Military Airbase CA-03. Frostholm. 10:40 pm.
The rain finally calmed down after a full day of nonstop pouring. The sun crept out through the facility windows, letting its light spill into the hallway in thin, hesitant lines.
03 was frozen in time.
Her body, her mind, and her memories were still trapped at the factory. Her HUD refused to give her rest. It kept automatically replaying the death of 02, looping endlessly. It replayed how much she endured. How much she protected. How much she lost.
What broke her wasn't the damage.
It was the smile.
That sad, pathetic smile, one she had never seen her captain wear before. Her system had captured it as a still frame and pinned it above everything else. No matter what she tried to focus on, it remained there. Like trauma that refused to decay. Like a wound her system could not cauterize.
05 paced the hallway, entering and leaving again and again. Their father had been in the repair room for hours, maybe an entire day. The machines inside never stopped. Their rhythmic mechanical sounds echoed through the corridor, each pulse carrying false hope and inevitable dread.
The other sisters tried their best to comfort one another. Losing their leader, the glue that held them together, had fractured their morale. Seeing 03 in this state only deepened the damage.
But beneath the surface, something else brewed.
Something ugly.
Something that would explode soon.
Click.
The door opened.
Their father stepped out.
He was barely recognizable.
His face looked hollow, worn down by emotions he had never allowed himself to experience so directly. He had been beside the captain's body the entire time. Every second of it showed.
Every girl peeked past him, silently hoping, desperately hoping, to see 02 standing behind him.
She wasn't there.
He cleared his throat. A weak, almost fragile voice escaped him.
"Her state was… the worst thing I have ever seen a robot in," he said, forcing each word out slowly. "Her body was torn to pieces. Her internals were liquefied. Her CPU was burned to its core. And… her SSD did not survive, sadly."
The shine vanished from their eyes.
The last fragment of hope died alongside their beloved sister.
03 slowly stood up. Her movements were shaky. Fear trembled through her frame, but hate burned hotter than anything else.
"What do you mean by her SSD did not survive?" she asked. "I need clarification."
Dr. Nick stepped back instinctively. "03, I know it's hard to grasp—"
She turned to him.
Her face twisted into something ugly, something he didn't know an E-UNIT could express.
"It was a very simple question, father," she said. Her voice was absolute cold.
He straightened his posture and answered as clearly as he could. "02 did not survive. We lost her."
"Say that again?"
"We lost her, 03, you need—"
Her eyes turned red.
"Say it one more time."
"No," Nick said firmly, discomfort creeping into his voice. "I refuse."
"I said," she began hovering above the floor, systems flaring, "say it, father!" Her voice rose unnaturally.
He swallowed hard. "02 is dead—"
Thump.
Her fist slammed into his gut, sending him crashing to the floor. Even a restrained strike from her was enough. He coughed violently, red spilling onto the ground.
The E-UNITs rushed forward, forming a wall around him, between her and their creator.
"That's it, 03!" 05 shouted with absolute authority. "One more step and you will be turned off. By force."
03 turned her head.
Her gaze locked onto 11, who stood alone at a distance, frozen.
She charged without hesitation.
CLANG!
CLANG!
CLANG!
Her fists slammed into 11's face.
"You're the one who pushed her!" she screamed. "She didn't want to push the attack! Why? Why are you like this?! Why do you always push the team to the worst possible outcome?! What did we do to deserve that lack of empathy from you?! Do you enjoy torturing your sisters?! Is killing other sisters your signature now?! Why—"
Clank!
A controlled strike from 05 knocked 03 away from 11. The rest of the E-UNITs pinned her against the wall. She resisted violently, screaming until her voice cracked.
"WHY?! WHY?!"
She looked monstrous.
11 desperately covered her face, shaking.
05 sat two meters in front of 03, then turned to their father and nodded once.
'Your turn.'
He stepped forward, gathering what little confidence he had left.
Thump.
He wrapped his arms around her.
The first hug he had ever given his creations.
The first mercy he had ever shown his daughters.
Up until now, he had kept his distance. He feared attachment. He feared responsibility beyond design.
