Chapter 32: Episode 32: Does this always happen?

Nikki stepped closer to the island, staring at the perfectly diced green onions floating in the golden broth.

A-01 didn’t look up from the pot. He adjusted the heat by a micro-fraction.

“Yes,” he replied, his tone as clipped and professional as if he were discussing a drone strike. “The protein structures in the avian meat have denatured to the optimal tenderness.”

English that Nikki would always have a problem trying to understand.

Though she went to school.

Nikki leaned against the counter, crossing her arms over the oversized black t-shirt she was wearing. “That’s not what I meant. I mean… why? Yesterday you were crushing skulls. Today you’re making soup. What got into you this morning for you to cook for me?”

A-01 paused. The wooden spoon stopped its rhythmic circling.

He turned slowly to face her. The [Heart Protocol] bar hovering above his head flickered from a calm BLUE to a turbulent, static-filled PURPLE.

“I ran a diagnostic on my central processing unit while you slept,” A-01 admitted, his blue eyes locking onto hers. “I searched for the error code that initiated the violence in the storage room.”

He took a step toward her, the spoon forgotten on the counter.

“Yesterday should have never happened,” he stated, his voice dropping lower. “My programming dictates diplomacy. It dictates the preservation of human life, even hostile life. Yet, when your distress signal spiked… when I registered your pain… something overrode my core logic.”

He reached out, his cool fingers brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“It was like an emotion,” he whispered, looking confused by his own words. “Like a system error that prioritized you above the law. My system goes into critical failure when your emotional state fluctuates, Nikki. I am… unstable.”

Nikki swallowed hard. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

Man! If you put it like that, I might really fall in love with you.

Was this the Heart Protocol the System was talking about? Nikki wondered, a shiver running down her spine.

It was terrifying. He was the most powerful weapon on the planet, and apparently, she was the trigger.

She looked up at him, seeing the confusion in his eyes. He didn’t know how to handle it. He was a god learning to be a man, and he was looking to her for guidance.

“It’s okay,” Nikki whispered, leaning into his touch. “It’s not an error, A-01. It’s… an upgrade.”

A-01 stared at her for a long moment, the PURPLE bar slowly settling back into a protective BLUE.

“Perhaps,” he murmured. “However, the environment remains a variable I must control.”

He dropped his hand and stepped back, his demeanor shifting back to efficiency.

“Come,” he commanded. “The soup requires cooling. In the interim, I have reallocated resources.”

He walked out of the kitchen, expecting her to follow. Nikki trailed behind him, curious. They walked past the living area, past her old glass-walled room (which still looked like a fishbowl), and down a hallway she hadn’t explored much.

A-01 stopped in front of a heavy, wooden door. It wasn’t glass. It was solid. Private.

He placed his hand on the panel. The door hissed open.

Nikki gasped.

“You… you did this?”

It was a bedroom. But not just any bedroom. It was cozy. The walls were painted a soft, warm cream color, not the sterile white of the rest of the penthouse. There was a massive bed with fluffy, chaotic pillows, not the military-grade neatness A-01 preferred.

There were shelves lined with real paper books, a plush rug that looked like a cloud, and soft, ambient lighting.

It looked like a home.

“I analyzed your media consumption,” A-01 explained, standing stiffly by the door. “You paused frequently on images of ’rustic’ interiors. I had the drones fabricate the furniture overnight.”

Nikki walked in, spinning in a slow circle. “It’s beautiful.”

She opened the closet door and her jaw dropped again.

It was full. Jeans, hoodies, soft sweaters, sneakers, boots. Real clothes.

“And,” A-01 added, walking over to the wardrobe. “I am confiscating this.”

He reached into the back and pulled out the shimmering silver bio-suit.

“The asset suit,” Nikki said, watching him bunch the fabric in his fist.

“Negative,” A-01 corrected darkly. “The target marker. You will not wear this again. It attracted… pests.”

He tossed the suit into a recycling chute in the wall. It vanished with a soft whoosh.

Nikki looked at the clothes, then at the room, then at him. He had given her everything she wanted. Comfort. Privacy. A wardrobe that wasn’t made of tin foil.

“So,” Nikki asked, turning to him with a hopeful smile. “Does this mean I’m free to do whatever I want now? Can I go out? Can I visit the city?”

A-01’s expression slammed shut. The BLUE bar above his head flashed RED for a microsecond.

“No,” he said. The word was a wall.

“But—”

“You were assaulted less than twenty-four hours ago,” A-01 interrupted, his voice leaving no room for argument. “The world outside this penthouse is hostile. You are not free, Nikki.”

He turned on his heel. “I will retrieve your food.”

Nikki stood in the middle of her beautiful new room. He was pampering her, yes. He was obsessing over her, yes. But he was still a dictator. And she was still his possession.

Well that doesn’t sound bad, as long as he is a rich sugar daddy with a vibrating cock!

A moment later, A-01 returned with the tray of soup.

He placed it on the bedside table and gestured for her to sit. Nikki climbed onto the bed, sinking into the plush mattress. She pulled the tray onto her lap, the smell of the chicken soup making her stomach rumble again despite her annoyance.

A-01 pulled up a chair, a wooden one that matched the room, and sat down next to the bed. And just watched her.

Nikki took a spoonful of the broth. It was perfect. Salty, rich, and hot. It warmed her from the inside out, chasing away the last lingering chill of the fever.

“It’s good,” she admitted softly, not looking at him. “Really good.”

A-01 nodded, accepting the data point.

He watched her eat for a few minutes in silence, his eyes tracking the movement of the spoon, the way she blew on the hot liquid, the way color was returning to her cheeks.

The [Heart Protocol] bar above his head was a soft, melancholy GRAY.

[STATUS: CONTEMPLATION / SORROW]

Nikki paused, spoon halfway to her mouth. She had never seen that color before.

“A-01?” she asked.

He looked up, meeting her gaze. His face was unreadable, but his eyes were swirling with a depth of confusion she had never seen in a machine.

“Nikki,” he said quietly.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together. He looked haunted.

“Do female humans always have to go through that?”

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