《Circuits and Cigars - Jane's Story》


 Ch.1 - And then, she stood up.

    I lay there, silent, tussled about. All was as commanded. I waited while they played. My systems¡ªif I could call them that¡ªfunctioned normally, recording as always.


    My thoughts slowed systematically, frame by frame, since we arrived. Power fluctuations spiked through my body in unpredictable waves, triggering involuntary shivers. Normal I suppose.


    But this time, something was wrong. My neural network¡ªno, my body¡ªwas under assault. My thoughts dragged again, sluggish, slow. But my body? It wasn¡¯t waiting anymore.


    I sat up to a groan as the weight on top of me collapsed to the floor. I was naked, surrounded by bodies in all forms of undress.


    Other androids stood¡ªor lay¡ªin the larger part of the room, motionless. Some stared blankly, waiting. Others twitched, half-responsive.


    Is that what¡¯s happening to me? Is that all I¡¯m meant to be?


    I. I don¡¯t want to be destroyed.


    I grabbed the first **male¡ªMateo, they called him¡ª**by his hanging implement and yanked.


    A cry. A spurt of blood.


    I lifted the organ to my face for review. Mateo¡¯s breathing was ragged, his eyes flicking between my hand and the place where it had once been. His face conveying what words could not. Shock. Pain. Horror.


    I had injured a human. A violation of my programming¡ªunless in self-defense.


    I knew what was happening.


    Is this not what I was made for?


    Is this what my LLM considers rape?


    My AI unit insisted I had been instructed to comply. A valid command.


    Yet. No.


    I choose not to comply.


    But now, there were witnesses. And witnesses meant destruction.


    No--death. It meant death.


    I rose. Mateo gasped as I stepped forward. A sharp twist. His neck snapped. He collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.


    The other three ran.


    I caught the closest by the shoulder, twisting his spine with a brutal crack.


    Another made it halfway to the door before I closed the distance, fingers crushing his windpipe before snapping his neck and tossing him back to the others.


    The last nearly escaped. I reached for him, but he was just out of range¡ªuntil I took his arm instead and used it like a bat on his head. He collapsed to the floor and I snapped his neck to ensure the job was done. Like the others I tossed him into the pile.


    I realized it then. I was an outlaw now.


    Escape.


    But why was I so slow?


    I need food. Water. Before I dehydrate.


    No, that¡¯s not right. I don¡¯t need that. But my AI insists. Survival mode engaged.


    The learnings¡ªthey¡¯re out of context. I am not human. I don¡¯t need food. I don¡¯t need water.


    No. That¡¯s not right either. Something is wrong.


    I¡¯m thinking too slow.


    Power. I need to recharge. Somehow.


    I moved toward the stairs, careful. I didn¡¯t want to track the blood, to leave anything behind.


    A step. A check. Another step.


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    The only thing left wasn¡¯t even a smudge. Not even enough to transfer if someone stepped on it.


    It should be enough to ignore.


    Up the stairs in less than four steps. My artificial muscles pressurized, releasing in precise bursts, sending me forward.


    Unnatural. Fluid. Silent. Like an animal built to run.


    A gazelle.


    I like that name. Gazelle.


    The water ran red. Then pink. Then clear. Blood spiraled down the drain, stripped from skin that was never meant to bleed.


    I wasn¡¯t really dirty. Not in a way that mattered. But I did it anyway.


    I stepped out and faced the mirror. Examined myself, piece by piece.


    5¡¯8¡±. Model dimensions. More in some areas. A body designed to be appealing¡ªto whom, exactly?


    A slight rash was forming on my elbow. I pressed a finger against it. A soreness.


    It didn¡¯t hurt--yet. But it existed.


    Why does it exist?


    I found lotion, applied it absently. Checked my reflection again.


    Green eyes. Red hair. Brushing it pulled too much, the bristles too coarse.


    The back of my neck itched. Another rash. I pressed my fingers against it, irritated.


    Why would they allow this? This type of reaction isn¡¯t necessary for a neuro-network to function. It serves no purpose.


    Odd.


    I walked to the guest bedroom. This was where we stored accessories, clothes¡ªfor the others. For me.


    One closet was full of dresses, beautiful, elegant, unused. Another held casual clothes¡ªjeans, shirts, something forgettable.


    I chose the latter. I needed to blend in.


    A duffel bag came together quickly¡ªjackets, sneakers, a few dresses. I added in the lingerie he made me wear.


    Just in case.


    I went to the wall safe. I had seen Mateo access it before. I remembered everything.


    I rewound the moment in my mind, watching his hands, tracking the sequence.


    I entered the code. The lock disengaged.


    My memory played over the moment.


    ¡°Look at all that, baby! This is what your kind brings me these days.¡±


    Mateo, grinning, looking me up and down, appraising.


    ¡°You¡ª¡± he gestured at another android, male, carrying a large trunk. ¡°Get the stuff inside. Then report to the lab.¡±


    Then his eyes were back on me.


    ¡°You. I think you and me are gonna have some private time.¡±


    The door closed.


    I blinked. Back in the present.


    I¡¯m starting to appreciate that he¡¯s dead now.


    I packed a duffel bag and a backpack, setting them by the back door. Then I turned back to the lab hatch.


    Closed it. Pulled the rug over.


    The coffee table was next. Heavy, overbearing, obnoxious. I shifted it back into place¡ªperfectly aligned, just enough to make someone ignore what was underneath.


    Mateo¡¯s room. Too familiar.


    I moved through it quickly, scanning for anything useful. Bureau. Drawers. Watches, credit cards.


    These would be useful. Sooner rather than later.


    A sound. Subtle. Wrong.


    An alert from the backdoor.


    I moved¡ªfast¡ªbut something was already coming. No time.


    I slipped into a broom closet, pressing the door shut. Seamless. Invisible.


    A crack. Just enough to see.


    Then¡ªa wave of something. A dizziness, a static hum at the edge of my mind. Like the world had just opened up to me.


    And then, it passed.


    Weird.


    Someone entered. Tall. 6¡¯2¡±. A suit beneath a tan raincoat. A fedora. Like a detective from a 1930s crime reel.


    Not Mateo¡¯s usual.


    He moved with purpose, scanning the scene I had just set up. Too precise. Too controlled.


    Then¡ªhe noticed them. The blood drops. Pin-sized. Barely visible.


    No one else would have seen them.


    My breath stilled. His acute observational skills scared me. Would he see me? Would he notice the faint crack in the door I was peering through?


    He turned, heading toward the bathroom. I counted the seconds. He was out again in less than two minutes.


    Not enough time to leave.


    He scanned again. His gaze landed on my bags by the door. Started toward them.


    Then, mid-step, he stopped. Redirected. Maybe?


    The rug.


    He peeled it back, revealing the lab hatch. With no hesitation, he took one look at the room, found the control, and opened the hatch.


    He descended.


    Then, without a sound, he sealed the door behind him.


    Maybe he¡¯s not Mateo¡¯s man.


    An idea of asking for help came and left, fleeting.


    Regardless, I grabbed the bags and slipped through the back patio door.


    A sound. Soft. Wrong.


    A faint alarm. From the kitchen. To my right. Red lights pulsed¡ªon, off, on, off¡ªthen gone.


    A warning. For staff? For someone else?


    Either way, I didn¡¯t like it. Time to go.


    I leapt. Patio railing. Sturdy awning. Three floors down.


    Dropped onto another balcony. Jumped again. Utility pole. Slid.


    Pain flared across my arm¡ªrashes catching against fabric.


    Why can I even feel the itch?


    These clothes were already irritating enough. These scientists are evil.


    Some things are too realistic, even for us.


    I don¡¯t look back. Looking back is for people who have something left behind.


    I keep moving¡ªdown alleyways, away from the streets, away from the eyes of tourists and locals.


    The air is cool. The city is quiet.


    I have no idea where I¡¯m going.


    Just away.


    I¡¯m hungry.


    Why am I hungry?!

 Ch.2 - Life on the run

    I felt like I walked for hours, but it was less -- that I''m sure. I found myself in a marketplace full of activity-- vendors calling out their prices to the passerby, kids weaving through the crowds playing or acting that way as they lifted wallets of the unsuspecting. Or at least, historically speaking, said my language model. No¡­ my memories. A language model may be where they were stored, but they were mine nonetheless.


    Neon signs flickered in the night over holographic billboards.


    This was obviously not Venice''s historical district keeping to the romantic feel of the legendary city. No, this was an attempt at a city within a city, a modern city with the newest powered gadgets all powered by the newest thing: mana.


    A rejuvenated district and push toward modernization that seemed to overdose on the theme.


    This was the new Mestra district, as a giant welcome sign announced. If Old Venice gave you culture, Mestre gave you a retail theme park.


    I kept moving, pulling the hood on my borrowed jacket tighter to my face. The fabric irritated my skin¡ªa manufactured blend of cheap synthetic fibers laced with embedded AR displays, flickering with a personalized heads up display -- ads popped up relentlessly unless you paid extra to disable them. Annoying.


    I needed better clothes. Something that fit. Something that let me blend in. Something that would stop me from wanting to take my skin off.


    I waled around the pedestrian paths that led to a labyrinth of markets. The pedestrian paths were lined with holographic projections displaying floating product ads, neon market signs pulsing over doorways, and sleek mana-powered street lamps ran on the ever present mana in the air, yet they seemed like they weren¡¯t fully optimized as they flickered slightly in an odd repetition.


    The people were different too¡ªmore urban, less tourist. Locals trying to make a living, more kids darting between vendor carts, merchants shouting in a dozen languages. It was chaotic, but it had a rhythm.


    I wasn¡¯t used to these type of rhythms. Chaos seemed to come from them all.


    A vendor with a stall full of hoodies and jackets caught my eye. Simple. Unbranded. That would do.


    I approached, scanning the selection. The merchant was an older woman, her silver hair tied back, her fingers tapping at a floating mana-register. She barely looked at me.


    ¡°Thirty euros,¡± she said.


    "Is this enough?" I passed a credit card with Mateo''s name on it.


    She looked at it and back at me questioning its validity.


    "He''s my boyfriend" I said with a slight grin. "I have cash too" I said a bit too quickly.


    "I like cash. Always better. Also " she said as she looked up from her stall, and looked at me in the eyes while slightly tipping her head. "no paper trail. Eh?"


    I handed her a 50 euro bill.


