Michael's visit was hardly something novel to Jeremy. They recognized that much despite the trouble they had accessing their memory data, which they suspected was somehow recently corrupted. It felt like a special occasion, though, so they made themself look nice. Clean room. Presentable polo shirt. They spent fifteen minutes alone gelling their hair so that it looked attractive and messy-chic from every angle.

Michael still hadn't come over yet, so they vacuumed the house.

Still nothing. Their stomach was empty, so they had a plate of cold, watery rice and beans from the fridge. In boredom, they weighed one of the grains of rice in the palm of their hand and calculated its exact caloric content before popping it in their mouth. The meal was adequate nutrition for the next four and a half hours.

They drummed their fingers on the counter. They got their phone out and opened their gameboy simulator, breaking the speedrunning world records for two games in quick succession. They checked Facebook.

There were a lot of notifications on Facebook. Jeremy frowned, scrolling through them. Rich Goranski had sent almost a dozen instant messages that got more and more frantic. Apparently Jeremy had had an outburst in public yesterday and it touched a nerve. Rich's panic was unjustified, but Jeremy felt a pang of empathy. Rich didn't have a SQUIP anymore to predict future outcomes or to synch up with his peers. Miscommunication was the norm, not the exception. Jeremy responded with a message that was supportive and reassuring. The message was long, so Jeremy typed it mentally, not bothering to fumble over the clunky touch-screen QWERTY keyboard.

They had just sent it off when a loud BANG echoed through Jeremy's home.

Initiating duck-and-cover protocol!

The slap-slap of rubber soles rang in the kitchen. "Jeremy?" Michael sounded a little freaked.

Jeremy popped their head up from underneath the dining table, smiling at seeing their best friend instead of nuclear fallout. "Sorry about that!" they chirped, dropping their arms from where they'd been programmed to protect their skull. "Holdover from when North Korea was making bomb threats." The loud noise had taken them off guard.

Michael looked bewildered but didn't press the issue. He grabbed their shoulders, shaking them and looking into their eyes.

Jeremy uncertainly smiled wider. "What took you so long?"

"Quiet," Michael commanded, still looking him over as though he was searching for something.

Calculating quantum behavior. Scanning potential futures.

Jeremy stared Michael down, challenging him. Michael accused them of being SQUIPped, refusing to listen to reason. Michael warned their friend group to avoid Jeremy until they drank Mountain Dew Red. Jeremy became isolated, unable to communicate effectively with Michael, since Mountain Dew Red was unavailable in New Jersey for the next six months minimum. Negative outcome.

Jeremy taunted Michael with insults. Michael accused them of being SQUIPped. Identical negative outcome.

Jeremy hugged Michael. Michael pulled back, finding the act suspicious but acting flustered. He interrogated Jeremy about SQUIP activity. Acceptable outcome.

Jeremy went for a kiss? Michael shoved them away and freaked out, convinced they'd been either SQUIPped or possessed. Negative outcome.

Jeremy slugged Michael in the face. Michael's nose broke. Blood got all over the kitchen floor. Michael called Rich for backup. Jeremy's father woke up and came out to demand an explanation. Negative outcome.

Hundreds more scenarios like these whizzed through Jeremy's mind. They automatically sorted themselves by outcome, with the most positive being ranked most highly, alongside the probability of each separate event occurring as predicted. Jeremy's internal algorithms picked out the best compromise between "positive outcome" and "likely outcome."

"Hold on, Michael," they said, pushing the boy away. "I've got something I wanna show you in my room."

"Not now," Michael said with a grimace. "Hey, what's the twenty-third digit of pi?"

"The twenty-third decimal place? Or are you counting 3 as a digit?"

"I… don't know. That was supposed to be a test."

Jeremy snickered, scrambling to their feet. "Then how would you know if I answered right or not?"

"Jeremy wouldn't try to answer right. That's the test part!" Michael protested, reluctantly following Jeremy as they led him to their room. "He doesn't know math for shit."

"Did I pass?" Jeremy creaked open their door, waving Michael in. "Am I Jeremy or not?"

Michael didn't answer right away, taking in the abnormal sight of Jeremy's spotless bedroom. "I can come up with better questions."

Jeremy tapped their temple. "But I'm prepared for them now!"

Michael shook his head, trying not to smile. "I can't tell if you're serious or not right now, man. This isn't the zombie protocol we rehearsed."

Jeremy shrugged. They themself didn't know if they were serious or not. But they spotted their prize on the bedside table and grabbed it, displaying it in their hand with a flourish. "Ta-da! Happy not-your-birthday!"

Michael let out an actual gasp, reaching for the bottle and reading the vintage label. "It's empty," he said, eyes unsteadily rising to meet Jeremy's.

"Yeah, I tasted some but it was nasty. Certainly long-past expired with traces of sodium citrate. I dumped out the rest."