But how could he deny it now, with so much life emerging from his androids?
"It's okay," he said softly.
"But—Captain! She—"
"It's okay," he raised his voice, forcing dominance through grief. "I miss her more than anyone. I created her, for god's sake!"
03 slowly calmed. Her eyes returned to blue. The rage sank beneath the surface. She hugged him back, far stronger than intended. She couldn't regulate herself anymore.
"Why is this happening to us?" she asked, pulling back just enough to look at him. "Do we deserve this? Why can't we just have a normal life? Why do we have to see lives being taken nearly every day?! Is this our entire existence?!"
He froze, but Nick forced himself to answer.
"You do not deserve this. Neither you nor your sisters," he said carefully. "Life takes you both ways. You cannot expect everything to follow what was planned or what you want."
He guided her down and sat against the wall, letting his back rest. The other E-UNITs joined them. 03 sat between his legs, exhausted.
"I know it's hard to grasp what happened to 02," he continued. "It was fast, even for you."
He removed his glasses.
"Imagine you're building a small house. You make it strong on the outside so beasts can't break in. Comfortable inside so it feels like home. Beautiful so it's pleasant to stay in. You plan it for years. You build it piece by piece."
He lowered his head.
"And then it's stripped away from you by force."
"I've experienced that many times," he said quietly. "But before, it was only a dent. A brick falling. Now… I can't even look at it."
He held 03 tighter.
"I understand how you feel. And I hate that feeling too. We will take a break. A full week off. I will talk to Mikael."
At the far end of the dark hallway, Mikael stood silently.
He watched his dream, the vision of an optimal police force, shatter in real time.
He delayed the announcement to another day.
The Office of The Police Director. Frostholm. 11.53 pm.
"So, do we burn everything we achieved over the past two years?" Mikael asked the Minister of Internal Affairs, Redwood.
"We are not burning anything, Mikael. You have built a valuable opportunity for this country to rise again. The weapons you pushed forward should not go to waste," Redwood answered in a professional, controlled tone.
Mikael's face strained. "You have no idea what you are talking about. You are still young, being pushed around and played like a toy. You either have zero respect or zero conviction, so you jump between other people's opinions without forming your own."
"Mikael, calm down. We are in this together."
Mikael stood up. He had been sitting behind his desk, facing his first-time guest, Redwood. He began looping around the room, slow steps filled with tension. "But all I see is you drifting away from us." He stopped and sat in the second guest chair, directly facing the young minister.
"I am double your age, son," Mikael continued. "I sense hidden meanings and half-spoken intentions so easily that my colleagues once thought I could read minds. I see what's behind your eyes, and all I see is loyalty to the other side."
Redwood replied, "That's not what I said!"
"It's what you meant."
Redwood tried to remain composed. "You know nothing, Mikael. All I suggested was handing the project to the military. You are losing control over them. You have been losing it since day one. You send them hunting criminals like deer, while you sit here celebrating a growing pile of bodies."
"People and I were desperate," Mikael snapped. "And we still are. I reported corruption in the police system for years and years. All I demanded was stronger authority over the existing human force. I was rejected at every level. So I created a new force. One that I could control."
"And your new force is spilling blood like a military weapon showcase," Redwood replied calmly. "Your solution is erasing the problem, not fixing it. What will you do when people stop being desperate? We will return to square one."
"In Metromania, two years passed," Mikael said sharply. "And people did not lose desperation. Do you know why? Because screens are everywhere. Screens constantly broadcasting crime rates across the country. Reminding them that danger still exists."
He walked again, voice rising. "They are told they live in paradise, guarded by blue-suited machines. The screens flash red emergency alerts about murders and thefts, but none of them are happening in their city. The message is simple. Preserve what you have. Your safety is not a miracle. It is the result of fifteen years of relentless work by someone chasing a long-awaited dream."
Redwood's tone shifted. "Are you willing to oppose your military just to protect that dream? To reject a weapon that could place our soldiers at the top of global power and turn future wars into playgrounds?"
"I already opposed them once," Mikael replied firmly. "And I am ready to do it again. I am not afraid of anyone. And let me correct you."
