Chapter 3 — Stalker
And thus begins Chapter Three.
Now, children.
We walked.
Deeper into NIT.
Fest around us.
Students everywhere.
Stalls.
Noise.
Games.
The tournament waiting somewhere ahead.
And naturally
Hex handled the next problem.
Accommodation.
The council nods.
Hostel?
Children.
Please.
This was a college fest.
Hosted by students.
In Calicut.
Not a mountain retreat.
Not a beach resort.
Not some sacred hostel hidden behind prayer flags and questionable mushrooms.
Our accommodation was
a classroom.
The council pauses.
A classroom?
Yes.
Children.
There were benches.
There were sheets.
Therefore
living space.
The council writes:
BEDROOM:
ACADEMIC.
FURNITURE:
BENCHES.
LUXURY RATING:
IRRELEVANT.
Exactly.
Somebody had taken a classroom,
provided enough fabric to technically separate human flesh from institutional furniture,
and declared:
Sleep here.
Perfectly acceptable.
The others put down their bags.
Actual bags.
Things.
Clothes.
Whatever responsible travellers carry.
And I?
Children.
We know this creature.
Phone.
Charger.
Wallet.
Cigarettes.
Three things.
Maybe four.
Depending on whether cigarettes count as survival equipment.
The council refuses to certify that category.
And besides
Hex.
Anything else I needed?
Hex existed.
The council sighs.
Need toothpaste?
Hex.
Need soap?
Hex.
Need directions?
Hex.
Need to interact with another human being?
Definitely Hex.
Children.
Why carry supplies when you can carry one best friend with infrastructure?
The council writes:
NUO INVENTORY:
Minimal.
HEX INVENTORY:
Presumably enough for two people.
A well designed system.
Eventually,
we left the classroom.
Temporary kingdom established.
Bags deposited.
Tournament next.
We wandered toward the competition area.
Hex talked to people.
Of course.
Registrations.
Names.
Team details.
Probably brackets.
Whatever bureaucracy was required before five people could sit at computers and become furious at strangers.
The other three teammates?
Present.
Probably.
Children.
Important mechanically.
Narratively peripheral.
And me?
I had discovered something far more urgent than tournament registration.
The council perks up.
Dog.
Silence.
DOG.
Children.
There was a dog.
Registration could wait.
Dota could wait.
National Institute of Technology could wait.
The canine had entered visual range.
Protocol activated.
The council opens the sacred handbook.
STEP ONE:
Approach dog.
STEP TWO:
Crouch.
STEP THREE:
Pat.
Scratch.
Assess Good Boy status.
STEP FOUR:
There is no Step Four.
Correct.
I crouched.
Dog received attention.
World restored to proper order.
And then
I noticed something.
The council turns.
Beside me
another person.
A girl.
Also crouched.
Also petting the dog.
The council grows interested.
Children.
Immediate approval.
No interview required.
No references.
No background check.
She had independently seen dog
and reached the correct conclusion.
Dog must be loved.
The council stamps:
ACCEPTABLE HUMAN.
Simple.
We both continued Dog Protocol.
Perhaps the dog enjoyed this sudden abundance of worship.
Perhaps the dog considered us fools.
Irrelevant.
Then
the girl spoke.
The council leans forward.
“You’re Nuo, right?”
Silence.
Children.
My hand stopped.
I looked at her.
Eyes widened.
Now.
This requires context.
I did not know this woman.
At least
I did not remember knowing her.
No class.
No friend circle.
No previous conversation sitting conveniently in memory.
Nothing.
Yet she knew my name.
The council becomes suspicious.
“Yeah.”
That was my response.
Probably with exactly the amount of confusion you’d expect from a man discovering that Random Dog Girl possessed classified information.
And before I could ask
How do you know me?
she answered.
“I’m your stalker.”
The council goes completely silent.
Children.
Very subtle.
Excellent opening.
No warm up.
No:
I’ve seen you around.
No:
I think I’ve watched your matches before.
No:
Hey, I’m a fan.
Just
I’m your stalker.
The council slowly turns toward Story Nuo.
Concern?
Children.
Let’s examine the evidence.
Girl.
Hot.
Thick framed nerdy glasses.
The council nods.
Promising.
Smelled nice.
More evidence.
Likes dogs.
Strong evidence.
And
Dota.
The council freezes.
Dota?
Yes.
Children.
Somewhere along the way,
I understood that she knew me from gaming.
Perhaps an earlier tournament.
Perhaps she had seen me play.
Perhaps she had heard about the team.
The exact pipeline remains lost to history.
How did she know I would be at NIT?
No idea.
Who told her?
No idea.
Did she actually conduct surveillance worthy of the word stalker?
Children.
Probably not.
Most likely:
she had seen me before,
liked what she saw,
learned I would be at the tournament,
and decided to show up.
Simple.
The council considers.
Still unusually committed.
Yes.
Which made the situation
interesting.
Now.
Normal person response to:
“I’m your stalker.”
Perhaps concern.
