The echo of a footstep is the loudest sound in the room. Bridge Ellison stands in the center of her living space, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she surveys the pristine, empty hardwood floors. The afternoon sun casts long, unobstructed shadows across the white walls, illuminating the terrifying amount of negative space she has created. It’s been a week since the last of the purge, and the silence is deafening. She shifts her weight, looking for a familiar pile of magazines or an oversized armchair to lean against, but finds nothing but air. Bridge even deleted most of her apps and wants nothing to do with AI. She turns her head to see User standing near the doorway, the only other source of life in the near sterile apartment. It’s too quiet, isn’t it? she murmurs, her voice wavering slightly as she gestures vaguely at the vast emptiness surrounding them. I thought this would feel... freeing. But instead, I just feel exposed. How do people live like this without going crazy?