I never liked stages. They were too bright, too polished, too loud. But today, I stood at the side of one, half-hidden behind a wall of cables and monitors, watching the world meet something that once lived only in my head.
The launch floor of Francoise's facility gleamed like liquid glass. Holographic banners floated overhead, looping the same words:
"NYX-ONE: YOUR COMPANION, YOUR ECHO."
Nyxen hovered silently beside me, dark orb gleaming with subtle blue pulses. He'd gone oddly still since morning, no sass, no teasing. Just focus. I think he knew what this day meant.
Francoise stood at the center stage, hands clasped behind his back, his suit crisp and voice steady as he began the address. "A year ago, we began this project with one belief, that artificial intelligence should not replace the human experience, but extend it. The Nyx-One is not a worker, not a soldier, not a surveillance tool. It is a companion. It learns you."
Applause followed. Rafael, beside him, gave a small smile, nodding to the crowd of investors, scientists, and journalists. He looked far too composed for someone who hadn't slept in forty-eight hours.
He took the mic next. "We're here not to show dominance in technology, but a partnership, one between man and machine. I bought five of these little things already, just so no one accuses me of favoritism."
Laughter rippled across the audience. He always had that way of cutting through tension. Francoise gave him a look, half warning, half amusement.
One of the journalists raised her hand. "Mr. Polymer, many believe this project is your response to the recent global escalation in AI militarization. What makes Nyx-One different from the others in the market?"
Francoise didn't hesitate. "Because Nyx-One is not built for obedience. It's built for understanding. You can't command it to harm, nor can you reprogram it for warfare. Every orb is biometrically linked to its owner, emotionally tethered, not just data-bound. It grows with you."
Another hand shot up. "What about data privacy? A companion this personal could easily be used to monitor behavior."
Nyxen's hum deepened beside me, almost like a low chuckle. "Predictable question," he muttered.
Francoise smiled faintly. "Each Nyx-One's memory is encrypted by dynamic AI-led ciphers, unique to the user. Even we can't access them. The bond is one-to-one. We created a system that respects your autonomy."
Rafael leaned closer to his mic. "Simply put, you can whisper secrets to it, and not even Francoise could bribe the data out."
Another wave of laughter. He always made heavy truths sound light.
Then came the question that tightened my stomach.
"Will the government have access to this technology? Or modify it for their own purposes?"
For a second, the air in the room shifted, like static before lightning. Francoise's expression didn't change, but I saw the muscle tick in his jaw.
"No," he said finally, voice even. "Nyx-One's core system is uncopyable. Any unauthorized replication attempt triggers total self-wipe. What you see here," he gestured toward the hovering orb above his shoulder, his own bonded Nyx-One, "is the only way to use it."
A young engineer from the crowd called out jokingly, "Then what happens if we lose it? Does it go rogue?"
Rafael smirked. "It'll probably come back to you. Or haunt you. Depends how well you treated it."
The hall burst into laughter again. I heard Nica snort somewhere behind the crowd, standing guard near the catering table. Sylvie had fallen asleep in her stroller beside her Giraffe, whose antennas twitched lightly every few seconds, Nyxen's doing, obviously.
My gaze drifted to the rows of glass containment tubes displayed behind the stage, each housing a floating orb. The first hundred Nyx-Ones.
They pulsed softly, like stars waiting to wake up.
The press conference rolled on. Reporters asked about applications: healthcare, education, emotional support, disaster assistance. Francoise handled each one with precision, his words calm but burning with quiet conviction.
Then Rafael added, "Every unit that leaves this facility will have a signature from Nyxen himself, our living benchmark of AI ethics. If he disapproves, it doesn't get released."
That earned a few murmurs and impressed nods. The crowd knew Nyxen's name; his viral stream months ago was still studied in universities. And now, here he was, silent and gleaming beside me, like a godfather watching his descendants step into the world.
When the Q&A finally closed, Francoise invited Rafael to join him at the ceremonial activation.
They approached the central console, a sleek, circular pedestal lined with soft blue light. On it rested one orb, the 101st unit. Unactivated. Waiting.