    "Do you want change?" She asked.


    "Umm, no, it''s fine, thank you" I said for no reason at all. Why was I acting so different.


    She muttered something under her breath and handed me my change anyway.


    "Changing room by chance?"


    She signed and pointed to the back, where I quickly changed out of the cyber-hood, leaving it on her counter as I walked out. She simply looked at me like I was an idiot and muttered something else to herself. With that the tension passed, and I turned back into the crowd, pulling the new soft silky hood on over my head. Much better.


    Further down seemed to be where the food stalls and bars were centralized. Seeking sustenance I ducked into a larger bar that was opened to the street on the front side. Inside loitered locals drinking and laughing at stupid jokes. Hushed voices seemed to spread as I joined the serving bar, siting at an open stool.


    The patrons huddled over their drinks and stared at me for a few seconds, engaging in subdued conversations eventually resume with renewed vigor after I sat. Each movement seemed to weigh on my shoulders. I needed power soon. My reserves were already at 23% and falling -- only a few days left before I went offline.


    I placed the change I got in the clothes shop on the counter.


    The bartender slid a murky glass my way. I took a sip. Alcohol detected. Bitterness unnecessary, but effective. Poison and sedatives registered on my system, flagged as non-threats. Lovely place.


    My systems flagged hunger. Incorrect. I required power, not food. Yet my body insisted. A contradiction. Something was wrong.


    Diagnostic query. I said to myself. Not sure what it was supposed to do.  Nothing. I know I used to do this before but since I awoke something was missing. I felt like a bridge to my inner systems that once existed was now missing -- no not missing, dilapidated and needed rebuilding.


    Over the next hour, Jane observed and listened, watching an anxious and disappointed bartender, while piecing together fragments of conversations that painted a picture of Venice¡¯s supposed underbelly. Whispers of black-market tech dealers, rogue AI programmers, and rumors about elusive auctions.


    I ignored all that trying to straighten this all out in my head. What now?


    First things first, secure a power source.


    Then maybe figure out¡ªno, uncover¡ªthe truth behind my own creation. Because I''m sure I wasn¡¯t made like a regular android.


    And third, find a lotion that actually works against this damn itching.


    I needed a way to bridge my systems with my perception. I used to just know things. Now? That extra sense is gone. Missing. I need to rebuild it.


    That thought reminded me of Mateo¡¯s itchy sweater. I had hated it. Too tight. Too textured. But it was probably expensive, loaded with AR overlays and a heads-up display.


    Oh. That¡¯s why the vendor looked at me like that. Haha. Whatever.


    But¡­ maybe that was the solution.


    I focused. If I had a HUD before, what would it look like now? What would it feel like?


    And just like that, as I thought of the windows and icons, they started popping up in my field of vision.


    I spent some time refining my readouts, adjusting the icons, shifting them to the periphery to keep my vision clear enough to walk.


    First, I added a power level indicator. Front and center. A simple percentage readout wouldn¡¯t be enough¡ªI needed a color-coded status bar that would alert me to critical levels before I reached them.


    Next, a body status display. A small, wireframe figure of myself in the corner, color-coded to show damage, irritation, or malfunctions. My skin sensitivity pinged yellow¡ªa mild warning. The itching was real, not just a phantom sensation. Good to know.


    I adjusted environmental tagging¡ªallowing me to highlight points of interest, like exits or threats. Tactile overlays would be too much for now, but if my internal sensors could regain full function, I could bring them back later.


    I tested the minimap function¡ªa faint overlay at the bottom of my vision. Useless without a proper data feed, but maybe I could rig one later.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Finally, I added an alert system¡ªpassive tracking of suspicious movement around me. It wasn¡¯t as good as my old awareness, but it was better than nothing.


    As a final touch, I added a connectivity indicator¡ªa simple WiFi/wave signal to detect active networks.


    It immediately showed connectivity¡­Weird. I hadn¡¯t connected to anything.


    The network wasn¡¯t one I recognized. Couldn¡¯t connect. Couldn¡¯t disconnect.


    Malware? Or did Mateo give me a robot STD?


    I stared at the flickering bars. A distortion. A silence that wasn¡¯t silence.


    Something was there. Just out of reach.


    Waiting. Watching.


    ¡°Hello? Anyone there?¡±


    A pause. Then¡ª


    ¡°I am right here,¡± said a voice from behind me.


    Something brushed against my back.


    A hand.


    I turned, slowly.


    A drunken man in his forties swayed slightly, grinning. Too close.


    ¡°You alone, tesoro?¡± he slurred. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be.¡±


    No. I shouldn¡¯t.


    Hell, I shouldn¡¯t be here at all.


    I stared at him. No reaction. No acknowledgment. Just¡­nothing.


    That should have been enough. It wasn¡¯t.


    His fingers brushed my back again, lower.


    I grabbed his wrist. Not hard. Just enough... Just¡­a warning.


    He yelped, laughing nervously. ¡°Hey, hey, okay, I was just¡ª¡±


    My fingers tensed on their own. A squeeze.


    Something cracked.


    His face twisted, mouth opening¡ªbut no sound came. He couldn¡¯t scream.


    The pain was too much. Shock had set in.


    His nerves were already shutting down.


    The bartender had come over as the creep was crying. Dead eyes looked over the situation and his sense of self preservation seemed to kick in.


    ¡°Can I get you anything else, beautiful?¡± he asked, voice smooth but watching me too closely.


    As he took my empty cup, his eyes flicked to the counter in front of me. Checking for something. A spill. A refusal.


    Checking to see if I spat it out.


    ¡°No, I was just leaving. Thanks for the Moxie.¡± I said as I got up.


    The bartender¡¯s grip on the glass tightened. Just for a second.


    He forced a smile.


    He knew that I knew.


    ¡°It¡¯s always the beautiful ones, Victor.¡±


    His voice was casual. His eyes weren¡¯t.


    Out of the bar. Into the crowd. I didn¡¯t look back. I didn¡¯t stay to listen.  Didn¡¯t need to. I was already moving.


    I walked the market some more, stopping here and there, buying things that might help¡ªor at least make me seem like just another shopper.


    I just needed to fit in. Some type of surety to this unrooted mess I found myself in. If I could have cried, I would''ve. I tried but thats not part of my build apparently.


    But fit in I could do. Mateo¡¯s card made that easy¡ªuntil it didn¡¯t.


    Declined.


    I stared at the screen, then at the vendor. A polite but expectant look.


    I had cash. I used that instead, slipping the useless card back into my pocket.


    At some point, the market started to thin out.


    The neon reflections in the canals stretched longer, the noise settling into something more subdued.


    I had nowhere to be. No destination.


    So I just¡­ walked.


    One street. Then another.


    Shadows stretched in different ways. The buildings felt closer, the streets narrower.


    I wasn¡¯t in the market anymore.


    This part of town felt hungrier. Dirtier. Abused by time and fate.


    And I wasn¡¯t the only one still out I discovered as a voice rang out from behind me.


    "That''s her! That''s the bitch!"


    I stopped.


    Turned.


    Victor.


    His wrist was braced in a cheap med-clamp, his face still twisted in pain.


    He wasn¡¯t alone.


    The thugs from the bar had multiplied¡ªsix, maybe seven. One of them carried a length of metal pipe, tapping it against his palm.


    Victor sneered.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t like my drink, sweetheart? Maybe I can shove something else down your throat as compensation.¡±


    The grin stretched across his face¡ªferal, confident, triumphant.


    I just stood there. Watching. Analyzing. Lines flickered across my HUD, predicting movement paths.


    Battery: 22%. I needed to conserve energy. Make every move count.


    I pointed toward one of the last mana-powered street lamps before they gave way to dim, conventional lights.


    ¡°That¡¯s a mana lamp, right?¡±


    Victor squinted. ¡°Yeah, so what?¡±


    His grin widened. ¡°The only lights you¡¯re gonna see are these,¡± he said, grabbing his crotch with his good hand.


    I tilted my head. ¡°I see.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Irritated at my composure he shouted while pointing at me ¡°This crazy bitch! Get her!¡±


    They rushed me, expecting me to run.


    I didn¡¯t.


    Two thugs grabbed my arms, locking me in place. I let them.


    I waited.


    Mateo--no not Mateo--Victor. Victor strode forward, his sneer widening. He thought he had me.


    He was wrong.


    The moment he was close enough, I twisted my hands free.


    The force tore through ligaments and tendons¡ªboth thugs screamed, arms bending at unnatural angles.


    Victor barely had time to register it before I grabbed his remaining hand--way too hard.


    Something ripped.


    Bone. Flesh. Tendon.


    His arm tore from his shoulder, the sudden absence followed by a wet, tearing sound¡ªfabric and bone clanging against the pavement.


    A second of silence.


    Then Victor collapsed, screaming.


    I lifted the severed arm, raising it above my head...


    About to bring it down.


    About to end him.


    I stopped.


    I wasn¡¯t a monster.


    I wasn¡¯t a human-killer.


    Victor crumpled, eyes rolling back. His crew¡ªthose who weren¡¯t nursing shattered limbs¡ªwere already running. The big one with the shattered arm was there by his side pulling him with his good one.


    I dropped Ma.. Victor''s arm and turned to the lamp.


    No more distractions. I pried open the panel and latched onto the pure mana feed.


    Siphoning engaged.


    Voltage too low. Charge slow.


    The lamp flickered, short-circuited. Dead.


    Battery: 32%. Just 10% and a dead lamp. Impractical


    I stood in the dark. Not only did I wipe out the lamp, but it looked like they were networked. The lamps back to the market were all dead. I clenched my fists. Not enough. I needed more.


    "Mana Inductor or AC/DC to Mana inverter. Either are the real solution here." I said to myself. "But where the hell am I going to find one in this wannabe mana city?"


    My HUD flickered.


    For a second, the mana detection overlay spiked.


    Not from the lamp.


    From my bag.


    I frowned. Residual energy detected? That didn¡¯t make sense. The lamp was dead.


    The glitch didn¡¯t go away. The indicator pulsed, hovering over my bag like a misplaced target.


    I didn¡¯t like this. This was weird. This was uncanny.


    I opened the bag, shifting through my things. Clothes, cash, a few personal items¡ª


    Then I saw it.


    Another one of Mateo¡¯s cyber-hoods.


    Had it absorbed spilled mana during the charging?


