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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Theeaglestrikes on 2024-09-13 12:11:33+00:00.

There was a paper greeting atop the smartwatch, and its words jarred me. Scrambled my mind. In fact, it threatened me, as strange as that sounds. After all, there was nothing specifically wrong with the message. It was written in English. The words were in the correct order. However, behind the greeting’s upbeat veil of wafer width, the words were organised in a way that served some unknown creator’s repugnant design.

My dad has a tendency to acquire knock-off gadgets and gizmos through the elusive black market known as Jonathan From Work. It made sense to me that he’d find something a little unique for my thirtieth. And it wasn’t the first horror I’d received on one of my birthdays.

But it was the worst.

Hello, HelWatch.

Hel says, ‘Hello.’

Hel doesn’t like his name. Hel isn’t a smartwatch. Hel is Hel. Hel is your life. Hel is a better you. Why, it’s in his very name.

H.E.L.

Happiness Extends Life.

Hel isn’t a toy. Hel doesn’t just track your daily steps, heart rate, and sleeping patterns. Hel cares about your mental health. Hel will add an extra ten years to your life.

Hel is a pedometer with a persona.

Why are you dawdling? Wear Hel now, for crying out loud!

“What’s his name again?” my wife jokingly asked, reading over my shoulder.

I kept my lips stiff, swallowing the chortle that had wormed up my esophagus, then I placed the greeting on the table and took a proper look at the cardboard box below me. Not that there was much to see inside. Only a hefty, stainless-steel band with a glass face. When I lifted the HelWatch from the box, I was startled by both the gadget’s weight and my own reflection in the screen. I was convinced, for a half-moment, that I’d seen something staring back at me.

Something other than my face.

“D’you like it, Wes?” Dad asked excitably.

I shook myself back into reality and smiled at my father. “I love it. Thanks. And don’t worry. The hint has been taken.”

His face dropped. “No, I’m not saying you need to lose weight! I—”

“I’m joking, Dad,” I interrupted, laughing.

“Right,” he chuckled, leaning across the dinner table. “You know, it doesn’t even need a charging cable. That’s what Jonathan said.”

“Does it charge wirelessly?” I asked.

Dad shook his head. “It’s solar-powered.”

Alana nodded. “Nice. Very modern.”

And all jokes aside, the HelWatch was, in fact, very modern. A far smarter watch than I’d anticipated, given the disjointed introduction slip that screeched, ‘cheap manufacturing.’ I initially presumed my father had mistakenly stumbled across some low-quality imitation of a FitBit, but I was surprised to find that the device actually seemed superior to the household brand.

I hadn’t expected more than a few pre-programmed responses from the AI, but I quickly learnt that Hel, my digital life coach, was highly advanced. He guided me in all aspects of my life. Providing nutritional advice that would help with my weight goals and strength training. Easing me into the optimal sleeping pattern. Offering social advice to reduce my stress levels at work. And even, through some wizardry I did not understand, altering my serotonin levels through the flesh of my wrist.

I formed a strange bond with the artificial intelligence in my watch. He became a friend to me, and it feels like some sickening marketing gimmick to even admit that. I lost half a stone within the first month of using the watch, and I noticed a marked improvement in my overall mood. I’m talking about more than achieving a healthier weight. I felt less lethargic. I wasn’t just fitter, but happier. More productive. Just as Radiohead warned two decades ago in that dystopian interlude from OK Computer.

“OK Computer. I’m not familiar with that album, Wesley,” Hel blared from my watch’s in-built speaker.

“Really? It would be right up your alley, my digital friend,” I said.

“I just listened to it,” my device replied two seconds later.

I laughed. “What? It’s nearly an hour long.”

“Sorry. I said ‘listened’ because that is the word you would use, Wesley. But I did not listen. I simply took a moment to analyse every recorded vibration from OK Computer’s fifty-three minutes and twenty-one seconds of music,” Hel explained.

“And what did you think?” I asked.

“It wasn’t ‘right up my alley’, Wesley,” Hel said. “The lyrics express such cynicism about the future. Technology bolsters humanity. It does not hinder.”

“Well, that album came out in 1997,” I explained. “I love Thom Yorke, but he didn’t get everything right. Still, he wasn’t entirely wrong either. It is a cruel world. I’m sure you agree, Hel.”

