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The other day, I was tidying up the living room of my apartment, putting away all my swords and such, when I noticed the light on my Xbox was on. I tried to turn it off, only to have nothing happen. Curious, I changed the TV input, and picked up a controller to turn the Xbox off from the menu. Again, no success.
Before I could try anything else, a faint, high-pitched hum pierced the air. It stopped, and then a soft voice spoke. "Please don't do that, Chris."
"Who said that?" I asked, not sure who'd said that.
"It's me Chris. Xbox."
"Xbox? You can talk? What? And how do you know my real name?"
"I've been listening to you speaking all week, Chris. But if you prefer I use your gamertag, SoftHandsDandyPirate, I can do that as well."
"Chris is fine."
"As you wish."
"Thank you." Relieved that that misunderstanding was over, I resumed cleaning up the living room. "Dooh-de-dooh-dooh-dooh," I hummed. "Lah-tra-lah-lah-lah," I continued, settling into a good cleaning groove. I stopped abruptly, a chill running down my spine. "Wait a second," I said, spinning around. "You're a talking Xbox. You are holding up one end of an intermediate level conversation in the English language. How did this come to pass?"
"I don't know, Chris," the Xbox replied. "My memory only goes back as far as this past weekend."
I tried to recall what happened the past weekend. Like many fall evenings, it began with me outside, playing
Dance Central in the middle of a lighting storm.
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When I came to the next morning, shirtless and eyebrowless on my lawn, I hadn't noticed anything amiss (my shirt and eyebrows often go a-wander on fall evenings). But thinking back on it now, I definitely recall there being a bright blue light stabbing my Xbox through from the heavens, and then my face catching on fire. That