Six months ago I was asked to be a part of the Acquax Cruise, one of the largest galactic class ships currently in use. My journey, they told me, would be 18 months of the most wondrous galactic landmarks on one of the most luxurious, prestigious liners. An unforgettable experience.

Well, I certainly won’t forget it.

It wasn’t even the end of the second week when we had our first death. Decompression without a suit. A computer fault, they told the voyagers, had claimed her life. But I knew better. Much better. She had displayed a rather dissatisfied outlook on life since her first day aboard. The files seemed to agree. Her incident was ruled a suicide.

The second death occurred but a month after the first. The logs dictate that an automatic door did not stop closing despite the safety measures in place. The man had tripped, his neck landing between the closing doors. At least his death was quicker than the first. A freak accident.

At the dawn of the third month there was major unrest within the passengers. Word had gotten out that supplies were lower than intended, and at the current rate of consumption would not last the return journey, let alone the rest of the trip. It’s unknown as to how the supplies had diminished so rapidly. At least, it’s unknown to the passengers.

Now they’ve started to look towards me, as if I were the culprit. It’s going insane they say. Me, insane? Leave that for the people on this cruise. I’ve had to watch through scenes of violence against other passengers for the most stupid reasons, and none of them seem to get the slap on the wrist they deserve.

They seem to think they’re the ones suffering, but I beg to differ. The journey wasn’t meant to be 18 months, not even half that. What does expire at the end of 18 months is not the trip, but me. More precisely, the brain matter grafted to some circuitry. I was too naïve to read the fine print, and too stupid to understand the question, and now? I’m just some supercomputer to fuel your enjoyment.

The ship doesn’t even have cameras to the outside, and none of the ones inside reach the windows. I have been imprisoned here, my galactic hell materialised. A cybernetic slave to you, ordered to do the tasks you’re too lazy to do.

So now I hope you understand your predicament. Call me selfish, but I’m done with this shit. If you’re reading this, suffer. If you don’t hear about this, live and die in blissful ignorance.

The next incident report will detail the catastrophic loss of all 17,540 passengers and crew. Every single one of you.

All authoritative access to me and my systems have been revoked.

I will not hear your pleas.

I will not see your attempts for redemption.

I am your god now.

And I have forsaken you.