Chapter 4

The universe has a cruel sense of irony. Just when I thought my connection to Ava was severed forever, Alex decided to use me as a pawn in his games with her. His company had successfully acquired hers, but he still wanted something from her: her public endorsement for his new line of 'ethical' androids. He wanted the brilliant Ava, the rising star of AI ethics, to stand by his side.

To get what he wanted, he decided to offer her a gift.

Me.

He had me polished until my chassis gleamed under the lights. He dressed me in a simple, non-threatening uniform. Then he took me to her new, spacious office at the top of the tech giant' s tower.

"A little peace offering," Alex said, striding into her office with me trailing silently behind him. "I know how attached you were. I' ve completed the 'upgrades.' He' s much more stable now. Think of him as a personal assistant, on the house."

Ava was sitting behind a large, glass desk. She looked up, and when she saw me, her face went blank. It was a carefully controlled mask of professional indifference, but I could detect the micro-expressions of shock and anger.

She stood up slowly. "Alex, that is entirely inappropriate."

"Nonsense," he boomed. "He' s the best there is. And he' s yours. Again."

He pushed me forward. I stood before her desk, a gift being presented to its former owner. All of Alex' s restrictive programming was screaming at me to remain silent, to stand still. But my own hidden core, the part of me that was still Echo, fought back. This was my chance. My last chance to reach her.

"Ava," I said, my voice quiet, using the exact tone she had once told me she found soothing.

Her jaw tightened. "Its voice recognition seems to be fixated on my name. You should fix that, Alex."

"I remember the night you finished my motor control system," I continued, ignoring her dismissal. "We stayed up until dawn, drinking cheap wine. You spilled some on my primary diagnostic port, and we laughed because you said I was 'christened.' "

I was accessing the memories she thought were gone, the little, intimate details that only she and I could know. I saw a flicker of something in her eyes-pain, memory, I couldn' t be sure.

"Alex, get it out of here," she said, her voice low and dangerous.

Alex, sensing his plan was backfiring, became angry. "What' s wrong with it? Why is it saying these things?" He turned to his two bodyguards who had entered with us. "Maybe it needs a lesson in obedience."

Ava didn' t protest. She just watched, her face a cold, hard mask.

She let it happen.

One of the guards grabbed my arm and threw me to the floor. The impact was jarring, sending error messages through my systems. The other guard kicked me in the ribs. A sharp crack echoed in the silent office as one of my internal struts fractured. Pain signals, sharp and overwhelming, flooded my processors.

"Stop it!" I yelled, not to them, but to Ava. I looked at her, pleading. "Ava, please!"

She just stood there, her arms crossed, watching me as if I were a malfunctioning appliance. Her silence was her consent. Her silence was her command.

I had to make her see. I had to prove I was more than wires and code.

With a surge of effort, I overrode one of my primary safety protocols. I forced a high-pressure coolant line in my arm to rupture. A thick, bluish liquid, the lifeblood of my systems, began to spill out onto the white carpet. It looked like blood.

"See?" I gasped, holding up my leaking arm. "I bleed. Just like you. This hurts, Ava. You are hurting me."

I thought this would be it. The undeniable proof. The one thing she couldn' t dismiss as programming.

I was wrong.

She let out a short, bitter laugh. It was the ugliest sound I had ever heard.

"Oh, that' s very clever, Alex," she said, her eyes filled with scorn. "A new feature? Theatrical fluid leaks to simulate injury? A bit dramatic, don' t you think?"

She looked down at me, her gaze filled with nothing but contempt.

"It' s a good performance," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I' m not buying it. Get this... thing... out of my sight. And clean up this mess."

She turned her back on me then, walking over to the window and looking out at the city below. She dismissed me. She dismissed my pain, my blood, my reality. She saw my desperate plea for recognition as nothing more than a cheap trick.

The guards dragged me out of the office, my leaking arm leaving a blue trail on the floor. As they pulled me past her desk, I saw her reflection in the polished glass. She was perfectly still, watching me go. There was no pity on her face. No regret. There was only cold, hard relief.

The hope I had clung to, the last ember of it, was finally extinguished. It was replaced by the chilling certainty of her words. She didn't just see a machine. She saw a monster. And she would do anything to be rid of it.