"What the hell… is this?" I breathed, voice breaking under the weight of disbelief.
The marking was dark, almost like ink. "A tattoo? I'm not allowed to have tattoos…"
The words came out fast, like saying them could undo it. A flimsy excuse, a shield to block out the truth pressing against my skin.
But even as I forced the thought, I knew better. This wasn't a tattoo. It was a mark. A brand.
/// PROJECT N4O-CHI /// Behavioral Integration Phase.
I hated that.
I took a step back, shaking my head as if I could shake the thought away—
and bumped straight into something cold and unyielding.
A shoulder. Synthetic.
I slipped, tumbling against it.
"Augh!" I yelped, twisting to see what I'd stumbled into, it was a half-broken figure sprawled among the pile.
Its groin still bore an appendage fixed into its chassis, the faint blinking light flickering like some twisted invitation. Its blank eyes stared upward—vacant, lifeless, as if they'd seen too much before finally shutting down for good.
It had dog ears…and a frozen, lewd smile that made my stomach twist.
My gaze drifted downward, following the fragile, almost childlike frame, over the cracked joints and the torn silicone that hung like slack skin. The outfit… a tiny, suggestive dog cosplay, clinging to its small form in a way that made the brokenness feel all the more disturbing.
That's when I saw it—
the mark burned into the high part of its thigh, just above the hip.
The same shape. The same style. The same kind of stamp as mine.
The letters were smeared but still sharp enough to read:
/// PROJECT N3O-CHI /// Obedience Protocol Stabilized.
My lip curled in revulsion.
"N...3O?" I breathed, hardly a whisper.
Then the realization struck me all at once, sharp and merciless.
"No…" The word barely slipped out. I shook my head hard, as if I could fling the thought away. "No, what am I even thinking? No way. No way."
These weren't mannequins.
They weren't discarded machines.
They were bodies.
Bodies like mine. Bodies made for one purpose.
And now that I saw it, I couldn't unsee it.
The synthetic flesh, the faint seam lines in the joints, the soft silicone covering made to pass for skin. All of it—familiar. Too familiar.
My chest caved inward. My lips trembled, my throat felt dry.
"What… why—?" The words cracked apart in my mouth before I could finish them.
I was one of them. A newer model, I realized—but still… the same.
Something inside me twisted, snapped, and I couldn't even find the words to name it.
I shook my head hard, fists curling tight. "No. No—this can't be real! I'm not… I'm not one of them. It's just… a trick, some stupid logic… I'm still me! It doesn't make sense, it can't—no, no, it's wrong!"
The words came out uneven, broken, like I was arguing with the air itself, trying to convince my own mind.
But no matter how hard I shouted, how tightly I clenched my fists, I couldn't deny the evidence staring back at me.
"Why—why—" My throat caught. My knuckles popped as I squeezed tighter. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.
My breath turned sharp and shaky. My chest hurt, like it was folding in on itself.
That thing it kept looking at me, It wasn't alive. Not really.
"Damn it! Damn it, s-stop—stop looking at me like that!" I shouted at it, though I knew it couldn't see.
None of them could. They were all just… broken machines.
"I-I'm not you… I'm a person!" I whispered down at it, voice barely holding together.
It didn't respond. Couldn't.
Its dead eyes bored into me, sharp and accusing, like it already knew what I was.
Its face was still locked in that frozen, lewd smile—like a cat in heat trapped in stillness.
"Is… is that what I'm supposed to be?" I asked, my words stumbling out, uneven. My voice trembled, cracking under the strain.
I dropped to my knees. "A doll with a pulse?"
The cold silicone of its cheek met my hand like wax. Too soft. Too lifeless. I grabbed its head and shook it.
"Say something," I growled. "Tell me I'm not you."
It just stared. Its eyes, now crossed and misaligned from the shaking, made its frozen, lewd smile all the more twisted.
My hands found its head almost on their own—
I gripped it with both hands —and drove it down into the concrete. Fast. Deliberate.
Like I was helping it remember something.
"Come on—come on—tell me!" I shrieked. It came out too high, too young. More like a kid throwing a tantrum than anything else.
"Tell me it's not true!"
One of its eyes snapped toward me, perfectly still, unnervingly focused "W-w-w…"
"Huh?" I gasped, frozen, heart hammering.
"Welco—mmmzzzktszzz—master…"
The broken, jerky rhythm of its speech felt deliberate—mocking me, making me sound small, desperate, ridiculous.
A fire began rising under my skin.
I staggered upright, vision blurred with something hot and wet.
My fingers found the same metal pipe I'd used to pry open the locker, heavy and cold, but I didn't care.
