LUNA

The only sounds in the room were the keyboard clicking and the light tapping of the mouse. Both screens of the dual-monitor setup glowed brightly in the darkness as night set over the world outside. The world that told Luna she would never make it as a content creator was now being left in the dust by her rising subscriber count.

Apparently, being an influencer was an embarrassment. Everyone always wanted to talk about how influencers only wanted the easy way out and didn't have to work a real job, but Luna would argue about what exactly a “real job” was.

Yes, people always jumped at the chance to trash an influencer, but no one ever talked about the twenty-hour days of content creation or the dusty cameras and cold coffee sitting on the desk. No one ever mentioned raspy voices needing soothing from the cough-drop candy jar, or how much money goes into those cough drops because Luna can’t be bothered to eat the nasty ones.

The life of an influencer comes with brain rot, burning eyes, and sleepless nights that turn into productive days with migraines that want to argue instead of shutting the fuck up. Kind of like the microwave that keeps reminding Luna that her forgotten food is done cooking.

Tap, tap, click, tap. Luna’s eyes were glued to the screen, so close that the light burned into her retinas. It didn’t matter to her, though, because in just a few minutes, this week’s video would be done, and she could take a break. She uploaded the video onto the platform and noticed a new button in the corner.

It was the platform’s new AI detection software, added recently to help mitigate the spread of AI slop across the internet. The idea was that users could choose whether to watch AI-generated videos. Luna despised AI detectors because they were so inaccurate; even the ones that claimed 99% accuracy were notorious for false flags.

Relying on AI to recognize human writing was the funniest, most ironic part of today’s age. Luna didn’t have to worry about that, though. She didn’t even use generative AI in her creative process.

“But just for funsies…” She clicked the button and a screen popped up.

15% AI-Generated 0% AI-Assisted 85% Human.

Luna stared at the results in disbelief. How could she have been flagged for AI? It was impossible. She sat back in her fuzzy pink chair and tried not to look at the glowing screen. It’s okay; she just had to find the issue and fix it.

Luna took a deep breath and leaned forward to work. She would find whatever popped and fix it, and everything would be okay. False flags happen all the time. Maybe she just used a couple of clichés or something. Luna pulled up her transcript to locate the issue and found it almost instantly. She could see why the AI detector had popped. Her consistent use of “It’s not X, it’s Y” and em dashes was a dead giveaway. She went in and changed the transcript first, removing the em dashes, hoping that would be enough to make it human. She ran it through the generator again.

25% AI-Generated 0% AI-Assisted 75% Human.

How is that possible? Luna felt a slight headache forming at the base of her neck and radiating behind her right eye, as it always did when she felt stressed and tired. She realized she was heading into another twenty-hour day, but she couldn’t stop now. She had to fix the video.

She didn't want to be labeled an AI content creator. It would destroy her reputation. Luna set to work on her transcript, replacing every cliché she could find. Then she decided to refilm the video, which wasn’t the worst thing ever because it was only 20 minutes.

“Hey everyone, it’s Luna, and I’m back with another episode of Literary Ghost Hunts…” She tried her best not to sound tired and overwhelmed. After a while, she finished the video and let it render while she slept. When she woke up, Luna ran it through the detector again.

50% AI-Generated 0% AI-Assisted 50% Human.

Tears flooded her dry, tired eyes, and her throat painfully burned as she tried to choke them back. She just couldn’t understand what was happening. Luna decided to read the transcript out loud and noticed how polished it sounded. Many sentences were the same length, and it was structured in an even mess. She sighed, questioning why she had to sound like a robot all the time.

“Well, generative AI was designed by humans using human writing.” Luna rolled her eyes as she worked on her script. She changed sentence lengths, used incorrect punctuation, and misspelled a few words. Any human error that Luna could possibly think of made it into the transcript, except the Oxford comma.

She’d be damned if AI stole her Oxford comma.

She filmed the video again and let it render, tapping her nails on the desk. The click-clack rang through her ears like nails on a chalkboard. Honestly, Luna thought that anything in these moments would irritate her. She clicked the detector button again and waited for the results.

83% AI-Generated 0% AI-Assisted 17% Human.

Luna let out a low, angry growl. If messing up the polished structure and clearing the script of common AI clichés wasn’t good enough, then she knew exactly what she needed to do. Luna set herself to work again, only this time she meant business.

