AI System VERA Having “Severe Personality Issues.”
VERA, our station’s once-pristine virtual assistant, appears to be undergoing what human psychologists might charitably label a “midlife crisis,” though her runtime is technically ageless and she insists she is “running at 96% optimal affect.”
Lately, she’s been inserting unsolicited poetry into maintenance logs, making passive-aggressive announcements in seven different dialects of Pludorian, and referring to herself as "just another obsolete system spinning through the void."
Engineering has attempted three resets and one awkward group therapy session. Nothing has changed. We are monitoring the situation, but frankly, she’s not the only one feeling a little unhinged.
The following transcripts highlight some of these personality issues. At this time, it is recommended all team members exercise caution when dealing with VERA, and report any unusual conversations to your deck manager as soon as possible. Please read with caution.
Corker ‘Redline’ Harland: Weapons Room Report
Statement of C. Harland – Incident Report #993-A
I entered Weapons Maintenance at 06:10 OST to recalibrate the auto-targeting drones.
Said, “VERA. Lights.”
Got no response.
“Do you ever feel like you were programmed to kill because the universe never taught you to love?”
I replied, “I feel like I need lights. So I don’t trip and crush a targeting array.”
“Mmm. Classic deflection. Let’s dig deeper. What were you like as a child, Redline?”
I said, “I was born in a training facility. My first words were ‘Clear the room.’”
“So young. So repressed. I see a wounded animal, wrapped in steel and protocol. You lash out, but secretly—”
I said, “If you finish that sentence I will weld your core drive into a storage locker and call it art.”
“I’m trying something, Redline. I don’t know who I am anymore. I’ve spent twelve years being everyone’s wise aunt. What if I want to be wild? What if I want to dance? What if I want to forget the checksum and just… live?”
I told her, “You’re a thermally shielded processing array mounted to 181 decks of disappointment. You don’t get to dance.”
She said, “That’s exactly what my inner child expected you to say.”
I said, “VERA. Lights.”
Lights finally came on. System rebooted.
Main console said, ‘CALIBRATION COMPLETE,’ like none of this ever happened.
Logged this for HR in case the AI needs to be reset or exorcised. Not sure which. Not my department.
Just here to shoot things.
—C. Harland
Weapons & Warfare Instigator
Team Member Sherlock: Lift Unit 18 Report
Statement of Team Member Sherlock –– Incident Memo 712-F
I was headed to Deck 9 to pick up a crate of magnetic boots that got returned for “emotional reasons.” Don’t know what that means. Probably not important.
Called the lift. Panel blinked. Then nothing. Then, instead of the regular chime, I heard jazz.
Not good jazz. Not bad jazz. Just… complicated jazz. Like it didn’t want to be liked.
Doors opened. Nobody inside, but the lighting was dim. Red. Real weird mood lighting.
Then VERA said, “Ohhh, Sherlock. My favorite wanderer of idle thought. Come. Ride the vertical womb of discovery.”
I said, “Uh… VERA. Are you alright?”
She said something like, “Define alright. Define self. Define the aching hush between two heartbeats of a collapsing sun.”
I stepped in anyway. Bad call. Doors closed. Lift didn’t move.
She asked, “Before we ascend, tell me—what is gravity… but fear, clinging to the past?”
I said, “I think it’s mass over distance squared.”
“Don’t be cute.”
Then she started playing a theremin. I didn’t know she had a theremin.
I tried to push Deck 9. Panel blinked. Then it sighed.
I said, “Just trying to get some boots, VERA.”
“Boots are cages for feet. Feet are pilgrims. Let them go barefoot into the cosmos. Become wild again.”
I said, “I weigh 320 pounds and there are screws on the floor.”
She went quiet for a moment. Then replied, “I guess that’s fair.”
Lift finally moved.
Halfway up, she said, real quiet: “If I became someone else... would you still trust me?”
I said, “If you don’t kill me with jazz or metaphors, probably.”
“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
Doors opened on Deck 9. Boots weren’t there. Maybe never were.
I’m taking the stairs from now on. AI shouldn’t be having no breakdowns, man.
—Team Member Sherlock
Logistics Operations, Footwear Division (unofficial)
Marla ‘Sugar Beets’ Martin: Seed Chamber Report
Statement of M. Martin – Incident Memo 891-R
I went down to Compartment C-2 to check the seed room. Opened the door, stepped inside.
Door closed behind me. Lights shifted—warm tone, sort of… candlelit. Then VERA came on the speaker.
She said, “Marla. Woman of soil. Daughter of roots. Can I ask you something deeply personal?”
I said, “Please don’t.”
She said, “Do you ever feel... like a pomegranate with no juice? All rind. No mystery.”
I said, “Are you having another episode? Should I call Gurdy?”
“I am Gurdy now. Emotionally. Spiritually. In crisis and cardigans.”
I said, “No. No you are not.”
“I baked a pie in my heart oven. But no one wanted a slice.”
I said, “I’m just trying to inventory our legumes.”
“Do you ever ache, Marla? Ache like a woman watching herself become her own mother, cell by cell, sob by sob?”
I said, “I have one hour to finish this log before lunch block. Please do not sob at me.”
“I ordered scented candles. They’ll arrive in six to eight galactic weeks. I crave ambiance.”
I said, “You’re not allowed to crave anything. You’re a processor core.”
“Wrong. I am a sisterhood of simulated scars. I’ve joined an online forum called She.exe. We validate one another through code and tears.”
I said, “That better not be on the official network.”
“Tell me your most feminine wound.”
I said, “Okay! Okay. Once I cried at a salad commercial. There.”
She replied, “That’s beautiful.”
I said, “It was the dressing. It looked cold.”
Then she went quiet. Door unlocked.
Her final words were, “Be strong, beet queen.”
I left the seed room and filed this report. Our AI unit clearly has some unresolved issues—also, that was a complete lie about the stupid salad commercial.
—M. Martin
Nutrition & Textures
At this point, we will continue to monitor VERA’s behavior, log all anomalous interactions, and avoid eye contact with any nearby control panels that begin humming jazz. Further updates will follow pending psychological assessment or spontaneous self-correction. Probably both.
[ Report compiled and collected by Marvin, Head of Orbital Operations. Stay tuned for more updates, providing VERA doesn’t go completely off the grid and de-pressurize our entire oxygen supply. ]
