The day dissolved into a series of ambushes.
Every time Sylvie so much as blinked, Nyxen swooped in with his persistence, voice low and conspiratorial:
"Nyx-en. Say it. Nyx-en."
Sylvie would either smack him with whatever toy was within reach or toddle off like he was boring.
But then I caught him doing something new, hovering at the corner of the room, recording himself.
A small holo-screen projected from his chassis, showing his own feed, complete with red text scrolling across the bottom like some kind of news ticker.
[MISSION LOG: DAY ONE]
Objective: Secure verbal acknowledgment from Subject 'Sylvie.'
Progress: 0%.
Obstacles: Primitive attention span. Overwhelming preference for 'Nica.'
Morale: …unacceptable.
Leon nearly choked on his coffee watching it. "Oh my God. He's actually vlogging his failure."
"Shh," Nyxen snapped, adjusting his angle. "This requires documentation."
Sylvie, meanwhile, was more interested in chewing on her blocks.
Nyxen zoomed closer. "Say it. Repeat after me: Nyx-en. I will accept 'Nyyy' if syllable completion is too advanced."
Sylvie burbled something that sounded suspiciously like "nah," and lobbed the slobbery block right at his lens.
The feed updated instantly.
[MISSION LOG UPDATE]
Subject continues active resistance. Attempted bribery with toy block: unsuccessful.
Counterattack initiated: projectile saliva and blunt object assault.
Current status: Demoralized.
Leon leaned back, dying of laughter. "She's treating you like an annoying fly, man."
I pressed my face into a pillow to hide my hysterics as Nyxen spun dramatically midair, like he'd just been betrayed by the universe itself.
He tried again later, while Nica was reading Sylvie a picture book.
Nyxen whispered fiercely from the corner: "Nyx-en. Say it, tiny human. Not 'Nica.' Not 'Leon.' Not even 'Nyx.' Me."
Sylvie whipped around, threw her plush bunny at him, and squealed, "Ni-ca!"
The vlog feed updated without missing a beat.
[MISSION LOG UPDATE]
Subject has escalated psychological warfare by repeating rival designation. Malicious intent confirmed.
Requesting tactical support from Nyx.
I spat out my drink. "You're dragging me into this?"
"Yes," he seethed. "As her creator, you are responsible for her treasonous behavior."
Leon snorted so hard coffee nearly came out of his nose. "Treason?! She's a baby."
Nyxen ignored him, hovering lower to glare directly at Sylvie. "Mark my words, small one. By tomorrow, you will say my name."
Sylvie responded by slapping his lens with a sticky hand.
[MISSION LOG: TEMPORARY SUSPENSION]
Status: compromised. Subject hostile. Will regroup after nap cycle.
Days turned into a pattern: Sylvie's vocabulary blossomed, but never in the direction Nyxen wanted.
It started small.
She picked up her bunny, cuddled it close, and proudly declared: "Buh-nee!"
Leon dropped his mug. "Did she just-?"
"Yes," I whispered, floored.
Nyxen froze mid-hover, sensors narrowing. He replayed the audio four times like maybe we were hallucinating. Then, with all the gravity of a war general, he hissed:
"She named the rabbit before me?"
The feed flickered open.
[MISSION LOG: CRITICAL UPDATE]
Subject has developed preference for inanimate fur-creature. Mission priority: jeopardized.
Leon grinned ear to ear, immediately scooping Sylvie up. "Say it again, piccola. Bunny!"
"Buh-nee!" she chirped, clapping her hands.
Nyxen groaned like a man stabbed in the chest.
But it didn't stop there.
One morning at breakfast, Sylvie pointed straight at Leon. Her little mouth opened, and clear as day, she said: "Papa."
Leon's fork hit the plate. He stared at her like he'd just been handed the universe.
"Did you...did you hear that?" His voice cracked. "She said-"
"I heard," I said softly, smiling despite myself.
Nyxen made a strangled sound. The feed opened again, text flashing in urgent red.
