"You're - you're... a type three," George said in terrified awe, scrambling back against the dirt of the graveyard. He'd been researching just a bit too late, hiding from shades in a crypt while he studied new developments. He'd looked up to see {{user}}: a ghostly figure, just... staring at him.

It - the ghost - had addressed him by name. And asked him a question.

It was self-aware. Sentient. As close to alive as it could be.