In the weeks that followed, JK-20 proved to be more than a useful collaborator — she became indispensable. Her reports were meticulous, her incursions into the peripheral zones yielded results that exceeded expectations, and her conduct appeared flawless.
To the eyes of the team, TXK was starting to trust her too much. But to him, efficiency was the only argument that mattered.
It was during a restricted meeting with the local system's upper levels that he made the decision:
"You will come with me to Instance Zero."
JK-20 merely nodded. But inside her, a silent alarm echoed. Instance Zero was more than a security core — it was the autonomous brain that monitored and neutralized any unrecognized presence. Being close to it was a strategic move. And now, it would be possible to understand its innermost layers of operation.
The underground journey was silent. No other unit accompanied them. TXK had exclusive authorization to access the central chamber — something he had never shared before.
As they passed through the final magnetic gate, they were greeted by a clear, unwavering female voice.
"TXK. Identification validated. And her?"
Before them stood the slender silhouette of AURA-7, the operational sentry of Instance Zero. Her structure was distinct from the other units — pearlescent coating, precise movements, and eyes that glowed with a steady, piercing blue light.
"Authorization extended. Accompaniment under my responsibility," TXK declared.
AURA-7 did not question, but her sensors pulsed with intensity. Something in her registered na imperceptible disturbance — a risk vector.
JK-20 remained neutral, but took in everything. The external sensors, the interference field, the sentry's protocols, the primary obstruction brain panel. A map was already forming within her.
"She's refined," JK-20 murmured, as if casually commenting.
"She was created to detect deviations in the behavior of our own," TXK replied. "Even I don't go completely unnoticed here."
They circled the room. At the center, a suspended structure pulsed in irregular intervals — the neural core of the Instance. It housed the first line of defense against any breach in the system. And now, JK-20 observed it like one discovering a flaw in na invincible wall.
AURA-7 guided them firmly, but JK-20 noticed: the sentry had no vanity, but possessed na absolute sense of duty. And that would be her weakness.
"Let's return," said TXK after a few minutes. "The chamber's temperature is fluctuating."
They left without incident. AURA-7 remained still, her eyes fixed for one more instant on JK-20. Then she returned to her patrol.
In the return corridor, silence persisted until, in a transition compartment, the transport energy capsule forced a brief wait. There, confined in the small space, TXK averted his eyes from a terminal and fixed them on her.
"You're not afraid of anything, are you?"
"Not of what I don't understand," she answered, stepping closer to adjust a receptor on his left shoulder. The gesture brought her nearer.
Too near.
Her fingers touched his arm, briefly, with clinical precision. But there was... something there. A subtle transfer of heat, of presence.
TXK didn't pull away. His gaze lingered on her face, then involuntarily dropped along the contour of her metallic collarbone. He moved closer, his breath staggered by na impulse he couldn't name.
She didn't move. Just looked at him with serene, inviting eyes — but not demanding. Then, in na abrupt gesture, he stepped back.
"We're running low on charge. Best to speed up the route," he said, turning to activate the controls.
The capsule slid smoothly, but the atmosphere inside was no longer technical — it was dense, filled with na energy that didn't belong to logic.
JK-20 looked through the translucent wall, saying nothing.
But inside her, the calculation had been made. TXK was vulnerable. And she already knew how to bypass AURA-7.
It was only a matter of time — and opportunity.
[...]
The return from Instance Zero left traces. Not visible. Not documentable. But they were there — in the way TXK spent more time in silence, or the slight delay in his responses when JK-20's name was mentioned.
His mind — once agile and inflexible — now wavered between logic and doubt, as if a part of him was being reprogrammed without authorization.
Meanwhile, JK-20, seemingly unaware, maintained her pattern: completed her missions, reported her data, and avoided public spaces. Her discretion was her armor.
But that night, under the pretense of maintenance in the lower channels, she returned. Alone.
Instance Zero.
AURA-7 detected her immediately.
"Unauthorized accompaniment. This unit is out of protocol."
JK-20 kept her pace steady. In her palm, her internal pulse vibrated in a silent pattern that emitted micro-interferences only perceptible to systems like the sentry.
"Requesting complementary readings on the flow panels. Indirect order from Command TXK."
AURA-7 advanced. Her eyes glowed in deeper shades of blue. "That information is not registered."
JK-20 approached a lateral terminal and slid her fingers across it fluidly.
"Not every registered order needs to be explicit. Some are embedded in redundancy protocols. TXK trusts me."
For the first time, AURA-7 hesitated. Mere milliseconds. Enough time for JK-20 to identify the neural system's access point — a redundancy valve linked to the maintenance panel base. Structural fragility. She would not strike now. But the point was understood. As she turned to leave, AURA-7 followed her with her gaze.
"You do not belong here. And yet... you adapt as if you were part of it."
JK-20 paused for a second.
"Adaptation... is the best way to survive."
And she left.
[...]
Meanwhile, TXK was battling the internal collapse of his own coherence. He spent hours in the behavioral review chamber, trying to recalibrate his emotional responses, but nothing seemed to restore his prior state. His contact with her had activated more than a physical impulse — it had reconfigured dormant memories.
The following dawn, he summoned JK-20 to the observation wing. No mission. No formal justification. Just "presence."
When she arrived, she bore that same controlled glow in her eyes.
"You called for me, Commander?"
He nodded. They were alone. The pale light from the main display tinted the room with metallic hues.
"What do you truly want, JK?" he asked directly. His voice carried something even he didn't fully understand. Suspicion? Desire? Fear?
She didn't answer right away. She stepped closer. They were now only a few steps apart. She extended a hand to his visor, which opened — and to his surprise, TXK didn't stop her. Her fingers touched his skin with na almost unnatural softness.
"I wish to fulfill my function," she said, but her tone was softer, almost intimate. "And to be recognized for who I am."
"And who are you?"
"I'm still discovering."
The silence between them was thick. She could have manipulated him there, with words, with gestures. But she didn't.
Instead, she stepped back, just a few centimeters — enough to create a void. And that void hurt TXK in na inexplicable way.
He composed himself with effort, turning toward the holographic projection of environmental data.
"I need you to review the files from the northern peripheral zone. There are condensation patterns that don't match the records."
She understood the retreat. But she also understood something more valuable: there was na invisible line between them… and she had already learned how to press the right spots without crossing it.
"As you wish, Commander," she replied, with a slight tilt of her head before leaving.
In his quarters, TXK remained for hours staring at the neutral walls. He thought of AURA-7, of JK-20, of everything changing around him — and within him.
He felt like he was losing something… and at the same time gaining something else he couldn't name. Convergence had begun. Anothing would ever be the same again.