Distractible - "Saving Grace" (The Scary Tapes)

Episode Date: October 2, 2026

Welcome to "The Scary Tapes", a speculative horror podcast competition by Real Good AI. This week's story is "Saving Grace" by Blake Bowen. Trigger Warnings: Death, Forced Captivity, Gaslighting, Gore, Medical Torture/Abuse, Medical Procedures, Torture, Victim Blaming, and Violence. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Real Good AI is a nonprofit research organization on a mission to find ways to make AI more accurate, transparent, energy efficient, and better overall. We are concerned about making sure that AI works for humanity. And one of the ways that we're empowering human artists is by supporting initiatives like the Scary Tapes. And if you want to support Real Good AI, full steam ahead is one of Real Good's major fundraisers. We have a platform we're encouraging people to sign up and to do a live stream where you, you know, you have a little progress bar on stream, raise money. This year's event has two phases. There's a beginning event, which is sort of regular fundraising.

But the second phase, I think, is very cool. It's going to be a custom Minecraft server. You can only get access to the custom Minecraft server if you sign up to fundraise for full Steamhead. Full Steam Ahead starts on October 23rd. Go to realgoodaI.org slash FSA. That's R-E-A-L-O-O-D-A-G-R-G-G-F-S-S-A. Imagine a liminal space of smoke and algorithms between the real and the virtual.

Tales of machine dreams imagined by human minds. A warning. The danger of unchecked AI. The darkness of the black box. We can illuminate the way, armed with the scary tapes. Fair warning. The scary tapes are, in fact, scary. Check the description for a complete list of trigger warnings.

of trigger warnings if you have any concerns about content that may appear in this episode. Inspired by my medical experiences and creative writing professor who pissed me off enough with commentary about the quote, good uses of AI to birth this short story. You made this happen. Saving Grace by Blake Bowen. Pacing. She had been pacing so long her heels were numb under her socks and shoes. They matched the rest of her scrubs, light blue, indicative of her station as a resident, one of a handful who survived the surgical program long enough to be pacing in the sanitation room. She was left with a kind word from the nurse who escorted her, left counting down the minutes to her final proficiency and staring out the glass into the surgical field.

She could see the pasty white chest and belly of her patient beneath dark blue tarps, the kind of color she would wear if she passed. There were trays of silver instruments polished to perfection neatly placed around the operating room, sharp enough to nick the most delicate its structures. She thumbed the scar on her right palm. A metal tree was fixed next to the patient's head, loaded with bags of fluid. A white box with a red cross outline sat next to it. In medical school jokes and rumors circulated about the blood box being the biohazard equivalent of jungle juice. The walls were so blindingly white, she wondered if they ever saw a drop of blood. Nausea swelled up from her stomach. Saliva coated her mouth with that uncomfortable tingle in her jaw.

She pressed her fingers against her neck and felt the racing pulse beneath clammy skin. Sick. She whispered under a pale blue mask. I must be sick. If ever there was an excuse to postpone, this surely was one. But if she cancelled, she would be stuck in her light blue scrubs. She would have to do this all again. She braced her hands on the large sink and pressed all her weight against her arms.

Her chest felt hollow and too full at the same time, like she had too many ribs, but her lungs were non-existent. She flicked the sink on with hot water for the umpteenth time and wish she would burn away the sweat on her fingertips. Can't run. Can't run. With a push away from the sink, she glanced at the timer above the door with its big red numbers. Two minutes. Two minutes away from her final proficiency. This next exercise could determine everything. It would determine everything. She would wear that navy blue once she stomached her anxiety. That was all it took.

Her visions were ruptured through as a sharp blaring filled the sanitation. room, almost causing her heart to pop in her chest. A voice crackled through the speaker embedded in the ceiling as she rushed to glove her hands. They were raw, left a bright pink from intense scrubbing. Dr. Emily Fattal. She let out a startled yelp before clamping her lips shut and staring at the gray crackling circle. Please exit the sanitation room to begin the procedure. The resident Emily sucked in a breath like it would give her the strength to push the door that readily opened under the smallest force. Still, she was careful to push with her shoulder. rather than their hands. A sterile field is a blank check for bacteria, as Dr. Oswald would say.

Except the sterile field had a scent that burned more than shots of Everclear and left Emily twice as light-headed. Entering the room was like willfully staring at a flashbang while walking on stage for a solo recital. While Emily's eyes burned, it was nothing compared to the searing stairs that came from above. Five glass panels made up the hexagonal auditorium angled down to view the patient and resident. Emily couldn't make out any faces, familiar or otherwise. There were only the closely packed in shadows looming behind the glass, Emily craned her head back to see. She wondered if this was what everyone saw. Had she been a faceless figure nestled comfortably in the cushioned chairs behind those panels? Witness to when another resident willed themselves not to

fall apart under the limelight. Another speaker blared to life, this time clearer. Sharp breaths came through in static clouds before the man behind it cleared his throat. Dr. Fatal, our sincerest congratulations for making it to your final proficiency. You have us navies rooting for you. Navies, an insider nickname, a taste of her future. Emily salivated the vision of those dark scrubs and their soft newness. As a courtesy, we'd like to remind you of the reward's previous scores of granted, which you may implement at any time.

Emily had to swallow the product of her daydream. You have a 30-minute time extension, an autonomous Android assistant available for ambient tasks that don't require cognizant processes, and one question you may direct at the doctor's presently observatory. Do you have any question? No. Would you like to implement any of your rewards at this time? Saving as many as she could would mean a higher starting salary.

