Morgue
Crime Investigation Bureau
The harsh white light is blinding, flattening everything beneath it into what seems like a two-dimensional plane.
Teddy stares at the two corpses bearing her own face. An inappropriately dark joke surfaces:
"There are three people in the room, but only two Christina Normans."
...
Moineau...
Under the sterile light, her very words sound sterile.
She recalls the information she had deciphered from the deep data not long ago.
Her decryption program successfully extracted video files from a rioting machine's visual module.
The recording played out from the machine's perspective: it moved with rapid, darting motions, sweeping past Moore and Teddy before entering an alley.
Ahead, three rioting machines blocked Norman's path, while Moineau descended from above behind her.
A ring of her drones hovered around them.
When the rioting machine charged, its blade aimed at Moineau's back, she didn't even flinch. Her drones swiveled, targeted, and fired autonomously, their energy beam piercing straight through the mechanical assailant.
It collapsed to the ground, its final visual feed locked on the two figures in the alley.
Suddenly, the three machines blocking Norman were destroyed by drones that had slipped behind her unnoticed.
Before she could react, several drones forced her back against the wall.
She had nowhere to run.
Moineau...!
You...
The drones flew to Moineau's arm, transforming and reassembling until a light blade extended from her wrist.
Silence, impostor.
In the next moment, she plunged the blade into Norman's chest.
Gasp...
Teddy gasped violently, as if the blade had pierced her own chest.
In response, a stabbing pain pulsed through her M.I.N.D., a lingering symptom from Norman's viral attack.
Beside her lay Christina's deep data interface, revealing a single line of text:
With unsettling ease, Teddy decrypted the data using her most familiar key.
The fit was perfect, as if she had been its original architect.
The morgue's frigid air hangs heavy, a sterile blend of formalin, disinfectant, and the false cheer of lemon-scented cleaner.
"I am a memory protection program, created by Christina Norman, codename Teddy."
"My purpose is to activate when the host's memories are damaged or under attack."
"My objective is to assist Teddy in recovering her memories."
A program gaining physical form... Isn't the answer obvious?
That also explains my frame change...
Teddy lets out a bitter chuckle, her fingers tracing the cold, stainless steel surface.
In her vision, the material world peels away, revealing the skeletal truth beneath—
All of it is just programs, just code.
Then, from down the corridor, come the familiar footsteps. With each one, she feels a sickening thud in her chest, as if a fist is closing around her heart.
...
That familiar voice reaches her, yet to Teddy, it now sounds utterly alien.
How much do you know?
Teddy lets out a soft, sardonic laugh.
Enough to be demanding answers from you, Moineau.
Why did you kill them?
...
Moineau turns her head away, a subtle shift to shield her expression from Teddy's gaze.
What's wrong? Not going to answer?
Why can't you just...
..."Stay in your cage"?
As if the words struck a nerve, Moineau's head whips back toward Teddy.
That's not what I...
But in the next instant, a torrent of data surges from Teddy's fingertips.
It's pointless.
Moineau's response catches Teddy off guard as she effortlessly deflects the DDoS flood attack.
...What?!
Just sleep. Tomorrow, everything will be back to normal.
Darkness engulfs Teddy's vision. In her final moment of consciousness, she reaches for Moineau, grasping at empty air.
Behind her, from the stainless steel surface she touched, a dormant program is already infiltrating her systems.
After all, everything here is just programs and code.
The TV mumbles the news, but Moore's mind is elsewhere.
His hand, groping for the glass on the table, sends it tipping.
The sound brings Elean into the living room, where she finds Moore already mopping up the spilled water.
What's wrong? Thinking about a case?
Yeah...
You need to head to work soon, right? Try not to be late.
Moore stares ahead, his expression still distant.
Seeing him like this, Elean furrows her brow with concern.
Yeah, right...
Ever since his talk with the psychologist, strange images have been haunting his M.I.N.D.
And what was your occupation before you came?
I was stationed at...
Elean... conversation...
Before his thoughts can fully form, a knock sounds at the door.