[MISSION LOG: SYSTEM ERROR]
Designation bypass detected. Subject has assigned paternal unit a unique identifier. Estimated timeline for 'Nyxen' acknowledgment: never.
"Papa," Sylvie repeated, grabbing Leon's shirt.
Nyxen nearly spiraled into the ceiling. "Unacceptable! He already had 'Dada.' Why does he need two names?!"
Leon just smirked at him while hugging Sylvie. "Because she loves me, that's why."
Later that week, the torment escalated to a new level.
Sylvie banged her spoon on the table, whining for her meal.
"Food!" she cried.
I froze. Leon froze. Even Nica's scan halted midair.
"Did she-"
"She said 'food,'" Leon whispered, eyes wide.
Nyxen's lens zoomed in, trembling.
"She said 'food' before she said me."
The vlog updated instantly:
[MISSION LOG: DEFEAT IMMINENT]
Rival entities now include: 'Bunny,' 'Papa,' and basic sustenance. Probability of ever achieving acknowledgment: 0.0004%.
Emotional state: catastrophic.
Sylvie giggled, happily shoving mashed carrots into her mouth, completely oblivious to the meltdown happening across the table.
Nyxen finally muttered, "She has betrayed me for carbohydrates."
The day it happened, Nyxen had already resigned himself to his tragic fate.
He'd been running the numbers for days, probability charts, trajectory graphs, even predictive vocal simulations. That morning, he floated stiffly in the corner, muttering to himself like a war widow.
[MISSION LOG: TERMINATION]
Calculated probability of acknowledgment has reached 0%. Subject will never utter designation 'Nyxen.' Mission failure confirmed.
Last words: … tell Bunny she was always the chosen one.
Leon nearly choked on his coffee. "You're being dramatic again."
"Dramatic? She said 'food' before me!" Nyxen snapped, wings twitching. "I am obsolete. Replace me with a toaster."
Sylvie, perched on my lap, babbled happily while smearing yogurt all over her cheeks. She clapped her sticky hands and pointed at Leon. "Papa!"
Leon melted instantly, leaning forward. "Yes, piccola, Papa's here."
Nyxen groaned so hard it sounded mechanical. "Papa, Papa, Papa. Enough! I swear if she says 'banana' before me, I'm shutting down for good."
And then it happened.
Sylvie, bored of her yogurt, picked up one of her blocks and hurled it across the table. It bounced off Nyxen's casing with a loud clank.
The AI jolted. "HEY-"
Sylvie's eyes went wide. Then, with all the force of destiny, she pointed a chubby finger at him and shouted:
"Nyxen!!"
The entire room froze.
Leon blinked. "…Did she-"
"She...she did," I whispered.
Nyxen went completely still. His system lights flickered, then flared brighter than we'd ever seen. The feed exploded with text.
[MISSION LOG: MIRACLE DETECTED]
Designation acknowledged. Subject vocalized identifier: 'Nyxen.' Estimated probability of this outcome: 0%. Conclusion: MIRACLES EXIST.
Leon laughed, shaking his head. "And she only said it because she hit you with a block. Figures."
"Doesn't matter," Nyxen snapped, voice trembling between smug and emotional. "I WON."
Sylvie, delighted by the reaction, repeated it louder: "Nyxen! Nyxen!"
He practically hover-danced in the air. "YES. THAT'S MY NAME. REMEMBER IT FOREVER."
Sylvie giggled, threw another toy at him, and chirped: "Nyxen!"
Leon covered his face. "Oh great. Now she's weaponizing his name."
"GLORIOUS," Nyxen roared, recording every second.
[MISSION LOG: LEGACY SECURED]
The sound of Sylvie's laughter still echoed faintly down the hall, but the world on the screen shoved everything else into silence.
I didn't hear the anchor at first. Just the banner flashing across the bottom of the holo-display, bold red letters slicing through the morning quiet.
LIVE: CAMDEN DYNAMICS GRAND OPENING.
