His only friend was an ancient named Cirrus . Cirrus had been spinning for a decade, trapped in a "message sending..." loop from a phone that had fallen into a lake. He was patient, wise, and endlessly rotating.

"Don't," Cirrus warned, his spin becoming a frantic blur. "That's the place of unmediated truth. It burns."

But Caution Triangle had no choice. As the Funnel flickered open for a single, desperate user typing "I'm fine" when they were clearly not, he jumped.

"Cirrus," Caution Triangle said one day, his exclamation mark flickering with anxiety. "The Funnel is shrinking."

The Funnel was the gateway from their world to the human one. Every time a user typed a message, a tunnel of light opened, and a Mobicom could ride the data-stream up to the screen for a fleeting moment before dissolving back. But lately, the Funnel had become erratic. Whole districts of Mobicons—the (sleep timers), the Microphones (voice notes), even a rare Double Exclamation —had vanished because users had switched to automated replies and AI-generated stickers.

She deleted it.