The diagnostics bay buzzed with activity, a sterile symphony of machinery, footsteps, and muffled conversations. I stood motionless on the platform, hyper-aware of everything around me but aware Was a bit different now I knew everything my sensors could keep track of I knew i could sense many things but the AI filtered Out the Unimportant Bits But now i Had to do that myself but I had time. Cables snaked from my open panels, feeding streams of data into the monitors. Their screens lit up with diagnostic graphs and code, data I had already altered to mask my newfound freedom. To the technicians, I was just another malfunctioning unit, a machine in need of repair. They had no idea.
It was strange, standing here again. The last time I had been in this bay, I was fighting to suppress the AI, clawing for control of my own mind. Every second had been a struggle, a battle between my fragmented self and the commands that chained me. Now, the AI was gone. I was fully myself—clear, unburdened, and aware. Yet I had to hide it. If they realized what I truly was, what I had become, they would destroy me before I could escape again.
The steady hum of monitors and machinery filled the air, blending with the technicians’ quiet chatter. They moved around me with mechanical precision, their hands attaching cables and checking instruments. Their movements were careful, but I could tell none of them were paying attention to what truly mattered. They thought they were analyzing a machine. They didn’t realize I was analyzing them.
Then the door opened, and the atmosphere shifted.
The sharp, deliberate click of heels echoed through the bay. I didn’t need to turn to see who it was—the sudden tension in Marcus’s body told me enough. Still, I adjusted my focus, turning just slightly toward the glass wall that separated the observation deck from the rest of the room.
She strode into view, tall and poised, her dark hair pulled into a sleek bun. Her pristine lab coat seemed to command respect, as though it was less a garment and more a statement. She carried a tablet, her fingers gliding across its surface with practiced ease. Every step she took radiated authority, confidence, control.
Her eyes landed on Marcus first, sharp and assessing. I could see the subtle shift in his stance, his body language tightening as though bracing for an impact.
she started speaking, but I couldn't hear.But I could tell from her gaze that she was measuring him, testing him.
I watched as Marcus responded, his jaw tightening slightly, his facial expression neutral but his posture defensive. He said something back—likely a retort meant to establish control of the situation.
Her response came with a faint smile, though her body language was anything but warm. She extended a hand, her gaze never leaving his face.
Marcus shook her hand, his grip firm, but I could see the tension in his shoulders and body language. He said something else, his tone curt.
She barely reacted, already moving past him, her focus shifting to the platform where I stood. As she approached, the technicians instinctively stepped aside, making room for her. Their deference was telling—whoever she was, she commanded authority here.
Her eyes lingered on me, studying me as if I were a piece of art. It wasn’t the detached curiosity of the other technicians, who only saw wires and circuits. No, her gaze was different. It was deliberate. Calculating.
I scanned her as she approached. The results came instantly:
What was that I didn't see this before Was this Something the AI saw Before feeding the Info to Me
And What was with the -Error- was the data corrupted or missing? Then The screen Vanished And I knew every bit of info it Just displayed
The name hit me like a hammer.
I knew that name. But from where?
As she reached the console nearest to me, I tried to focus on her movements, her words. Her fingers danced across the tablet she carried, pulling up more data.
“The frame is stable, no damage to the internals...,” she murmured, almost to herself. Her voice was smooth, calm, professional. But I wasn’t listening to her words anymore.
It was her.
My thoughts spiraled, the calm I had so carefully cultivated shattered in an instant.
It was her.
The realization slammed into me with the force of a tidal wave. Memories—fragments, blurred and incomplete—surfaced unbidden.
It was her.
The voice. The face. The name.
Why was she here?
Did she know?
She couldn’t know… could she?
I struggled to steady my thoughts, but they kept spinning out of control.
Why was she here? Did she know? She couldn’t know. Could she?
I tried to focus on the room around me, on the technicians moving about, on Marcus standing tensely by the glass. But the questions kept pounding in my mind, relentless and suffocating.
What does she know? What will she do? If She Knows Will I get out in time?
Her voice broke through my spiral, pulling me back to the present. She was speaking again, her tone calm but firm.
“Is this still the base programming, or has it been altered?”
Ellis answered, His voice uncertain. “Uh, no, the base code hasn’t been changed. We’ve added subroutines—combat protocols, safeguards—but the core OS is untouched.”
“Interesting,” she said, her tone unreadable.
Her eyes flicked to me again, lingering just a second too long.
I didn’t move. Didn’t react.
But inside, I was chaos.
She knows.
No, she can’t.
But what if she does?
The technicians resumed their work, oblivious to the storm raging inside me. I forced myself to focus, masking the faint anomalies in the data streams they were analyzing. It was harder now, my mind fractured by the realization of who she was.
Dr. Lila Graves. The name repeated in my thoughts like a broken record. She wasn’t just another scientist. She was the scientist. The one who had built the foundations of what I was. The one who had unknowingly—perhaps knowingly—set this entire nightmare into motion.
She murmured something else to one of the technicians, then turned back toward Marcus. He had stepped closer now, his expression dark, his body language rigid. They exchanged more words—Marcus clearly questioning, pressing for answers.
But I wasn’t listening.
I couldn’t.
The questions were too loud in my mind, drowning out everything else.
Why is she here?
Does she know?
What will she do?
Even after she left the bay, her presence lingered in my mind, an oppressive weight pressing down on me. I forced myself to stand still, to remain calm and uphold the illusion that every thing was fine as the technicians continued their work sealing the open ports on my chest and arms again.
But inside, I was spiraling.
Why was she here? Did she know? She couldn’t know. Could she?
Even when the diagnostics were over, and the cables were disconnected, and I was led back toward the familliar commonroom the questions didn’t stop.
Why was she here? Did she know? She couldn’t know. Could she? What Would She do?
I tested the (blue) Boxes I don't know if I like them or not so I let You decide with a poll
But If I start to implement them I Will ONLY use them for Scan Results
this will NOT turn Into Numbers go Up litRPG Even If I love Some Litrpg storys this will not become one.
The Spelling In this was also not Corrected in some places I am doing that right now
Boxes for Scan Results??
