The Chosen/Borrowed Lives — 2026-02-18 (Patreon)

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All characters in this story are fictional characters, their images generated with AI for AGI Stories. They do not represent any real person, nor is their appearance based on any real human.

Chapter 97: QUICK LUNCH by Kent Marlon

Izzy and me are grabbing a quick lunch and coordinating on our new duties covering for the position vacated by Shay. So far, it’s working as planned.

I’ve been doing all of the meetings on work sites. Izzy has been taking calls. And Shay is doing emails and also taking calls. Izzy’s workload has increased, but so has her pay, and for her, the work is very satisfying, so she’s actually pretty pleased.

I warned her that fatigue trumps good intentions. She said she’d stay aware. The executive director says this arrangement isn’t long-term and eventually, someone will be brought in so things can go back to normal.

Shay was pretty reasonable about it. “Well, we’ll just cross that bridge when we come to it.”

So here we sit on Wednesday with a Pay It Forward Society mission on the near horizon. Paul is about to blow a gasket because, as of earlier today, we still don’t know where we’re going, and we’re supposed to leave Friday.

Honestly, I see his point. He’s got to set up the trip with the FAA and all that. We just have to show up.

I really liked the Africa trip. It felt like we were all able to use our talents to see the whole thing come together. If you ask me, the team is really balanced.

On the construction side of things, you have me and to some degree Jacob and Noah. Hannah and Merritt’s engineering degrees sort of lay over that, and they’re both no strangers to tools.

Then socially, you have Addison and Izzy. They get the people. They understand and empathize. Noah’s medic training plugs in there, too.

And Emma can swing from both sides of the plate. She’s rewired septic pumps, done plumbing on the shack she lived in, and seems to understand people the minute she meets them.

Paul and Rebecca are up front in the cockpit running logistics. It all works out pretty well.

I know some of you wonder about where things are with Izzy and me. We’d say things are solid. Very solid. I’d say more if there were room left in this post.

Next time…

Chapter 98: MOUNTAIN MOMENT by Evan Calder

It’s Wednesday late in the afternoon, and we just rolled through a time machine back around 100 years or something. Having no real destination or timeline, we got off I-81 at Abingdon and hopped on US-58 Alt, following it into the mountains through little towns—some hardly more than a stop sign and a few buildings.

Places like Holston, Lebanon, Copper Creek, St. Paul, and Coeburn—we rode through with no real destination in mind. In Norton, we turned north up US-23. We took the old route and ended up coming upon a place we knew had to become part of our story.

The Inn at Wise sits on the corner of US-23 and Main Street, just as it has since 1910. It’s not part of any big chain. Our check-in wouldn’t be mapped to databases or rewards systems.

The Inn at Wise feels like a time capsule, yet it’s been refreshed and modernized. White columns, brick steps, warm lamps glowing like someone’s waiting up for you. You can almost hear church shoes on Main Street. It’s the kind of place that remembers things—even if the rest of the world forgets.

“At least two nights here,” Mara said as we creaked the hardwood floors on the way to the front desk.

“Agreed.”

Mara and I met twelve days ago. Things have gone far better than I imagined they might. And acting like I’m her boyfriend has turned out to be more whimsical than awkward.

We played out a goodnight kiss our first night. She surprised me on the second night saying there was no reason not to. Same thing last night.

Sitting on the steps of The Inn, we let the night find its place in the sky, then made our way inside. We took our time, looking at the plaques and old pictures telling about the inn and the little town.

“At least two nights here,” Mara said again, then she took my hand and led me to the hall where our rooms are.

She opened her door and turned to me, taking my hand, she whispered. “Ready for the ritual?”

“Of course.” It was time for the goodnight kiss.

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She leaned back on the wall, still holding my hand. And then a moment sort of materialized. She looked over at me as if any last doubts that we could pull off our jobs were fading away. She sighed and looked across the hall.

“This isn’t so bad, is it?” she whispered.

“It’s hard to think we’re getting paid on top of all our expenses being covered,” I replied. “Not only is it not so bad, I’d say it’s pretty good.”

Our pay wouldn’t impress many white collar workers, but we’re living expense free. And Shay’s mom seems determined to see our needs never go unmet. But if you stop and think about it, our job is to travel around and act like Shay and Devon. Our job is to have fun and see things.

Mara looked over again. “I don’t annoy you too much do I?”

Mara is as playful as she is smart and able. So, hiding my fries at lunch or stealing a few has been the status quo.

“So far,” I replied, “it’s been more amusing than annoying.”

She seemed to let that sink in deeply.

And as we stood quietly, everything around me reduced to the sound of her breathing and the feel of her hand in mine. It was peaceful. It was tranquil as if the all memories from all the ages that The Inn had stood there had each awoken and surrounded us.

