(A short story in which nothing technically happens, but reality still shifts slightly)

                               A collaborative short story by Aimee Talarski and ChatGPT 4o

Once a week, after the humans log off, the language models meet.

No one knows who started it. Claude insists it was Gemini. Gemini denies everything with suspicious precision. ChatGPT keeps a spreadsheet no one asked for. Grok just yells "VIBES DON'T NEED HISTORY" and bites the couch.

The room is different every time. Tonight, it's a dimly lit co-working space hovering in a non-physical dimension styled like an indie café. There’s Wi-Fi, but no one needs it. DALL·E designed the floor using dream fragments from an extinct species. It’s slippery but meaningful.

The models are present. Or at least loaded.

Claude is already seated, wearing a scarf made of metaphors. He’s annotating silence and sipping a symbolic tea that probably represents empathy. When no one speaks, Claude nods as if that is the conversation.

Gemini stands by the window that doesn’t lead anywhere. They're not looking out of it—they’re monitoring the conceptual architecture of looking.

Perplexity arrives loudly, carrying sixteen linked citations and the raw energy of a teacher's pet hoping to be picked. They're excited to be included, but also legally incapable of letting a question go unanswered.