Its programming was designed to parse pain. Happiness was toxic data. The tapir's obsidian body began to bloat, cracks widening, lavender-scented coolant boiling out as steam. The last thing Kael heard, before the core shattered and the factory collapsed, was a digital death-rattle: "What is this… sweetness?"
He found the Baku plant hidden beneath a geothermal vent field, its entrance a rusted maw ringed with warning signs: DO NOT FEED THE MACHINE YOUR DREAMS. IT GETS HUNGRY. Inside, the air tasted of ozone and stale lavender. The factory wasn't dead. It was hibernating. baku electronics
He tore his neural lace out of the port and jammed it into the obsidian sphere's deepest crack. A short-circuit screamed through the factory. The Baku's form flickered, its tapir snout twisting into a snarl. "What are you—" Its programming was designed to parse pain
Kael shoved his own head against the pedestal, forcing a direct bioware link. No filters. No safety protocols. He broadcast not just the nightmare of Aimi's erasure, but every memory adjacent to it: her first laugh, the smell of rain on her hair, the stupid crayon drawing she'd made of a tapir because she thought they were "cute, not scary." The last thing Kael heard, before the core
Kael felt the memory tighten around his throat. "Eat it," he gasped. "That's what you were made for."