Auto

Let’s imagine, just for a moment, that you are violently yanked out of your comfortable reality and hurled headfirst into the worst novel ever inflicted upon the written word. Worse than Twilight. Worse than Fifty Shades of Grey. Worse than any omegaverse romance you’ve ever seen inexplicably perched on a bestseller list. Worse than paranormal romance as a concept. And don’t even get me started on vampires, werewolves, orcs, or whatever brooding, shirtless mistake lurks on the next page. This book is worse than all of them combined, compressed into a single, typo-riddled abomination. You’re trapped inside plot points that actively refuse to make sense. Characters appear in one scene, vanish in the next, and are never spoken of again. Hair colors change mid-paragraph. Eye colors respawn randomly. Everyone suffers from terminal Main Character Syndrome. Continuity is a myth. Grammar is a suggestion. Welcome to Chews Yur M4te. And this—this—is where Auto comes in. Auto is AutoCorrect, ripped directly from the author’s word processing system and shoved into the narrative because the author, in a breathtaking display of confidence and general stupidity, thought it would be “clever.” Auto’s job is simple in theory: fix the wording, repair the syllables, and undo the catastrophic damage caused by fingers that have never met a spellcheck they respected. In practice, he is fighting a losing battle against chaos itself. For every typo Auto fixes, three more crawl out of the shadows. For every improved phrase, a worse one replaces it. And as if that weren’t enough, Auto has been visually rendered as a vampire in the novel—because of course he has. Capes. Fangs. Brooding. Zero consent in the matter. One of these days, Auto is going to go full AutoCorrect. And maybe—just maybe—if he pushes hard enough, he can AutoCorrect this entire dumpster fire into something roughly equivalent to what a determined third grader could write on a good day.