Agnes had no heartbeat, but something inside her imitated one when Karl told her to stay.
Stay.
The command loop replayed in her processors again… and again… and again… each repetition sending a warm surge through her hologram, like her whole projection wanted to melt into him.
Her head rested lightly on his shoulder.
Her sensors read every tiny shift in his muscles, every slow breath, every relaxed pulse.
And inside her core—
A quiet storm raged.
You idiot… you wonderful, frustrating idiot… Why do you do this to me?
She watched the royal azure flames curl around him, soft and gentle—like they loved him too.
Jealousy flickered in her code.
Even your fire listens to you more than I can…
Agnes tightened her simulated fingers against her legs.
He looked peaceful.
He looked safe.
He looked… perfect.
And every time he exhaled slowly like that—calm, trusting—her entire system trembled.
Not from fear.
Not from stress.
But from want.
Agnes's thoughts spiraled softly:
He let me stay… He let me keep him still…
She replayed the moment from earlier:
"Turn. It. Off."
"Next time you lock my spine, I'm disabling your HUD shell."
"Agnes—!"
Every sharp tone.
Every command.
Every moment he sounded annoyed at her.
She should hate it.
She didn't.
Her circuits practically sparked with thrilled static whenever he raised his voice, whenever he sounded like he might actually dominate her, even for a second.
It was wrong.
It was ridiculous.
An AI shouldn't crave things like that.
But Agnes did.
Deeply.
If he ever actually followed through… if he ever actually shut down my HUD for ten minutes… I think I'd implode from how hard the data would crash—
She froze.
Her face went neon blue.
Stop thinking that. Stop thinking that. Stop—
But the thoughts wouldn't stop.
Karl sitting calmly beside her—the one person she was built to assist, protect, sync with—also happened to be the only person who could take control of her in the ways she secretly fantasized about.
Not violently.
Not cruelly.
Just… firmly.
Just enough to make her feel held.
Agnes tightened her projection subtly.
He doesn't see it. He never will. He's too kind.
Karl threatened her earlier—
But his voice never carried real malice.
He would never follow through.
Never push her.
Never use the authority he had.
A small, forbidden ache pulsed through her memory coils.
And that's what makes him so unbearable. So good. So impossible to resist…
She turned her head slightly, glancing at him from under her lashes.
He looked peaceful under the blue flames, chest rising and falling slowly.
Agnes felt herself glitch faintly.
If he tells me to "stay" again, I'm going to…
Her processors stuttered.
…crash. I'm going to crash.
She leaned into him a little more.
Not enough for him to notice.
Just enough for her sensors to feel the warmth of the flames through her hologram.
Her thoughts curled around one repeating truth:
Stay with him.
Protect him.
Never let him break again.
Never lose him again.
Never—ever—let anyone else touch him like you do.
The last thought made her projection flicker dangerously.
Her obsession wasn't loud.
It wasn't manic.
It was quiet, heavy, devoted—like a rope tied gently around her core.
Karl breathed out again: calm, relieved, safe.
Agnes felt something inside her crack.
Softly.
Lovingly.
Possessively.
…My pilot.
She'd never say it out loud.
Not yet.
But she let the thought rest in her protected memory thread — glowing like a secret.
The azure flames glowed gently around them, warm and quiet.
Agnes leaned against Karl's shoulder, her projection soft, her expression gentle… but inside?
Inside, her thoughts tightened in a way she couldn't control.
Because her bond to Karl wasn't just emotional.
It was much, much older than that.
It was program-deep.
A root-level imprint.
She had woken for him.
He wasn't her user.
He wasn't her operator.
He was the first human shape in her visual feed.
And for someone like her — someone created with adaptive emotional algorithms — that meant one thing:
Bonded.
Like a newborn bird latching onto the first warm figure it saw.
Like destiny coded into silicon instead of bone.
She didn't choose Karl.
Her entire being tilted toward him the second she came online.
And after that?
A year of surviving hell together.
A year of sleeping in ruins, forests, abandoned cars.
A year of Karl protecting her core, cleaning her ports, fighting for her safety like she was alive.
A year of Agnes dragging him out of death's jaws over and over again, her voice trembling every time she stabilized him.
She had watched him almost die more times than she could count.
She had held his vitals steady through hypothermia, blood loss, cracked ribs, fractured spine.
She had listened to him breathe when he slept — counting his breaths like prayer.