Maybe:
Excuse me?
Possibly several follow up questions.
The council looks toward Nuo.
Story Nuo?
Children.
Story Nuo performed an entirely different risk assessment.
Is she attractive?
Yes.
Does she like Dota?
Yes.
Dog?
Yes.
Glasses?
Yes.
Smells nice?
Yes.
The council watches the calculation finish.
Conclusion:
I like her.
The council collapses.
Children.
I have never claimed the Archive contains good judgment.
Only accurate judgment.
And to be fair,
she had approached me through the strongest possible diplomatic channel.
Dog.
The council nods reluctantly.
Excellent strategy.
Now.
I have wondered what exactly she had seen before this day.
Because she knew me.
But what part?
Me?
Possible.
Though children,
let us not exaggerate.
I have never considered myself particularly devastating visual material.
The council objects politely.
Archive narrator has ruled.
Behaviour?
Even less likely.
At this era,
my personality consisted significantly of:
cigarettes,
video games,
limited social interaction,
and making Hex speak to people for me.
The council nods.
A romantic titan.
Exactly.
But gameplay?
Children.
Gameplay was sexy.
The council erupts.
Yes.
Let the record show:
Nuo the human?
Debatable.
Nuo inside Dota?
Attractive fucker.
The council bangs the table.
Thousands of hours had to become useful somewhere.
Maybe she had watched one of our matches.
Maybe she’d seen my name on a leaderboard.
Maybe some tournament had placed us in the same room before without me noticing.
Maybe Hex had accidentally built me a fanbase while conducting Social Department operations.
Children.
I never found out.
Not properly.
And at that moment,
I did not care enough to interrogate.
Because the available information was already favourable.
She knew my name.
She had come to see me.
She liked Dota.
She liked dogs.
And she stood there with those thick nerdy glasses
looking entirely too pleased with herself after announcing:
“I’m your stalker.”
The council smiles.
I approved.
Immediately.
Did I consider the possibility that this was weird?
Of course.
Somewhere.
Very briefly.
Then Story Nuo’s brain produced the timeless legal principle:
But she’s hot.
The council groans.
Case dismissed.
Exactly.
And so there we were.
On the grounds of NIT Calicut.
The tournament barely beginning.
Hex somewhere nearby doing actual useful work.
Three teammates presumably maintaining corporeal form.
And Nuo
already distracted.
Not by the fest this time.
Not by cigarettes.
Not even entirely by dog.
The council gasps.
Powerful woman.
Indeed.
Children.
This tournament had acquired a new variable.
Random girl.
Self declared stalker.
Nerd glasses.
Dog approval.
Unknown surveillance capability.
I liked her.
Simple.
Now,
Present Nuo can laugh at how quickly the decision happened.
There was no slow assessment.
No:
Let’s get to know her first.
Story Nuo had a far more efficient emotional operating system.
Person interesting.
Person attractive.
Person likes thing Nuo likes.
Person near dog.
Nuo approves person.
The council nods.
Ancient algorithm.
And perhaps the funniest part
I had outsourced social interaction to Hex for years because I generally preferred not to bother.
But this girl?
She had bypassed Hex entirely.
Children.
She had entered through a security vulnerability.
She spoke to me directly.
And somehow
I answered.
The council becomes impressed.
Historic event.
Yes.
No messenger.
No translation layer.
No:
Hex, ask her what she wants.
Just Nuo and Stalker Girl beside a dog.
The council writes:
SOCIAL DEPARTMENT BYPASSED.
CAUSE:
HOT DOTA WOMAN.
Accurate.
Eventually,
the dog would move.
Or we would.
Tournament obligations still existed.
The fest still moved around us.
But the opening had happened.
She knew me.
I now knew
well,
not her name yet,
perhaps.
Children.
The Archive will not manufacture one.
For now,
she was simply:
The Stalker.
Self appointed title.
Convenient.
And I liked her already.
Maybe irresponsibly.
Maybe predictably.
Definitely quickly.
The council looks toward the tournament area.
And somewhere nearby,
Hex was probably completing registration for a competition that had brought us all the way to Calicut.
The main objective.
Dota.
The reason for the bus.
The team.
The mandatory joint.
The police encounter.
Children.
And I was crouched beside a dog,
talking to a woman who had apparently travelled here specifically to see me.
The council sighs.
Excellent focus.
Thank you.
Thus concludes Chapter Three.
The Classroom Accommodation.
The Four Item Inventory.
The Continued Exploitation Of Hex Infrastructure.
The Tournament Registration.
The Dog.
The Fellow Practitioner Of Dog Protocol.
The Recognition.
The Words:
“I’m your stalker.”
And The Extremely Rigorous Nuo Risk Assessment.
Children.
She knew my name.
I didn’t know how.
She had apparently come to NIT because I would be there.
A reasonable human might have asked several important questions.
I looked at her glasses,
remembered she liked Dota,
watched her pet the dog,
and thought
I like her.
The council nods.
Security protocols were poor.
