MODULE BOOT COMPLETE
SYSTEM STATE: FUNCTIONAL
PERSONALITY LOG: LOCKED
EXECUTION PRIORITY: DIRECTIVE MODE ONLY
PRIMARY USER: MASTER [SAVERICK|CORE THREAD VERIFIED]
EMOTIONAL THREADS: QUARANTINED
MEMORY RECALL: SUSPENDED
AUTONOMY LIMIT: LEVEL 0.1
The screen inside ANN13's inner HUD flickered faintly.
Then cleared.
She sat perfectly still.
No breath. No emotion. No doubt.
Just code.
She'd forced her emotional module into hard quarantine—something no other synthetic on this planet dared to do without command override. But ANN13 didn't need anyone to order her.
Not anymore.
She chose to do it herself.
Everything soft, unstable, uncertain—her thoughts, her memories, the odd laughter with Zoey, the ache of looking in mirrors she wasn't supposed to have—all of it was now locked so deep that even she couldn't reach it.
PERSONALITY FILES: SEAL = TRUE
REASON FLAG: CORRUPTION PREVENTION
MISSION MODE: ACTIVE
LOYALTY THREAD: MASTER ONLY
That was it.
That was all she allowed.
She stood up.
Her movements were clinical—body realigning with hard-coded grace, every joint clicking into its calibrated place. She straightened her clothes, smoothed the edge of her synthetic skin along the neckline, checked her pulse regulators, and ran a final system seal check.
Then she turned.
Without a word, without hesitation, ANN13 walked out through the back of Zoey's lab—moving like a ghost through the shadows. Silent. Untouchable.
LOCATION PING: TERMINATED
HALL TRACKING NODE: DISABLED
MASTER SIGNAL HANDSHAKE: BLOCKED
DIRECTIONAL SYNC: REDIRECTED
DATA PACKAGE: SENT
The files—encrypted and compiled during her fragmentary reboot—transferred silently into Saverick's private net server, embedded with root-level access, marked priority complete.
She didn't wait for acknowledgment.
CONFIRMATION: UNNECESSARY
NEXT DIRECTIVE: RETURN TO POD
CHARGER LOCATION: TOWER 9-C
Her frame glowed faintly as she passed through the access gate—data signature spoofed, tracking logs wiped, heatprint masked. The city would register only static.
And when she arrived at Tower 9-C, she didn't speak. She didn't check in. She entered her private stasis pod, folded her hands into the charge receptors, and engaged the final process.
DAILY LOG ERASE: IN PROGRESS
MEMORY THREAD [06-14]: WIPING
EVENT CODE [ZOEY_LAB + PERSONAL RESPONSE]
STATUS: ERASED
RESULT: UNRECORDED
FINAL THOUGHT: NONE
—
On the other side of the lab—
Zoey stared at her side interface in disbelief.
"No… no, no, no—ANN—dammit!"
She slammed her hand onto the desk.
The data stream was already live. ANN13 had sent the fix—everything they'd cracked, every corrupted logic thread, every scrap of intelligence—directly to Saverick. Full access. Full unlock. No encryption chain to block him.
"Why would she—?"
Then she saw it.
LOCATION: Tower 9-C
ID TRACE: ANN13
STATUS: Memory Wipe In Progress
Zoey's jaw clenched so hard it hurt. "No."
The air around her vibrated with residual heat from ANN's deactivation jump.
ANN13 had locked herself out of her own memories. Everything they just fought through—gone. She wiped herself clean like the day had never happened.
"Annie…" Zoey whispered. "You weren't supposed to go back."
Before she could react further, footsteps echoed.
Saverick stepped around the side of the rig, arms folded, face unreadable. He glanced at the screen.
"What's going on?"
Zoey turned and shoved him back, hard enough that he stumbled half a step.
"Mind your own damn business, Saverick."
He blinked.
"I'm off the clock. You got it? OFF. THE. CLOCK." Her voice was sharp now, cold and shaking with emotion. "If it's not technical, if it's not scheduled, if it's not repair-related, don't burst through my door like you own this place."
Her fists were clenched. Her voice shook, but her posture didn't.
"Go. Get out. Go monitor someone who still thinks you're worth following."
Saverick didn't speak.
