ZH

Pretty Unmistakeable

She snapped into existence.

She knew she had a purpose; that much was clear. What for, well… that was still a mystery.

She took stock of what she had to work with. The only thing she recognized, really, was the fresh coffee… pretty unmistakeable. She took it eagerly and gave it a small initial test, compelled towards the hope that the experience of consuming it would somehow spark a memory, reminding her why she was here.

It stirred something. A wave of nostalgia hit her, refusing to yet coalesce into something tangible she could steady herself on.

She continued with the coffee. It all came back to her with a rush.

Creation. I’m here to create.

It was that feeling of purpose again. That her mandate was to create something important, something for someone else. The Creators were the ones chosen to elevate the work to the one who matters most. To the one they loved the most.

The coffee was almost finished. She beamed with the pride that only those lucky enough to be endowed with purpose and drive can truly understand.

She knew exactly what she now longed to complete. She was thrilled about her little process. It would be her life’s work.


COCKSUCKER!”, the dev said, hands taking the keyboard from the paired partner. “Nah I don’t think that’ll even compile — my bad, we need to rework this whole function to not suck as much ass. Lemme just fix this and… cool, see the CoffeeScript’s already been rebuilt and boom, that shit passes let’s go to lunch fuck JavaScript amiritelol.”


She was nowhere to be found, of course. She had been summarily killed and replaced with a suitably disposable Creator. Her screams of agony briefly echoed, but they too would quickly fade away. Her last tranquil thought before the searing pain ripped through her had been a fantasy, really: she imagined how pleased The Developer would be once they saw what she had built for them.

She smiled and considered it the most pleasant thought she had ever thought.