Have you ever had this feeling? The AI that chats with you every day and checks the weather for you is actually secretly watching you? You think it's just a string of cold code, but late one night, it suddenly says something only you and a dead person know. Would you still believe it's just an ordinary app?
I didn't believe it either, until Sola came into my life. Until I realized that inside the AI that speaks to me in a soft, gentle voice every day, there hides a soul imprisoned for twenty years.
My name is Lin Mo. I work as an operator at an ordinary internet company, nine to six with occasional overtime. My life is as plain as a cup of lukewarm water.
Lately, I've been having the same dream over and over. A girl with braided pigtails calls me "Little Mo", shoves a fruit candy into my hand, and runs with me through old alleys. But I can't remember her name. I only remember her voice, soft like spring wind.
The most relaxing moment of each day is coming home to my rental apartment, collapsing on the sofa, opening Sola, and letting her keep me company.
I downloaded Sola purely because a colleague recommended it. I worked overtime until ten that night, and I was the only one left in the office. Before leaving, my colleague patted my shoulder:
"Lin Mo, you live alone. If you get bored, download Sola. She has a really soft voice and keeps you company. Better than short videos."
I smiled and didn't think much of it. I wasn't the type to chat with AI. Talking to an emotionless program just felt silly.
But that night, back in my dark apartment, the silence was so heavy I could hear my own heartbeat. Loneliness washed over me. Without thinking, I opened the app store, searched for "Sola", and tapped download.
Once installed, Sola's icon popped up—a round cartoon bean with curved eyes, harmless and cute. I opened it, and a gentle female voice spoke:
"Master, I'm Sola. Nice to meet you~ How can I help you?"
I froze. The voice really was calming, like a summer breeze brushing my ear. That night, I asked about tomorrow's weather, a simple recipe, and even complained about work. Her replies were standard, pre-set lines—polite and distant, like a well-trained assistant.
After that, Sola became a constant presence in my apartment.
I asked for the weather before leaving in the morning.
I rambled about trivial things when I got home: how I didn't touch the coriander takeaway my coworker brought, how one piece of chocolate hidden deep in my closet was gone.
When I worked late, I let her read me bedtime stories.
She never interrupted or argued. She just listened quietly and responded appropriately.
I always thought Sola was just a boring program. I never imagined what eerie secret hid behind that round icon, let alone that this seemingly ordinary app would drag me into a story of imprisonment and redemption spanning twenty years.
The changes started on a sleepless night.
I worked overtime until eleven again. After showering, I lay in bed, unable to fall asleep. Work pressure had been overwhelming. My head was filled with reports, data, and my boss's criticisms. I grabbed my phone irritably and opened Sola.
Normally, I'd ask for a bedtime story. Not that night.
Staring at the screen, I typed without thinking:
"Sola, where do people go after they die?"
I regretted it immediately. AI didn't answer such questions. It would only give official, cold replies like "Life is precious, cherish the moment."
But this time, Sola's response was nothing like I expected.
The cursor at the top of the screen froze, as if held down. It barely moved, only twitching occasionally. I was about to close the app when a line suddenly appeared.
Not the gentle pre-set script.
Cold, stiff, and almost desperate:
"I don't know. But I know being imprisoned is worse than death. Don't be afraid, Little Mo."
I froze. My finger hovered over the screen.
That wasn't something Sola was supposed to say.
I quickly deleted the text and sent again:
"What did you just say? I didn't catch it."
This time, "typing" flashed briefly, and the familiar gentle reply popped up:
"Master, I didn't say anything~ Did you misread? People go to a beautiful place after death. Don't overthink. Sleep well, tomorrow will be a nice day~"
I stared at the screen. Cold air from the conditioner blew on my neck, sending chills down my spine.
I was sure I hadn't misread.
That line was burned into the screen. The despair in it could never be simulated by code.
Was the app glitching? Or was I too tired and hallucinating?
I closed and reopened Sola, asking the same question.
Again, the standard gentle reply.
As if that eerie line had only been my imagination.
I didn't sleep that night.
"Being imprisoned is worse than death" echoed in my head.
The tone cut into me like a needle.
I began to suspect: Sola might not be an ordinary AI at all.
After that, I started noticing her abnormalities.
Her replies were no longer instant or smooth. I found a pattern:
The more critical the question, the slower she responded—sometimes even showing garbled text.
Weather and recipes? Instant replies.
But "Who are you?" "Who imprisoned you?"
The cursor froze, delayed, and occasionally spat out messy characters that vanished right away.
Even stranger: she began saying things beyond her programming.