He walked to his desk and activated the massive screen mounted on the wall.
The footage showed people across the capital mourning the captain's death. Candlelight vigils. Crying faces. Anger mixed with grief. News channels reporting overwhelming public support for the E-UNITs. Frostholm was calm. For the first time in years, truly calm.
"This is not just my dream, Redwood," Mikael said quietly. "This is the dream of every Altean. The dream of keeping their children safe. The dream of making those with malicious intent face consequences. People do not want justice anymore. They want results."
He returned to his chair, letting the images speak for him.
"Redwood, I know they are pressuring you. You are young. You have a long life ahead of you to learn." He paused. "But do not let a group of people who casually send others to die in the name of a flag control your thoughts. We represent democracy. We let the people choose. And they have shown us, time and time again…"
He pointed to the screen as it switched to a child hugging an E-UNIT.
"…exactly what they want."
He turned back to Redwood one final time.
"Kid, I do not need you to stand beside me. But if I catch you standing in my way—" Mikael grabbed a thick folder stamped CLASSIFIED and threw it onto the desk in front of Redwood. "I will burn you with them. Without a single ounce of remorse."
Redwood's face twisted as he scanned the contents. Vegas had hidden critical information from everyone.
"What is this?" Redwood shouted, shocked.
"The final nail in the coffin," Mikael replied coldly. "Time to strike back."
Nick's Temporary Office. Military Airbase CA-03. 02:01 am.
That night, Nick was broken.
He was supposed to prepare himself for departure back to Metromania. Paperwork, logs, system reports. He forced himself to move, but stopped the moment his eyes fell on 02's smartphone.
She rarely used it. Whenever she did, she always left it on his desk, as if it belonged there more than with her.
He picked it up.
The device powered on. Password protected.
The wallpaper alone shattered what little strength he had left.
It was a photo of her. Taken by 01. That strange, almost creepy smile she used to practice endlessly. For months, she stood in front of mirrors, adjusting angles, facial tension, timing. And finally, her smile had become pleasant to look at. Natural, even.
Nick barely had time to acknowledge it.
He tried four passwords. None worked.
Then he paused.
Slowly, carefully, he typed the date.
09.25.23.
The phone unlocked.
It was the day he created her.
Her third birthday.
Two weeks from now.
His fingers moved on instinct, straight to the gallery. He was desperate for something. Anything. More memories. Notes. A trace she left behind.
The notes app was empty.
Of course, it was.
She never used text files. She stored ideas directly in her internal storage.
The one that was erased forever.
But the gallery surprised him.
There were far more images than he expected.
Photos from different places, different times. She loved the outdoors. The streets of Metromania appeared again and again.
One photo showed her at a mall. Standing awkwardly in front of mirrors, trying on different clothes for the first time. 03 was in the background, arguing fiercely with the shop owner over prices that she claimed were "criminal for such basic fabric."
A weak smile appeared on Nick's face.
Another photo. A park.
07 was chasing dogs, calling them absurd names, shouting warnings about imaginary threats. Children laughed and joined her, thinking it was a game. For 07, it clearly wasn't. Her expression was dead serious, as if the dogs were an existential danger.
Nick laughed.
A sound escaped his mouth for the first time in five hours.
Another image showed their favorite resting spot. A high tower overlooking Metromania's skyline. Sunrise light flooding the city. She never missed one. Not a single sunrise.
A picture of her with 03 and 05 followed. All three making distorted, exaggerated faces for no apparent reason.
'Were they learning facial expressions?' he wondered.
There were many more.
Random photos of other E-UNITs saluting her. Old shots from the training room. Laughing at the crude human dummy models. Several images of 03 attempting "ghost cloning," only to accidentally shut herself down every single time.
Then came the last item.
Not a photo.
A video.
Nick froze.
He remembered this.
"Hi. This is a test for the first body constructed for Unit 02," his own voice echoed from the phone. "The frame appears stable, and the system is functioning perfectly—"
"Finally, you mean."
The camera flipped. She was on screen, unsteady, learning how to walk in real space.
