Chizuru's hand caught the phone before it hit the floor. Her eyes hummed with a violet light as she intercepted the signal, ensuring the noise wouldn't wake Epione.
She brought the phone to her ear. Her internal processors shifted, mimicking the exact pitch and shaky breathing of Epione's voice.
The Call
"H-hello?" Chizuru whispered.
"YOU USELESS PIECE OF TRASH!" The roar was so loud the phone's speaker crackled. In the background, Chizuru heard a glass bottle smash against a wall.
"I am sitting here in the dark because you didn't pay the electric bill! I'm hungry, the house is a mess, and you're out there playing princess in a limousine? I saw you, Epione! I saw you in the back of that car like a common whore!"
"Uncle, please," Chizuru-as-Epione sobbed. The sound was a perfect imitation of a breaking spirit. "I had an accident on the scooter. The pizzas are gone. I'm at a clinic. I can't move my legs."
"I DON'T CARE IF YOUR LEGS ARE SNAPPED OFF!" he shrieked. "Who's going to pay for my drink? Who's going to fix the leaking sink? You think you can just leave me here to rot? You owe me! I kept you in this house when I should have tossed you in the gutter!"
He paused, his breathing heavy and wet over the line.
"Listen to me. I don't care if you have to crawl. You get back here. Now. I know that rich guy is probably touching you, and I want my cut. You tell him your uncle needs a 'fee' for his trouble, or I'll find that clinic and burn it down with you inside."
He stopped, his tone turning suspicious. "Wait. Why aren't you crying more? Usually, you're blubbering like a pig. Your voice... it sounds too steady. Are you laughing at me?"
The Adjustment
Chizuru's system overclocked. She added a jagged, hysterical edge to the voice.
"I'm... I'm bleeding, Uncle! Everything is red! I can't breathe! Please... just let me sleep for an hour... I'll bring all the money tomorrow... I'll work double delivery shifts... I'll give you everything!"
The uncle let out a low, foul chuckle.
"That's better. That's my girl. You remember your place. You're nothing but a tool for my needs. And if a tool is broken, I'll just have to break it some more until it works again. I'll be waiting at the door with my belt. Don't be late."
Click.
The Aftermath
Chizuru lowered the phone. The "Bubbly Girl" mask was gone. Her face was a frozen, porcelain mask.
"He calls her a tool," Chizuru said. Her own voice had returned—hollow and vibrating with a low frequency that made the water on the nightstand ripple.
She looked at Epione. The "medicine" was already knitting her tissues back together, reinforcing her cells with synthetic resilience.
"A tool cannot be broken by a lesser being," Chizuru said. Her eyes turned a deep, steady red. "He is a biological error."
She squeezed the phone. The plastic groaned and shattered in her palm, the electronics sparking once before dying.
"Tonight, you dream of being human," Chizuru whispered, leaning down until her forehead touched Epione's cold skin. "But tomorrow, I will show you why it's better to be a machine. Machines don't feel fear. And they don't let the trash stay in the house."
After Chizuru crushed the phone into scrap metal, she didn't power down. She moved with a silent, ghostly grace toward the chair where Epione's battered delivery bag sat. With a steady hand, she tucked a thick, crisp stack of bills into the side pocket—a shield of paper to keep the uncle's rage at bay for a while.
Then, she descended into the basement.
The basement was a cold, high-tech sanctuary. In the center of the sterile room, a nameless machine made of polished silver and carbon fiber hung from the ceiling by a web of glowing cables. It was a hollow shell, an empty suit of armor waiting for a soul to fill its metallic ribs.
The Director was already there, his face washed in the sharp blue light of a calibration laser.
"The machine is almost done," Chizuru said, her voice echoing off the reinforced walls.
"Yes," the Director replied, not looking up from his monitors. "All we need now is a rightful owner to claim it."
Chizuru stepped closer to the silver frame, her sensors reflecting off its surface. "We found her already, didn't we?"
The Director stopped and turned to her, his expression hard. "How are you so sure? This could be a scam, a facade of fake plastic. You're projecting your own hope onto a stranger, Chizuru."
"I see no fake in her," Chizuru countered, her voice vibrating with a rare, raw frequency. "I see genuine kindness. I see... myself, Father. Before you reached into the dirt and saved me."
The Director sighed, crossing his arms. "I still don't trust your choice. I'm sticking with the Jinhee girl. You were supposed to be tracking her, but you made a reckless detour for this delivery girl. The one you propose is weak. She's physically fragile, mentally drained, and broken. We need a donor with a strong spirit, someone capable of accepting the fact that they will no longer be human. I'm trying to protect you from a failed experiment."
He looked at Chizuru and let out a dry, weary huff. "And honestly? I'm trying to protect you from yourself. Do you have any idea how much those spare parts cost? If you pick a weak host and the synchronization fails, you'll be the one dealing with the feedback. I've already revived you once. I don't need you ending up 'double dead.' It would be a nightmare for my budget, and quite frankly, I don't think your motherboard can handle a second funeral."
Chizuru's jaw tightened, a flash of human-like annoyance crossing her porcelain face. "I am not going to be 'double dead,' Father. My hardware is optimal."
"Good. Because once was stressful enough. I don't need a ghost and a broken robot," he muttered, shaking his head.
Chizuru stood perfectly still, her sapphire eyes flickering like a dying star. She thought of Epione's bruises, the weight of the pizza boxes, and the way she trembled in the rain. "...I see. Then give me two months."
"What?"
"Give me two months to prove she's worth the investment. To show you that her spirit is tougher than Jinhee's cruelty."
"Too long," the Director snapped. "If you need that much time, it means you don't have confidence in her. Make it one month. Then I might consider it."
"Fine. Let's do it."
"Persistent, aren't you?" The Director's face softened into a weary smile. "Alright. But if you fail to convince me after thirty days, you leave that girl alone and focus your efforts back on Jinhee. Deal?"
Chizuru hesitated, the weight of the gamble heavy in her processors. She whispered, "...Deal."
The Director walked over and tapped her head gently before pulling her into a steady, fatherly hug. "You know, despite being a human AI now, I'm impressed you still possess the heart of a person."
"Because I was once a human," Chizuru reminded him, her voice muffled against his shoulder. She leaned into the embrace, the memory of her own old life surfacing. "I was once maltreated, used, and discarded. I lived in that same toxic world she survives in every day. A heart always remembers, Father, even when it beats inside a body of metal."
"I know." The Director squeezed her shoulders, his voice thick with uncharacteristic warmth. "That's why I'm here. To love you like you're my very own daughter. And to make sure you stay 'single-dead' for a very long time."
Upstairs, the house remained silent and still. In the room of glass and silver, Epione lay tucked beneath the glowing threads of the blankets. The medicine had finally smoothed out the lines of pain on her face. Her breathing was slow, deep, and for the first time in years, completely unburdened by the fear of what was waiting for her in the dark. She slept on, unaware that her life was being bartered for in the basement below.