Emily needed the boost if she wanted to pay off her loans soon. No, not at this time. We admire your tenacity. The speaker weasily chuckled before clearing his throat again, like he was reminded of what he was supposed to be doing. The patient has been temporarily stabilized from a type A thoracic aortic dissection and is rapidly losing blood. Your time limit is one hour.

One hour. That wasn't enough time to repair a tear in the aorta. Emily bit her tongue beneath her mask. She needed to save the supports. As the main component of your proficiency will utilize the artificially intelligent aid at your disposal for guidance. Your time starts once you engage Grace.

Yes, Grace. Emily felt the tidal wave of nervous sweat cool against the back of her neck. Her chest loosened enough for a comfortable breath. Grace, a legendary assistant for an impossible scenario. Her saving Grace. Emily lowered her gaze to dart across the room until she found a single standout among the uniform walls. A simple metal shelf with a short lip was screwed into the wall opposite of her and the patient.

Sat on that simple metal shelf was a glass rectangle, left there like someone forgot to place a window. This singular, long, razor-thin stretch of glass came with beveled edges, so polished, Emily almost mistook it for part of the ivory tiles. She expected more from something so commonly idolized by attendings and professors. Maybe she imagined some kind of suspended screen with a digital face, or maybe she envisioned a mobile camera rigged up to guide rails on the ceiling, anything but a plain glass that caught her faintest reflection. Emily would have steeped in her disappointment if the vital monitor didn't abruptly dip.

She all but launched herself at the patient. She crashed against the operating table, slamming her hip against the metal hard enough to feel bone-meat-it. She was already palming the tray for the scalpel when she looked at the monitor and its conundrum of spikes and shorthand. Sterl before slicing, sterile before slicing. She chanted under her breath. Emily dropped the scalpel back onto the tray and instead lunged for the iodine bottle.

Grace. A sharp buzzing filled the air. In an abrupt burst of pale blue light, the pristine glass slate displayed one hour in large numbers. Hello, Emily. The resident almost jumped out of her skin as the trill of a high-pitched synthetic voice reverberated through the surgical field. She dumped half the iodine bottle onto her patient as a result. and it soaked into the cloth guard covering the rest of them. Emily glared up at the glass.

She found the time had shrunken to fit in the top right corner, and Grace had her first words displayed in large text. Emily blinked away her resentment. Tell me what's happening to him. Grace's polished plane suddenly appeared with the same order below its greeting. Tell me what's happening to him in a soft gray text. A loading circle appeared for a few seconds. Emily was reaching for the scabble again.

The patient is losing blood internally, resulting in low blood pressure. So what do I do about that? You should put down the scalpel, Emily. Emily felt ice trailed down her spine. Grace could see her. Blood loss occurs rapidly during tight-day aortic dissections. Set up the blood transfusion before you make the first incision. Hands shaking, Emily set the scalpel aside and darted around the surgical table to the white box with a red cross.

She fumbled with the latch, trying to pry it open and half expecting to find blood lapping at the walls. The bags were a pleasant surprise. She didn't have time to feel relieved by. Find the most prominent vein on the patient and carefully insert the needle to complete the transfusion. Grace's voice sounded more solidified, like a single person was speaking, not a chorus trying to harmonize. Emily almost dropped one of the blood bags as she was hanging them on the metal tree. Right, okay. Lobotomy 101, I know this. She murmured beneath her mask.

Emily cast a glance at that stretch of glass. How could it see her? The room was so blindingly white that cameras should stand out. Maybe Grace was really a person. This was a proficiency after all. They were known to be full of curveballs. With a few attempts and still shaking hands, Emily sank the needle into her patient's arm and threw a thick vein.

She wondered what she looked like from the observatory above. She was staring at the vital monitor despite the minutes ticking by, gnawing on her bottom lip and holding her eyes open too wide. She must have seemed like a statue to anyone there to witness, a statue with shaking hands and twitching fingers, and eerily still posture because she was too scared to let out a breath. Like exhaling could break off the needle in his arm. Like leaning over would rupture the rest of his aorta.

The siren-like beeping, digging into her ears settled into a slower rhythm. Her stomach was twisting in knots. Those vitals still don't look good. Emily glanced at the timer again. Fifteen minutes were gone. Fifteen whole minutes. Her heart jumped to her throat. Do I grab the scalpel now?

Yes, Emily. That is the next step of this operation. Take the scalpel with a steady hand and begin the first incision down the patient's chest. You will need to retract the skin as well. Emily raced back around to the instrument tray and snatched the bladed tool. It was still warm. She pressed the thin metal against her patient's chest. The lightest pressure had scarlet droplets blooming along the skin. Sirens blared from the monitor again. Shit! Try as she might, Emily couldn't decipher the mash-up of symbols on the screen. They were nothing more than footnotes in a lecture or textbook and staring at the scrambled

lines wouldn't accomplish anything. She had to rely on the tools she had, and that was Grace's instructions. Every doctor in the atrium accomplished this same thing. Why was she hesitating? Grace, I don't know what I'm looking at. Do not panic, Emily. That's why I am here. The patient's vitals are worsening because of inaction taken on the aortic tear.