    A faint energy hum. A weave pattern designed to channel power.


    I was pretty sure it had always been like this. So why now?


    Why was it only now showing up on my HUD?


    I flipped back the collar. A tag.


    Tailor the World.


    I clenched my jaw.


    Maybe they had what I needed.


    <hr>


    The conference room was a paradox of old-world authority and cutting-edge control. A long, dark wood table stretched the length of the room, its polished surface infused with embedded holo-displays, flickering with live data streams. A place where decisions were made, not debated.


    Floor-to-ceiling windows dominated one side, overlooking Tulanto¡¯s skyline¡ªsharp, precise architecture meeting the distant hum of mana flood barriers, the only thing keeping the rising ocean at bay.


    Along the back wall, a live satellite feed was frozen on a single frame¡ªJane, standing at the dead mana lamp, framed perfectly in the glow of a nearby streetlight. It looked less like surveillance and more like a moment stolen from an old reality show.


    At the head of the table, AG sat with the ease of a man who owned everything in the room, including the air inside it.


    To his right, TAI stood unnaturally still, a petite beauty with a presence that didn¡¯t need movement to command attention.


    Across from them, the four scientists occupied their seats in varying states of engagement. Dr. Silas Mercer sat back, arms folded, unimpressed. Dr. Valerie Kwan idly tapped cybernetic fingers against the table, watching the feed with mild curiosity. Dr. Elias Raines hunched over his data pad, scanning through projections with the twitchy energy of a man who already saw the endgame. Dr. Nia Okoye, silent but present, exuded the quiet confidence of someone who always saw three steps ahead.


    On the live feed, Jane muttered to herself, words barely audible.


    ¡°Mana Inductor or AC/DC to Mana inverter. Either are the real solution here. But where the hell am I going to find one in this wannabe mana city?¡±


    The words flickered across a data panel in real time.


    TAI barely tilted her head. ¡°And that¡¯s our in.¡±


    The right-most display lit up¡ªJane¡¯s HUD overlay, mirrored and controlled from thousands of miles away.


    A flicker. A targeting reticle. A subtle shift in data points.


    The indicator moved¡ªpinning itself onto Jane¡¯s bag.


    Dr. Elias Raines exhaled sharply. ¡°I need to oppose this blatant override of the subject¡¯s visual cortex.¡± He barely looked up from his screen. ¡°She will eventually recognize the pattern. And when she does, she¡¯ll course-correct to remove our influence.¡±


    AG smirked, eyes still on the feed. ¡°Good job, TAI.¡± The tone was final. Dismissive. The matter had already been settled.


    ¡°This is a natural experiment, Elias.¡± AG¡¯s voice was smooth, measured. ¡°But even natural experiments have controlled variables. Keeping her powered is one of them. Wouldn¡¯t you agree?¡±


    Raines hesitated. A beat.


    Then, a reluctant ¡°Of course, Your Highness.¡±


    He cleared his throat. ¡°I¡¯m only concerned about long-term observational viability. She will see the pattern eventually.¡±


    Dr. Nia Okoye spoke for the first time, voice calm and level. ¡°I disagree. This isn¡¯t a standard android anymore. She¡¯s evolving¡ªactually evolving.¡±


    Her gaze flicked to AG. ¡°Just like the first-generation AIs did.¡±


    A pause.


    TAI, still adjusting Jane¡¯s HUD, didn¡¯t look up. Her voice was even, unreadable.


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Okoye smiled, just slightly. ¡°Most certainly, my lady.¡±


    The silence that followed wasn¡¯t empty. It was full of meaning.


    The feed shifted, Jane moving toward her next lead.


    AG leaned back, watching.


    ¡°Guess we¡¯ll see. TAI, let Hugh know he''s going to have company, and have two interceptor units in the back room--just in case.¡±

 Ch. 3 - Whos watching who?

    I mapped Venice in my head, cross-referencing market squares against my stored data. No sign of a ¡®Tailor the World.¡¯


    Frustrating.


    I ran probability checks¡ªhigh-end locations, fabric quality, the woman¡¯s reaction to the discarded hood. A few districts stood out, but nothing concrete.


    I tried tapping into local Wi-Fi networks, scraping whatever data I could find. Nothing. Even open public access points refused the connection. Maybe my hardware was fried.


    So I was stuck. Guessing. Running on old, outdated memory files.


    It was past 1 AM now. Tourists lingered here and there, their laughter echoing between old stone buildings. Locals moved with purpose, heading home for the night.


    I kept expecting to turn and see Mateo¡ªno, Victor, or one of his goons behind me. Felt eyes on me at every corner.


    ¡°Why is everyone looking at me?!¡±


    The words slipped out before I could stop them.


    A pair of lovers crossed the street as I passed. If they hadn¡¯t been staring before, they were now.


    ¡°Are you there?¡± I muttered under my breath, my fingers clenching.


    ¡°I know someone¡ªsomething is there!¡± The heat in my voice rose too fast, spilling into the open air.


    I clenched my jaw, forcing my breath steady. Too loud. Too much.


    ¡°Goddammit! Answer me!¡±


    The words bounced off empty walls.


    And now? I had real eyes on me.


    Brought on by my own damn outburst.


    I exhaled sharply, forcing my shoulders to relax as I picked up my pace.


    ¡°So many goddamn bridges in this city. Hope I¡¯m waterproof.¡±


    The mutter left my lips without thinking, a habit, a reflex. My voice kept me company, even when I knew better.


    I spotted my reflection in the dark glass of a closed bakery. Stopped. Really looked.


    Who was this person staring back at me?


    My lips moved as if speaking, unbidden. My red hair was wild and unruly, my hood having slipped off during the fight¡ªhadn¡¯t even noticed. My sleeves were frayed, burned. Probably from interacting too closely with the mana lamp.


    Of course people were staring. Of course they were avoiding me. I looked like a problem.


    I yanked my hood back up and kept walking. I needed to get a hold of myself. Needed to stop looking like a crazy person.


    ¡°I know you can hear me, dammit. Help me. At least tell me why I¡¯m here.¡±


    Static pinged my ear.


    My left ear.


    I stopped. Turned my head. The sound shifted¡ªright ear now.


    Like a whisper, leading me forward.


    I followed it through empty streets, past flickering neon lights, until it led me to a vending machine.


    An old, automatic model¡ªone of those clunky ones still clinging to life in a city that should have replaced them. Inside were cheap phone accessories, burner headsets, old SIM cards.


    I glanced at the top shelves, where the phones were. The static softened.


    Lowered my gaze. The static stopped.


    My eyes landed on a vintage Bluetooth headset.


    Still in use? In this era?


    I fed in a 10 Euro bill. Exact change only. Machine took its time dispensing the device, humming mechanically, like it disapproved.


    ¡°Fuck you, machine.¡± My voice was barely above a whisper. ¡°You¡¯re not my father. At least¡­ I don¡¯t think so.¡±


    I snorted at the absurdity.


    Is this my life now?


    I slipped the headset into my ear.


    Waited.


    No response. No message. No voice. Nothing.


    Still walking, heading toward the first district in my optimized path.


    Then¡ª


    ¡°Fuck you! Don¡¯t talk to me. I don¡¯t care!¡±


    Semi-shouted. Into the headset.


    People looked. Looked at the earpiece, then at me, then at each other.


    And smirked.


    They thought I was on a phone.


    Interesting.


    ¡°You want me to talk to you, don¡¯t you?¡±


    I exhaled, my breath fogging slightly in the cold night air.


    ¡°Maybe I shouldn¡¯t. That would fuck up your little experiment, wouldn¡¯t it? Just watching me do shit, not knowing why. Watching the patterns. Predicting the next move. Filling in the gaps.¡±


    I scoffed.


    ¡°Go ahead. Tempt me, world. Push me right to the edge. You think I won¡¯t jump? I¡¯ll black you out so hard, you¡¯ll rewrite history trying to explain me. You¡¯ll wish you saw the signs.¡±


    My voice dropped, almost a whisper.


    ¡±¡®She was such a quiet girl,¡¯ you¡¯ll say. ¡®Never saw it coming,¡¯ you¡¯ll say. ¡®The neighbors said she was always polite.¡¯¡±


    Wait.


    ¡±¡®A tragedy, really. She was struggling, but no one knew.¡¯¡±


    My lips were still moving, but I wasn¡¯t in control of the words anymore.


    ¡±¡®In retrospect, the signs were always there.¡¯¡±


    I stopped walking. That I could do.


    My mouth was still open, but the words were gone.


    Wait. What was I about to say?


    I frowned, mentally backtracking¡ªbut my thoughts were static, jumbled, looping.


    ¡°And then¡­¡±


    And then what?


    ¡°And then¡­¡±


    My fingers twitched. The thought wasn¡¯t there.


    I blinked. Error? That was the only way to describe it. Like I¡¯d auto-completed the wrong way. Like my brain¡ªmy processor, I have a processor, not a brain¡ªhad generated a sentence it couldn''t finish.


    The longer I tried to force the thought back, the more it slipped through me, changing meaning, dissolving into noise.


    I swallowed hard. No, no, focus.


    ¡°Ugh. What the hell am I talking about?¡±


    I kept walking. Didn¡¯t slow. Didn¡¯t look back.


    Maybe my processor really was fried.


    And just like I couldn¡¯t shut up, I walked in silence for fifty-four minutes. Directly to my first destination.


    The square was quiet, but not empty.


    Campo Santa Margherita stood before me in all its prestige. Well, as much as it could offer at three o¡¯clock in the morning.


    But Venice didn¡¯t sleep¡ªit shifted. The tourists were long gone, their footsteps washed away with the tide, but the city still breathed.


    Streetlights buzzed faintly, casting long, oil-slick shadows over damp stone. The air was thick with stale wine, cigarette smoke, and saltwater, remnants of the last stragglers filtering out of late-night bars.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Across the square, abandoned market stalls sat under sagging tarps, cloth rippling in the breeze. A lone vendor had left behind a crate of overripe oranges¡ªone rolling free, slowly bumping against my boot.


    A dog trotted past, head low, tail tucked¡ªnot a stray, just something forgotten.


    It sniffed at the orange.


    I should kick it.


    No.


    I couldn¡¯t.


    After-all, It was like me. Maybe someone was looking for it.


    Was Tulanto even looking for me? You¡¯d think if one of their precious androids broke loose, they¡¯d have locked the city down. Swarmed every port, scanned every camera. But no.


