SCP 1471 - The Companion App

The Beginning

You, (Y/N),  are... well... you! A true testament to adequacy itself, really. Anything and everything about you can, and is, considered completely average. Height, weight, vehicle, house, all of it. Perfectly and wholly normal. Were a person to take a look at you they'd say that you're living an alright life. Your student loans are almost paid, (your parents covered most of your tuition,) your healthcare  just manages to cover what few injuries you might obtain throughout the year, and you've got an alright source of income. The life you lead could be described simply as "right down the middle."

Your job? Average. You work a stereotypical 9-5 office job for one of thousands of corporations. 

Your salary? Also average. You've been at the company for a few years, so while your pay grade is a couple steps above some of your newer colleagues, you're still a few rungs short from the top of the ladder. 

Your coworkers know, and get along with you. Sure, you're not as popular as say Dave, from accounting, and not as sought-after as Diane from Marketing, but you're at least a semi-well respected part of the company. However, you know deep down that you could (and should) be far happier for someone who's making due with what they have. But being surrounded by the success of others really hasn't helped to motivate you all that much. 

Mary, a few cubicles down from you, just had her significant other propose to her. How lovely! But you wish you had someone to love you. 

Charles, one of your juniors at work, just announced that he and his wife are having twins. Spectacular! But you wish you had someone to spend your life with. Why, even someone to just spend time with ought to be nice... 

Your manager, Patricia, just landed a date with a celebrity. Good on her! She's the talk of the office. But you wish you would have people to pay more attention to you. Overall, despite being at least somewhat well off, you couldn't  shake off that feeling. Loneliness. 

Over the course of your life you hadn't really paid much heed to whom you'd associate with, as you were always preoccupied by this or that school project, or some family member's wedding you had to go to, or homework you had to complete... Look - what I'm getting at here, is that you don't really have "friends." Sure, you have "work friends" that you exchange the same few lines of dialogue with each day, and yes, you do occasionally go out with your coworkers to a party for this or that occasion, but honestly you didn't really every spend time with people. You're a true cog in the machine. Clock in, do your work, clock out, eat, sleep, repeat.

You were stuck in this cycle. While your siblings were becoming astronauts and doctors like you once dreamed of, you were here. Work, eat, sleep. Work, eat, sleep. You were completely worn out. No motivation, no aspirations, simple living with your status quo. It weighed heavily on you. To know that those close to you were doing what you could not was like a stake through the heart. All of these events, however, helped to pave the way for what was to come.

You were at home, after a long day of work. You still got out of work at your usual time, but years of monotony can wear upon one's mind. As you slipped out of your shoes, and hung up your keys, you looked around your living room. The same as always. Lights off, your coffee table covered in dust from the lack of use, your couch crammed into the corner to hide some of the holes on the side of it, and the T.V. sat on top of the entertainment center, which was being propped up by old books. Like you, your living room had seen better days. It could use someone to take care of it, but not right now, you thought. Funny, that you'd find yourself relating more to a living room than a living, breathing person. But that's neither here nor there. 

Shuffling into your kitchen, you flipped on the lights and took a T.V. dinner out of your freezer, and tossed it into the microwave. You didn't need the box anymore,  you'd eaten the same frozen meal enough times to remember how long to heat it.

You took a seat at the table while you waited for your meal to heat up, and pulled out your phone. "I ought to charge this soon," You thought to yourself. Unlocking your phone and swiping through your plethora of entertainment apps, you realized nothing really tickled your fancy. So instead, you opened up the app store. In the search bar you typed "app for loneliness" and then chuckled softly to yourself and said aloud, "As if anything will pop up." Hitting the enter key, you waited, ready to prove yourself correct, as the loading wheel spun. Once... twice... three times...  and then there it was. One single app. MalO ver1.0.0. Puzzled, you tapped on the app to read its description.

It read; "Never settle for those awkward feelings of being alone ever again. MalO is an exciting and interactive experience that will keep you engaged and intrigued. The anxiety of social situations can be nerve-racking, but after just a few hours of MalO you will soon forget all about those painful emotions of disappointment. Be part of the new craze that is quickly becoming the next social substitute. Remember, the more you participate, the more MalO will engage you. Your experience is completely up to you. Absolutely NO ADS. Enjoy!"

You thought it strange that there were no reviews, nor any listed developer, but this app had piqued your curiosity, and you weren't about to start questioning things now. You'd had enough of the "same ol' same ol'" for once. 

Claiming to have no ads, and to help your social life, you shrugged and tapped download. As the app was only 9.8MB, you didn't have to wait long, and soon enough the "Uninstall" and "Open" buttons were there. You tapped the open button. Nothing happened. Not the first time your phone didn't register a tap. So you tapped open again. And once more, nothing happened. "Maybe it's just lagging." You thought. So you gave it a few seconds before tapping open again. Yet still, nothing happened. Frustrated now, you decided to give the app one final chance before you'd uninstall it out of spite. So one last time, you tapped open. And one last time, nothing happened. 

Now fed up with this rogue app, you tapped uninstall. But to your dismay, just like when you tapped the open button, nothing happened. Tapping "Uninstall" frivolously now, you became worried that you may have downloaded a virus onto your phone. Going to your home screen didn't cause anything to change, so you just locked your phone and sighed as you set it aside. It was perfect timing, too, as the microwave beeped, heralding the finalization of your microwave dinner. Returning to your well-worn path of repetition, you promptly forgot about MalO, and began your routine once more. 

After a few hours of soullessly lounging about your abode, you prepared to head for bed. Throwing your dirty clothing in your laundry hamper, you threw on a loose T-Shirt as you trudged towards your bathroom to brush your teeth. 

As you stood there, half-heartedly brushing your not-so pearly whites, you heard it. One singular ding, emanating from your bedroom. Spitting out your toothpaste and rinsing your mouth with a cup of water, your poked your head curiously back into your bedroom, looking towards your phone that now was silent on your night stand. The screen was lit up, and on your lock screen you saw something you'd only seen before when your boss needed to tell you about a schedule change: a text message.

You walked on over to your phone, picking it up and unplugging it from its charging cable, so you could better level it to see who and texted you and why. Unlocking your phone you opened your text message app to see that you had one new text from an unidentified phone number. No name, no number, just a blank space. Tapping on that new notification, you were brought into this conversation with a stranger. The message you received was a single picture, and one that caused your heart to skip a beat and your blood to run cold. There, on your phone, from an unknown person, was a picture of your empty office cubicle.