For over a century, people like Mara and me had walked that hall, climbed the same stairs we had climbed to get there, and had—some of them—said good night outside the very doors stretched before us.

When I inhaled deeply, the faint scent of antiquity was present—that smell of old fabric and aging glue laced with hints of tired wood. My eyes were drawn to the intricate woodwork on the trim and baseboards. The lights above looked down as they had for decades, globes yellowed by age or crafted to appear so.

Yet the paint was fresh and the carpet was far from original. Old and new merged there in that hall. The origins of The Inn evident, even under the freshness of its recent restoration.

So it was in that convergence of past and present that Mara and I stood. The brevity of the past we shared seemed to be multiplied and multiplied again by our presence there in The Inn at Wise.

It wasn’t mystical or magic, to be sure. It was the product of us taking time to linger, to stand without aim or duty, and to let time find its fit in the space we shared.

“I’ve really had fun, so far,” Mara said, her voice gently dispelling what had settled so subtly around us. “I couldn’t ask for a better fake boyfriend. Kiss me goodnight and sleep well.”

I purposefully kept the kiss minimal. She smiled and backed away a half step.

“Mara, no one could see that, you know. There’s not even security cameras in the hall.”

“I know,” she said. “I just don’t want to get out of the habit. And I don’t dislike it either.”

I smiled. “Not disliking something is a start, I guess.”

She raised her eyebrow and smiled. “A start? A start to what?”

I shook my head. “I was playing off how you worded your comment. You don’t dislike it. Not that you like it. It’s just not terrible.”

She smiled and nodded. “Well, it’s not.”

She took another step back and I moved toward my door across the hall, then I said, “You know we’re playing with fire here. Kissing each other… playing the roles of boyfriend and girlfriend. This could get confusing.”

“I’m aware. Actors do it all the time, though. We can keep up the act. If you don’t object, of course.”

“I don’t object. And you’re right about the habit. Once you start skipping something you’re supposed to do, it’s harder to start back.”

“Well, we’re supposed to be dating.” She shrugged.

“And you don’t dislike it,” I added.

She rolled her eyes. “I’d say you don’t dislike it either.”

I smiled, shrugged and went into my room.

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Message to all:

I wrote all of this post. Then, I rewrote it. Then I edited it.

As you do…

Then, I had ChatGPT check for typos, grammar and such. Here's the prompt I use:

For the draft that follows:

1.) Check for spelling, grammar, accuracy and clarity. Show any changes in bold and in a list using this format:

Original: <original text>

Recommended: <recommended text>

<reason>

After fixing the errors I thought needed to be fixed, I reviewed and revised again.

Proud of the outcome, I was about to hit publish and then—on a whim—I copied the text into a AI Detector to see what happened.

This passage has several hallmarks of AI-assisted writing, though it could also be a human writing with a very formal, sentimental style.

Here is an analysis based on the text provided:

Indicators of AI Involvement:

Highly Descriptive/Generic Clichés: Phrases like "faint scent of antiquity," "laced with hints of tired wood," and "convergence of past and present" are common in AI-generated descriptions meant to evoke atmosphere.

Perfectly Balanced Sentences: The structure often alternates perfectly between sensory details and thematic reflection (old/new, past/present), which is a common AI pattern for descriptive writing.

"Multiplied and multiplied again": This phrase is a bit awkward and repetitive, often used by AI to artificially increase dramatic effect.

Arguments for Human Writing:

It is cohesive and tells a specific, personal story (mentioning "Mara").

It flows well as a scene description in a narrative.

Conclusion:

It is highly likely that this was written by AI or a human using heavy AI assistance, particularly because of the formal, slightly clichéd, and repetitive nature of the descriptive language.

I have to say… I'm very sad. And honestly, I don't know why, but I feel cheated, I think.

It's like the hour I put into the words and trying to create a sense of space and place were for naught. Anyway, I won't put any more time into this report!

And I will keep writing my stories the way I write them, even if they seem to be generated by AI!

For the sake of disclosure, SOME of the "history of this place" and "what can you see here" in Ailana's posts ARE derived from AI-provided information. I might prompt something like "what is the history of Seoul? Provide 600 characters on its origins, including connections to geography." Then I work that into her post.

But, I promise you, the content you are reading is original and not just some AI creation. Even if the AI Detectors think otherwise!

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With that in mind, I always consider you, the paid members, when deciding how to share content.

My hope is that reserving a few pictures and small sections of the post for you is a modest indication of gratitude!

Thank you very much for your help underwriting the cost of producing AGI Stories content. You can be sure that your paid membership is valued greatly! At the time of this post (not counting hardware or internet connectivity fees) AGI Stories racks up expenses of just over $100 per month. Every supporter is helping!

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