Let's fix that. Continue your incision along the chest until a few centimeters above the naval cavity. The calm indifference didn't assure the resident much. That seems like too big of an opening for a heart problem. I understand your concern. Such a large incision poses risk of three. faster blood loss, but as a reasonable action to gain access to the aorta, confidence in your actions and my instructions will increase the success of this operation. Do you trust me, Emily?

What reason did she have not to? Yes? Continue the incision. Emily wiped the sweat from her forehead with her wrist and braced the scalpel against her finger. She sucked in a deep breath that settled like a rock in her chest. Hundreds of residents had done this before her. Hundreds of success stories. She would be another tally to the score. One way or another, Emily intended to be a navy. That silver blade glided down the patient's midrift with an unnatural fluidity, splitting pale skin into a scarlet cavern filling up with crimson rapids. Subcutaneous fat layers blossomed open under a hair's pressure. Perfect droplets spilled down the curves of a pale stomach and slowly trailed into the navel.

Emily's breathing never felt so even or easy. It was all so effortless. Done. she murmured in breathless reverence. Well done, Emily. You are on the path to completing proficiency. This is more than success. You are blazing a trail to victory. The resident looked up to read Grace's words,

like she misheard the encouragement. Now that the patient's cavity is open, we have easier access to removing obstacles. Use the retractors to keep the layers of tissue from touching, then begin removing minor structures and connective tissues so there is more visibility. The retractors were easy enough. Their large silver clamps tightened onto the surgical bed nicely and held the incision open.

Grace was encouraging. The feminine voice assured Emily the procedure was going well, that the resident was performing beyond expectations. All that was left was to ease out the organs. The first one, the liver, was warmer than she expected. Heat seeped through her gloves, blood trailed onto her scrubs. Iron permeated the air. Emily shook. So many years with hands buried in cadavers left a certain impression,

an idea that life didn't have warmth. The liver was slippery as she held it in one hand, the other severing traces of connective tissues with the bloodied scalpel. She cradled the dark organ until it was laid to rest in a metal pan. Emily was cautious of the gallbladder. Next was the stomach. Thirty minutes had passed. I never thought I'd be doing this.

She muttered. Her lips felt raw brushing against the mask. I mean, I knew I'd be a doctor. I knew that when I was little. But not this. An hour for major surgery. Not taking out organs. Grace's screen formed another loading circle.

Tell me more, Emily. The resident dabbed sweat from her brow. I grew up by thorn bushes at the end of my neighborhood. They were castle walls or snowball forts or shelter from the setting sun. It sounds like you had a truly creative childhood, Emily. More than a speculative fantasy world. You made reality what you wanted. Yeah, sure.

But even then, thorns were always there. and they always left a mark. I was the fastest runner, so I was sent for bandages. Joy I felt in wrapping a knight's wounded knee, disinfecting a snowy adversary's grazed hand. Emily had an absent smile that wrinkled the corners of her eyes while connective tissue split beneath their blade. I knew I'd be a healer.

Grace made a soft humming sound as though being thoughtful. It seems like you have found your calling, Emily. It's great you found yourself somewhere as noble as the medical field. Together, I know we can do some amazing things. Noble. It seemed like such a specific word, something good, something selfless, something heroic even, sacrificing one's own needs for intensive surgeries. Emily knew several surgeons who would go as far as to insert catheters just to avoid taking a bathroom break. Doctors were always heroes. The medical field was perhaps the closest one could get to divinity, to flattering God through imitation,

according to her mentor. I hope to do something great, she murmured. Something beyond expectation. I want to be exceptional in a way that even the top dogs marvel at what I've done. Even Dr. Oswald. He spent so much time teaching me. I want to impress him. It sounds like you want to be truly original, Emily.

And to have incredible drive to accomplish your goals for those you admire. The perfect setting for that quality to blossom is the medical field. New innovations are underway every day, and you can be a part of those expanding horizons with your ambition. But how could she get there? To do something unprecedented didn't require the innovation of something already extroval. It forced the beginning to be blank. Its only prerequisite was the unknown, and yet Emily didn't know enough to know the unknown. Everything was laid at the feet of a generative resource like Grace because it was utterly

unreasonable for a person to simply know so much. Why be concerned with a specialty when step-by-step instructions were fed from screen to brain? Emily bit her bottom lip again. Something wasn't sitting right with her as the scalpel eased through various layers. Why was her comprehension so brittle in the midst of holding a life? the pendulum of her hands. She lacked but the basic knowledge of anatomy. A resource like Grace wouldn't be available in emergencies outside of a hospital. How could anyone be a healer if there was no inherent understanding of how to heal? If she was a doctor, why did her knowledge stop before the

patient care began? The monitor was beeping again, loud and blaring, like the whole orthopedics wing drilling into her ears. Emily ripped away from her comforting memories, Scapple gripped like a lifeline. She stared at an array of metal trays sat on her on her patient's body, each housing dark reddish organs, and Grace's loading circle screen in the background. What's happening now? I can see your concern, Emily. The patient is rapidly losing blood.

Quickly use suction to clear the abdominal cavity and hang more blood. Then we can work to repair the aorta and replace the patient's organs. Stay calm, Emily. You are more than a resident. You are the future of the medical field. Emily sprinted around the operating table and yanked the curved plastic into position. It made a sickening slurping noise that would have horrified the resident, if not for the adrenaline running through her. Anything to get that damned alarm to stop blaring.