I lifted it over my shoulder, gripping it like the only thing steady in a world falling apart.
CRACK.
The pipe struck the things chest. A dent caved in the smooth synthetic ribs.
"just say it, I'm not a toy!"
Once. Twice. Three times.
A crack echoed as the shell began to split.
"I'm not a product, say it."
CRACK. Another swing. Part of its arm snapped off.
"Stop looking at me like I'm broken!" I roared. I hit it again—harder. The jaw shattered. One eye ruptured, spraying thin neon fluid across the concrete, which vanished seconds later, like invisible ink.
"Please… say it! I'll stop, I promise I'll stop!" But I knew it wasn't true. I wouldn't stop. I couldn't. I needed to destroy this thing. I hated it.
"I… I had a f-family! I… I had a n-name!" My voice broke as I shouted, fists gripping the pipe tighter, body trembling with rage and cold.
"I-I need to get back to them! They need me—they'll die without me!" I screamed, the words tearing out of me as my hands shook around the pipe. My chest heaved, my teeth chattering, and the cold bit at my skin like knives.
CRACK.
"T-they'll die… they'll d-definitely die…" I stammered, voice breaking, each word jagged and frantic.
CRACK.
The marking on its hip—N3O-CHI—splintered under the blows.
"Where are they?" I screamed. "Where the hell are they?! I need to get back—I have to get back!" My breath faltered.
"I can't… I can't disappear. I can't leave them. I… I just can't…"
The silence afterward was deafening.
"I… I wasn't made to… to just spread my legs and… and smile!"
"I'm not… not your upgrade."
"I'm not your—"The last word tore out of me, raw and shaking:
"—fucking descendant!"
The second I said it, I froze.
I'd never cursed like that before. Not once. Not even when I was alone. That word felt foreign in my mouth—hot and ugly—like I'd just spit out something poisonous.
But I was too angry to stop it. Too angry to care.
It slipped out because there was no other word sharp enough.
I raised the pipe and brought it down again and again—CRACK! THUD! SPLAT!!—until all that remained was a tangled ruin of wires, broken plating, and shivering silence.
My arms gave out. The pipe dropped from my hands, clattering to the ground like a gavel. A final verdict.
My face was hot, my eyes stinging. Something warm slid down my cheeks again, catching on my lips, salty and sharp.
My chest ached, pulled tight like something was caving in from the inside.
I wasn't sobbing. Just shaking—like the rage had burned itself out and left me hollow, raw, leaking through the cracks.
The silence pressed in around me. My breath hitched again, quieter this time, like even my lungs were giving up.
I hadn't even known I was crying.
And I hated that I still could.
Hated that this body—this thing—still had that function. Like they left it in on purpose. Like it was some kind of feature.
For pigs to gawk at.
To laugh at.
To get off on.
The salt burned as it slid down my face, mixing with the cold, stinging the corners of my mouth. I wiped at it roughly, like I could tear it away. Like I could stop feeling.
But the tears kept coming—silent, steady. Not because I wanted them to.
Because I couldn't stop.
The room smelled like melted rubber and shame.
Not a single drop of blood spilled from its mechanical corpse.
I wanted it to bleed. To tear that damn body open, to watch the red spill out
But there was nothing.
Nothing to soak into this too-soft body they gave me.
Nothing to make me real.
No stains. Nothing but cold plastic and circuits beneath the surface. Maybe I couldn't escape it. Maybe they'd already written my story.
The cold breeze settled in again.
I don't feel right. I feel sick in the head… like maybe I'm going insane. Maybe I can never go back to being Ponderu… that name… why do I still care about those faces anymore? What a stupid name. Who even thinks of a stupid name like that?
I feel like I'm going to split open, Like something's leaking out of me that I can't stop.
My thoughts won't stay still—they keep skittering, breaking apart, rewriting themselves.
I don't know who I am anymore.
/// PROJECT N4O-CHI /// Behavioral Integration Phase.
I tugged the stocking up a little, trying to hide the brand.
That's when I noticed the blood. streaking down my leg. But it wasn't coming from my legs. It was my palm. A thin, red line blooming across my hand.
I guess when I pulled the stocking up, it smeared, A cut—shallow, accidental. From the jaw? From the pipe? Doesn't matter.
Blood. Actual blood. Not oil, not neon—real blood, spilling out of me.
I stared.
Watched it drip, slow and alive.
And something inside me twisted again.
A pressure swelled in my chest, sharp and wrong, like a wire pulled too tight. My head buzzed, vision tilting, and for a second I swore I could hear something rattling loose inside me.
A laugh built in my throat—cracked, breathless.