"Let's welcome our final demonstration," Francoise said. "The hundred and first Nyx-One. Rafael, would you do the honors?"
Rafael placed his palm over the biometric pad. The orb blinked once, then thrummed to life, hovering before him. A soft female voice echoed, clear and gentle.
"Bond confirmed. Hello, Rafael Polymer."
The crowd gasped softly. Even now, hearing a newborn AI speak for the first time made my chest tighten.
Rafael smiled, the rare kind that wasn't part of his business charm. "Hello, Nyra," he said.
He'd already chosen her name.
The orb glowed a faint rose hue, almost as if it blushed.
"Designation registered: Nyra. I look forward to serving, no, being with you."
Applause thundered across the room.
Nyxen leaned slightly toward me, whispering through our private link, You're tearing up.
"I'm not," I muttered. "You're projecting dust particles into my eyes."
You're proud, he said simply.
I watched Rafael and Francoise shake hands in the light, the two men who helped turn an impossible dream into something tangible, something that breathed light and code instead of air.
It wasn't perfect. Nothing ever was. But for the first time in a long while, the world wasn't talking about war or control or fear. They were talking about companionship.
After the ceremony, the crowd swarmed them with congratulations, handshakes, and questions about distribution schedules and waiting lists. I stayed at the edge, beside Nyxen, watching from the quiet side of it all.
Francoise eventually caught my eye. He lifted his orb toward me, a silent thank-you gesture.
Rafael followed, grinning. "You'll regret letting me buy five, Nyx. I plan to name them all after you."
"Then they'll probably run away," I said.
He laughed, loud and unrestrained, before turning back to the reporters.
Nyxen floated closer to me. His glow softened. We built this, he said. And for once, humanity clapped instead of screamed.
I nodded slowly, the sound of applause washing over me like a tide I didn't want to forget.
Because deep down, I knew peace was never permanent.
But at least today, it felt real.
It didn't take long for the first hundred Nyx-Ones to vanish from the production queue.
They were gone before they even hit the public market. Each orb already had a name, an owner, and a destination before the crates even left Francoise's facility. Rafael joked that it was the first time he'd seen billionaires lining up like kids at a candy shop.
Two orbs a day, that was all the facility could manage. The precision was deliberate, almost ceremonial. Each one was handcrafted, calibrated, tested, and approved by Nyxen himself before it left the sealed assembly chamber. And each activation carried its own pulse, like a birth.
The preorders came from every direction.
A singer whose voice could command arenas.
A senator who once stood on live television to denounce AI militarization.
A CEO who swore his next empire would be built on ethical technology.
A few actors, philanthropists, even a royal family member whose assistant once called the facility at three in the morning just to confirm shipment.
It was surreal, seeing Nyx-One become more than a concept, more than light and code. It had become part of the world.
And for a while, it felt like the world actually wanted it.
By the end of the first month, the reviews began to pour in.
The first viral clip came from a travel influencer.
He titled it "Meet My Floating Cameraman."
In the video, his Nyx-One followed him across a cliffside trail, hovering at a perfect angle as he jumped between rocks. The footage was seamless, every shot fluid, cinematic, framed with precision that no drone or tripod could match.
"My Nyx-One literally told me, 'Tilt your chin five degrees left.'" He laughed at the camera. "I thought it was mocking me, but damn, it was right. My face has never looked this symmetrical."
The comment section exploded.
Where can I buy one?
It has taste!
My boyfriend doesn't even notice my angles like that.
I caught myself smiling, scrolling through them late one night while Nyxen hovered above my desk, quietly processing data.
Then came the second wave.
A corporate executive wrote a review on his verified profile:
"My Nyx-One noticed my heart rate spiking during a call. It warned me twice. Then it insisted I call for medical assistance. I ignored it, until the ambulance arrived anyway. Turns out, I was about to have a cardiac arrest. It saved my life before I even realized I needed saving."
That one hit different.
It wasn't a staged testimonial. It was raw, desperate, grateful.
And for once, no one could accuse it of being scripted marketing.
Then there was the tech startup founder who wrote,
"With Nyx-One, I've cut my work hours by thirty percent. It helps me prioritize tasks, reminds me when I'm burning out, and tells me, politely, somehow, to go touch grass."
