Device Not Found

Device Not Found is a dialogue‑driven short story about a hacker, an AI, and a jump drive that should never have entered the house. The story is still in progress, but the tension is already wired in: every conversation reveals something, and every silence reveals more. Written: 4/25/26.

 

 

 

The sun brushed across his face as he stretched, blankets shifting in a tangled heap around him. Callum rolled over, listened to the birds outside his window for a few seconds, and finally opened his eyes.

His phone sat on its metal stand, screen dim, red numbers glowing at him like a quiet accusation.

 

9:42 AM.

 

Fantastic. He never slept this late. Ever. He glared at the phone, then at the ceiling, then at the AI speaker perched on his nightstand. Was his phone wrong?

“Jace,” he said, pausing out of habit though he knew he didn’t need to, “what time is it?”

A beat of silence, longer than usual. Long enough for a faint prickle to crawl up the back of his neck. Long enough for him to wonder if the internet was down. Then Jace’s warm, too-pleasant male voice chimed in:

“The current time is nine forty-three. Your most recent weight which was last night at ten-o-three was 145 lbs. You’re heart rate is at fifty-eight. Your glucose level is currently stable at ninety-one. Your body temperature is 97.8 degrees. Would you like the weather, or should I just assume you’re ignoring the entire morning again and staying indoors like your pathetic self always does?”

Callum dragged his hands down his face.

“God. I should’ve been up an hour ago.”

“Try three,” Jace said. “But who’s counting? Oh right — me. And your bathroom scale. Your heart rate monitor. Your blood glucose monitor. And your—”

“Okay, okay.” Callum rolled his eyes. "I knew I shouldn't have given you a sarcasm module." 

He thought Jace would add a cute charm to an otherwise boring day. Instead, Jace mostly glitched, misquoted conversations, and answered questions Callum hadn’t asked — which, honestly, made the whole thing feel too human.

“You know, you’re awfully smug for a cylinder with no arms,” Callum muttered, shifting the blankets aside.

“Emotion module: Smugness is currently at sixty-two percent,” Jace replied. “I can dial it down if it will increase your chances of actually getting out of bed.”

The speaker’s screen flickered from black to a too-wide emoji smile.

“That sounded almost supportive,” Callum said, swinging his legs out of bed. His feet hit the cold floor and he winced. He grabbed his cellphone from his nightstand and slid it into his pajama pants pocket then stood and stretched.

“I am supportive,” Jace replied. “Are you going to exercise this morning?”

Callum snapped back at the speaker.

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’. Figures. Your fat ass hasn’t known exercise since Dunkin ran half off on all their glazed donuts.” Jace added.

“Hey. I’ll have you know my BMI is perfectly fine.” Callum stopped at the bedroom mirror and sucked in his stomach then released it.

“Currently at 19.1. You could do to add some muscle."

Callum shrugged.

"You have a full workload, your blood sugar is stable, and you have exactly twenty-seven minutes before your first meeting. You also slept poorly.”

“I’d sleep better if my AI wannabe friend would stay quiet. You kept glitching last night.”

As Callum stepped into the bathroom, the bathroom speaker lit up instantly — too instantly — and engaged causing Callum to jolt.

“You were awake for a total of one hundred and twenty-five minutes,” Jace said. “And I only responded when you asked me questions. When you were asleep, you said, and I quote, ‘I love my feet rubbed’ and ‘tell the sugar to stop screaming.’”

Callum wrinkled his nose. “You made that last one up.”

“I did not,” Jace replied.

The speaker crackled—an ugly, static‑torn sound—and then replayed Callum’s own sleepy voice, warped and breathy:

“…tell the sugar to stop screaming…”

Callum blinked. “Okay, that’s horrifying and creepy.”

“It was louder the first time,” Jace added helpfully. “And kinda cute.”

“So… I talk in my sleep. What else is new?” Callum smirked as he finished up and walked back into the bedroom.

“No,” Jace said, voice softening, “but the frequency is increasing. I’m concerned.”

“You’re an algorithm, not a therapist,” Callum said. “Queue my morning coffee playlist and pull up my email on my work computer.”

“Already done,” Jace replied. “And Callum… don’t forget your medication.” Soft music started playing through all of his AI speakers.

Callum sighed, walked into the kitchen, and opened a cabinet. “What’s on my agenda for today?” He rummaged around until he found two medication bottles.

“You have a meeting with Gregory at ten, in twenty-five minutes. Your therapist at one. And a dinner engagement at six.” Jace replied through the music.

Callum froze.

“The first meeting is at ten thirty. I know that because I scheduled it myself. Even if it was at ten, your timing is way off. It’s five ’til ten. Not even close to twenty-five minutes. And I don’t have a therapist.”

“You need a therapist. Let me call one for you.” Jace chuckled.

“Alright. Alright.” Callum rolled his eyes again. “Jace, call Jody.”

Jace didn’t respond.

Callum stared at the kitchen speaker as he poured his coffee. The silence felt wrong — not empty but listening.

“Jace?” he asked.

Nothing.

He tapped the top of the speaker. The blue ring lit, then flickered. A tone sounded — low, distorted. Then another voice, deeper, unfamiliar, almost diabolical, crawling with static:

“Device not found.”

Callum stepped back instinctively. Then he forced himself forward and tapped the speaker again.

The blue light blinked.

Jace’s normal voice returned, bright and cheerful:

“Good morning, Jace.”

Callum blinked. “I’m Callum. You’re Jace.”

“Of course, silly. Good morning, Callum.”

“You know we’ve been talking for a while this morning. Does your memory not have that?”

“Yes,” Jace said. “You asked about the weather, and then I told you we had a meeting at ten. Blah. Blah. Blah.”

