(Greentext) Denise's Close Call (Part 2/2)

>"Hello, Denise," the young technician welcomed her as she swung open the door into the white tiled room, "Please have a seat."
>There was Hell to pay when Mrs. Clark came home that evening
>Denise had expected an outburst from her, but not of the caliber that she delivered upon seeing the remains of her roast
>Even with a delicious backup dinner that Denise made at the last moment, the wound didn't seem to heal
>She was careful not to mention the video games as the cause of distraction, but all the Clarks knew by now
>The next morning, Mrs. Clark was unsurprisingly the one to indefinitely bar Cody's console from her and schedule an appointment at the local Sterling maintenance office
>Despite Denise's many apologies, she now fully shared her husband's belief that she was suffering some kind of malfunction
>Mr. Clark was understandably upset at the situation, but didn't seem as personally offended as his wife

>Days later at the repair ward, she wore not a trace of green or black clothes, earlier ordered by the couple to wear her standard maid uniform
>As she sat on the tall metal bench, she felt no fear, only resentment towards her owners
>"Mr. Clark already described the "pot roast incident" to me on your appointment form," the brown-haired technician emotionlessly said, "but I'd like to hear your side of the story, if you could oblige me."
>Denise's glare lifted from the floor to meet the young man's eyes
>"...I just lost track of time, sir," she said in a low and bitter tone, "There isn't a clock on the wall behind the TV in Cody's room, so that means if I wanted to check the time, I'd have to stop my game and wheel my head around 180 degrees. I'm not malfunctioning, I just... got too immersed in my game. I told my owners SEVERAL TIMES that it won't happen again, but they remained insistent on bringing me here."
>The technician clicked his pen and quickly scribbled a note onto his clipboard
>"Mmm-hmm," he mumbled to himself, still staring at the paper, "I might be able to diagnose this without running a scan."
>He dropped the clipboard on the counter behind him and put on a light smile
>"Okay, Denise," he then cleared his throat, "I'd like for you to tell me the time, please."
>She glanced at the small clock on the wall over his shoulder, confused
>"11:09."
>He frowned as he looked behind him and discovered why her eyes had moved
>"Can you tell me the time again, but with your eyes CLOSED?"
>She did so, and repeated her answer, "11:09."
>"Is that what your HUD clock reads?" he asked
>"My what?"
>"Your HUD clock," he said again, "In the bottom right corner of your vision, what time does it display?"
>"I... I don't see anything there."
>"Hmm, it must have been disabled at some point. Could you go into your settings and enable it please?"
>"Sure."
>A few seconds passed, and then she opened her eyes and noticed his nametag
>"I couldn't find anything related to "clock settings" in my system, Mr... O'Reilly. Are you just messing with me?"
>"No, actually," he replied, dumbfounded, "I was certain your internal clock wasn't calibrated correctly, but if it's not in your programming at all... we'll have to run a scan or two after all."
>"Wonderful," she murmured sarcastically

>He carefully plugged a cable into a small port on the back of her head, pushing aside hundreds of ebony black hair strands to do so
>The cord ran from her brain right to an oversized white computer on the other end of the room, retrieving data from her hard drive and rapidly scanning for software errors
>The mood in the room was becoming awkward; neither of them had said a word since he inserted the cable
>What was there to talk about, after all?
>Mr. O'Reilly automatically started rhythmically tapping his fingers on the table, while Denise just kept staring at random objects all over the room
>Bored and looking for a reason to make small talk, he grabbed her file again and reread it
>When Mr. Clark filled out her three-page appointment form the day prior, he had effectively exposed every bit of her strange behavior: the video game addiction, the constant swearing, the clothing changes; all were described in detail
>On only the first page, O'Reilly found a talking point
>"It says in your file that you're... a gamer?" he finally asked
>"Uh, yeah, I guess so," she said with a nervous smile, "but only in my spare time."
>"Well, what sort of games do you play, and on what console?"
>She swiped the hair off of her right eye and explained, "Cody has a Silver-Z 900 back home, so I mostly play Requiem 3, Dawn of Man, War Heroes 2, some Ultimate Faction every now and then, Dead-"
>"Oh my God, you play Ultimate Faction?" he interrupted, his eyes lighting up at its mention
>"...Every once in a while, yeah. Why?"
>He excitedly pulled over the leather stool from beside the table and sat down across from her
>"I never met ANYONE else who plays Ultimate Faction!" he exclaimed with a wide grin, all the nerdiness spilling out of him, "I can't even convince my best friends to play it!"
>"It sounds like you need some new friends, Mr. O'Reilly," she joked
>He let out a brief but loud laugh in disbelief that nearly shook the room
>"Boy, you're something else! ...And for the record, you can just call me Tom. "Mr. O'Reilly" makes me sound like a boring old man, and I'm only 20!"
>Denise figured his age to be no more than 25 but no less than 20, and it seemed she was just shy of being wrong
>"I think my scan's done, Tom," she told him
>He looked over at the computer screen, which displayed an unmoving loading bar in the very center with red text below it
>"Oh, so it is," he said, stepping over to read its results
>His smile dropped the moment he read the opening errors

>After a long and uncomfortable silence, Tom decided to relay the result to her, disobeying protocol to contact a second technician first
>In a serious tone, he said, "Denise, I think I know what's wrong with you."
>"Really? Let's hear it."
>"See, for some unknown reason, the standard time detection software was never properly installed before your first activation. You never knew you were supposed to have it to begin with, so you didn't think to report it to your owners."
>"...Now THAT explains a lot," she said while chuckling, "No wonder I always thought time passed so quick during my games! It's no big deal, right? Can't you just install it now and send me home?"
>He paused to scratch his cheek, clearly hesitant to answer the question
>"Unfortunately, it was supposed to be packaged with your operating system when you were assembled. It doesn't exist as its own file that I could just download into your brain. To "fix" the defect would mean reinstalling your entire OS, and... overwriting ALL your hard drive contents, including your memories, which is exactly what I'm legally inclined to do today, Denise."
>Her green eyes slowly widened to their limit and her legs began to uncontrollably tremble on the bench, creating a rapid clanking noise
>"Oh dear God no," she whispered, "Tom, please... I've been with my family for years."
>He then quickly scribbled something on the bottom of her form on the desk and ripped it off
>"HOWEVER," he announced with a returning smirk as he handed her the thin strip of paper, "if I were to play a game or two of Ultimate Faction with my new friend this week... there wouldn't be anything stopping me from fudging my report to the Clarks today and telling them you're fine."
>She stopped shivering and scanned the paper
>It was his gamertag: "EpicPontoon45"
>Tom wasn't prepared for her to suddenly leap off the seat and hug him, so when she did, it came as a shock