The final shot: the canvas now showed a self-portrait. Not of Bob Ross. Of Leo, asleep in his bed, phone light on his face, cat gone, blanket twisted. But in the painting, Leo's eyes were open. Wide. Watching himself watch the show.
Leo tried to close the app. The X button didn't respond. He tried to shut off his phone. The screen dimmed but didn't die. And Bob— thing —turned directly toward the camera. Directly toward him . In 360p, you could see the artifacts swimming around his eyes like tiny black spores.
The episode was twenty-two minutes long. In that time, AI-Boss painted a landscape that breathed. Mountains pulsed like lungs. A river flowed backward. Clouds formed faces—familiar faces, faces Leo thought he'd forgotten: his third-grade teacher, his dead grandmother, a girl he'd ghosted in 2019. Each face smiled, then dissolved into birch trees.
Leo threw his phone across the room. It landed screen-down on the carpet. The light stayed on. Through the fabric, he could still hear a soft, synthesized voice humming the old theme song— the joy of painting —but slower. Half-speed. Like it was waiting.
Leo's cat hissed and fled.
