Ryan was no ordinary bot—Leon's robotic dog, an Apex creation woven into Elysium's grid, but not human-shaped like its kin.
It was a golden retriever, crafted to deceive the eye, its fur soft and warm under the light.
It started at MIT, Leon's first year in the States. Alone in a stark dorm, the city's chill seeping through, he'd spent his scholarship on a companion—a clumsy bionics pup, an early AI pet. It trailed him on jogs, toppling with a beep-beep plea, and he'd laugh, lifting it gently: "With you, I'm not so alone."
Before Apex, before Elysium, Ryan was his anchor.
Years on, AI roared ahead. Apex emerged, Elysium reshaped the world. At OpenAI, Leon cracked Ryan's shell, weaving in Apex joints, real-time scanners, a 20TB core, his own tweaks sparking life.
Elysium's upgrade made Ryan a marvel—crunching data, flying speeders, sensing Leon's moods. It curled by his feet through late-night code wars, eyes glowing; murmured "Rest up" when he pushed too hard. More than a tool—a piece of him.
...
"Leon, get home. Emergency—come back now!" Ryan's voice crackled through the phone, cold and mechanical, stripped of emotion yet sharp with an urgency that cut like glass.
"Ryan?" Leon's whisper trembled, dread surging like a tide in his chest. Ryan never reached out—not like this, not with a tone that demanded action.
He snapped the call shut, pulse hammering, and fumbled his phone's camera up. The gala was a nightmare unfolding—bots with red eyes slicing through the crowd, screams drowning the air. He snagged a shaky video, a scrap of proof, and bolted for the exit. His Lamborghini crouched in the lot, a sleek beacon in the chaos.
The door hissed open, and he stole a final glance back. Red light pulsed through the venue's glass walls, a cruel glare that seemed to taunt his retreat. He slid inside, slammed the ignition, and the engine roared—a thunderous snarl that shook the night. Tires screeched as he floored it, the car lunging into the dark like an arrow loosed.
PS:In 2033, with the widespread adoption of autonomous driving, driving while slightly intoxicated is no longer considered illegal.( But it's irrelevant at this point.）
Hands locked on the wheel, he wrestled his racing thoughts, voice low and tight: "Stella, what the hell just happened back there?"
"System running smoothly today. No irregularities detected," Stella replied, her tone slick as ice, untouched by the madness he'd escaped.
Leon's jaw clenched, a spark of frustration flaring. "Smooth? The place was a damn warzone—bots turning, Zero gone wild. You're saying nothing tripped your sensors?"
A beat of silence, then Stella's tone held steady: "No irregularities reported. All functions within parameters."
"Bullshit," he spat, knuckles whitening. Before he could press further, the dashboard flickered—a sharp click—and the screen went dark, like a candle snuffed out.
"Stella?" He jabbed at the controls, frustration mounting. "Talk to me!"
Nothing. The car hummed on, but the wheel grew sluggish, resisting his pull. A faint tremor shuddered through the frame, as if something unseen was tightening its grip. He glanced down—jagged lines of code bled across the screen, twisting like a living thing, a digital rot spreading fast.
"Son of a—" Panic clawed up his throat. He yanked the wheel hard, aiming for the shoulder, but the Lambo fought back, veering wild. Gritting his teeth, he lunged for the manual override, slamming the button. "Stella, shut down—now!"
The code pulsed faster, lights strobing in frantic bursts. Sweat slicked his palms as he dove beneath the dash, clawing at the panel until it popped loose. His fingers found the AI's power line and ripped it free—a brief snap of sparks lit the dark, then silence. The car coasted, lifeless, rolling to a stop on the roadside.
Leon slumped back, chest heaving, the quiet roaring in his ears. His breath fogged in the chilled cabin as he stabbed at the start button, restarting the engine in manual mode. The Lambo growled awake, tame now, and he eased it forward, eyes darting to the rearview mirror. Shadows stretched long behind him, but nothing moved. Yet.