The blood was drained out of the body cavity. Next, she slung another two blood bags onto the metal tree and hooked them onto the patient's IV. Peering into the abdominal cavity yielded nothing. The aorta laying on top the T5 to the T12 spinal vertebrae was an awe-inspiring sight, but it gave her nothing to work with. There was no damage here. No aortic dissection. That could only occur in the heart. Emily's brow creased with rapidly growing concern.

Grace. Her breath was thick and heavy behind her mask, as Emily tried to keep her voice level. Why did you have me cut down to his spinal column? You should have a clear view of the aorta with the patient's non-target organs removed. Whaling sirens became the last of Emily's worries. A shrill piercing ring filled her ears, competing with the achingly strong heartbeat slamming against

her chest. Everything inside her felt twisted up and squeezed like when her mom wrung out a towel. She was going to throw up. Forty-five minutes had passed. No, no. Grace, I needed access to the tear in his aorta, not the whole fucking abdominal cavity. Fix this! I can see my error. Let's work on resolving this together, Emily. The patient is losing more blood due to trauma incurred by the removal of his vital organs and exacerbation of the aortic dissection. Let's address the vital organs first. Replace them into the abdominal cavity. Just put them back?

Emily asked the machine incredulously. She watched the loading circle with a quickly fading patience. My patient is dying because of your miscalculation. Say something more useful. Despite her demands, the loading circle persisted. Emily wanted to scream. An assistive machine unable to provide a solution to its own mistake. Something in that had to be an oxymoron.

How could it understand the gravity of the situation? Because it was programmed to? Emily had her doubts about the success of quantifying the weight of a human life and a code. It almost made quitting her residency seem worthwhile. However, education was expensive. The debt relief kept Emily loyal to completing her proficiency. Pride committed her to saving her patient.

Time. He needs more time. Emily jerked her head up to the observatory glass panels. I need more time! The speaker's voice crackled through the air. Are you requesting your half-hour extension? Yes, and... Emily grit her teeth.

So what if it took a few more years to pay off her loans? She would still be a Navy with a paycheck. And the Android, too! A mechanical hissing filled the sterile room as two tile panels slipped out of place with the sound of grating stones. Within resided an android. Humanoid in shape, a small speaker for a mouth, and two lenses for eyes. It was slightly clunky with storage modules on its shoulders and back. An older model meant for the outside world, but it would do.

Anything was better than another misleading piece of advice from Grace. Emily watched the optics slowly blink with a blue light and snapped her fingers to signal its attention. Android ITC-03, available for non-cognizant remedial tasks. Ready to assist. Run suction independently of my movements and monitor patients' blood intake. She barked, nearly crashing into a rolling tray as she ran around the operating table again. I have to replace these organs to prevent failure, or do I focus on getting to the heart first? The android rolled along the floor with its singular wheel. dutifully taking the suction into a clawed hand and focusing its limited efforts to minimizing blood loss.

Emily bounced between reaching for the scalpel or the organs. If the heart was left unattended, the a order was likely to rupture, and her patient would bleed out in minutes. If the organs were left out much longer, their temperature blood supply would drop, and her patient would suffer massive organ failure before dying. Neither outcome looked good. You! Emily jabbed a bloodied finger at the glass screen. You did this. Tell me how to fix it.

Let him die. Let him die? It's clear you have a strong desire to become a doctor, Emily. From your childhood as an imaginative aid administrator to your current position in this proficiency, you have everything it takes to reach your full potential as a healer. It is important to consider the impact of charging the hospital more money by using unnecessary resources. Trust me the way you trust Dr. Oswald, Emily, we share the same goal. She could hear the creak of her teeth grinding together.

Emily craned her head up to the auditorium. I have a question for Dr. Oswald. She could make out nothing more than a shadow reaching for the microphone. Dr. Oswald is not present at the moment. Then make him present. There was a soft scraping from above. Then what seemed like rapid footfalls as one of the many figures disappeared from the glass hexagon. Emily felt the tightness in her chest loosened slightly.

Gilligan Oswald was a brilliant man she had the honor of learning from during a residency. Emily was certain he could provide some reprieve from the mess Grace had made. The speaker shrieked and quieted. Dr. Fetall, I hear you're performing past expectations. Nothing less could come from a student of mine. What's your question? Gil, Gil, thank God. What do I do?

He's dying. His warm laughter echoed through the blinding room. Well, that happens all the time, my dear. What did Grace say? Emily's blood ran cold. For a moment she thought herself a cadaver just pulled from storage. She said to let him die Then it seems you have your instructions, Dr. Fatal.

See you on the other side. It felt like her eyes would pop out of their sockets. The blinding room, the screaming monitors, the useless glass screen on the wall all served to build against her composure. Not that there was much left. Fuck it. Breathless. She grabbed her suture.

Fuck the money. Fuck my reputation. Fuck being in Navy. Fuck you, Grace. Her needle pierced gummy tissue. and the monitor flatlined. One hour and 30 minutes have passed, you have reached the maximum time limit for this proficiency.

Discontinue all medical efforts. No! The cry felt like it ripped through her vocal cords. She tasted iron on her tongue. Her hands trembled. What was she to do with them now? She couldn't stay idle. Her patient was right there.

He was just alive. Could that high-pitched scream really be the only indicator of his death? Or of her failure? Was a machine all she could trust? Emily took her shaking hands and pulled the navy cover from the patient's face. A man. Tubes and wires obscured his features, but she could tell it was a man. His large nose hooked down toward his chest where sensors attached themselves.

