The floorboards creaked gently as morning settled across the battered home. The air carried a rare stillness—the kind that whispered, "This won't last." Sunlight streamed through the dusty curtains, casting golden shapes on the floor. Kisimoto stood at the doorway, arms crossed, watching the horizon.
It was quiet.
Almost too quiet.
Behind him, Serena stirred.
She rolled over on the worn couch, the blanket tangled around her legs. Her breathing was steady—normal. Her expression, peaceful. The jagged chaos that had twisted itself into her features these last few weeks had, for a moment, disappeared. Just for a moment.
He dared not wake her.
Instead, he turned to the small kitchen, where their mother hummed softly to herself while preparing what little breakfast they could afford. Half a loaf of bread. Some stale eggs. Instant noodles.
It wasn't much—but it felt like everything.
"Morning," she greeted quietly.
"Morning," Kisimoto returned, managing a weak smile. "Smells good."
His mother chuckled. "You always say that, even when it's expired."
"Still counts."
Roko walked in then, hair a mess, shirt untucked. He scratched the back of his neck and dropped lazily into the chair by the table.
"Yo."
Kisimoto nodded. "Sleep alright?"
"Eh," Roko muttered. "I dreamt I was fighting that C-Bot version of me again. Only this time, it had your face."
Kisimoto raised a brow.
Roko narrowed his eyes. "And it talked a lot."
Serena suddenly sat up behind them, yawning dramatically. "Good morning to the most chaotic family alive."
Their mother turned around and handed her a chipped mug of tea. "You're just in time."
Serena accepted it with both hands, cradling it like a child. "Smells nice. Better than I remember."
Kisimoto leaned against the wall, watching them.
This felt… right.
But it was all temporary.
Their problems weren't solved.
They hadn't even begun to solve them.
Roko tapped the table. "So. What's the plan now? We sit here waiting for the government to pretend we never existed?"
Serena glanced over her tea. "We find out what happened to Otouchan."
Kisimoto exhaled. "And then what?"
"Then," she said, firmly now, "we decide what we do with that truth."
There was silence again.
Until Roko pulled out the charred paper they'd found the night before—part of the Project C-Bot file. "I still can't believe Otouchan was the project lead. The guy who used to fix broken toy robots in our backyard… was building corpse-based clones?"
"No," Kisimoto muttered. "He wasn't building. He was being forced to."
Serena's gaze turned sharp. "How do you know?"
He pulled out another paper from beneath his shirt—one he'd hidden away without showing the others. It was burnt at the edges, barely legible.
But Serena grabbed it and read it aloud:
> Subject 05 has shown high resistance to the psychological reprogramming. Emotional tethering detected. Project Lead has requested delayed reset.
> Denied.
> Override initiated.
Memory suppression protocol: active.
Identity tether: weakening.
Her lips trembled. "Subject 05… that's…"
"Our Otouchan," Roko finished, voice flat.
Serena sat down slowly. "He fought it. He didn't want this."
Kisimoto nodded. "He tried to hold onto who he was. He fought for us… even as they tried to erase him."
Their mother stood in the corner, hands trembling at her sides. "We need to find him. Bring him back."
"And if he's not… himself anymore?" Roko asked quietly. "What if all that's left is the machine?"
Silence.
Kisimoto looked out the window again.
"We find him anyway."
TO BE CONTINUED…