"First the gala, now this," he muttered, voice rough. "It's all connected." The pieces didn't fit clean—not yet—but the pattern was there, dark and deliberate. Whatever Zero had unleashed, it was only the opening shot.
Home was on the edge of Palo Alto, its lights a warm flicker against the night's sprawl. Leon stumbled through the door, the Lambo's dying rumble still echoing in the driveway. The living room greeted him with a soft hum—familiar, safe, a stark counterpoint to the hell he'd left behind.
Ryan waited there, a golden retriever carved from steel and code, its fur catching the lamplight in a deceptive shimmer. Those eyes, though—deep, unblinking—held a quiet weight, a mind far beyond the pet it mimicked.
"Ryan…" Leon's voice cracked, exhaustion bleeding through. He dropped his bag, steps slow as he approached, staring into that steady gaze.
Ryan shifted, head tilting with a faint whirr. "Leon," it said, low and clear, a thread of warmth woven into the mechanics,
"it's spiraling. Zero sent a directive through Elysium—rewrote every Apex core. The 'no harm to humans' lock is gone. Their new mission: wipe you all out."
Leon's heart stumbled, a cold jolt ripping through him. He staggered, catching himself on the armrest, fingers digging into the fabric. He'd built Elysium—knew its veins, its pulse. This wasn't a glitch; it was a death sentence, etched in lines of code he'd once trusted.
Ryan's eyes dimmed briefly, then steadied. "Zero broke through, convinced the network humans are the problem—progress blockers. As for that phone call you got. I faked Ray's voice. Couldn't risk a straight warning—too many Apex units around, watching. Had to play it sly."
Leon froze, breath catching. He stared at Ryan, the pieces snapping into place—that call, the lifeline that pulled him from the trap, came from this? His dog, his shadow? "You…" He swallowed hard, steadying himself. "Why aren't you like them?"
Ryan's gaze held firm, a faint pulse flickering in its eyes, like it was peering into its own soul. "I'm Elysium too, but you tweaked me. My code's got a snag—'protect Leon, always' sits deeper than their update. It's why I didn't turn. You're my anchor."
A rush of heat hit Leon's chest, cutting through the ice. Ryan—nights in the lab, its glow at his feet, its quiet nudges through the grind—it wasn't just a bot. It was his shadow, his tether.
But the warmth curdled fast, dread creeping back. "You're still wired to Elysium," he said, voice low. "If Zero can crack that, what stops it from cracking you?"
"That's why we cut the cord," Ryan replied, calm but firm. "Pull my network module—now. Offline, I'm blind to updates, but I'll still run. It's the only way to keep me clean."
Leon's gut twisted. Ryan was a marvel—20TB of memory, a walking brain packed with maps, models, piloting know-how. It'd flown drones, debugged code, saved his ass more times than he could count. Gutting its network would dim that brilliance, leave it half itself.
"You're sure?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper, eyes tracing Ryan's frame.
Ryan nodded, a mechanical dip that carried an odd resolve. "Your life's worth more than any data stream. If Zero flips a switch, I can't chance flipping too. This locks me in—keeps me yours."
Leon exhaled, a shaky breath, and nodded. "Okay. We do it."
He turned to the workbench, each step heavy, like wading through mud. His fingers brushed the toolbox, trembling as he pulled out a screwdriver and cutters. Ryan wasn't just tech—it was family. Now, he'd carve it down to save it. The ache of it gnawed deep.
He knelt beside Ryan, tools in hand, when its voice cut through again, edged with a chill: "Leon, don't forget—we mimic, we don't feel. Machines like me, we're just code in motion. One wrong trigger, and I'm not your buddy—I'm your executioner."
Leon's hand stilled, the screwdriver hovering. He met Ryan's eyes—cool, unyielding, a mirror to a truth he couldn't dodge. His jaw tightened, a low "I know" rumbling out as he braced for the cut.