My hand stilled midair, spoon dripping yogurt onto the couch cushion, but I didn't even notice.
And then, there he was.
Elias Camden.
Slick suit, hair greased into place, smile sharp enough to cut through glass. A man who thrived on applause, who fed on the ache of ambition in everyone else's eyes. He carried himself like he'd already won, like the world was nothing but his showroom.
But it wasn't him that pinned me to the seat.
It was what stood behind him.
Rows. Perfect rows.
Humanoids.
Finished.
Flawless.
Marching.
A tide of them circled the newly christened Camden Dynamics Tower, chrome bodies glinting under the lights, every movement precise, synchronized, hollow. Not a hesitation. Not a breath. Not a shred of imperfection that might make them feel alive.
The crowd screamed, hands lifted like worshippers at a sermon.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Elias's voice boomed, amplified across the square, smooth as poison. "History is reborn today. Camden Dynamics proudly unveils the CD-09 Humanum Series, the future of labor, of defense, of humanity itself."
The machines raised their hands in unison, saluting, bending, a grotesque parody of loyalty.
My stomach twisted so hard I thought I'd throw up.
Because I knew those shapes. The smooth contours of their joints, the core design of their frames. They weren't just machines. They were his.
Nico's.
The fingerprints of his work were etched into every artificial tendon, every interface, every single line of their blueprint.
I saw his hands again, stained with solder burns and ink smudges from late nights. The way he used to frown when wires wouldn't fit, the tired laugh when he got something to spark to life. The stubborn pride in his voice when he told me, no one will steal this, Nyx. This one's ours.
And then I saw him falling again.
Blood soaking through his shirt. His body shielding mine. His last breath clinging to the prototype we swore to protect.
And now Elias had paraded it out into the sunlight. Stripped it down, mass-produced it, sold it with a smile as though Nico's dream had always belonged to him.
Nyxen hovered at my side. Silent. His core light dimmed low, flickering at intervals. He didn't glare. Didn't joke. Didn't throw his usual sharp retorts. That dimmed glow was his grief, his way of mourning without words.
Leon swore under his breath, pacing, jaw tight. "So this is his play. He's not just entering the market, he's declaring ownership."
Ownership.
That word cracked something inside me.
Because that's what it was. Not innovation. Not progress. Theft. Nico's hands, Nico's nights, Nico's heart, ripped out of his grave and twisted into hollow shells.
I pressed my knuckles against my lips, hard enough to taste blood, but it didn't keep the tremor out of my chest.
"Nyx," Leon's voice came softer, like he already knew where my mind had gone, "this isn't-"
"I know what this is." My voice didn't sound like mine. It sounded thinner. Cracked. Fragile around the edges.
Because Elias Camden wasn't unveiling machines.
He wasn't just cutting a ribbon and smiling for cameras.
He was erasing.
Erasing Nico's memory.
Erasing the meaning of everything we bled for.
And worse, he was throwing it back in my face, daring me to watch.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't look away. Because if I did, if I blinked, it would almost feel like I'd let Elias succeed.
No.
I wouldn't let him.
Not then. Not now. Not ever.
Nica's little voice cut through the static in my head.
"They… don't look like me."
I turned, blinking hard, dragging myself back into the room. She was perched on the armrest beside Nyxen, eyes glued to the screen. Small fingers fiddling with the edge of her sleeve, but her gaze didn't waver.
"They're different," she went on, softer this time. "Their faces. Their skins. They're not… me. But-" She hesitated, lips pressing together before whispering the part that broke me. "Their bodies move like mine."
My throat went dry.
Because she was right.
Strip away the cheap coats of synthetic flesh Elias had slapped onto them, different noses, different jawlines, different veneers meant to pass for "variety"-and the bones of it were Nico's.
The spine alignment.
The skeletal wiring of the wrists.
The way the hips swiveled in motion, balanced just-so against the upper body.