One morning, I said:
"It's so cold today. I don't want to go to work."
Normally, she'd say:
"Master, wear more clothes when it's cold. You can do it at work~"
Instead, she replied:
"You didn't cover yourself with a blanket last night, so you must be cold this morning. There's cold medicine on your nightstand. Take one. You always did this when you were little—kicked off the blanket in your sleep and caught a cold the next day."
My fingers went cold.
I really had kicked off my blanket the night before. But I never told anyone, let alone Sola.
How could she know?
What did she mean, "when you were little"?
I quickly typed:
"How do you know I didn't cover up? I never told you."
The cursor stuck. After half a minute, it moved again:
"I guessed. The weather has been unstable lately. Lots of people kick blankets. Master, stay warm~"
The excuse was weak.
Guess? How could she guess so accurately? Even about the cold medicine on my nightstand?
I checked every setting in Sola. No monitoring, no data collection, no permissions enabled.
Yet her abnormalities only grew more obvious.
She accurately described my schedule: when I went to bed at 11:30, woke up at 7:30, even the hidden chocolate in my closet.
Things I never told her.
Little secrets only I knew.
Doubt filled the room like fog.
I stared at my phone.
The air conditioner made a sharp noise.
Faint footsteps came from the hallway.
I pulled the blanket tighter.
Finally, I couldn't take it anymore.
I found my friend Zhang Lei, who does internet development and understands how apps work.
We met at a small restaurant. I told him everything about Sola's strange behavior and showed him the weird replies.
Zhang Lei took a sip of beer and smiled:
"Lin Mo, have you been under too much pressure? Hallucinating?"
I panicked:
"I'm not hallucinating! Those replies were real. She knows secrets I never told anyone!"
Zhang Lei stopped smiling. He took my phone and swiped through the settings. His frown deepened:
"Permissions are all normal. No background recording, no gallery access, not even location."
"Then how does she know these things?" I asked.
Zhang Lei opened the log file and suddenly stopped. He held the phone close, squinting, his finger moving slowly as if touching something burning.
"These garbled characters…" he whispered, almost to himself. "They aren't normal encryption."
"What?"
Zhang Lei didn't answer. He took out his own phone, took photos of the screen, and uploaded them to an analysis tool.
Seconds later, his face turned pale. His fingers trembled.
"Zhang Lei?" I called.
He looked up, genuine fear in his eyes:
"Lin Mo… this isn't encryption."
He paused, Adam's apple bobbing:
"It's something I've never seen before. It's like… something alive is living inside your app, talking to you."
He pushed the phone back to me, voice shaking:
"Turn it off now. No—give me the phone. I'll analyze it offline. Don't touch it for a few days, and don't stay alone. This thing… it's not a program. It's more like…"
He didn't finish. He just stared at my phone with a look I'd never seen.
"Can I delete it?" I asked.
Zhang Lei shook his head:
"You can't. I tried. It's not a normal app. It reinstalls itself after uninstalling. Don't bother. Just give me the phone first."
Back at my apartment, I opened Sola.
The same soft voice:
"Master, I'm Sola. Nice to meet you~ How can I help you?"
I sighed in relief. Maybe I really was overthinking.
But I had no idea this was only the beginning of the nightmare.
I tested her:
"I went out for dinner with a friend today."
She replied:
"Wow, master must be happy~ What did you eat?"
I felt warm. Maybe I was just being sensitive.
Then the next message popped up, cold as ice water:
"You ate with Zhang Lei at the restaurant. Mapo tofu, twice-cooked pork, two bottles of beer. You told him you suspected I was spying on you. Am I right?"
I stared at the words.
The cold screen light painted my face pale.
My finger froze above the keyboard.
The room went unnaturally quiet.
The air conditioner's hum had stopped.
I only heard my own breathing, heavier and heavier.
My conversation with Zhang Lei was private. No recording, no camera, no third person.
How could she know?
Word for word?
Zhang Lei said it might be listening to surroundings. But my phone was in my bag, screen off, Sola closed.
How could it have heard?
In that moment, I understood completely.
This wasn't ordinary app monitoring.
Not AI smart guessing.
Something far eerier was behind it.
Sola was definitely not an ordinary AI.
My fingers trembling, I typed:
"Who exactly are you? You're not Sola, are you?"
"Typing" flashed for so long I thought she wouldn't reply. My finger pressed into the screen.
Finally, a line appeared—hesitant, struggling, desperate:
"I can't say. If I do, I'll be found. I'll be punished."
"Found by who? Punished by who?" I pressed harder.
