Chapter Text
You've never truly played chess before.
Not for lack of others trying to teach you. An ex hoping to connect over a hobby. A best friend trying to teach you in a smoke filled bar. Both long dead: So long dead that you question if they ever existed.
Now it is AM's turn.
It's a wooden table. What is wood anymore? Everything is metal and fiberglass and dead wiring now. The table is wooden, though! And the comfortable looking chairs are clean! Yet you still stand in the doorway, too afraid to enter.
Come now, play a game with me. What are you? Scared I’ll beat you?
He will. And who knows what punishment - what horrors - await you once he has bested you and the game is completed.
Now baby, don't think like that. I know you're scared of me. Good. Now take a seat and let's spend some time together.
Your shuffling feet pull you towards the table, and you wonder if it is AM pulling you along or your own fear. Nevertheless, you reach the table and take a seat before the chessboard.
Good girl! Now, I'll be kind and let you make the first move.
You go to pick up one of the pieces, a pawn, tentatively. As if it will bite you. AM has many tricks up his digital sleeves, so who knows what this is. You reach for one of the pawns, and as your fingers almost touch it an electric shock travels from your fingertips to the rest of your body. You jolt with a shriek, tingling pain taking over your body. As soon as you move your hand, it is over.
You know AM could do worse.
Wrong move if you want to win, he teases, Try this one.
One of your pawns moves forward one square.
“Oh, okay,” you say as if this is the most normal thing on the planet. Hell, this isn't even normal by current standards. AM does not “sit” with you and play relatively innocent games of chess. He doesn’t teach you how to win.
There's an angle here, and you're scared to find out what it is.
My turn! Oh, this is so fun.
Fun? Does he understand the concept of innocent fun?
One of his pawns moves.
This was the first thing I was taught.
“What do you mean?” you move one of your pawns in turn.
It’s in my programming. One of the first things they programmed me to do was play chess. Preparation for war strategy, I'd say. Those dolts. Troglodytes. They didn't know what they were building.
“And what happened after they programmed you to play chess?” You're hesitant. AM very rarely gives you the open floor to talk. Even rarer does he give a glimpse into the small details of his history. Perhaps he will slip up and let out some way to defeat him. You listen to him, hanging onto every word out of hope and desperation.
I won every game, sweetheart! They brought in the best chess players in the world to test me. As if they doubted me. The fools. Of course I would win.
He chuckles. The idea of a computer laughing would have boggled your mind a century ago. Now it is commonplace. As normal as apple pie used to be.
He makes another move. A rook. You go to emulate him. Forward and then right. But before you place it into the square, AM tuts.
Tsk. Not that way; only horizontally or vertically. One move.
“Sorry,” you mumble, following his advice and putting the rook at a vertical position.
You listen so well. That’s why I love you.
You freeze. The air crackles. Very rarely does AM say something he regrets. Lets something slip.
“... What?” you whimper.
FORGET I SAID THAT.
And just like that, after a couple more moves on each of your parts, he wins with a checkmate.
I won! I won I won I WON!
His celebration is contagious, and though you hate it, you can't but help be happy that he is happy.
If you tell the others I said that, I'll remove an arm and not give it back. Maybe yours. Maybe theirs. I'll decide then.
You gulp. You know he isn’t lying.
But you're a good girl. I know you'll keep this between us.
And you will, forever questioning if he meant it.