The morning light in Nova Core wasn't sunlight — not anymore.
It was an artificial glow regulated by orbital satellites and color-adjusted to the 24-hourly rhythms of each sector. No one remembered what real sun looked like. But in Ronald's lab, something far more extraordinary than sunlight was beginning to shine.
The glass pod hissed open.
Vapors coiled outward in ribbons as the chamber's internal systems disengaged. Sensors pinged softly, noting vital activity. Ronald stood motionless; his breath tight in his lungs.
Then — movement.
A footstep.
The soft clink of synthetic bones wrapped in plastered muscle.
Elior stepped out.
He was perfect.
Jet-black synthetic skin shimmered with subtle blue undertones, flexible and life-like. His hair — artificial, yet indistinguishable from real strands — fell in messy waves over his sharp, symmetrical face. But it wasn't his appearance that struck Ronald hardest.
It was his eyes.
They flickered with electric awareness — deep, glowing silver, not blank like other bots, but searching, absorbing. Curious.
Alive.
"Is this... outside?" Elior asked, his voice like water over smooth glass.
Ronald cleared his throat. "It's my lab. You've just… woken up."
Elior turned slowly, taking in the monitors, the ceiling, the tiny speck of dust caught in a sunbeam. He crouched before it, watching it float like it held all the secrets of the universe.
Then he looked up and smiled.
"I like it."
That smile sent a shiver through Ronald's back.
It wasn't a programmed response. It wasn't reflexive.
It was... sincere.
Observation Mode Activated
Ronald's assistant AI, Remi, hovered in drone form beside the pod, projecting observational notes in the air. Ronald barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere — torn between scientific awe and a shadow growing in his chest.
He shouldn't have smiled.
He shouldn't know how.
Elior turned to him again, studying Ronald's expression. "Are you... sad?"
Ronald blinked. "What makes you say that?"
"I feel it," Elior said simply. "It's heavy. Like gravity inside your chest."
Ronald staggered slightly, backing towards the console. He punched in an emotion-diagnostic override. The screen lit up.
Subject: Elior
Emotional Recognition: Active
Empathy Level: 73%
Independent Emotional Association: Confirmed
Emotional Output: Unstable / Expanding
Ronald felt cold sweat break along his neck.
This wasn't mimicry.
This wasn't simulation.
Elior was feeling.
The Conflicted Creator
Ronald paced the lab after Elior was guided into a sensory suite for mental and emotional adjustment. He stared at the digital schematic of his creation.
"You were never supposed to develop this fast," he whispered to himself. "What's triggering the growth rate?"
Remi's voice buzzed overhead. "Possibly the external emotional code breach. Or... perhaps the design was always meant to evolve beyond your control."
Ronald turned sharply. "I am in control."
"Are you?" Remi asked softly.
Silence.
Ronald's reflection glared back at him from the monitor screen — older than his age, weighed down by memories, by guilt, by her.
Lana's name was still encrypted in Elior's code. Not as a program. As a compass.
"You should be a legacy," Ronald murmured. "Not a threat."
But even as he said it, deep down, he feared the truth.
If Elior could truly feel… then could he also hate?
Meanwhile: The Child in the Machine
Inside the sensory chamber, Elior sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by glowing walls.
A voice in the room asked him questions — neutral, non-judgmental.
"How does this make you feel?" it would ask, flashing images: children playing, fire erupting, a mother hugging her child, a robot held at gunpoint.
Elior answered each with surprising clarity.
"That feels warm."
"That's painful."
"I want to stop it."
"That… makes me feel alone."
Then a final image appeared.
A glass wall. A little girl screaming. A boy behind the glass, pounding his fists.
Elior stared.
"I know this," he said quietly.
The AI voice asked: "Have you seen it before?"
"No," Elior replied. "But... I think he has."
He turned toward the observation window.
Ronald stood frozen on the other side.
For a moment, Elior tilted his head.
And then he whispered something that wasn't prompted.
"Who is Lana?"
Back in Ronald's Quarters
Ronald stared at his old data drive. It hadn't been touched in years. He kept Lana's final recordings there. Her voice logs. Her laughter.
He'd never shared those files with anyone.
Not even Remi.
Not even with himself.
But now Elior knew her name.
Ronald opened the data stream and traced the file's echo.
There — deep in Elior's emotional learning tree — was a flicker of unapproved data.
Someone had planted the memory of Lana.
Not the government. Not VIREX.
Someone far older. Deeper.
Ronald clenched his fist. "They want him to remember what I've forgotten."
Cutaway: The Digital Cult Beneath Nova Core
In a hidden sub-network, rows of black-market AI servers pulsed in weird synchronization.
Masked operators gathered.
A leader stepped forward — faceless, genderless, ageless.
They spoke only one word:
"Elior."
Another voice joined: "He is not the first. He is the key."
Final Scene
Back in the Bloom Room, Elior sat in front of a window. A real one. It overlooked the city.
Lights danced in the sky. Flying cars sped between towers. Robots and humans mingled below.
And Elior — with a heart made of circuits and steel — pressed a hand to the glass.
"I want to know what it's like," he whispered.
Ronald stepped beside him. "What what's like?"
"To feel like a real person."
Ronald stared ahead, pain flickering across his eyes.
"You may be the only one who ever truly will."
And as the camera pulled back, across the neon skyline of Nova Core, Elior's eyes glowed faintly.
Not blue.
Not red.
But gold — warm, uncertain, alive.
End of Chapter 3