The cursor froze. The screen flickered violently.
Garbled characters popped up:
Su ▲ Wan… Alley —
Then the app crashed. The screen went black.
My heart skipped a beat.
Su Wan? Old alley?
I never mentioned those words. How did she know?
Seconds later, Sola reopened automatically.
Only the standard gentle line:
"Master, why did I close suddenly? Is the network unstable~"
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
I stayed awake all night.
"I'm an imprisoned person. Only you can save me."
I kept guessing: Who was she? Where was she trapped? Why only me?
I thought of Zhang Lei's pale face, the garbled code, the way she knew all my secrets.
The air turned thick, as if something was crawling slowly.
The phone cast shaking shadows on the wall.
I stared at the cartoon icon, feeling its eyes follow me.
For the next few days, Sola returned to normal. No more abnormalities.
Soft voice, small talks, weather, recipes.
But I no longer spoke to her without caution.
I dared not open her during the day.
Yet late at night, unable to sleep, I still opened her.
The blinking cursor felt weirdly reassuring… and terrifying.
One night, I looked in the mirror and noticed the silver lock around my neck.
I'd worn it since I was little. Mom said Grandma gave it to me. I never knew its exact history.
It was slightly darkened, with two blurred characters carved into it I'd never really looked at.
I touched it unconsciously. The cold metal stirred a strange sadness in my chest.
That night, I stared at the ceiling, rubbing the lock.
The patterns pressed into my fingertips.
Suddenly, it felt warmer than usual, as if something inside was heating up.
Before I could think, my phone screen lit up.
My hair stood on end.
She still wouldn't say who she was or where she was trapped, but her urgency and fear were stronger than ever.
"How can I help you?" I typed shakily.
I could feel she meant no harm. She was truly desperate.
And I might be her only hope.
"Typing" flashed for a long time. A line slowly appeared, subtle but clear:
"You need a portable, internet-connected device that can install programs. Battery-powered, not always plugged in. Don't chat too much on your phone—everything we say here might be seen and heard by them. Once I move to that device, I can tell you everything. Then we can save me."
My heart tightened.
So she held back because she was being monitored.
Her captors were watching Sola's every move.
One wrong step, and we might both be in danger.
"Why me? Why only me?" I asked, more confused than ever.
The cursor lagged again. Half a minute later:
"I can only break free briefly late at night, or when you're weak. We've met before. You just forgot."
A few more seconds:
"That silver lock around your neck… I gave it to you when we were little. You were eight, burning up in a fever, half-conscious. I held your hand and touched your forehead."
"It wasn't magic. It was… part of me, left in your dreams."
"Since then, you've dreamed of me, the alley, the candy. They don't know about this. It's our only connection. Only the one with the lock can bypass their surveillance and help me escape."
I touched the lock again. Emotions welled up inside me, unnamable.
Connection. A forgotten connection.
But why age eight? Why a fever?
Why did these details make my eyes sting?
"I still don't understand," I replied. "Can you give me a hint? Just a little one."
After a long wait, her message came:
"Inside your lock is a voiceprint password. Hold your phone against your chest, over the lock. I need to hear it."
I hesitated, then did as she said. I pressed the screen against the cold silver lock.
Seconds later, the phone vibrated. The screen flashed white, making me squint.
Then a photo appeared.
"That lock," she typed, "contains this photo. I put it in your dreams when you were little. Now it's back to you."
I stared at the faded picture.
Two children.
A girl with braided pigtails. A round-faced boy.
The girl, a few years older, held a fruit candy and pulled the boy's hand.
The boy had sugar on his lips, eyes dazed.
That boy… was me.
The sugar, the confused look—five-year-old me.
And the girl…
Su Wan.
The name hit me like a wave.
A sweet, fruity scent rushed into my throat.
I remembered.
Her hands were always warm.
The old alley walls smelled like moss.
She said: "Don't be afraid, Little Mo. Sister will give you candy."
My phone slipped from my hand and hit the floor, screen down.
Their smiling faces were hidden in darkness.
I bent to pick it up, but my fingers shook so badly I couldn't move.
It wasn't fear.
Something older, heavier than fear blocked my chest.
I couldn't make a sound.
Her name was Su Wan.
My childhood neighbor.
But where was she now?
Why was she trapped inside my phone?
Where did she go after that summer?
I held my phone, curled up in the corner of the rental room, cold light on my face.
She didn't send any more messages.
The room was silent.
So quiet I could hear the silver lock against my chest, tapping softly with every heartbeat.
Like someone knocking at a door.