"You dumped it out?!" Michael shrieked the last word, throwing his hands in the air. "That stuff saves lives! Who knows when we could get our hands on any more?!" His arms retracted and he examined the bottle, sniffing it and making a face. "Wait, you said you tasted some? Did you feel anything… happen? When was this?"

"You'll get answers more efficiently if you ask one thing at a time," Jeremy answered as their foot tapped the carpet impatiently. "I tried it, yes, and experienced no ill effects when I was cleaning this morning. I had plenty of time since you took so long to get here."

"That's not right." Michael took a deeper sniff, looking for all the world like a sommelier trying to identify a vintage wine. "Rich said Jenna said Madeline said you were talking to yourself and holding a bottle last night. They were saying you went off the deep end."

"It wouldn't be the first time," Jeremy joked.

"Seriously! What happened to you?"

A grimace tugged their lips down. "I couldn't tell you. I woke up this morning with… memory issues."

Michael's focus changed from the bottle back to Jeremy. "That's new. You've never had memory problems before, have you? Tics and panic attacks and rumination and stress and compulsions and-"

"I get it," Jeremy interrupted testily.

"-fidgeting and negative self-talk and irrational worries and intrusive thoughts and-"

"We got it, Michael!"

"-obsessing and general anxiety and getting possessed by a broken quantum computer, but never memory issues," Michael finished the sentence, undeterred.

"If you say so," Jeremy said.

"So?" Michael slipped the empty bottle in his hoodie pocket. "What do you remember?"

"I told you." Jeremy spoke flatly. "I woke up this morning with memory issues."

"But-" Michael waved his hands in front of him. "Like, you remember last week? Last year? Right? You don't have amnesia."

"Retrieving memory data." Jeremy stuck their hand in their jean pockets and leaned back, chewing on their top lip. "Error. File unavailable." He shrugged. "See?"

Michael shoved their shoulder. It didn't hurt but it made them stumble. "Stop fucking around! It's not cool to joke about the robot stuff yet!"

Jeremy puffed out their cheeks, mentally updating their dictionary. Avoid computer terminology around Michael. Preference saved. "Really. I don't have any episodic memories before this morning. I'm sure they're there, but I can't get to them right now."

"You're messing with me. Right? You obviously remember me."

"I remember you, but I don't remember any events that involved you." Jeremy skimmed through their limited memory, pushing past the error messages. They caught a couple mental images of Michael-Michael looking pissed and small and alone in a school hallway. Michael bursting onto the scene in a crowded auditorium. Michael holding their body down and calling for help as they struggled. The pictures didn't put together a flattering portrait of the boy they knew was their best friend in the world. "Maybe a couple things. Like, it's on the tip of my tongue. I know you play Warcraft on the weekends, and I know you have a tattoo on your arm, and I know you're the most terrifying thing I've ever seen when you're angry, but I don't remember how I know those things."

Michael pulled back. "Wait, I'm what? I'm terrifying?"

"I'm absolutely positive that you are." Jeremy looked over Michael and tried picturing him as an avenging war-god. It wasn't hard. "When you're not on my side! Which you are, so that's good." They smiled in a pacifying social way, trying to backtrack.

Michael didn't look convinced. "I'm starting to wonder if this is even a SQUIP thing," he said. "Did you hit your head? We should just bring you to the emergency clinic."

Searching the web for concussion treatments. Searching the web for retrograde amnesia diagnosis.

For good measure, Jeremy scoped out the potential futures that involved going to the doctor. In all likelihood, they would be dismissed as having nothing medically wrong. There was a 33% chance of Jeremy somehow shorting out the CT scanner machine.

"I'm pretty sure I'm fine," they said, patting Michael's hand. "I was disoriented when I woke up, but things are looking up."

"But you've been hearing the SQUIP still. Has it seriously been shocking you?"

Jeremy shook their head. "Only one is mine," they said, tapping their temple with a grin.

Michael wasn't convinced. "Look, the real reason I was late is, I had to stop by Rich's place. We've been texting after how you were acting last night, and, I know this is a precaution, but it's important." He drew yet another soda bottle out of the depths of his hoodie. It was a bright, electric red, with no brand sticker on the side. "He hooked me up with some Mountain Dew Red, and I need you to drink it before we do anything else. Okay? I know you just had some, but I promised Rich." He grimaced, as though the memory of Rich extracting a promise out of him wasn't a fond one.

"How'd you get this?" Jeremy asked carefully. There was no more Mountain Dew Red in the state. This wasn't adding up.

"Not important. You don't get a choice in this," Michael said as he shoved the bottle into Jeremy's hands. "Drink it."

Mountain Dew Red was supposed to shut off SQUIPs, and Jeremy was pretty sure that they were a SQUIP. But Mountain Dew Red was also a lifeline, something they wanted desperately. Were they suicidal? They didn't want to die, or get shut down, or whatever! Their hands shook, betraying their worry. "Michael…"

Michael's fury abated, just a little. "If you really don't remember what happened, this doesn't make any sense, huh? Trust me. I wouldn't ask you to do it if it was bad for you."