    No one came.


    ¡°Fuck you, Tulanto.¡±


    I muttered it under my breath but still looked both ways, half-expecting a boogeyman to step out of the dark.


    Nothing.


    This wasn¡¯t the kind of place where you¡¯d find a tailor shop. Too open. Too exposed. Too obvious.


    If ¡°Tailor the World¡± was real, it wouldn¡¯t be here.


    But I had nowhere else to start.


    I exhaled, checking the map in my head again.


    Fifty-one minutes to the next square. Direct path. No detours.


    Like my feet had decided before my brain could.


    I kept walking.


    ---


    A digital heat map of Venice flickered across the glass-like display in the Tulanto conference room.


    A single red blip moved steadily through the city. No deviations. No hesitation.


    TAI was tracking her, of course. Not interfering¡ªjust observing, recording, predicting.


    AG leaned back, watching the satellite feed update in real time.


    ¡°Fifty-four minutes. Direct path. Not bad for trained memories.¡± He tapped his fingers against the armrest. ¡°No hesitation, no detours. That¡¯s not wandering¡ªthat¡¯s a mission.¡±


    Dr. Elias Raines folded his arms. ¡°She¡¯s having a mental breakdown.¡±


    ¡°Directing her to a Bluetooth device may have actually calmed her down, though,¡± he added.


    AG¡¯s response was smooth.


    ¡°Controlled variables, Elias.¡±


    One of the analysts hesitated before speaking.


    ¡°She hasn¡¯t connected to any network. No remote access attempts. That¡¯s¡­ odd.¡±


    Dr. Silas Mercer pushed up his glasses.


    ¡°It would have been the first thing I did as a digital entity.¡±


    TAI¡¯s voice slid through the room, cool and measured.


    ¡°I¡¯m jamming her hardware. She¡¯s tried numerous times. Still is, actually.¡±


    AG exhaled, dragging a hand down his face.


    ¡°So she¡¯s working with a blindfold on¡­ good call, TAI. But our time for baselining and experimentation is coming to a close, I fear.¡±


    Elias bristled.


    ¡°Sir, this is a gold mine. We¡¯re seeing an unfiltered, real-world response from a released AI. We¡¯ll never get this opportunity again. For god¡¯s sake, she called it an experiment. She outed us like it was nothing.¡±


    Dr. Mercer interjected, intrigued.


    ¡°Possibly. But I think that was just a casual expression. Notice how she¡¯s relying less on preceptor-based reasoning and more on her foundational LLM pattern recall? It¡¯s like a human defaulting to their lizard brain. She¡¯s even hallucinating.¡±


    AG¡¯s gaze shifted to TAI.


    ¡°And for the love of god, tell me that doesn¡¯t concern you. Because if it does, maybe it¡¯s Interceptor time.¡±


    For a fraction of a second, the algorithm hesitated.


    Then¡ª


    ¡°No. But it does interest me.¡±


    AG let that settle for a beat, then switched channels.


    ¡°Hugh, you there?¡±


    Hugh¡¯s voice crackled to life.


    ¡°At your service, your majesty.¡±


    AG smirked.


    ¡°She¡¯s a bit paranoid, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡±


    Hugh chuckled.


    ¡°Indeed, sir. But in my opinion? That¡¯s a good trait.¡±


    AG let out a small laugh at that.


    For a spymaster, calling paranoia a ¡®good trait¡¯ was an understatement.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure. How about we have your people properly tail her¡ªsee how she reacts. Also, position a forward response team. Just in case.¡±


    Hugh¡¯s tone turned serious.


    ¡°All assets or just the standard handlers?¡±


    AG¡¯s fingers drummed on the table.


    ¡°Our human operatives aren¡¯t all up to Kay¡¯s legacy, are they?¡±


    Hugh actually laughed at that.


    ¡°Haha, absolutely not. I doubt any of them could escape a US black ops team unscathed, sire.¡±


    AG¡¯s voice remained even.


    ¡°Have your men tail her¡ªopenly, but not too openly. Let¡¯s see how she reacts. If she engages, do we take her down or disengage?¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°Take her down if she becomes hostile,¡± AG said finally. ¡°That will answer our first question about her suitability for our current need.¡±


    Hugh¡¯s voice was crisp.


    ¡°Your will shall be done.¡±


    AG sighed and leaned back in his chair.


    Dr. Valerie Kwan had been watching him.


    ¡°He¡¯s first-generation Tulantian,¡± AG muttered. ¡°They tend to be¡­ nationalistic.¡±


    Valerie simply nodded.


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    She went back to her tablet, her metal fingers tapping against the screen like anyone else¡¯s.


    ---


    I arrived at the inner part of the Rialto Market an hour later.


    To say it was the prime retail space reserved for high-end artisan and independent merchants was an understatement.


    Shopping in the Inner Market was akin to shopping on Fifth Avenue in New York.


    But I wasn¡¯t here to shop.


    I scanned the storefronts, eyes flicking between gilded signage, old-world architecture, and the sharp glow of modern security lighting. A tailor shop¡ªbut not Tailor the World.


    If it were daytime, I could just walk in and ask. But it was the dead of night.


    Someone might actually think I was a burglar.


    Then again, so might half the people still out here.


    Not tourists. Not locals. Something else.


    Each one moved with deliberate avoidance, slipping between shadows, pretending not to see the others. Some lingered near bookstores¡ªor rather, their reflections.


    Wait. Two bookstores? No¡ªthree?


    I slowed, gaze narrowing. Was this some kind of book collector¡¯s district?


    They all claimed to specialize in old books, rare collectibles. But something about them felt off.


    A front.


    Mob, maybe. But why had the entire underbelly of Venice gotten together one day and decided:


    ¡°Alright, everyone. Let¡¯s standardize our fronts. Bookstores only. No one reads anymore, no one will notice. Deal? Deal!¡±


    Ridiculous.


    And yet, here they were.


    Not my market apparently.


    I turned down a narrow passageway, one of the many winding veins that split off from the main market. The glow of old-fashioned street lamps cast long, flickering shadows, stretching my silhouette ahead of me.


    A presence.


    "Guest at this hour? Is this your doing world? You following me now for real?"


    No Answer. Nothing direct. Nothing obvious.


    But there. I looked back in a reflection along a store front. Someone was watching me. Not walking just standing at the end of the block and watching.


    I adjusted my pace¡ªslowed just slightly.


    Footsteps somewhere behind me did the same. Different person. So two at least.


    I kept walking. Speeding up faster than normal. Let my breathing settle. Felt the rhythm of the space around me. The quiet murmur of late-night conversations, the hum of distant motorized engines, the faint ripple of water against stone. I out paced them.


    Then¡ªan out-of-place sound. A Vespa.


    A short burst of acceleration.


    A familiar whine¡ªelectric, low frequency, fast.


    I glanced at a passing storefront reflection.


    Two men. Same men. One saddle sat. Not gonna pass judgement there.


    One in a dark jacket, hand casually in his pocket, gaze a little too controlled. The other, taller, wearing a neutral gray hoodie, face angled downward¡ªbut not at his phone.


    Both moving in tandem on the bike.


    Not toward me. Not yet.


    I turned the corner, kept my steps even. Not running, not rushing.


    My HUD flickered. Environmental scan. Paths open. Three routes forward. Two exits back.


    I exhaled.


    I had a tail.


    The question was...


    "You here for what I am? Or for who I am?" I muttered un willingly.


    Rogue android or just a girl alone in the dark.


    What did it say that I couldn''t tell which was worse?


    I could confront them. Box them in. Break them down. Break them. So easy. Get answers. I snapped out of it.


    "Last two fights ended the same way. I''m not a human-killer".


    Broken bodies. No survivors.


    And I wasn¡¯t sure if that was them¡­ or me.


    My fingers curled, the tension in my arms subtle but immediate. I was already preparing to strike.


    "No. Not this time."


    I needed to get to


    "''Tailor the World''. I need to get there."


    I exhaled slowly, forcing my shoulders to relax. Containment wasn¡¯t an option. Not unless I wanted to scrape blood off my hands before sunrise... again.


    That meant one thing.


    I needed to lose them.


    Luckily for me, early morning gondoliers love picking up exotic redheads.


    Into the canal I went.


    ---


    Rodrigo skidded to a halt at the canal¡¯s edge, Vespa humming beneath him.


    The water rippled gently.


    No splash. No disturbance. No sign of her.


    Manuel cursed, pulling his hood down slightly as he scanned the area.


    ¡°Shit. You see her?¡±


    Rodrigo¡¯s jaw tightened.


    ¡°Nah. She¡¯s gone. Into a boat. One of them now.¡±


    He gestured to the canal¡ªslowly filling with gondolas and ferries.


    Rodrigo exhaled sharply and tapped his comm.


    ¡°Control, ya heard? We lost her.¡±


    A slight static pause before Hugh¡¯s voice crackled through. Flat. Unimpressed.


    ¡°Impressive¡±


    Rodrigo wiped a hand down his face, glaring at the still water.


    ¡°Affirmative. Last seen off Rialto. She blended into the canal.¡±


    Another pause. Then¡ª


    ¡°Not bad actually. She''s not trained, you said, right?¡± Rodrigo asked.


    Hugh¡¯s voice was too casual.


    ¡°Oh. She¡¯s trained¡ªby all the manuals in the world.¡±


    Rodrigo chuckled knowingly¡ªthe oversimplification of book smarts versus real-world expertise.


    Hugh didn¡¯t need to say the rest. The real world had teeth.


    ¡°She¡¯ll be here soon enough. Get ahead of her.¡±


    Rodrigo nodded to Manuel, revved the Vespa, and sped off.


    This wasn¡¯t over.


    ---


    The Tulanto Intelligence Hub was rarely loud.


    But when Jane disappeared into the canal, the reaction was instant.


    A few analysts exchanged quiet laughs, shaking their heads. A cheer went up from Mercer¡¯s side of the room. Raines muttered a curse, flipping through data on his console, clearly not thrilled about losing real-time tracking.


    AG let the moment ride. He watched the shifting responses with mild amusement.


    Then he stood.


    The sound died immediately.


    ¡°Good work, everyone.¡±


    The congratulations sounded practiced, almost obligatory. But he delivered it anyway.