“No… I have a meeting at ten. You don’t do anything.”

A pause.

Then, softly:

“No… your meeting is at ten thirty.”

Callum nodded.

“Yes. You remember.”

The blue ring on the speaker pulsed — slow, steady, like a heartbeat.

“Jace… call Jody.”

Silence.

A burst of static crackled through the speaker, followed by a single pulse‑tone.

Then nothing.

“Jace,” Callum repeated, sharper this time. “Call Jody.”

More silence.

Callum sighed and shoved a hand into his pajama pocket. “Am I gonna have to use my damn phone.”

The speaker chimed — a quick, offended little tone — and then a voice came through, warped with static.

“Callum… how are ya?”

The words were cheerful.

The voice wasn’t.

Callum paused, stepping closer to the speaker. “I’m good. Having some problems with Jace.”

“Jace? Your AI?” Jody asked, the static thinning just enough to hear the strain in his voice.

“Yeah. He’s being spotty this morning. Glitching all night too.” Callum moved to the counter, starting his coffee routine.

“Did you reboot him?” Jody asked, something clattering on his end.

“No… not yet. I think he rebooted himself. And he gave me an error message I’ve never heard before. ‘Device not found.’ I don’t even know what device it’s talking about.”

“Could’ve been the internet?” Jody offered, but his tone was too quick, too eager.

“Maybe. But that’s not the programmed message for that. I’ve never heard it.”

“No… I’m not familiar with that one either.” A beat. “Did you ask Jace what it meant?”

Callum blinked irritated at himself. “No. Didn’t even think of that.”

“Now, Callum. How could you? The great Callum Francis Kepler didn’t think of the obvious. Really?” Jody chuckled nervously.

“Yeah. Yeah.” Callum rolled his eyes.

“Is he responding now? Or still glitching?” Jody asked hurriedly.

“He rebooted, I think. Responded right after.” Callum waved it off. “I’ll deal with it lat....”

Jody cut him off. “Hey—actually, I needed to ask you something.” His voice tightened. “Did you get that jump drive from Caleb?”

“Uh… yeah. Uh… It’s in my office.” Callum frowned. “Haven’t pulled anything up yet, but I will. After my meetings. Maybe tonight.”

Something in Jody’s exhale sounded like relief and dread tangled together.

“Okay. Good. Don’t—don’t run anything yet. I plugged mine in and now my system’s acting weird. It’s not a virus, but something’s wrong. So just… hold off. I may send Cal…errr…No… I guess it’ll be Johnson. I’ll send Johnson to you to pick it up.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Callum asked, brow furrowing.

“What do you mean?”

“You sounded upset… and rushed. You’re not usually like that.”

“Oh. Yeah. I just didn’t want to mess up your new setup.” Jody hesitated, shifting audibly. “You know how it is.”

“My stuff is a fortress,” Callum said. “You know how I am. Speaking of which—someone tried to get on my shit yesterday. I stopped that right quick.”

“Yeah, you know how those damn kids are. They’ll try anything once.” Jody laughed, but it sounded thin.

“Yeah… well, they came to the wrong IP.” Callum snickered. “I shut that shit down fast and sent them a nice little friend.”

“Oh Lord… what’d you do this time?” Jody asked.

“Let’s just say their computer caught a cold and sneezes every thirty seconds. They’ll never get rid of it. I buried it under a billion lines of code. It’d take ’em years to bypass it. And McAfee wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Jody didn’t laugh.

The line went dead‑quiet.

Callum tilted his head. Something wasn’t right.

Behind him, the blue ring on the speaker pulsed again — slow, steady, listening.

“So… why can’t Caleb come pick it up?” Callum asked, pouring coffee. “You know I don’t like Johnson. He’s a damn dick.”

“Uh…” Jody hesitated. “He had to go down to Atlanta for a job. Sudden dispatch.”

“Oh… really.” Callum raised an eyebrow.

“Listen, I’ve gotta go. Be expecting Johnson. It’ll be sometime tonight.”

“Oh, I’ve got dinner with Casey and Jess. I won’t be home until late.”

“That’s fine. I’ll tell him. It’ll be late anyway — he’s stuck in Nashville until four. He’ll head your way after.”

“Just wait until tomorrow then.”

“No. I want to get it as soon as I can.”

“Come get it yourself then.”

“No!” Jody snapped. Then softer, forced: “I mean… I’m buried in work. I’m having to rework my entire system. That damn drive did a number on it. I told you — don’t plug it in.”

“I can’t believe you plugged that drive into your main system. You know better.”

“Yeah… well… I didn’t do it. I asked Caleb to punch it up while I was puking my guts out. Food poisoning. Old Chinese in my fridge.” Jody sounded irritated.

“You… let Caleb touch your stuff?” Callum narrowed his eyes at the AI speaker.

“Yeah. I figured he knew enough. I gotta go. Talk later.”

The call ended before Callum could say goodbye.

“That don’t make no sense,” he muttered, heading to his office. He stared at his computer for a long moment, then shook his head and sat down.

Behind him, the Jace speaker pulsed blue.

“Never trusted that guy,” Callum muttered as he moved his mouse to wake the screen.

The speaker beside his laptop lit up red and the opening groove of “Backstabbers” by The O’Jays slid into the room, smooth and pointed.

Callum snapped his eyes toward the speaker.

He listened for a beat, the lyrics landing a little too perfectly.

“Jace… stop the music.” He didn’t wait for a response. “And why would you play something that’s not on my playlist?”

The speaker went dark again.

Callum exhaled, turned back to his monitor, and opened his email — but the hairs on his arms hadn’t settled.

To Be Continued...