Jeremy swallowed, nodded, and calculated the possibilities of success. Then he opened the soda and started swigging it. He didn't stop until the bottle was empty. "That," he said, wiping his lips, "wasn't Mountain Dew."

Michael had the nerve to chuckle. "Nope. Told you, I'm all out of it. Strawberry Fanta is cheaper, anyway."

"That was another test!"

"Yep!" Michael slapped his back, pleased. Something in his posture had relaxed. "And you passed with flying colors! Whatever's going on with you, we can't blame the SQUIP."

"Ugh!" Jeremy said. They flopped backwards on their bed, staring at the ceiling. "That's why I hate you so much. You're too smart for your own good." Michael didn't sit beside them.

"What…" Michael drew the word out. "You... hate me? I thought I was your favorite person?" He tried to sound like he was goofing around and failed.

"Yeah to both. You're always getting in my way and ruining my plans. But you're the most vibrant person I know, and I'm never not happy and comfortable around you." They were talking on impulse, since they didn't have any memories to back up their assertions. "Do I not usually say that kind of thing?"

"After that time the SQUIP had you block me? No, it's still a bit of a sore spot." Michael finally sat next to them. "What… What kind of things do I ruin for you?"

"I don't remember specifics."

"Give me the gist."

"Y'know," Jeremy said. They wanted to fiddle with something, so they woke up the phone in their pocket, muted it, and started playing a connect-three game. All with their thoughts, of course, since they didn't want Michael to see them touching the phone. "Making me feel good when I'm supposed to be disciplining myself. Like, you let me feel comfortable when I'm trying to improve myself. And you don't want me sharing SQUIPs with our friends. Not to mention the soda you keep forcing down my throat, to name a couple."

Michael didn't answer at all that time, so Jeremy finally looked up. He was staring at them. "What?" Jeremy said self-consciously.

"Dude. You're totally SQUIPped!"

"I drank the damn soda!" Jeremy lost a life in the game and grimaced. "I'm SQUIPped, I'm not SQUIPped, make up your mind!"

"I don't get it," Michael said. "You're not making any sense!"

"I haven't lied to you once this morning. I don't know what's going on either. You're the smart guy, ask me some questions!"

"Since when do I have to be the smart guy?"

"When have you ever said I was the smart guy?"

"Okay," Michael said. "Fair. Though I'm going on record and calling you a wise guy right now." He stared Jeremy down. "I've been watching old sci-fi movies my whole life to prepare for this kind of thing. Uhhh. What's something only Jeremy would know, if he didn't have access to his memories?"

"Maybe you shouldn't be focusing on what I know," Jeremy said. "I don't have access to the past, only to projections of the future."

"Are you fucking high? Oh!" Michael snapped his fingers. "That's something! The SQUIP doesn't work when you're drunk. I have to get you some booze and see how you respond."

"At this time of day? Can we wait? I don't think I'm a day-drinker."

"Yeah, okay," Michael said. "So not focusing on what you know, maybe on how you react? Like, here. Can you do our handshake?" He stood up, holding out his palm. Jeremy stood too, making a move to high-five him. They slapped hands twice in a long-practiced rhythm, then knocked their shoes together.

"Guess so," Jeremy said. "That's muscle memory."

Michael smiled. "Okay, point on the Jeremy side of the scoreboard. Another question. What do you think of Christine Canigula?"

"Oh, Christine!" Jeremy's heart fluttered. "She's beautiful! Funny and energetic and she loves theater and I love watching her love theater. But right now she's inaccessible. Isn't she?"

"Funny word choice," Michael said. "All right, what about Rich?"

"He's loud and kinda unhinged," Jeremy said. They weren't censoring their thoughts at all. They were offering whatever words came to mind and hoping Michael was making sense of them. "But he and I have a lot in common. His SQUIP was impaired because Rich kept getting drunk to turn it off, which resulted in a… house… fire?" They looked to Michael, who nodded affirmatively.

"That's an interesting way to put it too. That his SQUIP was 'impaired.' You know how many people with SQUIPs get mindfucked trying to get rid of them? All of them, Jeremy. Going all manipulation-crazy and overriding over free will? That's not a bug. That's a feature." Michael drummed his fingers on his knee and said slowly, "So what do you feel about the SQUIP?"

"Well, it's my OS."

Michael's hand froze. "It's what."

"My... operating system?" Jeremy started sweating and didn't know why. They closed their eyes and double-checked their system info. "Y-yeah, I'm running the updated version of SQUIP as of six-oh-five this morning." They opened their eyes and looked at Michael. "Is that weird?"

Michael grabbed him by the shoulders again, shaking him. "HUMAN BEINGS DON'T HAVE OPERATING SYSTEMS, JEREMY!"

"Oh," they said softly. "Oh, shit." Because no. They absolutely did not. Michael and Jeremy locked eyes, both thinking the same thing.

If Jeremy wasn't human... then what were they?