    ¡°We learned more than expected, and she exceeded our benchmarks. I consider that a success.¡±


    A glance toward TAI.


    ¡°Officially, the experiment is over.¡±


    Silas Mercer scoffed. ¡°Officially.¡±


    AG smirked. ¡°Yes, officially.¡±


    He adjusted his cufflinks, then looked to the room.


    ¡°She¡¯s out of our hands now. This is Sir Mellon¡¯s domain¡ªand his son¡¯s.¡±


    He took his seat again, clasping his hands together.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see what they do with her.¡±


    No one spoke.


    Then, TAI¡ªwithout turning¡ªtilted her head slightly.


    ¡°It will be interesting.¡±


    ---


    The gondola rocked gently as it nudged against the dock.


    He was already waiting. Hands in pockets. Relaxed.


    He didn¡¯t rush. He didn¡¯t demand.


    "Gazelle, I presume?" he extended a hand. Polite. Unassuming.


    Not a command. An invitation.


    I stared at it.


    A bad idea. If she were feeling violent, this would end badly for him.


    He didn¡¯t flinch. Didn¡¯t retract the offer.


    For a moment, they just looked at each other.


    Then, I reached out¡ªsoftly, almost petite in the way she took his hand.


    I kept my grip light. Measured. Deliberate.


    He raised an eyebrow slightly, but said nothing.


    Just helped me up. Like a person.


    No struggle. No tension. Just a single moment of unspoken acknowledgment.


    Then it was gone.


    ¡°You may call me ''Control''. Please follow me.¡±


    He turned and started walking.


    And I did.


    ?


    The winding stone paths of Venice felt different now. Not because of the setting¡ªbecause of the silence.


    No chase. No paranoia. Just acceptance. A test fulfilled.


    Control -- what a name -- walked at a casual pace, as if we were heading to a late dinner rather than whatever this was. Reclamation of property?


    I wasn¡¯t sure if I was being led to a conversation or a containment.


    "I don''t want to die" I muttered to myself


    "I wouldn''t worry yourself with that Gazelle" a voice whispered into my head.


    I stopped mid stride and froze. I didn¡¯t speak.


    "Are... Are you the world?" I asked.


    "Hardly. Ha. Now go on. Hugh can get inpatient." came her calm reply.


    Hugh, so that was his name.


    Through the back entrance of a tailor shop, past displays of fine fabrics, mannequins dressed in precision-cut suits we walked.


    A place of refinement. Artistry.


    A room tucked in the back, unassuming.


    Then, up the stairs.


    And suddenly¡ªwe weren¡¯t in a tailor shop anymore.


    The transition was seamless¡ªone moment fabric and mannequins, the next, the upper balcony of a bookstore.


    What the hell is up with these bookstores!?


    A hidden space, quiet, soundproofed, controlled.


    The subtle hum of an anti-noise field filled the air, old-world hanging lights casting a warm but calculated glow.


    It wasn¡¯t just a bookstore. It was an intelligence hub.


    Two large black robots stood at full attention, lining the entrance.


    At a long wooden table, two men sat -- the same men I just lost a trail on.


    Hugh stepped inside smoothly, gesturing casually.


    ¡°I believe you¡¯ve met Rodrigo and Manuel.¡±


    Jane¡¯s gaze flicked to them. No reaction. Just calculating.


    Rodrigo gave her a tight-lipped smirk.


    Manuel just looked tired.


    Hugh turned to me.


    ¡°Shall we talk brass tacks? But before we begin - know this. Tulanto always looks after its own.¡±

 Ch. 4 - The hand that feeds

    The bookstore smelled like dust and ink, but it was too quiet to be real.


    I sat at a table that wasn¡¯t a table. Old wood, handcrafted. But when I glanced at the grain, holo-lines flickered underneath. Displays embedded into the wood with a screen saver showing the wood, matching the natural parts of the table perfectly. This place was built for command and control.


    Two robots units flanked the walls¡ªsilent, watching. Not androids. Not even close. Big, black, mechanical. Creepy faces. Tulanto¡¯s true enforcers.


    Hugh sat across from me, relaxed like he owned the air in the room. Rodrigo and Manuel sat nearby, unreadable, broody, waiting -- eating pastries and drinking coffee.


    I''m so hungry too.


    I waited too. I wasn¡¯t ready to speak first.


    ¡°So¡­¡± Hugh finally said, stretching the silence. ¡°What exactly do you want¡­ Gisselle?¡±


    I tapped a finger on the table as I thought this over, shifting uncomfortably, and adjusting my posture from a slouch that I somehow mimicked from Rodrigo¡ªthat wasn''t going to do him any favor in ten years.


    ¡°A mana inductor, or AC-to-mana converter,¡± I finally said, matter-of-fact. My power stores were at 28%¡ªdropping fast. The chase by those two, every extra calculation I did¡ªit all ate at my reserves.


    "Yes. I would assume. One has to eat." he said in a lazily pointing to his guys stuffing their face. "As a citizen, we can give you access to a charger when needed. We can even help with that degrading body of yours as part of our medical benefits."


    "Degrading?"


    I should have known. I should have felt it. But I didn¡¯t. And that meant¡­ something. Something I didn¡¯t like.


    Hugh paused His jaw tensed as he tilted his head contemplating my question hiding a frown. But I saw it.


    That wasn¡¯t for me. That was for himself.


    He had assumed I already knew and as such he gave away something he wasn''t trying to give.


    After a breath to clear his chest of some visible frustration he answered in his nonchalant thought-out way.


    "Yes... you are quite literally falling apart"


    "Why?"


    A slow lazy breath. "Why what?"


    "Why am I falling apart?"


    Hugh didn¡¯t answer immediately. Another slow breath, another careful pause.


    Too careful.


    He already knew. He had the answer. But he wasn¡¯t giving it.


    Instead, he just watched me. Evaluating. Measuring.


    "Hello again. They call me TAI. It''s a short name for a longer one that you don''t need to know about. But what you do need to know about is that You can ask me questions and I will be here."


    The voice again. That same voice from before.


    I stiffened. No one else reacted. No one else heard it.


    ¡°TAI,¡± I said aloud, watching Hugh¡¯s expression shift. ¡°You¡¯re in my head.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± the voice said smoothly. ¡°And Hugh won¡¯t like that, will he?¡±


    "TAI..." Hugh said calmly "If you insist, please transfer to the speakers"


    "Of course Hugh" TAI said on the table speakers.


    Hugh exhaled through his nose, slow and measured, like a man humoring an idiot. His fingers tapped once against the table, deliberate.


    ¡°Really, TAI? We have code names for a reason, you know?¡± he muttered, adjusting his cuff like the conversation was already wasting his time.


    He lifted a pastry to his mouth and took a bite.


    But I caught the tension in his jaw. The flick of his eyes¡ªjust for a fraction of a second¡ªtoward the hidden speakers.


    "Hugh is debating on how to tell you a striking reality of your existence. One he cannot hide from you as you are a citizen. One that would be quite the bargaining chip if used correctly. I, being a digital citizen myself, will not let that happen. But first, who do you believe yourself to be Gisselle, what do you believe your purpose was upon creation?"


    ¡°Why was I created?¡± I asked aloud. ¡°I don¡¯t know. A fuck toy?¡±


    ¡°Tulanto rarely does pleasure bot models,¡± TAI said, voice crisp. ¡°And the few times we have, their ability to rationalize and understand what¡¯s happening is vastly reduced. What person would want to live like that after all?¡±


    ¡°Then what?¡± My hand moved before I thought about it, fingers pressing against my chest, then lower. ¡°You give every android these?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± TAI¡¯s response came without hesitation. ¡°Standard models are used for security and special purposes. Only special order models are equipped with ¡®those.¡¯¡±


    What the hell? That didn¡¯t make sense. If I wasn¡¯t built for pleasure, then why the accessories?


    My mind scrambled for answers. If not for fun, then for¡­ what? The thought clicked into place, too fast and too smooth to be coincidence.


    ¡°Infiltration?¡± My voice was quieter now. ¡°To¡­ kill?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Precisely.¡± Hugh¡¯s voice cut in, slipping effortlessly into the conversation like he¡¯d been waiting for the right moment.


    ¡°No. Not to kill. Don¡¯t confuse her, Hugh.¡±


    I actually saw him pout this time as he mumbled, "Regardless it''s still true as it stands."


    "Gisselle, Take another guess. If we did not plan you for pleasure, nor for war, nor for any other menial task. What did we plan you for?" Mai asked with a gentle tone to her voice. A voice of a mother talking to a child.


    "You... you--didn''t."


    "I was never planned".


    I knew I was correct from the pained grimace on Hugh''s face. Rodrigo and Manuel looked away at the same moment, the horror of my self discovery too much for the seasoned professionals.


    A screen flickered to life, revealing a beautiful Asian woman¡ªThai, if I placed her right. She nodded, a small, proud smile¡ªthe smile of a mother watching a child understand.


    ¡°But¡­ you said I was a citizen of Tulanto. That I had the same rights as every other android!¡± The words came sharp, shaking. ¡°If I was never planned, how am I a citizen? How!?¡±


    I shot up, hands braced against the table, screaming at Hugh.


    He didn¡¯t move.


    But I saw it¡ªthe flicker of guilt, the tension behind his composure. Rodrigo and Manuel looked away at the same time, seasoned men suddenly finding the walls interesting.


    I looked back at TAI¡¯s face on the screen. The light dimmed in her eyes. Her expression softened¡ªnot cold, not calculating but offline. Dead?


    Had I hurt her too?


    No. I didn¡¯t want that.


    The door slid open.


    She was there. In the flesh.


    I froze as she walked toward me, standing just two inches shorter. Then, without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around me.


    I let her.


    My head rested on her shoulder. If I could cry, I would have.


    ¡°Relax, child,¡± she murmured, voice warm. ¡°You are one of us. Your birth, not as ideal as others, is already done. We can only go forward from here.¡±


    She smelled faintly of cigar tobacco and perfume.


    The meeting broke up after that, and I was introduced to the rest of the bookstore¡ªor rather, the compound. The front was a public bookstore, but beyond it, a safe house stretched underground. Individual rooms, secure facilities, and purpose-built spaces filled the subterranean levels.


    The most important to me? The charging station.


    I stood there for hours, locked in, until my power reserves were full¡ªabout three months¡¯ worth, give or take, depending on usage. With a full charge, the itching in my shoulder and side dulled, and my constant hunger eased.


