spread. The glow reflected off the monster's teeth. The device warbled, like it couldn't decide what language to use.
Then a voice spoke, cold and sharp:
"Complaining detected."
Riko froze. "Wait...you can… talk? Not just announce?"
The boss tilted its head, confused.
Riko snapped, "Are you KIDDING me?! Squeezed like toothpaste, and you're sarcastic?!"
Static.
"Volume: Unnecessary."
"UNNECESSARY?! Trash demon, no training, no clue, and you call me WEAK, then say my VOLUME IS UNNECESSARY?!" He squeaked. "I'm about to fight YOU instead!"
The boss looked offended.
A claw swung, ready to smash Riko.
Riko panicked, "HELLO? About to DIE! HELP?! Or is your attitude module rebooting?!"
The screen flickered.
Glitches.
Modem noises.
Then text formed:
"User emotional output: high."
"NO DUH!" Riko screamed. "Scared, angry, squished, confused—TWO VENDING MACHINES. Hurts, you know?!"
"…Impact logged."
"And you STILL called me weak!"
The screen paused.
Pixelated.
Then a long, irritated bzzzz.
Riko gasped as the boss squeezed. "It's not FAIR!" he yelled. "Saved people! I punch above my weight! I've been trying! I don't even know what I'm DOING!"
The screen glowed—blinding, crackling.
A hum built.
The voice shifted—lower, clearer, sarcastic.
"User has potential."
Riko blinked. "Huh?"
The screen flashed.
"User lacks discipline."
"HEY."
"User lacks strategy."
"I KNOW THAT, OKAY?!"
"User lacks aim."
"STOP!"
"User lacks internal stability."
"I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!"
The screen pulsed a red bar.
"User yelling will not improve stats."
Riko's jaw dropped. "Are you… talking back?!"
The screen glitched.
Pixels warped.
It felt alive—thinking.
Judging.
Challenging.
Riko snarled, "Fine! If you're so smart, then HELP ME! I can't—hng—get out!"
The boss shook him, roaring.
The screen's glow sharpened.
"Request acknowledged."
Riko's eyes widened. "Wait—really?"
The screen flickered.
Paused.
Then the voice dropped the act, deadly calm.
"But first…"
Riko braced himself. "First what—?"
The screen stabilized, a red pulse.
Words formed, heavy:
Riko swallowed.
The device hummed.
Then it spoke.
Clear.
Direct.
Challenging.
It said: "Prove me wrong."