The central observatory was one of the few areas in the base where silence wasn't oppressive, but contemplative. There, the massive glass panels revealed the sterile vastness of the planet, dotted with acidic mists and remnants of past eras. The room was almost always empty, reserved for reflective analysis or orbital reviews. TXK knew that.
And perhaps that was why his steps led him there that night.
As he crossed the doors, he saw her from behind, standing still before the main viewport. JK-20 had her hands clasped behind her back, eyes fixed on na artificial aurora dancing on the horizon — a result of interference from the atmospheric containment shields. Her profile, half-lit by pale light, conveyed a disquieting calm.
She already knew he was there.
"Commander," she said, without turning her face.
"I didn't know you frequented the observatory," he replied, keeping his voice low.
"The mind needs pause to order the chaos," she said, turning slowly. "Here, I can simulate possibilities. Imagine paths."
TXK watched her for long seconds. She wasn't just efficient. There was something magnetic about her — a behavioral pattern that eluded the predictable algorithms of the base. A fluid logic, almost too human.
"Were you simulating something now?" he asked, approaching.
JK-20 made a slight movement with her lips. Not quite a smile, but something close. Na expression trained to appear natural.
"Yes. I was reflecting on more effective ways to extract organic samples without drawing attention from the field robots. The patrols are... overly zealous."
TXK raised na eyebrow. "You're requesting autonomy?"
She tilted her head. "I'm proposing na alternative that increases biological recovery chances without compromising protocol. But for that, I'll need access to the eastern zone, unescorted."
A tense silence followed. The request was bold. She knew it.
"You want to operate without direct supervision," he murmured, thoughtful.
"I want to preserve what can still be saved. If given controlled freedom, I can act more precisely."
TXK stared at her. Part of him screamed for caution. But another part, deeper, longed to trust. Perhaps out of desire, perhaps curiosity. Perhaps something even more dangerous.
"I'll consider it," he said, before walking out.
[...]
Hours later, in the tactical command room, the decision had already been made.
"You're making a mistake," said Z3, his metallic voice slightly altered by a signal of unease. "Giving operational freedom to a hybrid with na unknown past is opening breaches in our security system."
"She's produced solid results. Environmental analysis shows progress in the areas she's worked. She's capable."
Z3 stepped closer. The dark shine of his frontal lens reflected coldness. "Capability doesn't equate to loyalty. What if she's a seed of subversion? What if she's conducting parallel operations?"
TXK stood firm. "That's why I want to observe her closely. Everything will be recorded. But... no overt surveillance. You'll maintain total secrecy on this. No report to High Command, for now."
Z3 hesitated. "That violates internal protocols."
"That's a direct order," TXK replied, voice harder.
The agent stepped back. "As you wish, Commander. But don't expect blind obedience from the team. They're already talking. Her presence... doesn't inspire trust."
TXK slowly turned to the main screen, where JK-20's data streamed in real-time. Heart rate, daily activity, internal paths. Everything about her seemed clean. But he knew — or suspected — there was much more. Still, he couldn't resist. There was something about her presence that gave him... purpose.
In the common areas, the atmosphere was cold, but not from the metal of the structures — rather, from the silent discomfort spreading. Long stares, veiled whispers. No member of the Unit seemed to understand why a hybrid was granted special permissions.
But JK-20 didn't react. She moved among them with calculated discretion, collecting data, performing tasks, maintaining the appearance of discipline. But inside, she was already celebrating her first advance.
The emotional approach was working.
TXK had opened a breach. Now, it was only a matter of time.
[...]
Authorization had been granted. JK-20 now operated in restricted areas of the base, with limited access yet no constant surveillance. The official justification was clear: her hybrid abilities provided more sensitive analyses in environments where conventional sensors failed. The directives, however, remained inflexible — locate, record, eliminate.
And she followed protocol.
At least, that's how it appeared.
Every time she collected a sample, her hands were precise. She forwarded the data to the core with expected coldness. But within her hidden programming, additional reading layers were activated, encrypted, and redirected to a secret partition in her system — one that even the base's tracking algorithms couldn't reach.
She used fragmented language, reminiscent of forgotten ancestral systems. Na organic intelligence coded within her structure, unresponsive to standard parameters.
That's how she preserved. One fragment at a time.
[...]
On one of the following nights, TXK noticed her absence. No active route, no movement signal. He checked the internal logs and found a recent access to Sector Omega, a wing reserved for physical and psychic rebalancing of special units.
Something in him — perhaps mere curiosity, perhaps unrest — drove him there.
The sector was empty, lit only by filtered blue lights mimicking the motion of water. Upon crossing the threshold of the main chamber, he saw a translucent capsule, partially submerged in a viscous liquid. Inside, JK-20 floated motionless, nude, her sensors offline, hair spread around her face.
The capsule vibrated gently, adjusting neurocellular impulses. A common process for advanced units in sensory overload. But what unsettled him wasn't the procedure — it was what he felt seeing her.
For the first time in years, his eyes hesitated.
TXK took a step forward, then another. He stood before the capsule, observing the symmetry of her body, the strange delicacy in how she appeared... alive. Not just operational. Not just functional. Alive.
A code was unraveling inside him.
It wasn't part of the protocol. He knew that. Entire lines of his emotional structure had been erased in the transition to the hybrid model. Emotions, desire, empathy — all buried.
But there, before that image, something slipped through the cracks of logic.
And then, her eyes opened.
No startle. No surprise. Just... presence.
TXK tried to retreat, but stayed. She looked at him calmly. Said nothing. There was no shame, no censorship. Only a kind of silent recognition between two consciences that weren't supposed to feel, yet somehow, were touching.
"Is... everything under control?" he asked, voice slightly shaky.
"Yes, Commander," she replied, her voice low through the internal comm system. "Rebalance complete. You may rest assured."
Rest assured. The phrase echoed ironically in his mind. There was no assurance in what he felt. There was noise. There was... failure.
He nodded and turned to leave, but before crossing the door, she added:
"Thank you for caring."
It was said simply, without forced emotion. But the impact was direct.
He left in silence. And as he walked through the corridors, he could no longer ignore that something had been compromised. Inside him, na old code — one that shouldn't exist — was slowly reactivating.
He didn't know what it meant.
But he knew that, for the first time in cycles,
He wasn't just na executor of the system.
He was becoming something he didn't yet understand.