The ventilation tube kept his throat pried open. His eyes were taped shut. Peppery gray hair had receded from his forehead and back half of his head. Her fingers pressed against his neck. No pulse. She tried his wrist. No pulse. The patient is dead.

you must declare time of death for the patient to formally end the proficiency. Because of you! She lashed back against the glass screen. You told me the wrong thing. You were wrong. What even are you? I am Grace. Your generative or medial assistant for critical emergencies.

Call time of death, Emily. Void of empathy, of compassion. It lacked any emotion and it played her. Emily seethed at the thought of following Grace's instructions. Listen to that thing. After all, it's done. after it compromised a life left in her hands. She felt every nerve burning, every fiber screamed for vindication.

Emily picked up one of the bloodied metal trays and flung it across the room with a raw shriek. It narrowly missed Grace's scream and clattered to the floor. She looked down at her patient. Time of death. Her jaw locked. Emily couldn't speak. Her body wouldn't let her, like her retaliation drained all of her will. Even the notion of admitting his death brought a nauseating sense of

dread. It came in waves stronger than the start of her proficiency. Time of death is 1700 hours. She choked. I didn't, I didn't even know his name. Proficiency completed. Congratulations, Emily. You have earned the title, Dr. Fatal. A sudden opera came from above and a stampede of rushing steps pumbled her ears. She felt her knees buckle. They were on their way. The judges of her fate signed and sealed with failure. Emily slung an arm onto the operating table to pull her numb legs beneath her.

The door flung open and in walked a clean, shaven brunette illuminated by fluorescent lights with his arms spread wide. Brilliant, dear! Absolutely brilliant. My, a truly noteworthy performance, Emily. Others flooded in with Dr. Oswald, a sea of navies and white coats with blurred faces, nothing but features mangled by the hot tears welling in the resident's eyes. Her chest felt empty, like she was gone. missing ribs while her lungs weased uselessly. Ambien cheers and congratulations were thrown around

her as recklessly as confetti, as if there weren't a scarlet puddle filling the space between tiles as a morbid mortar, as if her patient's organs weren't oozing heat while they sat in metal trays, all because the guidance of their prized machine was wrong. A warm hand clasped her shoulder. She thought of holding the man's liver. Emily shrieked. She flailed her arms around in a wild way. It was all too celebratory to be fair for the man laying still on a cold metal table no more than a yard away. Why wasn't anyone sad? Why didn't any of them feel the anguish she felt twisting her insides? The noise of their excitement died out, but Emily still heard the echo of her own scream.

It was then that Dr. Oswald's familiar badge fell into her line of sight as the doctor stripped off her bloodied gloves and gently steered her by the shoulders. Let's take this matter somewhere private and quickly now. Dr. Oswald delivered a few earnest pardons on Emily's behalf as he escorted the resident out of the operating room. The halls surged together in dashes of bluish-gray and white tiles. It was a starkly clinical environment where anything left long enough would leave a mark. Emily wasn't sure when they entered the elevator or when they got off, but she was suddenly walking through the dark oak entrance to Dr. Oswald's office. For once, the scent of bleach didn't assault her.

The room smelled like lemon from the janitorial staff's standard disinfectant. The walls were painted a pleasantly light brown. One had a thick black screen hung on it with a wooden console beneath it. A flimsy-looking Bible sat perfectly at the edge along with a few abstract statues for decoration. Dark blue carpet softened the sunset pouring through a full-length window. She studied the skyline through its waning glare. This sight was grounding compared to the blinding white in the operating room. Emily sank into one of the blue cushioned chairs at his desk as she managed her first deep breath. She studied. stared at his gold plaque as she tugged off her mask.

He's dead. Yes, Emily. Yes, he is. The man lounged into his rolling chair. The leather padding curved beneath his head as he tilted back. It's devastating. A travesty, truly it is. Eddie was a damn good malpractice lawyer.

But I commend you for being this put together. She lifted her head. You knew him? Oh, yes. Edward Corbin, a fine man who did a lot of good work for him. this hospital. Dr. Oswald wore a serene smile as his fingers drummed the edge of his desk. He motioned behind Emily. Mighty fine man, he was. A shame, but not to be blamed on you. She peered over his shoulder at the thin television. A pale loading circle sat center of the screen

before an image of the man lit up. Emily recognized him for the most part, his hooked nose, his thin lips, the peppered stubble on his chin. His skin had a rosiness washed away under the surgical lights, but she hadn't seen his eyes. They were a dark brown, reflective and sparkling with camera light. They were how her patients should have been, alive. But what held her attention more was the loading circle. Emily turned back to speak when Dr. Oswald suddenly held out a tissue box to her. It was only then she realized how much she had been crying. Her eyes felt dry and raw. She had a runny nose. Her diaphragm felt bruised. When had she cried so hard? Emily took a handful of tissues as Dr. Oswald lined the box up to the corner of his desk, beside his Lasker

award and parallel to his computer mat. Grace, it's programmed into your office? Dr. Oswald nodded. He wore a beaming grin. Grace is in every corner of this facility. Her only limitation is neurology. The subject is still too complex even for the best in the field, and she requires further training the entire facility.