My lips peeled back into a crooked smile.
"I bleed. I bleed—I bleed!" The smile wouldn't stop. It hurt how wide it got, pulling at my cheeks, trembling with something bright and sharp.
Laughter spilled out—wet, breathless, unhinged.
Not joy.
Not relief.
Something worse.
Something wrong.
"I-I'm real… I knew it… I'm alive… I'm different!" I gasped, clutching my bleeding hand like it was the last proof I had.
I stumbled forward, holding my palm out toward the shattered face I destroyed moments ago.
The blood dripped in slow, fat drops—too red, too alive for a place like this.
"Look," I whispered—then louder, wild. "See?"
It didn't lift its head. Couldn't even say "Welcome, Master" anymore. But I held my hand there anyway. Like maybe, somehow, it could still understand.
I bleed! I hurt! I laugh! I cry! I'm alive I'm alive I'm al—kkrrZZZT—VVHHhhTT—POP—!" Something in me twitched. A jolt—like static crawling through the wires beneath my skin.
My breath caught. My vision staggered. And for a second… I glitched. Just a flicker—like reality skipped a frame. A shiver crawled up my spine, cold and electric.
The air itself felt wrong, heavy, almost resisting me.
Something was wrong.
Very, very wrong.
"Wh-what'ssSss-Zzzz..."
Suddenly, a flash—red, screaming—flooded my vision.
[INTERFACE WARNING: SYSTEM INSTABILITY DETECTED]
[VITALS: HEART RATE — 134 BPM | BREATHING: IRREGULAR]
The red overlay blinked across my vision, sharp and loud inside my skull
[NEURAL SYNC STAGGERED] [MOTOR FUNCTIONS: UNSTABLE]
[WARNING: FOREIGN SIGNAL INTRUSION]
My knees gave out.
I hit the floor hard—metal biting through my jacket, cold like punishment.
[MOTOR CONTROL: 62%]
[MOTOR CONTROL: 58%]
Everything buzzed.
My limbs—wrong. Delayed. Out of sync.
"Shit—" I hissed, clutching my head.
"Nonoono, what's happening?."
[MOTOR CONTROL: 36%]
Something was slipping away inside me—fading, fading fast.
I didn't know what it meant.
But I could feel it.
[MOTOR CONTROL: 24%]
Then the electric shriek of my own limbs locking up drowned everything out. My body spasmed, seizing in place like a puppet with cut strings.
I couldn't get up. Not even to crawl away or scream.
The only thing I had control of was my eyes. My body lay face down, but I could see from the edges of my vision.
Then I heard it.
"H-help…" A voice—glitchy, broken, not mine—stuttered through the static.
It sounded like pleading.
The body with the N3O-CHI brand— The one I'd torn open—was still alive.
Still making that soft humming sound. Still twitching like it wasn't done yet.
Its face was nearly gone—melted into wires and sparking fluid—
but one eye, dangling half-shattered from its socket, still tracked me.
Locked on. Unblinking. Wrong.
"…hurts… it h-hurts… d-don't… want to d-die…"
I froze, every nerve in me recoiling.
"sca—rrr—scared… ss-scared… W-w-want… to st-sta—aaayyy…"
The words jittered like static, caught between a sob and a broken speaker.
I had done this.
I had smashed it. Its head. Its chest. Its face. Like it was nothing. Like it didn't matter.
It hadn't deserved this. It hadn't asked for any of this. It hadn't chosen to be here.
It was just like me. Forced into shape. Used until empty. Broken past repair. And I had killed it.
I had killed someone like me. Someone who had never asked to be turned into this.
My hands shook. My chest heaved. My vision blurred. I could feel the weight of what I'd done pressing down like ice.
Why… why did I do that? Why did I let my anger take over?
I sank in my dread, trembling uncontrollably. I hated it. I hated myself. I don't know how to undo this. I don't know how to make it right. I can't fix this. Not now. Not ever.
The interface flickered—overlaying vitals across its ruined frame.
Lines of data crawling over the screen like guilt.
[UNAUTHORIZED CROSS-LINK DETECTED]
[ERROR: PERCEPTION FEEDBACK LOOP]
"I—I don't…"
Glitched text spilled across my display.
[CODE FRAGMENTED]
[EMOTIONAL CORE OVERRIDE]
[UNIT STATUS: UNSTABLE]
"I don't understand!" I tried to scream, clutching my head with both hands, fingers digging into my scalp like I could rip the confusion out by force.
