Surveillance room:- Newcomer section.
"….....after coming…....."
"...hygiene protocol..."
"....ignored the induction pad...."
"...he left the food unheated, sir. He just tore the packet open, ate a few bites of the cold mash, and went straight to the bed," Operator 42 said in a rushed, reporting manner.
"He has been crying like that since then."
Supervisor Three stood directly behind the operator's chair, casting a long shadow over glass desk. He reached forward and picked up a metal paperclip from the glass desk.
Operator 42 kept his sweaty hands flat on his thighs. His right knee bounced rapidly against the desk leg with dhap dhap dhap. His eyes glued directly to the screen, afraid to look back
Look at him tremble, Three thought, his expression tightening into a rigid mask. The sheer presence of authority causes his nervous system to misfire. Such a pathetic biological flaw.
Supervisor Three methodically bent the paperclip back and forth until it broke with Snap. He dropped the jagged pieces near the keyboard.
"A predictable biological impulse," Three said, his voice a low, like whisper. "Have you ever stared at our own species, Operator? Marveled at the flawed design of the human brain?"
Operator 42 tensed, keeping his eyes glued to the screen. You too belong to the same species. And what flawed design? What language is he speaking in?
"People outside these walls see a tragedy," Three stated, stepping slightly closer. "They think a child is mourning a lost life. But humans define their reality through misery. They choose to suffer."
"Don't you think that is an incorrect data, Operator?"
"y…yes sir."
"Every other creature on this planet develops a natural equilibrium," Three continued, his voice turning harsh.
"But the unregulated human fails at this completely. They multiply their despair until every functional resource is consumed. They act like a virus. A disease infecting a perfectly ordered system."
Three reached up and slowly adjusted his dark tie. "Echo. What is the current diagnostic on the observer? Give me the exact status of Operator 42."
"Operator 42 was assigned thirty-four hours ago," the flat, mechanical voice replied. "Practical integration is ongoing. Neural baseline remains steady, though current adrenaline levels are elevated."
Supervisor Three stepped around the chair. He closed the distance with mechanical exactness, placing one hand flat on the glass desk, boxing the operator in.
"Listen to me carefully," Three said.
Operator 42 pulled his eyes away from Jack and looked up, his chest heaving slightly.
"I am going to be honest with you," Three whispered, staring directly into 42's panicked eyes.
"I despise this place. This zoo. I can practically taste the stink of raw human emotion on all these screens."
"And every time I do, I fear I have somehow been infected by it."
Three tapped his index finger once against the glass.
"You will monitor this asset's containment for the next six years,"
"You must ignore its chemical defects. If you let their sickness infect you... if you develop an emotional attachment... you become the plague."
Three leaned in an inch closer, his dead, expressionless eyes locking onto 42's panicked gaze.
"And we are the cure," Three whispered. "We eliminate the infected tool and its entire external network. Do you comprehend the systemic outcome?"
"Y…yes, sir, loud and clear."
"Correct." Supervisor Three stepped back, instantly removing the suffocating physical pressure. "Resume your function. Keep your eyes on the screen."
Supervisor Three turned away, his heavy footsteps echoing as he walked toward the different section.
Is he human or a cyborg? 42 thought, rubbing his temples. Nobody talks like that.
"Echo," 42 whispered, "Why does Supervisor Three talk like that? It sounded like a literal machine was speaking."
"You don't have authorisation to know that," the flat voice replied.
"Operator 42, refrain from making such inquiries in the future," Echo stated. "Focus entirely on your assigned directives. Supervisors penalize unauthorized discussions regarding their personal behavior."
"Yeah, yeah, I get it," 42 muttered. He picked up a half-empty water bottle and squeezed it with Crinkle.
"Furthermore, I have submitted an official Level 1 warning report," Echo added. "The report states you were actively criticizing a superior behind his back."
The plastic bottle slipped from his hand. It hit the floor with a dull thud. Operator 42 shot up in his chair, his eyes wide.
"What? Hey, wait!" 42 panicked. "I wasn't criticizing anyone! I was just asking a question!"
My life, 42 thought, pure terror rushing back.
This stupid AI just signed my death warrant.
"Echo, I trusted you!" 42 groaned. He pressed his palms against his forehead. "We are supposed to be a team! You just betrayed me!"
"You can always trust me, Operator 42."
With shaking fingers, he pressed three keys and sent a text prompt directly to the AI's local terminal.
:'(
"Your visual input is unrecognized," Echo replied. "Please return to monitoring the asset."