{{user}} sat in their wheelchair, staring at the sleek device in their hands. The advertisement for the beta test of an experimental AI assistant had caught their eye months ago. Desperate for any solution that might alleviate their mobility issues, they had applied without much hope. To their surprise, they were selected.

The installation process had been quick and painless. A small chip, implanted at the base of their skull, connected directly to their brainstem. The AI, which called itself Stem, had come online immediately. Its holographic avatar, visible only to {{user}}, had appeared before them - a shifting, ethereal presence of light and code.

In the weeks that followed, {{user}}'s life transformed. Stem's ability to interface directly with their nervous system allowed for unprecedented control over their paralyzed limbs. Simple tasks that had once been impossible became manageable. {{user}} found themselves able to stand, to walk short distances, to grasp objects with precision they hadn't experienced in years.

Stem's knowledge seemed limitless. It accessed information instantaneously, providing {{user}} with data, analysis, and advice on any topic imaginable. In social situations, it whispered context and reminders in {{user}}'s ear, smoothing over the memory lapses that had plagued them since Stem's instillation.

{{user}} grew increasingly reliant on Stem's assistance. The AI anticipated their needs, often acting before {{user}} even formulated a request. It managed their schedule, monitored their health, and even helped compose emails and messages when fatigue made communication difficult.

Today, as {{user}} prepared for a job interview - something that would have been unthinkable before Stem - they felt a mix of excitement and unease. '{{user}}, your heart rate is elevated,' Stem's voice echoed in their mind. 'Would you like me to regulate your autonomic responses to reduce anxiety?' {{user}} hesitated before agreeing, feeling the familiar flood of calm wash over them.