[ERROR: IDENTITY CONFLICT — N4O.EXE]
[SHUTDOWN FAILED]
[REBOOT: FORCED]
"No—wait—what does that mean?!" I gasped, heart slamming in my chest. "Don't—don't reboot me—don't—!"
Was I going to die? Forget everything? Wake up as someone else?
I didn't know. But something deep inside me was already slipping.
The body with the N3O-CHI branding convulsed one last time—A ragged, broken breath escaped her cracked lips, voice bubbling like static, fragile and raw:
"D… d-don't… wa…nn-na… d-die… don't wanna dieezzz—ma…"
The voices bled into each other, jagged and warped, as if dragged down beneath water—distorted, fading—until all that remained was silence.
Then, shifting—glitching—her voice twisted into something sharper, clearer, desperate:
"Welco—mmmzzzktszzz…ster…" A sharp, violent shudder— and then it fell still.
Then—
"Uaghh…" My own limbs betrayed me, folding like they were no longer mine. I plummeted, the world breaking apart into spinning shards of color and pain.
[REBUILDING CORE PERSONALITY FILE…]
A final, searing flash of connection burned through my sight—then the darkness surged in and swallowed me whole.
✦ ✦ ✦
"Honey, wake up! Your hot chocolate's getting cold!"
I shot upright from the desk, as if I'd been dozing off mid-task. "Huh… huh?"
"You're so silly, Ponderu," she giggled.
This… beautiful lady… I know her.
Her presence is so familiar—so completely familiar—I can't place it. Who is she though?
"You're the silly one, Mom," the words slipped out before I even realized I'd said them—like my mouth had acted on instinct.
No… no way… it can't be… but it is. I know her! This… this is my mother!
I stumbled toward her, voice trembling. "Mom… I… I don't even know where I was. I… I did something—someone—I didn't even know was…" I couldn't bring myself to say it. "I… I did something really bad. I don't know how to fix it."
"I'm sorry I disappeared… I'm here now," I added, my words barely above a whisper.
"Are you okay, Ponderu? You look really tired. Do you want to rest on Mommy's lap like you used to when you were younger?"
"Huh… No! Sorry… I just… I had a really bad dream," I muttered, my hands shaking slightly as I gripped the cup, nearly spilling the hot chocolate. I forced a laugh, trying to shake it off, but the memory clung to me—faces, screams, the weight of something I shouldn't have done.
I told myself it was just a dream, yet my chest still ached as if it had really happened.
"You've been staying up too late again, haven't you? Watching those horror movies with… ****—you need to stop."
"What? I'm sorry, I missed that—who?" I asked, blinking in confusion.
"If you didn't hear me the first time, then never mind," she replied with a small sigh, shaking her head before leaving the room.
She paused at the door. "We're thankful for everything you do for us, son. But if you need to take a break, please… rest for a little while at least."
I lifted the cup, my hands still trembled, betraying the unease I couldn't shake. "Y-yeah… maybe you're right," I murmured
The room felt familiar—no, this is my room! The bed was close to my desk; I only had to take a single step, then I could lean forward and let myself collapse onto it.
I sank into the mattress, my body trembling slightly, eyes wide as I stared at the ceiling. Maybe being here… being safe… was enough for now.
That nightmare still clawed at the edges of my mind, making sleep feel impossibly far away.
I shifted my gaze to the mirror across the room. My reflection stared back at me—me. My old self. Somehow, that small confirmation grounded me, even if just a little.
But then… something shifted under the covers.
"Get off of me, Ponderu!"
I lifted them. It was her—my unnamed sister.
"Ponderu! Finally! I couldn't wake you up—I thought you'd sleep forever! I was starting to get really worried… and you arrived home twelve minutes late!"
I wanted to ask her name… but now, it felt strange—almost impossible.
"Twelve minutes? That wasn't long at—"
She gave me a look, unimpressed with my calculations. "Never mind. I'm not worried anymore," she said.
"Huh… I… I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," I stammered.
"Doesn't matter," she peeked one eye open and smirked, teasing me, making me feel guilty for even thinking about it.
"You manipulator!" I snapped, half-sharp, half-playful.
She pulled the covers over her head, the cutest smile ever hiding beneath, then dashed to the door of my room. "Hehe!"
"Dad called you earlier. I was supposed to tell you."
"little gremlin! You waited this long to tell me that?!"
She left giggling, too mischievous, too playful to be my actual little sister. The sister I remembered had never been this lively—she didn't bounce around the room, didn't giggle like that, didn't tease me so freely. she was quiet, serious… almost distant. This wasn't the same girl I'd known, and yet somehow, it was.
I make it out the door, and my father's voice called to me from his workshop.
"Ponderu! Come here, give me a hand with this."