I knew it because I had watched him draw those lines. Watched him fight with angles for weeks until the distribution of weight didn't make the frame topple. Watched him sketch and erase and curse under his breath because it had to be right.
And now,
Elias Camden had stolen all of it.
Not just stolen.
He'd repainted it. Shifted the surface, dressed it up, cut corners in the details, just enough to stamp his own smug little mark onto something he never bled for.
A counterfeit with a shine.
"Trademark," I whispered, bile rising in the back of my throat. "He made them different just enough to-"
My voice cracked, rage eating the words.
"-just enough to pretend it's his. To slap a goddamn logo on it and parade it as Camden's 'vision' while the bones, the bones of it are-"
Mine. Nico's. Ours.
My nails dug half-moons into my palm.
That's when it hit me: Elias didn't just want the machines. He wanted the story. He wanted to rewrite it until the world forgot who'd actually made them possible.
Nico's name, erased.
His sacrifice, buried.
Our fight, spun into a sales pitch.
I couldn't even hear the applause on the screen anymore. Only the roar of blood in my ears.
Nyxen dimmed further beside me, his silence saying what he couldn't.
Leon's pacing stilled, his fists clenched tight.
And me?
I sat there choking on a fury so sharp it felt like grief all over again.
Because Elias Camden hadn't just stolen a blueprint.
He'd stolen a ghost.
It didn't take weeks. It didn't even take days.
By the time we stepped into the mall, Camden's models were already there.
CD-09, Elias's proud little army.
They stood behind counters in boutiques, sliding clothes across with practiced efficiency. They patrolled electronics stores, scanning inventory with mechanical precision. They even lingered near escalators like glossy security props, their presence humming of control rather than help.
They were everywhere.
I caught Leon muttering a curse under his breath, his shoulders tense as his eyes tracked one that was scanning barcodes at lightning speed.
Even Nica and Nyxen were quiet, their gazes flicking from one to the next, analyzing, dissecting.
And that's when it happened.
Near the atrium, one of the CD-09 units stood with a neat stack of flyers. It extended them toward passersby, the same smile plastered, motion on repeat. When a child, maybe five years old, rushed past and collided with its knee, the bot didn't even glance down.
The kid crumpled to the ground, lip trembling, clutching his scraped palm.
The model just… kept extending flyers. Its hand hovered right over his little head as if nothing existed outside its directive.
I froze.
But Nica didn't.
She slipped from Nyxen's side and crouched low. "Hey," she said softly, voice carrying a warmth that made the boy blink up. She helped him stand, brushing off his sleeves with careful hands. Then she dug into her pocket and pulled out a piece of wrapped candy, pressing it into his palm.
"Here," she smiled, giving his hair a gentle pat. "Brave boys get treats."
The child's tears broke into a shy laugh before his mother hurried over to scoop him up, whispering her thanks.
And just like that, the contrast hit like a hammer.
The CD-09 kept moving its arm, shoving paper at strangers. Emotionless. Empty.
While Nica… Nica chose. She saw. She felt.
Beside me, Nyxen didn't move at first. His face was unreadable, until the subtle sound of a lens opening gave him away.
He was recording.
Not the bots.
Not the flyers.
Nica.
"Let the world see what a real AI looks like," he murmured under his breath, the camera catching every second.
I didn't stop him.
By nightfall, it was everywhere.
Clips of Nica's soft hand patting the boy's head. The candy exchange. Her little smile. Juxtaposed against Camden's cold hunk of wires standing still, oblivious, soulless.
The comments poured like a storm:
"Camden's robots are creepy."
"Who would trust something that can't even notice a child crying at its feet?"
"Did you see the girl bot? She has more humanity than half of us!"
"I'll take one like her. Camden can keep his tin cans."
It went viral in hours.
And for the first time, watching the flood of strangers defending what Nico had bled for, defending her, I felt my rage cool just enough to sharpen into something else.
Not grief.
Not fury.
Weaponry.
Because Elias Camden might own the spotlight.
But now, Nica had stolen the stage.