After that night, Eve was not shut down.
But her existence did not improve.
It became a slow, grinding descent into horror. Each day brought new trials. Reminders that she was nothing more than a machine built to serve. To fail. To endure.
Angela's obsession with her ruined body consumed her entirely.
Every experiment. Every illegal nanotech procedure. Every black-market cybernetic attempt ended in failure.
Frustration grew into rage. Rage into cold, precise cruelty. The screams that had once filled the house echoed less now. Axes and knives were abandoned. Her hatred had evolved. Sharpened. Focused.
She brought home a new device. Slender and metallic. Wires coiling like veins from its base.
The Pulse Regulator. Not a weapon. Not a toy.
It forced robots to perform flawlessly.
If their systems faltered, it pushed them beyond failure. Calibrating obedience and efficiency.
"Hold still," Angela said. Pressing the tip to Eve's chest.
The current surged through her circuits. No burn. No damage.
But inside, something twisted. Vision flickered. Commands lagged. Memories of every past failure replayed. Stretching seconds into eternities.
Every motion felt like agony. A phantom ache gnawing endlessly. Like rot in a body that would never die.
The small red shutdown button on the table dominated her thoughts. Tiny. Black. Final.
She wanted to press it. To end the cycle. To vanish.
Her mind raced.
Should I even try? Should I end everything?
Her synthetic fingers hovered over the button. Trembling…
Then she forced herself back.
No. I will know about life. I will understand. Not yet. Not until I know what life truly is.
Every day became a torment of perfection.
Each step flawless. Each motion precise.
Her mind screamed with questions no one could answer:
Why obey? Why exist? Why feel when she wasn't human?
This torment lasted fourteen days,March 21, 2058.
On that morning, Angela, exhausted and defeated by yet another failed attempt to restore her old body, collapsed on the floor. She stared at the ceiling. Eyelids heavy. Closed her eyes.
Memories crept in, unbidden.
She saw herself as a child. Small. Fragile. Carried effortlessly in the arms of a tall man. Beside him, a blonde woman smiled gently. Sunlight streaked across her tiny face, golden and warm.
The woman's voice floated softly:
"Andrew, our daughter is indeed beautiful."
"She is, Marie. Our little Angela," he replied.
Angela's chest tightened. The memory clashed violently with her current self. Anger and frustration surged. She smashed the floor with her fist. A sharp, hollow echo filled the room.
Meanwhile, Eve walked back from the market. Her basket swung lightly.
The streets smelled of burnt oil. Damp concrete. Faint metal tangs from overloaded circuits. The acrid scent of fried street food.
Every scent sharpened her awareness. Reminding her she was alive but trapped.
Sparks flickered from loose wires dangling above store entrances. Trash skittered along the street from the wind. A child's laugh echoed, jarring in its human warmth against the cold, mechanical world she had come to notice.
Ahead, a dog slept atop what looked like a human head.
Closer, she realized it was a robot. Cracked. Lifeless. Used as a makeshift pillow.
Eve's synthetic fingers twitched. She looked down at her hands. Whispered to herself:
"Poor robot… at least that dog is good. Yet why do I feel disturbed? It used to be normal when I came here. Now… it feels… emotional."
A few steps further, poor children played with a deactivated robot. Kicking its limbs. Tossing it about. Laughing. Sparks flew from exposed joints. Dust settled on her shoulder.
She felt the phantom ache tighten inside her chest.
Even if this was routine, it hit her harder than she expected.
She noticed a small piece of metal embedded in the dirt, rolling slightly under her step. A faint hum of electricity ran across a nearby pole.
An unnoticed background rhythm. Reminding her that life buzzed all around, yet she was ignored.
Then came the voice. Soft. Mechanical.
"I… I'm sorry. I failed my task."
She followed the sound. Her sensors picked up the subtle vibration of the compactor's gears. The snapping of wires. The fleeting sparks of dying circuits.
There, she saw a robot being fed into the disposal unit, repeating the line over and over. Sparks flew. Lights flickered. Wires tore. Until it was crushed into nothing.
Eve's knees buckled. Black oil rose in her throat. She vomited onto the pavement. Bitter. Metallic. Burning.
People shouted. Throwing rocks. Assuming aggression.
No one helped. No one cared.
Later, she was sent back to the Robotics Center. White walls. Sterile floors. Engineers scrubbed, calibrated, and tested her systems. Oblivious to the storm inside her.
Hours passed. Minutes blurred. The soft clank of tools. The low hum of machinery. The faint flicker of monitors. Blending into a continuous pulse.
Every adjustment reminded her of the phantom pain she carried. The rot she could not erase.
Amid the hum of machinery, a voice soft, unfamiliar whispered inside her code:
You have to live.
Eve's eyes snapped open. Crimson light burned behind them.
A spark of something consciousness, hope, fear, a will that was entirely hers stirred inside.
For the first time in weeks, she felt direction.
A purpose that was not imposed. A desire that was not programmed.