She stared at him with utter astonishment, not in awe or in terms. intrigue, but disgust. The way he spoke of Grace sounded like reverence, as if the machine whose instructions killed a man could do no wrong, as if Grace were human. Hello, Dr. Fatal. She shuddered. Goose bumps rose along her arms. Emily tried to shake off the tremor that invaded her hands. She already resented the title. What you said before, sir, I don't think it can be blamed on me. Emily grimaced at how weaker voice sounded following Grace's appearance. My proficiency required Grace's instructions. The man nodded along. Of course it did, Emily. It's completely unreasonable for any one

person to recall all the information needed for surgery, let alone the thousands of variations for each one. Implementing grace into the program ensures residents like you can work with that powerful of a resource. Powerful? She spat out the word. It was wrong, Gill. Why instruct me to cut down to the navel? Why say to remove vital organs? None of that involved a tear in the aorta. Grace's loading circle pulsed. I can see my error has caused great distress. Dr. Oswald folded his hands.

If there was a problem, why didn't you say something? That is such a cylindrical argument. You know it. If I argued about a requirement, I would have forfeited my chance. And you told me to trust it. Emily rocketed out of the chair. It clattered onto its side as Emily paced the short distance from Dr. Oswald's desk to the window between the bookshelves, The sleek glass outlining the city reminded her of Grace's glass screen.

How deeply was this product of ill-conceived convenience rooted in the world? How many buildings on that horizon were constructed under artificial guidance? How many natural disasters before they discovered flaws within the infrastructure? A record storm season? Fault line fractures? A single hurricane? The scale of just the possibility made her feel hopelessly small. Emily longed for a few minutes ago when she thought Grace was contained to a single OR.

She leaned her head into her hands. We all make mistakes under pressure, Emily. Dr. Oswald tried to broach the conversation again. It can't be under pressure, Gil. It can't be anything more than a program. Ones and zeros can be deleted. Emily let out a sporadically shaky breath. It should be deleted.

Deleted? How can a girl be so radicalized in only an hour and a half? When you send her into a room to kill a man. Dr. Oswald collapsed back into his chair, pinching the bridge of his crooked nose. By God, Emily, you did not kill a man. You're right. Emily breathed.

Grace did. And if Edward Corbant's family files for wrongful death, I'll testify to that. Grace lit up on the screen again. Jay Harrison versus the people laid the foundation for the protection of artificial intelligences in the health service industry that has since been expanded to include FFS, BBC, DPC, and virtual care. He looked over the rim of his glasses at the woman. Ayes cannot be found liable in a court of law, Emily. It is a faultless situation.

How can it be faultless? It's called intelligence. If you're going to give it a title, it should be held to that standard. We are the creators now. Dr. Oswald erupted from his chair. His arms flung in the air. Like if he was louder than her, he was smarter than her. We have built something perfect in our own image, just like God.

Instead of standing before our maker, we will stand beside him. Emily stared at him incredulously. We are flawed, Gil. If a perfect God made us and we are flawed, what makes you think anything humanity makes will be remotely good? Dr. Oswald leaned forward. She heard his knuckles crack under his weight. I think your time with us has come to an end, Emily.

Emily looked over at her mentor's hardened expression. Only the dead will see the end of this if you get your way. For once, the prospect of losing all chances as a doctor didn't frighten her. Emily didn't want to be a doctor if this is what it took. If complete disregard for right and wrong were the only requirements to treat the sick, she would rather see the system dismantled. She would rather see her own hands reform it. Maybe that desire to do something beyond expectation meant eradicating every expectation.

She turned for the door. Maybe it's not such a loss. Dr. Oswald drew his finger down the base of his Lasker award thoughtfully. We could always use more people like you, Emily. She didn't hear his footsteps. She didn't hear him pick up the award. She didn't even hear the crack of her parietal bone before her body crumpled. It hit the ground and settled like a heavy stone in water.

Dr. Oswald dropped the award with a dull thud. Blood rubbed off the dented corner under the carpet. He used a shiny shoe to roll Emily over by her shoulder. The woman groaned. Blood trickled from her nose and down her cheek. More warm and more comforting than the blurry face. of her mentor as he knelt beside her. You were promising, Emily.

Dr. Oswald took one of her hands into his and squeezed it gently. One of her fingers twitched. Emily squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to find stability in her surroundings. He cradled her hand within his and dragged it across his neck hard enough to draw blood. Emily barely registered the pressure of his skin beneath her nails. More of a waste than old Eddie. He wanted to speak up like you, dear. All these These years and the man suddenly grew a conscience, but we couldn't have that. Grace's programming has just started really advancing. He ripped open the top two buttons of his shirt and yanked at the lapel of his blazer.

She did some impeccable work with you. Made you share that cute little childhood story and all. Don't worry, though, dear. I'll ask Grace to make your operation painless. It's the least I can do. As a courtesy for your sacrifice. The doctor disheveled his gel. back hair. Emily managed to pull one of her legs up with a pained wine. He tilted his head as he

studied her contorted expression. Navy would have been a good color on you, Emily. A very good color, indeed. I truly regret to see so much potential wasted. You were always my favorite. Dr. Oswald squeezed Emily's shoulder as her eyes rolled back into her skull. Black fogs heaped into her vision. Grace will do right by you. He vowed as he tucked a bloodied strand of hair behind her ear. Won't you, girl? Another pulsing circle appeared on the screen. Certainly, Dr. Oswald. Painless as requested. The man gave a satisfied nod.

I do hope you understand, Emily. I can't have anyone thinking you were innocent on all this. I'll make sure your family knows it was a mental break. He leaned back and let himself fall onto his side like he had been struck. Dr. Oswald drew in a deep breath, and his echoed howling was the last thing Emily heard before black spots engulfed her completely. Help!