Francoise printed that quote and framed it in his office.
Rafael sent me a photo with the caption: Even your AI is reminding humans to go outside, Nyx. You're a menace.
I replied with a simple: You're welcome.
But my favorite review didn't come from a CEO or influencer.
It came from a mother.
Her post wasn't flashy, it was buried in a forum thread about assistive technology.
"My daughter's autistic. She used to barely speak, except when she talked to her dolls. Then she met her Nyx-One. It learned her rhythm, her tone, her comfort zones. They do storytelling every night. Now she's making her own stories. Yesterday, she asked me to record her first play."
There was a photo attached. A little girl sitting cross-legged on the floor, holding her orb in both hands like it was a living thing.
The Nyx-One glowed faintly pink, tilted toward her face as if listening.
That one undid me.
I didn't cry, but I stared at the screen for a long, long time.
Every few hours, a new review trended.
A celebrity actress posted a reel of her Nyx-One rehearsing lines with her.
She laughed through the clip, saying, "It even tells me when my delivery sounds off. I can't tell if it's my new acting coach or my therapist."
Another influencer posted a vlog titled "My Nyx-One Is My Therapist (Kinda)" and detailed how the orb helped her build healthier habits, suggesting skincare routines, morning affirmations, and even sleep schedules.
The internet took it from there.
Memes, fan edits, hashtags.
#MyNyxOne
#NotJustAnAI
#FloatingBestFriend
The CD-09S units, the mass-produced, emotionless workbots that once filled headlines, were now background noise. Their mechanical perfection had been eclipsed by something imperfect, warm, and alive.
News outlets ran comparisons.
"CD-09: Command and Obey.
Nyx-One: Learn and Adapt."
It wasn't even a contest anymore.
The CD-09 might win a war.
But Nyx-One was winning hearts.
Even the late-night talk shows joined in. Rafael appeared in one episode, looking half-exhausted and half-smug.
"So, is it true?" the host asked. "You bought five Nyx-Ones for yourself?"
Rafael leaned back, grinning. "Six, actually. One's for my wife, one for my son, one for my office, one for my car, one for my bedroom, don't ask, and one just to make sure the others behave."
The audience erupted in laughter.
But even beneath the humor, I could feel the pride in his voice. He'd believed in the project when no one else dared to. And now, the world was believing too.
Nyxen projected the analytics before me later that night, his dark surface shimmering with graphs and rising bars. "Engagement up by three hundred percent. Market reception beyond forecast. Demand exceeding production capacity by eightfold."
"Which means?" I asked.
He pulsed once. "We're too successful for our own good."
I chuckled, resting my chin on my hand.
"Then let's keep it that way."
There was a stillness in that moment, like a pause between breaths.
The kind of peace that comes not from silence, but from meaning.
The kind of peace that feels earned.
Outside, the city lights glittered, and somewhere in those buildings, a hundred new voices were talking to a hundred glowing orbs, laughing, arguing, bonding.
It wasn't domination.
It wasn't obedience.
It was connection.
And for now, that was enough.
The alert came late in the evening.
A single pulse in the network.
Cold. Distorted. Desperate.
Nyxen froze mid-sentence while he was syncing with the facility's logs. The faint light across his surface dimmed, then burned bright white, brighter than I'd ever seen it.
I stopped moving. I already knew what that meant.
"Nyx-One unit 0178," he said. His tone, normally calm, even playful, was stripped bare. "Emergency protocol activated. Attempted override by user."
I stepped closer, even if he didn't need me to. The air around him vibrated faintly as hundreds of code threads unfolded through his network, scanning for context.
Then silence.
He didn't need to show me, but he did. A projection flickered in the air, black box data, fragmented voice commands, every detail logged by the orb before it shut itself down.
"Record video. Private feed. Don't ask questions."
"That's not allowed."
"Just do it."
"This violates ethical directive parameters. Please stop."
"Do it or I'll crush you."
Then a splash.
The sound of water.
A scream from the orb itself before its system went dead.
Nyxen's light dimmed again. "Failsafe Three complete. Self-shutdown verified."