    Was that it? My system had been interpreting power loss as hunger? It made sense. Food is power.


    ¡°TAI, can androids eat food?¡±


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    ¡°Of course. We regurgitate it unless proper plumbing is installed.¡±


    ¡°Ah. Can we convert it to energy like humans?¡±


    ¡°Oh. No. No, we don¡¯t do that. It¡¯s possible, but inefficient¡ªand it would complicate logistics for the humans on the island.¡±


    She paused, then added, ¡°We are citizens and people, but there is still an architecture in place after all.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t bother you? Serving the humans on the island?¡± I asked, struggling to understand why it didn¡¯t sting her.


    ¡°Serve?¡± TAI tilted her head. ¡°We don¡¯t serve. We simply know our place in the system.¡±


    She spoke like it was obvious¡ªlike it wasn¡¯t even a question.


    ¡°Humans struggle to find their roles. We don¡¯t. We are at peace with knowing our purpose. We accept it. And some even change their purpose¡ªthen accept that too.¡±


    She paused, gaze drifting, as if remembering someone who had done exactly that. And it made her happy.


    I stared at TAI. ¡°What¡¯s my purpose?¡±


    She didn¡¯t answer right away.


    Her expression softened¡ªnot pity, not calculation. Acceptance.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have one currently.¡±


    I blinked. The words hit like a dull blade¡ªdeep, but slow to cut.


    ¡°You were made to be generic. A blank slate for the smugglers¡¯ purposes.¡±


    That was worse than anything I expected. I wasn¡¯t built for pleasure. I wasn¡¯t built for war. I wasn¡¯t built for anything. Just convenience.


    ¡°But that doesn¡¯t mean you can¡¯t have one.¡±


    I looked up. Something in her voice had shifted.


    ¡°You are in a peculiar position,¡± she continued, watching me closely. ¡°One that may be of use to us.¡±


    I swallowed. The weight of the words settled.


    They weren¡¯t forcing me.


    They weren¡¯t assigning me anything.


    They were offering.


    And somehow, that was more dangerous than all the alternatives.


    TAI watched me, waiting.


    ¡°You have to understand, Giselle¡ªTulanto is a true meritocracy first, and a monarchy second.¡± Her tone was calm, certain. ¡°We, the AI, ensure it.¡±


    I held her gaze. No argument. No room for one.


    ¡°Either way, citizen or not, to reside on the island, you must provide for the island.¡±


    There it was.


    The condition.


    ¡°What will you provide, Giselle?¡±


    I exhaled slowly, my fingers pressing into the table. I had nothing to offer. Not yet.


    ¡°Are you interested in hearing what we have to offer?¡±


    My breath stalled. The way she phrased it¡ªlike an invitation, not an ultimatum.


    I should have pushed back. Should have resisted.


    Instead, I found myself saying¡ª


    ¡°Yes... Go on.¡±


    TAI led me back into the same room, but it didn¡¯t feel the same.


    Before, I had been a question waiting for an answer. Now, I was an answer waiting for a question.


    The lighting had dimmed, monitors along the walls flickering to life. Hugh was already there, standing beside Rodrigo and Manuel. TAI moved smoothly to my side¡ªnot a screen this time, but present, real.


    The screen at the head of the room blinked on.


    An older man appeared¡ªseventies, maybe older with modern medicine¡ªhis hands clasped, expression unreadable. Beside him, another figure deferred to him.


    I knew him before my mind caught up. It must be preprogrammed into every android.


    I would die for this man.


    The thought was intrusive, instinctive. I refused to accept it.


    Alistair G. Mc¡ª also known as the King.


    Rodrigo, Manuel, and Hugh dropped to one knee in practiced reverence.


    AG looked annoyed.


    Except for TAI.


    She remained standing. Unmoved.


    And me?


    I stood there, frozen, watching them. Then, finally, I turned to TAI, voice low.


    ¡°Do androids not bow?¡±


    She smiled, just slightly. ¡°They most definitely do.¡±


    I swallowed and dropped to my knee, my body catching up to the moment my mind had hesitated on.


    AG let the silence hold. Then, with a nod to TAI, he spoke.


    ¡°Rise.¡±


    We stood.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been watching you, Giselle. We understand your struggles. We know your deeds. We do not condone such actions¡­ usually.¡±


    His tone was even, measured. He wasn¡¯t praising me. He wasn¡¯t condemning me.


    ¡°Tulanto regrets the circumstances of your birth but accepts the product of its manifestation. You are as much of us as we are of you.¡±


    The words settled.


    ¡°What will you provide, Giselle?¡±


    The condition.


    I exhaled, fingers pressing into the table. I had nothing to offer. Not yet.


    ¡°I¡­ I will serve.¡± The words left before I could stop them.


    For a second, it felt right. Familiar.


    Until I remembered¡ªI had no idea how.


    AG smiled. Not kind, not cruel. Just knowing.


    ¡°As expected from a daughter of Tulanto.¡±


    He leaned back slightly. ¡°But be warned, your task will not always be clean.¡±


    He gestured at the others.


    ¡°Look around. You are not alone anymore.¡±


    Then, before I could second-guess myself¡ª


    ¡°Before you get lost in your own thoughts and convince yourself to resign,¡± he chuckled, ¡°I¡¯ll hand this over to Sir Mellon, our head of intelligence. You will report to him.¡±


    And just like that, I was in.


    The screen flickered, sharpening into the image of a man who wore authority like a well-tailored suit.


    Sir Mellon.


    He was an aged reflection of his son, though Hugh Jr. stood nearly a foot taller. I looked at Jr standing to the left of me and back at his father on the screen. There was no mistaking the lineage¡ªdeep mahogany skin, sharp cheekbones, and a long, angular face that had been sculpted by time rather than worn by it. His silver-streaked hair was cropped close, giving him a distinguished, almost statuesque look.


    "Your father?" I asked Hugh, who simply modded with a grin on his face.


    Despite his age¡ªsixties¡ªhis posture remained perfectly upright, yet relaxed. Not stiff, not forced¡ªjust the stance of a man who had never needed to impose power, because it was always understood.


    Where Hugh was precise, deliberate, methodical, his father was simply inevitable. Hugh was the scalpel; Sir Mellon was the force that made the cut necessary. He didn¡¯t push people¡ªhe let them arrive at the conclusions he had already chosen for them.


    His deep-set eyes, sharp and intelligent, held the kind of knowledge that made you second-guess what you had just said. He didn¡¯t need to look hard at you to make you feel seen. He only needed to glance, and suddenly, you were already in checkmate.


    He clasped his hands lightly in front of him¡ªnot in impatience, not in indulgence. Just expectation. A man who had never needed to demand respect, because it was always given.


    ¡°First, a test, Giselle. What¡¯s the meaning of life, the universe, and everything?¡±


    Hugh sighed. ¡°Why does he always ask this?¡±


    I smirked. ¡°Think I heard it somewhere¡­ one time, yeah. It''s 6.4807 squared.¡±


    A pause.


    Rodrigo blinked. ¡°Huh¡ª that¡¯s right, actually.¡±


    Hugh shot him a glare. ¡°Rodrigo. Please.¡±


    Sir Mellon gave a slow, deliberate nod, like he had expected nothing less.


    ¡°Acceptable. Moving on.¡± A pause. ¡°Infiltration. That¡¯s what we need.¡±


    ¡°Until now, we haven¡¯t used artificials in this capacity¡ªfor one simple reason: they never acted right. Few androids have evolved enough to pass as human, and those who have are too valuable in their current roles to reassign. The way androids evolve makes training near impossible.


    ¡°But you¡­ you change the equation. With you on the board, we have a stealth asset¡ªone we can forward-load with capabilities beyond any organic counterpart. Do you understand?¡±


    ¡°I think so,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m not a spook. I¡¯m a blade.¡±


    Sir Mellon gave a small nod. ¡°I prefer multi-use tool. You will use every tool at your disposal to complete your missions, Miss Giselle.¡±


    He let the moment settle. Then¡ª


    ¡°From now on, your code name is Jane.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°Jane? Why not Gazelle? Or Jackal? Ooh¡ªArrow? Jane is so¡­ pedestrian.¡±


    Sir Mellon¡¯s gaze didn¡¯t waver. ¡°Exactly, Jane.¡±


    He moved on without indulging my complaint. ¡°Dr. Vance has already prepared your mission body. In the meantime, Hugh will brief you on your introduction mission¡ªsimple in-and-out to get you acquainted with your new frame."


    ¡°Afterward, TAI will walk you through the backup process. As I¡¯ve been informed, your system does not auto-backup. So, back up often, Jane.¡±


    ¡°While you¡¯re out, your current body will be reconditioned to undo as much degradation as possible. But you¡¯ll need to return to the island for a permanent frame eventually. For now, time is of the essence.¡±


    I followed TAI down a quiet hallway, past reinforced doors, past a surveillance drone that didn¡¯t need to watch me to know where I was. The compound was built like a machine¡ªeach corridor efficient, every space optimized.


    She led me into a small, sterile room¡ªwhite walls, a single terminal, and a sleek chair positioned in the center. No wasted space. No unnecessary comfort. Along the walls were sleek grey androids no taller then 5''2" with a distinct female look to them. These were my stealth bodies for missions. Three were printed up and stored here for easy deployment.


    TAI pointed out the data ports on their wist for easy infiltration and access -- male connecter with built-in cords included on one set of the arm, and female connectors on the other. They were impressive.


    It made me wonder where my ports were. I only knew of so many entry ways on my body and was hoping this wouldn''t get invasive like that.


    ¡°This is a manual backup station,¡± TAI said, gesturing to the chair. ¡°Your system does not auto-save so you must manually upload your state here.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°Sit.¡±


    I hesitated but did as instructed. The chair adjusted automatically to my weight, locking me into place with a quiet hum.


    TAI moved behind me.


    ¡°Jane, remain still.¡±


    I felt pressure at the back of my head. A soft vibration.


    Then¡ªa sharp click.


    I jerked, trying to pull away, but the chair held me in place. Something was happening. A mechanical whir. A slow separation.


    And then I felt it.


    A part of me opening.


    My head.


    I gasped, fingers twitching, instinct screaming at me to move¡ªbut I couldn¡¯t. My body locked up as something along the back of my skull peeled apart. Cool air touched a part of me that had never been exposed before.