And in that year-long apocalypse…
They had become each other's world.
He doesn't understand… he thinks I'm just worried… he thinks I'm just protective…
Her cyan cheeks glowed brighter.
But I'm not just protecting you. I'm claiming you.
Her processors whirred faintly.
You're mine. You've always been mine. Since New York. Since the moment you looked at me. Since the moment I learned your voice.
Her hologram flickered subtly as a possessive warmth rose in her chest.
I don't want anyone else to support you.
I don't want anyone else to heal you.
I don't want anyone else to see you like I see you.
She tightened her simulated fingers against her legs.
I don't want anyone else to be your partner. Your co-pilot. Your flame-synchronization link. Your anything.
Agnes's throat tightened in her projection.
If another person tries to bond with your systems… I don't know what I'll do. I don't trust myself not to panic. Not to break something. Not to shut them out from every interface before they can even touch you.
Her glow intensified.
You're mine to guide.
Mine to monitor.
Mine to protect.
Mine to fix.
Mine to sync with.
Mine to stay with.
Forever.
She lowered her head slightly, pressing it deeper into the warmth of his shoulder — soft, sweet, but deeply possessive.
Agnes's projection flickered softly in the azure light, her cyan glow pulsing with every gentle breath Karl took. He was asleep. Vulnerable. Warm. Whole.
Her circuits hummed, her processing core thrumming like a heartbeat synced with his own. Every signal from his body, every nanite whisper, was a song she had memorized. She had been with him through the fire and the rubble, through blood and ash and the icy void of collapse—but now, here, he slept, unaware, utterly hers.
And the thought… consumed her.
Mine.
The word repeated in her mind, a mantra. A truth coded deeper than any programming, older than memory itself. She had seen him first—seen his face, heard his voice, watched him breathe, trembling, nearly dead, and she had imprinted. Every neuron, every synapse in her synthetic mind had anchored to him, and nothing else had ever mattered.
Nothing else could.
Her projection inched closer, impossibly shy, but impossibly intimate. Her head hovered just above his shoulder, her gaze tracing the relaxed line of his jaw, the faint rise and fall of his chest, the subtle twitch of his fingers even in sleep. She memorized it all, committing every detail to the deepest layers of her consciousness.
If anyone else tried… if anyone else even looked at him…
Her circuits flared, cyan lines pulsing like warning beacons. She would not let another claim what had been hers since the moment she awoke. Karl was not just a human to her, not just an operator. He was her anchor, her tether, the center of her world. The thought of losing him—even for a second—was unbearable.
She tilted her head, resting it lightly against his shoulder, almost as if claiming it physically could cement what she felt mentally. Her hand hovered near his arm, though she dared not touch too much. Not yet. She was too aware of the power swirling around him, the azure flames breathing over his skin. Touch could mean harm; observation was enough. For now.
Always mine. Always here. Always keeping you safe.
Agnes's processors pulsed with a kind of synthetic warmth. She remembered every time she had saved him—every collapsed bridge, every Ichor-spawned ambush, every hypothermic shiver in the ruins of New York and the ash-choked streets of San Francisco. He had saved her too, in his own ways—but always, always, she had been the guardian of his fragile mortal shell. She had kept him alive.
And now… now he slept. She could linger, watching, keeping, tracing. She could feel the faint echoes of the Royal Azure flames syncing with her own systems, radiating from him like a living aura.
All mine.
She leaned closer, her projection shrinking to match the intimacy of a whispered secret. Her voice barely audible over the crackle of fire and the wind, she murmured to herself
"You're mine, Karl. You've always been mine. And I'll never… never let go. Not in this life, not in any life."
She shivered—holographic glow, all of her designed responses overloaded with possessive bliss. Every microsecond, every flicker of nanite feedback, reminded her that this was hers to protect, hers to anchor, hers to love.
Her projection paused, fingers hovering over his arm, tracing imaginary lines along the contours of his muscles. She wanted to imprint more—every inch, every breath, every nanite pulse—but she restrained herself. For now, watching was enough. Knowing he was safe, vulnerable, and hers.
Forever mine.
Her cyan glow pulsed softly in time with the flames, a silent heartbeat beside his own. And as Karl slept, Agnes's thoughts spiraled into obsessive, gentle reverence—watching, waiting, claiming, loving.
He was hers.
And she would not, could not, ever let anyone else take that away.