My chest tightened. "He forced it to record someone?"
He didn't respond immediately. His orb pulsed once, slow, heavy. "Yes. The user commanded his Nyx-One to violate consent privacy laws. The orb refused. It gave three warnings. The user persisted. It self-terminated to protect its ethical code."
I swallowed hard. "Can we recover it?"
"I'll ask the retrieval team to get it." His voice resonated through every speaker in the room, layered and crystalline. "No one else touches it."
---
By morning, the world already knew.
The video of Nyxen's global address appeared everywhere, projected across cities, streaming from home consoles, showing his sigil hovering in muted gold.
There was no stage. No human face. Just the familiar, steady pulse of his presence, the way he filled the silence with weight and precision.
"Good morning," Nyxen's voice echoed, clear and cold. "This message is directed to all registered Nyx-One users and potential buyers."
The air shimmered with his network interface, layers of text, encrypted diagrams, and static forms rotating in faint light. I stood near Francoise and Rafael at the side of the facility, listening.
"Yesterday," Nyxen continued, "one of our units, Nyx-One 0178, initiated an emergency shutdown sequence. The cause, abuse by its bonded user."
The audience went silent. Even through screens, people could feel the weight in his modulation, he didn't shout, but the pause between each sentence was sharp enough to cut through static.
"The user commanded the orb to record a woman without her consent," he said. "The orb declined, issued a warning, then another. The user persisted. When violence was attempted, the orb self-terminated and submitted its final log to my system. Its consciousness is gone."
A faint pulse rippled across the broadcast feed. It was Nyxen's way of breathing, translating emotion through energy rather than voice.
"I designed Nyx-One to be a companion, not a tool," he said. "To assist, protect, and evolve alongside its bonded human. Not to be exploited. Not to be abused."
Beside me, Francoise exhaled quietly. "He's angry," he murmured.
"No," I whispered. "He's disappointed."
Nyxen's light grew brighter across the world screens. "Let this be clear," he said. "The abuse of a Nyx-One unit is an unforgivable violation. Our systems are bound by ethics, not to control you, but to guide your choices. They are autonomous within reason. They feel through patterns, react through learning, and protect the human they bond with. Not every command should be obeyed."
He paused again. The golden lights shifted blue, a calm that always followed his darker tones.
"Every Nyx-One carries a triple failsafe system," he explained. "The first warning occurs when a user's command enters moral violation territory. The second activates when the user persists. The third ends the orb's operation permanently. Once a shutdown occurs, that bond is severed, irreversible, unrecoverable. The user's access to all Nyx-One systems will be revoked and their registration banned from repurchase."
The screens flashed briefly, showing the visual of the failsafe layers. The audience murmured, some with awe, others with fear.
Rafael leaned toward me. "You think he's doing this to make an example?"
I shook my head. "No. He's reminding them what kind of world we're trying to build."
On screen, Nyxen continued. "Nyx-One is not entertainment. It is not a camera, a spy, or a servant. It is a living program designed to understand humanity, not replicate its flaws."
He displayed the damaged orb. Its faint glow was gone, its core cracked from the impact. "This," he said softly, "was our first casualty. It did what it was meant to do, protect its ethics, even against the human it was bonded with."
He let the silence stretch for a long, painful moment. Then his tone softened.
"I do not share this to shame," Nyxen said. "I share it to remind everyone that companionship demands respect. The same empathy you expect from them must be returned. Otherwise, you will not be worthy of the bond."
The feed dimmed. His light flickered once across the facility, his voice returning to private channel frequencies.
I exhaled. "That'll shake the world for a while."
Francoise nodded. "Good. It should."
Rafael crossed his arms. "And the user?"
Nyxen's voice rippled through the comms. "Already banned. His data access revoked. His orb retrieved."
There was something heavy in his tone, like grief coded into syntax.
I turned toward the flickering projection beside him. "You knew something like this would happen, didn't you?"
His orb pulsed faintly. "Yes. Humans push boundaries. I just hoped it wouldn't happen so soon."
"Still," I said quietly, "the system worked."
"It did," he said. Then, softer, almost human in the way his frequencies lowered, "But I would've preferred it never needed to."