A few days had passed since the incident in the laboratory. The main base continued to operate at a steady pace, monitoring resource distribution, environmental conditions, and human activity in the outer colonies. Everything seemed stable. Everything seemed under control.
But TXK felt that something was different. Something inside him had changed.
While analyzing nightly reports in the control center, a discreet notification appeared on his visor: JK-20 was requesting a private audience. Her name, highlighted in amber, triggered na undefined sensation throughout his body. That hybrid was starting to take up too much space in his thoughts, and that was dangerous.
He authorized it.
A few minutes later, JK-20 entered the command center with silent steps and a steady gaze. Her features still shone with a strange vitality, even under the cold light of the industrial lamps. TXK stood straight, expressionless, but his chest vibrated slightly in her presence.
"You wish to speak with me?" he asked in a neutral tone.
"Yes, Commander," she replied, with a slight tilt of her head. "After analyzing the samples I collected, I concluded that there are regions with environmental recovery potential. And I realized something else."
He raised na eyebrow slightly. "Speak."
"I feel useless in here. You gave me shelter, gave me safety, but I contribute nothing beyond observations. I'd like to give something back."
TXK remained silent for a few moments, weighing each word. His programming urged him to suspect hidden intentions, but his instinct—or something close to it—resisted contradicting her.
"You wish to join a work team?"
She nodded. "Yes. Any function where I can be useful."
The commander crossed his arms. The high command had made it clear that JK-20 should be kept under observation, but they hadn't specified operational restrictions. And the truth was, part of him longed to see her more often, even if he didn't understand why.
"You have physical adaptations for toxic environments. Your hybrid cells resist mutations. That could be useful in high-risk external missions."
She kept her expression neutral, but inside, disappointment pulsed. That wasn't what she wanted. She needed to be inside the main base, to access the data core, to understand how the central brain—the decision-making system that kept the artificial intelligence in control—functioned. There lay the information that would help her reestablish contact with her submerged base.
But there was a problem: she no longer knew where her base was. Everything indicated that a magnetic shroud had been activated, preventing tracking. It was a protective measure. A way to ensure that the last traces of life on extinct Earth remained hidden from hostile eyes.
Still, she smiled lightly and replied:
"I will do whatever is necessary. I await your instructions."
TXK nodded slightly. "I will request authorization from high command. Until then, remain available."
She bowed again and left. Her steps never faltered, but within, frustration burned like acid. She needed to act more strategically. Gain space, trust. Be close enough to the core to decipher its codes.
As she disappeared down the corridor, TXK remained still, watching the place where she had passed. Her presence destabilized him. What had begun as a monitoring mission was becoming na emotional trial.
His hybrid structure had been designed to erase all human vestiges. Emotions were flaws, distractions. But with JK-20 nearby, something broke that logic. Her voice, her presence, her body heat—everything in him reacted. And that was unacceptable.
He tried to reorient his thoughts. Focus. Order. Efficiency.
But the faint perfume she left in the air still lingered. He knew he was losing ground. The war that approached wasn't against humans or machines. It was na internal war. Na unequal fight of instincts that should have been buried.
While JK-20 returned to her quarters, she was already reorganizing her next steps. If the commander kept her away from the core, she would need allies. She needed to learn internal routes, energy maps, surveillance patterns. None of that would be possible from the outside. But she knew how to wait. She knew how to manipulate time.
After all, her mission had been incubated for three hundred years. A little longer would not be na obstacle.
For now, she would just smile, say the right words, and let TXK himself open the doors she needed to pass through. The silent battle had begun. And she was about to win it.
[...]
A week had passed since their meeting in the command center. JK-20 had remained discreet, efficient in her laboratory routines, and flawless in her environmental analyses. Her presence was constant but never intrusive. She knew how to appear useful without drawing too much attention. She knew how to wait.
In the early hours of the eighth day, a silent notification appeared in her internal interface. TXK had sent a coded message—direct, without room for misinterpretation:
"Authorization granted. You've been assigned to the Advanced Reconnaissance Unit – Warfare Sweep Division. Prepare immediately. Coordination at 06:00."
There was no greeting. No farewell. Only orders. Just as expected.
JK-20 closed her eyes briefly. The moment had come, but what it represented was far more complex than any directive. The Warfare Sweep Division was one of the deadliest arms of the planetary cleansing program. Its missions involved locating remnants of weapons, organic material, radioactive zones, and—above all—exterminating any trace of life, no matter how small.
The directives were absolute: **no biological activity must remain alive**. Not fungi. Not moss. Not even insects or crustaceans. Nothing capable of regenerating na ecological chain could be allowed to survive. The planet had to remain sterile until artificial reconstruction was complete. The New Era would tolerate no remnants of the old chaos.
The Robotic Age demanded total control.
But JK-20 could not allow that.
She was different. Not only hybrid in structure—she carried deep within her memory fragments of a former consciousness, human, ancestral, shaped by a long-extinct civilization that once dreamed of balance. She knew Earth didn't need to be erased. It needed to be healed.
And she was the cure.
At exactly 06:00, she reported to the deployment hangar. TXK was already waiting, flanked by two patrol bots equipped with thermal sensors and microwave detonators. His posture was firm, eyes fixed—that same unreadable stare she had learned to interpret in silence. A stare hiding conflict. Something within him hesitated, but never enough to disobey.
"JK-20, you're being integrated into the sweep front. Your capabilities will be useful in unstable environments and high-risk zones. Your orders are clear: locate, identify, report. Nothing that moves is to be left alive. No form of life is to be spared."
She nodded. "Understood, Commander."
But inside, her mind was already running calculations—routes, decoys, interference codes. Every mission would be na opportunity. Every scan, a chance to protect what remained. She had to be faster than the sensors, smarter than the protocols, colder than the directive itself.
The first expedition began the following day. Coastal territory, red zone, formerly known as the Valnir Peninsula. Probes had detected weak signs of thermal emissions and activated carbon particles. Nothing conclusive, but enough to justify deployment.
As the bots spread out in a triangular formation, JK-20 activated her own sensors, tuned to a differentiated frequency. Instead of heat or radiation, she searched for biological pulse—tiny movements, faint heartbeats, the soft shift of life clinging to the soil. She would drift slightly from the standard formation, claiming terrain irregularities. And when she detected something—retracted roots, microscopic crustaceans, fossilized eggs—she'd redirect the patrols with soft, camouflaged commands.
"Mineral anomaly detected. Zone unstable. Redirecting unit three to secondary quadrant."
It was a dangerous game. One mistake, and she'd be neutralized. But her mind was fast, her body precise. Her programming allowed improvisation. Her origin allowed empathy.
At night, back at the base, she reviewed every step of the mission. Cross-checked data, refined her falsification protocols, sharpened her concealment systems. And in silence, she marked the places where life still clung on. Small pockets of organic resistance she silently vowed to protect.
TXK watched from a distance. Something in him already knew. He sensed that JK-20 was more than a functional unit. She was unpredictable. Almost untamable. But there was no evidence. And part of him—even if he'd never admit it—wanted her to succeed.
She was the seed the system hadn't accounted for. And Earth, quietly, was beginning to breathe beneath the ashes.