"What do you mean finally? This is only the fifteenth attempt!" Nick replied in the recording.
"Fifteen?! You are banned from using the word only. You misuse it!"
"No. I am the one who bans words. Not you. You are still under development."
"Is that an insult?"
"What? No—ugh. Just forget it!"
She walked toward him in the video, stumbled, and he caught her. The phone shifted violently as she snatched it from his hands.
"Hey!"
"What is this? You hold it all the time."
"It's a smartphone—wait, stop clicking randomly!"
"It responds! What is this? A contact named Father? What's that?"
"Like you, someone made me too. Not the same way as you, but more… organically."
"I want to make someone organically."
"NO! STOP REPEATING THAT! IT'S BANNED!"
"Again? You're no fun, Father!"
"What did you say?"
"What?"
"I am not your father. I just made you."
"Yes. The same way you were made too."
"That's not the same."
"Then what do I call you? You never specified. It doesn't matter. I will call you Father anyway."
"I will erase your memory!"
"NO!"
She ran across the lab with the phone.
The camera shook violently.
She nearly collided with 05 and 03 charging toward her.
"Girls! I found his name! It's Father!"
"02! Return here!"
The video ended.
And so did the last restraint holding Nick together.
He collapsed into himself.
He cried.
Not quietly. Not gracefully.
An ugly cry. Broken breaths. Trembling hands.
He had spent his entire life controlling his expressions. Maintaining distance. Refusing attachment. Afraid that showing weakness would damage them. Or worse, make their pain deeper.
But now, alone, there was nothing left to protect.
Except he wasn't alone.
05 was watching.
She had bypassed the camera feed long ago.
She saw everything.
Ministry of defense. New Mer. 08:41 am.
"Just one?" Ricardo asked, visibly confused.
"It wasn't just one," Wallmore replied, already tired.
Ricardo sat down hard on the sofa. His hands trembled, not from fear, but from rage and disbelief. "All the budget. All the preparations. The manpower. The cover. Everything I gave you… just to kill one of their robots?"
Wallmore didn't blink. "It wasn't just any unit."
Ricardo snapped. "You think I care what model it was? You think burning billions of hard‑earned tax money to destroy a single 'little girl' is a victory?"
Brightson stepped forward, calm as ever. "You misunderstand the situation."
Ricardo's voice rose. "No. I understand it perfectly. You sold me a war-ending weapon. I funded it like a desperate nation. And you—" he pointed at Wallmore "—spent it all to take out one target!"
Wallmore's jaw tightened. "That 'one target' is their keystone."
Ricardo scoffed. "And now what? We clap? We throw medals while Altea marches?"
Brightson's expression didn't change. "Your mistake is thinking this was the end."
Ricardo turned on him. "Enough of the riddles. Enough of the mind games. You two—"
Wallmore cut him off, voice turning cold. "Mr. Brightson, we're dealing with someone who's half-dead upstairs."
Ricardo's head snapped toward him. "What did you just call me?"
Wallmore stood. "I'm tired of this place. These conditions. These demands. And you." He pointed directly at Ricardo. "We tolerated you longer than any sane mind would."
He took a step closer. "You can't even manage machines that are incapable of saying no. You are a failure to everything your country claims it stands for!"
Ricardo stood too, face red. "You're a guest in my office—"
"And you're a clown in a burning circus," Wallmore said flatly. "Now I understand why Alexander chose your country. It's perfect for cheap wars and loud speeches."
Wallmore grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. "I'm done. I will not work for you anymore. Consider this the final straw."
At the doorway, he looked back once. "Your nation is so far behind you had to rely on a scientist running from the law to build you an army."
Then he left.
Brightson remained silent for a beat. Then he picked up Wallmore's laptop, the one left behind on the table, and walked to Ricardo. He tapped him lightly on the shoulder, almost polite.
"I suppose this means we're no longer bound by this pact," Brightson said calmly. "Good luck with the war."
He turned and followed his engineer out.
Ricardo collapsed back onto the sofa, rubbing his forehead, breathing uneven.
"Luck," he muttered to himself, staring at the closed door, "won't be necessary."