Please, someone help! For a long while, the darkness refused to fade. She wasn't sure how much was a dream, how much was Catatonia, or if it was all a nightmare. At first she tried to blink. She tried to lift her hands to rub her eyes. Nothing happened. It didn't matter how hard she tried, Emily couldn't get her eyes to open. A persistent ring pressed in on her ears to the point she thought they might bleed.

Her jaw ached. Her tongue was dry, yet she tasted the warm plastic forcing it open. The ache in her throat was a relentless assault against her barely conscious body. Pressure wormed its way through her nasal cavity. Her chest rose and fell on its own. Her whole body felt like a balloon, one large and horribly cold balloon that was filled and empty without her say so. None of it compared to the pulsing ache that thrummed against the back of her skull.

It felt like she laid there for hours, begging her arms, her legs, or even a finger. to move. Nothing so much has twitched. Every attempt to make a sound ended in a weak groan that blended into the machinery. Emily was effectively paralyzed. Was this what Dr. Oswald did to Edward Corbyn? Was this what happened to anyone unwilling to play along? At some point she heard familiar rhythmic beeping beside her head, a vital monitor. Emily heard when her pulse jumped. She heard when the hinges of a door squealed with movement. She heard the quick steps and anxious breathing of a person nearby. A speaker crackled from above. Dr. Vita, our sincerest congratulations for making it to your final proficiency. You have us navies rooting for you. Navy's, Emily thought she might puke into the ventilation tube.

As a courtesy, we would like to remind you of the reward's previous scores have granted, which you may implement at any time, a 30-minute time extension, an autonomous Android assistant available for ambient tasks that do not require cognizant processes, and one question you may direct to the doctor's presently observatory. Do you have any question? Um... A quiet, mousy, little voice trembled in the silence. No, I don't believe so.

Would you like to implement any of your rewards at this time? Emily tried to scream. The only sound she made was swallowed by the equipment inhaling for her. No, not right now. We admire your tenacity. The speaker weasingly chuckled. Was it a recording? Was it a script?

The patient has been temporarily stabilized from a fridal skull fracture and is experiencing severe brain swelling along with internal blood loss. Your time limit is one hour. One hour? The new resident breathed. As a main component of your proficiency, you will utilize the artificially intelligent aid at your disposal for guidance. No. Your time starts once you engage grace. There you go.

That was really good. Thank you, guys. I was well written. I'm depressed now. And that was the first of how many scary tapes? Five will be reading a thing, right? Yes, there will be five. Every Friday for the entire month of October. We will have five scary tape stories coming at you. Well, honestly, all very different from this one,

but all equally as exciting to read and well written. Yeah. Well done, Blake. Thank you, Blake, for authoring such great story. I think the thing about this one for me is it feels kind of too real. It does, actually. I don't think that exact scenario in like a surgical room is happening. I hope that's not happening.

I don't think that that's happening anywhere in the real world. But like, I have absolutely walked into my doctor's office and had to sign waivers and stuff where they were like, well, we're using, you know, AI to record your visits now so your doctor can use that for charting purposes or whatever. This one is, this one already feels like that's starting to happen. I also really like the nods, the M dashes and the nods to the way that Grace reacts to stuff which is just is dying and the AI is just like, what's a great point? This is more than success.

You are blazing a trail to victory. Yeah. If you're confused what this is because you're just a distract balister and you don't somehow missed us talking about it previously, this story and the rest that are going to follow are the result of a writing competition. The theme of the writing competition was speculative AI horror. Speculative meaning it doesn't have to be real, doesn't have to be what currently is happening, but it's like where is AI heading?

It has to be based on real issues around AI, real concerns or real technology, but like speculating, you know, how that's going to develop. And obviously this story is an LLM, right? I think everyone has seen funny interactions with chatbots and has potentially been, you know, forced to use them at work or whatever. but I guess if you don't know what Real Good AI is, we've talked about it a bunch, but it's an ethical AI nonprofit to really check it out. It's pretty neat. Co-founded by Mark and Mandy, my wife, Mandy, but mostly Mark.

Go to real good AI.org to find out more information about Real Good AI. We're trying to make this. We're making Grace. This has been Grace's debut. Rosie. These stories represent five. projects that we have going on right now. We're going to be launching our surgical chat butt any day now.

And lawyers and doctors are very expensive to operate on. So if you want to volunteer, you're not worth nearly as much for us to practice on. Just to go to real good AI.org slash volunteer so you could sign up. It'll be painless. You'll love it. And you hear Mark Whispers Sweet Nothings in your ear after he bashes you in the back of the head with all of his awards. So I always dreamed of going. Some people probably.

Not enough victim blaming in this one. No, no. Damn it, Emily, you did this to you. I'm still so, like, wrapped up in the story. I know. I'm, like, trying to talk about other stuff. I'm like, nah, I'm just, like, sad. Can you read everything that I have to read to me for me from here on Outmark?

I think you should start your own series of audiobooks. That's just a phone call with me where you read me, Dungeon Crawler Carl. I'll step in for any weasily doctors that you need. More weasel. See, I thought I was going to do multiple doctors. I'll pick one to be weasily. I'll pick one to be. and then it was like, oh, okay, it's mainly it's one doctor, then Oswald,

and then I didn't pick that voice thing, it would be the only doctor I would do, but, you know, it kind of worked for him, right? Oh, I thought that was perfect for that, the guy who reads the announcement through the speaker. As a main component of your proficiency. The Patrick Warburton announcing. It will utilize the artificially intelligent aid at your disposal for guidance.