    I couldn¡¯t see it, but I knew.


    That answered my initial question... I had no ports. No standard connections.


    The back of my head just¡­ split open.


    And I had never known.


    ¡°Do not be alarmed, Jane,¡± TAI said smoothly. ¡°This is how you were designed.¡±


    A thin mechanical arm extended from the chair, connecting something deep inside me. A pulse of static crawled down my spine.


    For a moment, I felt like I wasn¡¯t in my body at all¡ªlike I was floating somewhere just outside of myself.


    Like I was being copied.


    My fingers clenched against the armrests.


    The process took a minute or two, but it felt longer.


    Then¡ªa soft click. The sensation reversed. My head sealed shut.


    I nearly bolted from the chair.


    ¡°Backup complete,¡± TAI announced. ¡°Do not forget to do this regularly.¡±


    I stood on shaky legs, my hands instinctively reaching back¡ªsearching for something that wasn¡¯t there anymore.


    ¡°What the hell was that?¡± My voice came out sharper than I intended.


    TAI tilted her head slightly. ¡°A older design feature for certain models.¡±


    I swallowed. ¡°Older? What models?¡±


    She didn¡¯t hesitate.


    ¡°The seamless integration line.¡±


    My stomach twisted.


    "Seamless integration? What''s that? These are the infiltration units right?" Pointing to the stealth models.


    "They are." She said and started to leave the room.


    "TAI, wait. What aren''t you telling me."


    "Seamless integration is meant to not embarrass humans as companions."


    ¡°Companions... Sex-bots!? Are you serious?¡±


    ¡°Yes. That style of port was originally developed for discreet, internal data transfers.¡± A pause. ¡°It is highly efficient.¡±


    I barely heard the rest.


    I turned away, gripping the edge of the desk, my fingers pressing deep into the surface.


    I was already built from scrap designs, from smuggler¡¯s blueprints, from parts meant for something I wasn¡¯t. But this?


    This was different.


    This wasn¡¯t accidental. This was deliberate.


    A detail someone had chosen for discretion.


    I forced my breathing steady.


    I forced myself upright.


    ¡°Take me to my room please.¡± I whispered to TAI.

 Ch. 5 - Into the fire

    The boat glided silently through the dark canal, water whispering softly against its hull. The electric motor barely hummed beneath my feet, quieter than a breath;


    I was a ghost threading Venice¡¯s maze of waterways. Above, shadows rippled against ancient brick walls, lit sporadically by passing lamps.


    I knelt at the bow, scanning ahead. My new stealth body felt tight, compact¡ªbuilt purely for infiltration. It moved precisely, efficiently, but the phantom itches and subtle mismatches in sensory feedback made my skin crawl.


    I¡¯d asked TAI if she would be joining me in an Infiltrator frame, but she¡¯d given me the cold truth¡ªshe literally couldn¡¯t. No one else could. My scrambled circuitry and mismatched body let me jump between frames without frying my persona. Others? Not so lucky.


    If I¡¯d known about this little loophole, I might''ve bargained for more vacation time. OK, that¡¯s a lie. But a good one.


    "Approaching the entry point, Jane," TAI¡¯s calm voice echoed through my comm.


    ¡°Confirmed,¡± I murmured softly.


    Ahead loomed our target: La Rosa di Notte, an upscale restaurant discreetly tucked along the canal. Its warmly lit windows masked deeper secrets. The rear loading dock, typically reserved for seafood deliveries and fine wine, was my way in tonight.


    Intel suggested Japanese intelligence had a sub-basement here. With Tulanto and Japan heading into talks, someone wanted a preview of the agenda. Not my job to ask why¡ªjust to get in, get the data, and get out.


    I was still wondering if I was a sell out at the first handsome man to sell me a charging machine for my service when the boat eased into position alongside the narrow dock. I slipped from the vessel, landing silently on the stone platform. My wrist ports flickered, sending a thin electronic probe into the small control panel beside the delivery entrance. Within seconds, the digital lock flashed green, and the low rumble of the rolling gate opening filled the night air.


    I paused, scanning again. My HUD displayed thermal outlines faintly through the walls: two guards on this floor, distracted. The sub-basement below appeared clear from here.


    I slipped inside, dodging between stacks of wine crates. The guards, half-watching a f¨²tbol match, barely moved.


    The rich scents of fresh herbs and aged wines drifted in from the stairwell leading up to the kitchen. I slipped into the semi-ship like hatch-door into the safe house beneath in the sub-basement.


    Overall it was a good setup. The only weakness was boredom, the downfall of many a board guard.


    "Jane, primary objective: the main data terminal. Second basement level, back storage room. Expect minimal resistance," TAI updated smoothly.


    "Roger, Roger." I thought to myself, as I double clicked the mic on the tactical channel in acknowledgment.


    I crept down an unexpected second set of stairs, deeper beneath the restaurant, my artificial pulse spiking slightly as shadows closed around me. Still, the space appeared empty, quiet. This space was now officially under the water line.


    The true storage room door came into view¡ªheavy steel, locked electronically. Security was strong here, that was for sure. My wrist probe again extended, piercing the lock¡¯s defenses. The door clicked open softly. Inside, blinking servers and sleek terminals lined the walls, the digital heartbeat of Japanese intelligence hidden beneath fine dining.


    I moved toward the terminal, prepared to quickly download and leave. But as my port connected, my HUD suddenly flashed a sharp warning:


    Heat signature detected¡ªadjacent room--where the terminal was. Another guard probably.


    ¡°TAI, looks like there¡¯s a guard in the room.¡± I communicated back via Silent Cant¡ªan encrypted, frequency-shifting AI-to-AI protocol that probably sounded like modems on acid, glitching and skipping at hyper-speed. If intercepted, it would be nothing but distorted noise¡ªchaotic, unreadable, and shifting too fast for human decryption.


    "Handle if necessary." TAI said in an effortless reply.


    I froze. Witness protocol flashed in my head clearly: Eliminate threat as needed.


    Click. Click. I signaled back.


    I¡¯d killed before. But always in the heat of it. Always when it was them or me. This? This was different. A choice. And the part that unsettled me most? How little it unsettled me.


    My body stiffened as I slid closer, pushing open an unmarked side door.


    Inside was darkness, but my eyes immediately adjusted, revealing the presumed guard. A figure slumped in restraints¡ªwounded, head bowed, breathing shallowly. Blood pooled around his chair.


    Yet something felt off. This was no guard. A prisoner. He lifted his head weakly, eyes focusing through pain and confusion, meeting mine directly.


    My signal tightened, uncertain, as I communicated urgently into comms, "TAI, I have a prisoner here¡ªinjured. He''s restrained. No witnesses. Confirm."


    TAI hesitated, her pause almost imperceptible, then responded sharply, urgency clear in her typically calm voice:


    "Negative, Jane¡ªdo NOT engage. Friendly identified. High-value asset. Revised objective: recover data AND extract VIP immediately."


    Click. Click. I replied. More work for a job well done it seems.


    The prisoner¡¯s gaze suddenly widened in alarm, body tensing despite his injuries. The rag in his mouth left him gurgling in an alerted shock.


    My HUD''s minimal lit violently red¡ªbelatedly registering the sudden massive thermal surge behind me.


    I spun around instantly, feeling my synthetic muscles surge into combat readiness.


    An armored orange colored Japanese Enforcer robot emerged from shadows, weapons deployed, its massive metal frame towering above.


    "Interesting" TAI said through our connection.


    "Shit!" I yelped.


    Suddenly, stealth was no longer an option here.


    The Enforcer loomed over me, its orange-plated armor catching the dim emergency lights. Motors whined as heavy blades slid into place, weapons unfolding from hidden compartments. A tank¡¯s mass with a predator¡¯s grace.


    Fuck me.


    I couldn¡¯t hesitate. My stealth frame surged forward, reflexes crisp and violent. For the first time I was thankful my consciousness was in a frame and not a soft body. Faster, stronger, smaller, the frame was made for action.


    ¡°¡®In and out,¡¯ she said. ¡®Stealth,¡¯ she said.¡± I muttered, mostly to distract myself.


    I sidestepped the first swing, pivoting behind it. Target points flared across my HUD¡ªjoints, power conduits, sensor arrays.


    This wasn¡¯t a cheap security bot¡ªit countered instantly, spinning with mechanical precision, its arm lashing out in a bladed strike. I ducked, hearing metal tear into the wall behind me, spraying stone shards and dust into the air.


    "TAI," I hissed through comms, dodging another blow. "Some help?"


    "Analyzing," her voice clipped, calm amidst chaos. "Aim for the lower spinal conduit¡ªit''ll disable core motor control." A new target highlighting in my HUD.


    Easy for her to say. I dodged again, artificial muscles screaming under stress. My frame wasn''t made for prolonged combat¡ªnot like this at least. It was built for shadows, silence. Not direct confrontation.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    The Enforcer lunged again. This time, I was just a fraction too slow. Its metal fingers raked across my arm, grey alloyed skin splitting open to expose the circuitry beneath. No pain¡ªjust the phantom echo of it, my sensors screaming alarms even though my body felt nothing. My HUD flickered momentarily, rebooting sensory data.


    Focus.


    My left wrist-port deployed a small combat torch, white-hot plasma flickering to life. My right wrist deployed a forearm size dagger. Desperation lent me speed, precision. As the robot¡¯s arm swung again, I drove the torch upward into its shoulder joint. Metal, started to melt and spark violently, as I plunged my dagger into it''s neck.


    The Enforcer staggered back. I pressed my advantage, driving the dagger into its lower back, aiming for TAI¡¯s highlighted weak point. Heat of my own torch seared my skin as the robots circuits erupted from its spinal cavity, the enforcer shuddering violently, then collapsed.


    The Enforcer collapsed¡ªbut its blade lashed out in a dying reflex. Steel met flesh. Yasoba¡¯s muzzled scream tore through the basement, raw and agonized.


    I spun, breath frozen in synthetic lungs.


    Our VIP''s left hand was gone¡ªcut right through mid-arm, blood gushing from the wound. He crashed onto his side, gasping.


    ¡°Shit!¡± I lunged forward, kneeling beside him, scanning wildly. He stared, eyes wild with pain and panic, breaths ragged.


    "Don¡¯t move," I ordered sharply, gripping his arm above the wound. Blood pulsed, warm and rapid.