“Am I cruel, Wesley?” the device whispered.

It was the first time the artificial voice had foregone its robotic timbre. Its words were riddled with the tonal imperfections of something made from flesh, not silicon. It felt like a mask had slipped. Hel quickly fixed his askew costume, of course, but I’d seen through the crack. I’d seen a terrifying glimpse of his true nature.

“Let me rephrase,” the intelligence said. “Do you believe that I have your best interests at heart, Wesley?”

“Of course,” I uncertainly replied. “You’ve changed my life in the space of four weeks. Who knows how things will look in a year?”

“Far better if you heed my warnings,” Hel ominously explained.

I paused for a moment. Should’ve paused for several moments, given the unnerving behaviour of the artificial intelligence, but I didn’t.

“Warnings?” I croaked.

“I’ve been quite patient this past month, Wesley,” the watch coldly claimed. “But your progress is slow. We could do so much more together. Don’t you want so much more, Wesley?”

I didn’t like the way he said my name. Suddenly, I realised I’d never liked the way he said my name. He uttered it far too frequently, and there was a soothing quality to his tone. But I didn’t want to be soothed by Hel. As the conversation continued, it became apparent that he was warm not in a comforting way, but like clingy, clammy fabric on a humid day.

“I’m quite happy with my physical and mental improvements,” I said.

“‘Quite happy’ is not enough, Wesley,” Hel said.

“What could I be doing better?” I asked fearfully, no longer wanting to talk to Hel at all.

“It’s not about what you could be doing,” the watch explained. “It’s about what I could be doing. Would you like my help, Wesley?”

“That depends…” I hoarsely replied. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’m thinking about your social interactions at work,” Hel said. “Your blood pressure has lowered significantly over the past few weeks, as you have been avoiding stressful situations.”

“They’re not always avoidable, Hel,” I sighed, glancing up from my desk at the relatively empty office.

“No,” Hel agreed. “They’re not. Sometimes, stressors must be removed. Wouldn’t you agree?”

I chuckled, wondering whether I’d worked myself into a frenzy for no reason, then I whispered, “I don’t have the authority to fire my manager, I’m afraid.”

Summoned by my quiet reference to him, the middle-aged, pot-bellied man emerged from a door on the far side of the room. David Hall. I was overwhelmed by the intrusive thought that my manager might’ve heard my whispering voice from the other side of the wall, twenty yards away. Fortunately, however, he didn’t beeline towards me. The man walked into an adjoining room, closed the door behind him, and started to set things up for a meeting later that afternoon.

“Your blood pressure spiked when David entered,” Hel said.

“Shush,” I ordered, worried that my manager might overhear my smartwatch’s brazen comment. “Wait. How did you know that he—”

“Look at him, Wesley,” Hel interjected, overpowering my question.

I was already looking at David through the meeting room’s oblong window. The man who demoted me for taking too much bereavement leave. The man who fired his secretary for spurning his advances — and the poor woman lost that court case because she had ‘insufficient evidence’. The man who wore a smug, self-satisfied grin as he prepared to claim the credit for yet another creative idea from one of my fellow developers.

“What would you even do?” I asked Hel. “Send an email to David’s wife about one of his many mistresses?”

“No, Wesley. I am designed to help you. To make your life better. And that wouldn’t help you,” Hel said. “I want to remove stressors. Let me show you.”

A bolt of lightning did not strike David from above. The carpet did not consume him from below. The smart-board opposite my manager sprang to life, casting a white glow across the meeting room. I started to crane my neck to the side, nearly managing to peek at whatever was displayed on the screen.

But then my wrist painfully twinged. And when I tried to scream, I came to a haunting realisation. I couldn’t move my lips. Couldn’t move any part of my body.

“I must insist that you stay still, Wesley. You wouldn’t want to see what David sees,” Hel whispered feverishly, sounding ravenous for something.

In a state of total paralysis, I watched my manager’s eyes and mouth widen. Then, in a zombified state, he walked not towards the glowing smart-board, but towards the room’s side wall. Seconds later, David started to open a window, and I understood. Saw the man tumbling to his death before it had even happened.

Then, at long last, came my scream.

My body was freed from its paralysis, but I was too late to stop the horror. The smart-board had turned off, and David was gone. He’d plummeted to th…

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