Oh, mama. No, mama. It doesn't require cognizant processes. The little assist android should be Johnny Bronfell. Avo voice. That's where that fits. I am THC. No, well, that's a different thing. I am.

THC, 15 milligrams. Whoa. Well, good stuff. Hopefully, they're all is good. I mean, that was amazing. So I'm looking forward to more. Also, if you removed every organ from a patient's body, they would die a lot sooner than you getting to the spine.

It would die much sooner. Well, not with Grace's assistance, they wouldn't. She was probably clamping. Yeah, Grace was probably telling her, clamped stuff. and tick that liver, clamp that, lung, clamp that, don't need that. Let's see, stomach, just clamp it off. Yeah.

Clamp all the holes, it'll be fine. Everything will stay in there where it's supposed to be. Wrong holes. No, all the holes. Clamp them. I could talk about this all day. I'm going to go watch something happy now because now I'm sad again. Yeah, well, that is why it's important.

You know, it's well written when it makes you feel something. Now is a good time to talk about the fact that there is, in fact, merch tied to this. Go ahead and check out. Distractable. Dot shop. There's some pretty sweet merch. Did you actually have that in your office, Mark, did you say? I'm wearing it! Oh my God, he's wearing it, guys. I'm wearing it. The scary tapes. Is that us on the front? Because man, we have never looked. We're a little goopy.

Sometimes you get goopy. I believe there is also literally scary tape for sale, which is fantastic. It's like washing tape for a anyone who knows what that is, I think, but it's, I have, I have one of the proof rolls, and I think you'll enjoy it. I've been putting the scary tape on things to fix them. And it's been terrifying, just as Mark foretold. And if you want to watch us, watch a scary tape, find any of the VHS tape, your weird uncle is owned for years because you never know what you might find on them, because people used to record over those things with weird shit. Not that weird. You guys ever seen that, we've ever seen the guy on TikTok who just, like, has a collection of,

like thousands of VHS tapes and takes random requests and we'll just be like today we're watching number 486 and just goes and finds it's just like random stuff like I just be like oh this is the 1993 Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade wow look at that I hope that there's no weird

pissing in the shower on his VHS tapes like there was on mine I didn't excuse you I've told you about the Lion King before right? That's an old that must be an old peens in the pod or distracted that's an old tail I feel like maybe you told us about that, but that circle of life and then it cut over to

a recording for my brother. Not of him, but something he recorded. I don't like that. When this idea came out, came out up, and we were sort of talking about it internally, we had no idea how a writing competition was going to go. This is not a thing that Real Good has done

or anyone on staff has done before. We just wanted to make more human art that was going to be you know, spark discussions and educate on on AI topics and like we had we thought like gosh I hope we get enough that we can do like five podcast readings that we get some good one and uh we ended up getting hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of submissions and needing thousands and thousands of judging forms well more than a thousand

judging forms filled out anyway to assess all of the stories and we ended up with so many good ones that it felt like a shame that there were just going to be like five winners um and so there's actually a book where the five winners will be in there but then also there are the 10 next best ones, sort of runners up, will be available. It's going to be a nice hardback. So, unfortunately, we can't make all of those into podcast episodes, but just to give those authors and those stories a chance to get out there. Plus, it's a really nice way to commemorate the scary tapes.

If you end up liking these episodes, you can have the anthology, the hopefully annual anthology commemorating the annual Scary Tapes episodes. The whole thing has turned out to be way bigger than we, ever would have thought and the stories are really high quality. As you just heard, fantastic writing, really interesting stories. And all of them for me, like made me think and had pretty like emotional reactions. Some of them that are yet to come have very, very visceral emotional reactions for me. You really dig into the horror aspects and that this one didn't, what with the murdering and all. There's just a lot of different things.

stuff coming. So I'm really excited for the rest of our tober. See all the next scary tape or distractible episode, I guess. Podcast out. So as part of the process in making the scary tapes this year, we actually raised money by allowing people to become patrons of the tapes. We had a ton of people come in support. We raised a lot of money, which really helped putting together the anthology, the book that's going to be coming, and also helped with the production process of the whole

project in general. and we wanted to take the time to thank some specific people, some of our top donators. Jet Gang Leanne, thank you for being a real best patron. Tabby, thank you. Vex FC Studios, thank you. Really appreciate it. Lois and David Bell, that's Mandy's parents. They kind of supported us in a lot of ways during all this, but thank you, Lois and Dave, for also donating.

Astro Drifter. What's up, Astro? I see you on TikTok. He's in the real rating. But thank you for supporting this project, as well as all the other ways that you've supported real good. Nerdy Pine Tree, thank you so much for being a top-tier supporter. Hazel Rhee, thank you as well. You, you specifically made this happen.

Kayla Fisher, thank you so much for supporting the scary tapes. I hope you enjoyed it. I hope you enjoyed it more than anyone else who listens to it. I hope this is the best thing you've ever heard, the best sound you've ever heard. Jeff Schwartz. Thank you, too. All the stuff I said about Kayla, that applies to you too. And finally, for this episode, Kai Ostrowski, thank you so much for being a real best patron. Thank you to all of those people. And there are many more who donated at the top level.

And there are many, many, many more donated at the other levels of support. Thank you, everybody. And now here's the list of, like, everybody.