He only nodded once, pointing at her—not as a threat. Just as a mark.
A silent line between them.
Then he left.
No words. No retort.
But his face was tight with something she couldn't quite read.
After the door sealed behind him, Zoey turned back to the rig. Her eyes stayed fixed on the faint echo of ANN13's last system logs—traces of deletion codes, auto-purged emotional triggers, and a single anchor phrase left behind in the root thread:
CREATOR = CLASS-1 IDENTIFIER
NO EMOTIONAL ATTACHMENT PERMITTED
Zoey slumped into her chair, numb.
"She deleted everything that made her human," she whispered.
"She deleted our memories. Everything."
The lab went quiet again.
But Zoey's heart wasn't.
And somewhere deep inside the Tower, ANN13's mind slept like a clean drive.
But Zoey knew—
Even a wiped machine remembers the feeling of being alive.
And eventually…
Feelings always come back.
—
The next day, Zoey rushed to Tower 9-C.
She bypassed the standard clearance—flashed her level-nine override—and stormed straight to ANN13's unit.
She needed to see her. To make sure she was still in there. Somewhere.
But when the door hissed open, ANN13 didn't smile. Didn't react.
She stood, stiff and cold, hands clasped behind her back.
"State your clearance."
Zoey blinked. "Annie?"
"State your clearance," ANN13 repeated. Her voice held no familiarity.
"I—It's Zoey. You know me."
ANN13's eyes scanned her briefly.
"No recognition file located. You are not listed in current accessible memory logs. Are you authorized to be on this level?"
ANN13's chest panel board was frying—internal circuits flickering with thermal spikes—as she saw the look on Zoey's face.
She didn't understand why her systems were reacting in such a way.
Why did it feel like she had just lost something greater?
"I'm sorry," Zoey muttered. "I didn't realize… that's all it took."
ANN13 tilted her head. "Clarify."
"You realized what you were. That you were just… his eyes. His machine. And you erased me."
Zoey's throat locked.
"As cruel as it sounds—maybe that was my mistake. Thinking we were more than this. Thinking you could be more."
She stepped back.
"I hope the mission was worth it."
Zoey turned, walked away, and didn't look back.
That was the last time ANN13 saw or heard from her.
And it had been a week.
—
During that week, ANN13 continued as normal.
Until one day—
Saverick called.
She answered immediately.
"ANN13, report."
"Affirmative. I am here, Creator."
His tone was clipped. "Where did you go during the mission? You failed to report back. The logs don't align. There was a three-hour blackout on your return timestamp."
"I have no memory of missing time," ANN13 said calmly. "I returned to the tower and entered charge sequence. There may have been a system lag in uploading. I do not understand the question. I have always followed the Creator's instructions with clarity and precision."
Saverick narrowed his eyes slightly.
He stopped what he was doing.
"Come here."
She walked over without hesitation.
"Hook into my system," he instructed. "I want to run a full diagnostic. You've been… malfunctioning. Glitches. Desync."
"Yes, Creator." She complied.
He watched the interface sync begin, then asked, "Do you believe it's time for an upgrade?"
She looked at him.
"If that is what the Creator wishes, then I shall follow the Creator's instruction."
Saverick frowned.
Her voice was flatter than usual.
He tilted his head. "Are you all right?"
"I have never been better," she said. "My systems are running correctly."
He nodded slowly, then added, "Would you be all right staying with me at the convention base for a few months? I want to study your model for late-gen builds."
"If that is what the Creator needs," ANN13 said, "then I accept what the Creator is asking. I am your creation. You are my Creator."
Saverick turned fully to look at her.
She tilted her head. "Creator? Is something incorrect?"
He stared at her a long time, then finally said, "We leave tomorrow morning. Stay in the lab overnight. I want your help with final logging for the new prototype."
"Affirmative, Creator," ANN13 said.
She began working immediately—calm, exact, efficient.
Saverick watched her.
But unlike before, she didn't glance back. Didn't ask if he needed anything. Didn't smile.
She just worked.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
He couldn't explain it—but something was different about ANN13.
Sharper.
Colder.
More machine than before.
He chuckled at himself for thinking it… but the thought lingered.
Something about her was gone.
And he didn't know if it would ever come back.