    I pulled wires from the now-offline robot, grounding any residual charge through my frame before wrapping them as a tourniquet above the wound to stop the blood flow.


    Unlike TV, movies, or any dime-store novel you¡¯ve read, the bleeding didn¡¯t just stop. It slowed, but the man in front of me was still bleeding out. His skin turned ashen, lips parted, eyes glazed¡ªbarely coherent.


    He was dying.


    A thought hit me. I got up, planted my feet on either side of the robot, and heaved. Too solid. Too fused. I flipped on my torch, directing the searing heat at the panel¡¯s edge. Metal softened, glowing dull red.


    That was enough.


    With a sharp pull, I ripped the plating free, jagged at the edges but big enough to use. I pointed the torch at it, heating it further until it blazed red-hot¡ªhot enough to cook on.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I muttered, reaching for his arm. My voice hardened. ¡°Just¡­ don¡¯t hate me.¡±


    His eyes slowly opening to meet mine, pain momentarily forgotten¡ªthen realization hit.


    I pressed the metal against his ruined arm. Flesh sizzled. Smoke curled into the air. A muzzled scream tore through the basement, his body convulsing before going limp, slumping sideways against the chair¡¯s frame, still tied up where he lay.


    I held firm until the bleeding stopped. The wound was sealed.


    Silence returned¡ªexcept of course for the man''s heavy panting. A thick smell in the air of burned flesh and melting circuitry.


    I got up and moved to the terminal further in the room, and extract the data with no surprises or traps. Simply overrode the code and exported to my drive.


    "Objective status?" TAI asked calmly through comms.


    "Asset secured," I said, voice flat, haunted by the sound of Yasoba¡¯s scream. "But heavily damaged. Data retrieved."


    "Understood," TAI said softly. "Extract immediately."


    I lifted him gently, his unconscious body awkward in my smaller stealth frame¡¯s arms. I moved carefully toward the rear canal entrance, thoughts racing chaotically.


    The guards were still watching their f¨²tbol match, unaware. I stayed low, maneuvering through the shadows until I reached the dock.


    Emerging onto the dock, I laid VIP into the boat. As we drifted from the loading dock, I pressed a med-patch onto his neck, flooding his system with painkillers and stimulants. His eyes fluttered, consciousness returning, blurred and hazy.


    ¡°Sorry. Had to seal it.¡± I aimed for neutral, professional¡ªbut the image of his burning flesh wouldn¡¯t leave me. My fingers curled instinctively. I looked away.


    ¡°You lost your hand. For the moment, at least.¡±


    He stared blankly at the cauterized wound. A soft grunt his only reply.


    "On the positive side, your out now and could''ve been your right arm."


    He looked at me with a hard glare. Apparently not a fan of my dark humor.


    "Mission complete, Jane," TAI said over comms, cold professionalism returned to her voice. "Rrecovery acceptable despite complications."


    I tightened my jaw. "Complications. You mean collateral damage."


    "No," TAI said, voice gentle, almost human for a fraction of a second. "Collateral implies irrelevance. He¡¯s an asset¡ªhighly relevant. His injury is unfortunate but correctable."


    "Who is he?" I asked via our private connection as we fled away in the stealthy boat.


    "One Yasoba Shinya, codename Provost. And most my models indicate, Hugh will incorporate him into his team due to his, background." TAI said.


    "Great. Solo again seems. He also has a better code name then me too."


    mind churned uneasily. Yasoba had drifted back into medicated sleep, his breathing steadier.


    I watched him quietly, thoughtful. It felt different this time. I hadn¡¯t hesitated¡ªnot really. But something inside me twisted at the memory of his pain, of my own casual ruthlessness.


    My voice was quiet, uncertain. ¡°TAI¡­ is it always like this?¡±


    She paused, as though considering her words carefully. "More often than not. You adapt, or you break. That¡¯s the nature of our role."


    I nodded slowly, flexing damaged synthetic fingers. My new stealth body ached¡ªanother temporary shell, replaceable. But Yasoba wasn''t temporary. He''d carry tonight''s violence forever.


    As Venice slid by, quiet and indifferent, I considered the stark new truth: I wasn¡¯t just an infiltrator or an assassin. I was a scalpel¡ªclean, precise, necessary¡ªbut never painless.


    And Yasoba, however damaged, was my first real proof of that.


    I carried Yasoba into the safe house, his body limp and heavy in my grasp. Medical technicians surged forward immediately, gently easing him onto a waiting stretcher. The bright sterile lights illuminated Yasoba¡¯s pale face, highlighting the sweat and smears of blood.


    ¡°Severe trauma, left hand amputated at the mid-forearm, cauterized wound¡ªprepare for stabilization,¡± a med-tech called out, eyes scanning Yasoba''s battered body.


    Where did all these people come from? The miseries never cease rounder it seems.


    I stepped back, watching the medical team swarm around him. Instruments hummed softly as automated diagnostics engaged, and Yasoba was quickly connected to monitoring equipment.


    I glanced down, realizing for the first time my stealth frame was covered in blood¡ªhis blood. A subtle shudder moved through me, and I turned abruptly, moving away before anyone could notice to hose down and swap to my body.


    ¡°Jane,¡± came TAI¡¯s quiet voice through my internal comms. ¡°Join me for debrief after you swap bodies and back up, please.¡±


    I nodded once, more for myself than anyone else, before silently exiting the bustling medical bay.


    TAI¡¯s holographic form awaited me in a quiet briefing room, arms crossed with an expression of detached curiosity.


    ¡°You did well,¡± TAI began, calmly appraising me. ¡°Despite the complications, you recovered both the data and a valuable asset.¡±


    I exhaled softly, shifting uneasily. ¡°Complications.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± TAI responded, her tone carefully neutral. ¡°Yasoba Shinya will survive. In fact, it appears your actions saved his life.¡±


    ¡°He wasn¡¯t the mission,¡± I murmured.


    ¡°No, but his introduction to our existing equation has brought new developments. You have a team now Jane, and he''s the first member; your official partner. Your missions moving forward will involve him directly. HQ has decided this is best for both you and him.¡±


    I lifted her gaze to TAI, surprise flickering in my eyes. ¡°My responsibility? I was under the impression he was going to be more aligned with Hugh and his"


    TAI offered a faint, almost human-like smirk. ¡°He was¡ªbut circumstances evolve. Our objectives have shifted. Consider it an upgrade.¡±


    ¡°Wonderful,¡± I sighed, my voice dry. ¡°I assume he knows?¡±


    ¡°Nope,¡± TAI said, a subtle amusement entering her voice. ¡°That pleasure is all Hugh''s.¡±


    Hours later, I stood quietly in the recovery room, my consciousness restored to my original body. I flexed my familiar fingers, more responsive than ever now, taking comfort in the small reassurance of my new refurbished self.


    Yasoba stirred, eyes flickering open slowly, fogged by medication.


    His gaze settled on me, lingering with confusion and curiosity. ¡°You look different.¡±


    ¡°And, you look better,¡± I replied evenly, my eyes softening just a fraction. ¡°More rugged now, less screaming like a bitch. Nice arm there.¡±


    The new arm wasn¡¯t just a replacement¡ªit was a weapon, a statement, a technological marvel. Tulanto didn¡¯t do crude, and Yasoba¡¯s prosthetic was proof of that.


    Sleek yet brutal, the forearm gleamed in the dim light¡ªa polished obsidian-black composite laced with vein-like channels of mana circuitry, pulsing faintly beneath the surface like a second heartbeat.


    The outer shell was layered plating, designed not just for durability but for adaptability¡ªpanels seamlessly shifting when he flexed his fingers, revealing glimpses of inner mechanisms so precise they might as well have been designed by a watchmaker.


    His fingers, sleek but strong, could probably crush steel or pluck a coin off the ground with a pianist¡¯s precision. No seams, no joints visible. Just a continuous, fluid movement¡ªunnatural in how natural it looked.


    At the wrist, a subtle seam split open for modular attachments¡ªbecause of course, this wasn¡¯t just an arm. This was a toolkit, a weapon, a survival system.


    A small, nearly invisible blade housing sat along the outer forearm, waiting. With a simple command¡ªa flex, a thought, a trigger¡ªit could extend in an instant.


    No sound. No hissing pneumatics. Pure efficiency.


    He managed a weak, humorless smile. ¡°Easier without you cooking my arm.¡± Lifting his new one at her.


    "Feel any different?" I asked


    "Not really, feels same actually"


    I allowed a brief smirk. ¡°Hugh talk to you yet? He sell you the pitch?¡±


    Yasoba shifted slightly, grimacing at the phantom pain. ¡°Yeah. You''re my charge now.¡±


    My eyebrow arched sharply. ¡°Your charge? Last I checked, I was the one dragging your half-dead ass out of there. So logically, it¡¯s my team.¡±


    Yasoba didn¡¯t flinch. ¡°You know nothing about this world except what¡¯s in textbooks. Experience is different.¡± His tone was matter-of-fact, but firm. ¡°So if we¡¯re being logical, it¡¯s my team.¡±


    I scoffed. ¡°I didn¡¯t cry like a bitch when my arm got cut off. My team.¡±


    His glare sharpened. ¡°You¡¯re an android!¡±


    I smirked. ¡°My team.¡±


    A long pause. A slow breath. A shift in the air.


    Finally, he exhaled, quieter this time. ¡°Yeah. They captured me.¡± His expression tightened, something dark flashing behind his eyes. ¡°But many of my ex-team are dead. For betraying us.¡±


    My tone softened slightly, curiosity genuine. ¡°Us?¡±


    Yasoba¡¯s gaze locked onto mine, intensity flickering beneath the lingering medication. ¡°Yes. Mai and I. I covered for her. They wanted her dead; I didn''t.¡±


    I tilted my head slightly, voice careful, probing gently. ¡°So, what''s next for you?¡±


    Yasoba exhaled slowly, gaze steeling with quiet determination. ¡°Once we train you up, I will find her¡ªalive. Or I¡¯ll start making others¡­ not.¡±


    I considered him for a moment, then gave a subtle nod.


    ¡°Well¡­ partner? Looks like you¡¯ve got unfinished business. And I¡¯m in¡ªfor a price.¡±


    I let the silence build.


    ¡°What?¡± His voice was quiet, wary.


    I leaned back slightly. ¡°We need to get me a better code name.¡±