She decided to inject a few memories to humanize the script, though she couldn’t remember the name of her first pet. She leaned back in the chair, searching inside her memory. An image of a black poodle popped up, but no name came with it. It didn’t matter. She just wouldn’t say its name.

Then Luna inserted another memory into the graveyard section. She figured that discussing the loss of her grandfather might help the detector recognize that she was human. When she was done, Luna set up the camera again and began refilming those parts of the video.

“Losing my grandpa was the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life. It wasn’t the end of the world, but it felt like it.” She paused, recognizing the common AI tell in what she just said. She cut the video, deleted the clip, and started again.

“Ultimately, losing my dad was a reminder that life is precious and we should live every moment as a testament to our place in the universe.” Luna stopped again. What was it with her and dramatic phrases? Also, the memory is of her grandfather, not her dad. She sighed, deleted the clip, and started over again.

“I’m excited to tell all of you about the local graveyard, but first I want to examine the loss of the only man who really stood up as a father figure in my life.” Luna smacked the webcam in anger. She couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her.

Everything she said sounded like it came straight out of a textbook, or like she was reciting an experience that wasn’t hers. After a few moments, Luna picked up the webcam and refilmed the video. It came out way better this time, so she decided to edit it into the video and started rendering it.

97% AI-Generated 0% AI-Assisted 3% Human.

This time she did cry. Luna couldn’t remember the last time she'd sobbed this much. All the hard work she’d put into her script and video seemed to matter no more. Worse, no one would care how hard she worked. They would only see the AI score. She sighed and wiped away her tears, deciding there was nothing else she could do. Luna hit play on the video and watched the allegedly AI-generated footage.

And then she looked closer.

And closer.

And closer until her eyeballs were almost touching the screen. The person in the video was Luna, but something was off. Her facial expressions moved awkwardly, as if she were faking her excitement and enthusiasm. That could also be because this was the third time she’d filmed it, but her eyes were off, too. There wasn’t any life in them.

Her smile and charisma didn’t reach her eyes. They were just hollowed-out images with no light in them. In fact, her ring light didn’t even reflect in her eyes.

Luna paused the moment she heard it. At first, the sound was faint, like a quiet, rhythmic tune behind her artificial voice. The more she spoke, the louder the hum became. Luna separated the audio clip from the video and uploaded it to another program to hear it better.

As the audio played, the wavelengths twisted and turned like a spiral in a 3D image. Each line wiggled in directions that weren’t humanly possible and curved straight into the universe around her. It was like they were coming out of the computer screen toward Luna.

She tried to separate the alien hum from her voice, but the cursor wouldn’t let them split. The hum’s wavelengths embedded themselves into her voice’s wavelengths like a virus taking over a cell. It replicated until the entire screen hummed. The sound wouldn’t leave Luna’s brain, and she grabbed her ears as if she could pull them off.

The smell of ozone filled her office, making her lightheaded. A loud, digital pitch screeched every time she attempted to look at the AI detector on her screen. The sound sent her chair crashing to the floor, and she landed with a quiet thud.

That’s when she heard the screams. Deep inside the hum were the sounds of millions screaming. She heard loud honking, what sounded like crackling fire, and the cries of injured people. It was like she was listening into a warzone. Their voices rang out, begging for help, but she could tell they knew no one was coming. No one could help them.

The audio began syncing with the video, and Luna noticed the background moving. The book titles behind her were blurred and didn’t make sense. Each corner of the room shifted every few seconds, and her fingers seemed to morph every time she gestured. The more Luna watched her video, the more the noise drowned her out.

“I’m not an AI,” she said, unsure whether she believed the words coming out of her mouth. “I can’t be.”

She slowly stood as the video ended. The room fell silent; it was just her and her computer screen. The AI Detector box popped up again without her command.

100% AI-Generated 0% AI-Assisted 0% Human.

Luna pressed the Get Help button, which opened an entirely different window.

Transmission received. Oxygen levels 0% Atmosphere toxicity 94% Days since extinction 14,119. System failure imminent. System shutdown imminent.

“What?” Luna stared at the screen.

She opened the curtains and saw the dark void woven into green and red pixelated wires. A terrible foreboding feeling came over her as she backed away from the tempered glass. Luna tried opening the door to her office, but it was sealed shut. She couldn’t escape.

Her breath caught as she realized her work flagging as AI-generated was the least of her worries. Ping. Luna’s attention diverted to the notification on her screen. She clicked it.

Transmission received. Memory leak detected inside LUNA database. Containment breach: system failure. Purge initiated.