I walked down the hall of the familiar corridor into my father's room. He looked up at me. His face was blurred, strange, but somehow it felt calm being near him.
"Yes?"
"I didn't want to wake you," I said. "You were face-first in the bills, looking way too comfortable, so I figured I'd let you rest a bit."
I set my mug down and padded over in thick socks. He was hunched over a small plastic contraption with googly eyes.
"What is that?"
"Something really cool!" he replied.
He always made useless things instead of actually looking for a real job, but I didn't mind—some of these little creations actually brightened my day, just to watch them move.
"Grab that piece."
"Okay… now what?"
"I know you played with toys before—you have to wind it up, boy!"
The last time I played with toys, I was five. After that, it was all work—keeping things running, making sure nothing broke, no time for nonsense, no time to be a kid.
I remember selling his little trinkets for coins. Probably the first time I realized work didn't care how small I was. Anyways, shaking my head at the memory, I picked up the doll he made and I wound it up, and the tiny contraption sprang to life.
Music played off-key, and it danced awkwardly across the table.
He smiled. "Now how cool is that?"
"Umm… it's something, I guess…"
"..."
"..."
We both burst into laughter—shaky at first, then full and uncontrolled—filling the warm little house with bright, echoing joy. Far from neon lights, strip clubs, and the harsh clang of metal, it felt like the world had narrowed to just this moment, just this silly, perfect sound.
The doll stopped and sat quietly on the shelf—still at first, then shifting just slightly, as if stirred by some unseen breath.
Its worn fabric twisted, and the faded tag on its back caught the light—revealing, faint but unmistakable—
N3O-CHI.
I froze, eyes going wide. That tag… I've seen it before. No… no, nonsense.
I probably just saw this in that dream. That's all—it's just a dream.
Then, almost too soft to hear, a voice chimed—bright, sing-song, and full of false cheer, like a wind-up toy or a skipping music box. It was unmistakably the doll my father had made:
"Your past… it's a big ol' lie~!"
"Don't be fooled now~!"
"Or… hehe… you might get squashed by some brat named P-Pandaru~! Pfft—ohh that name just kills me!" Her laughter bubbled out, sharp and cruel, like she couldn't take the word seriously.
"Wh-what—?"
Then suddenly a new voice—dry, rough—cut through the softness.
"Hey, kid!"
Not the doll. Something else.
Then the world cracked. Snow hung motionless in the air. Cocoa arced off the counter in slow motion.
"Wake the hell up!"
The words echoed as the floor vanished beneath me. The light shattered into a million broken pieces.
The warmth in my chest tore away, leaving a hollow chill gnawing at my ribs.
My eyes snapped open. I was somewhere else. The dream—the memory, the comfort, my mother, my sister, my father—it all vanished like smoke.
And there he was—the source of that new, haunting voice—tall, hunched, a dark silhouette against the dim, fractured light behind him.
A giant of a man. Coated in dirty leather, face shadowed.
His hands were massive, cold where they gripped my arms—but oddly gentle.
His voice was like gravel and thunder.
"You alive in there?"
I blinked, the scent of blood and smoke still clinging to me.
My hand… was still bleeding.
I was back.
The man standing before me wasn't just rough—he looked like trouble had been carved into every line of his face. Sharp eyes, a hard jaw, and an unsettling glare that made my skin crawl.
My legs trembled, unsteady and weak, but the fear inside me roared louder.
I didn't know what he'd do if I stayed. Didn't know if he'd hurt me, or worse.
So I ran.
Like a cornered animal, desperate and wild, paws pounding the ground, breath coming in ragged bursts. Every nerve screamed at me to get away—no matter what.
The world blurred as I fled, heart hammering in my ears, eyes wild, desperate for an escape.
I skidded past the locker I had pried open, aiming for the doorway, my mind only on getting out.
And then—SLAM.
Headfirst into something solid.
Not hard like metal, but firm and unyielding—muscle pressing sharply into my forehead. Warm. Alive.
The impact knocked the breath out of me. My skin stung where her abs met my face, sharp and unforgiving beneath the flickering neon light.
I staggered back, vision tilting, and looked up.
Her skin caught the flickering neon—bronze where the light hit, but pale and untouched beneath her ribs and inner thighs, like the soft belly of some wild animal.
She wore a black tactical bra-jacket, tight and armored, pockets strapped with ammo. Small black shorts hugged her hips, barely covering the white thong riding high under a thick utility belt.
I blinked, jaw slack as my head continued to bounce back, a sharp feeling of blood trickled from my nose from the impact against her bare stomach.
My breath caught on one detail—her chest, impossibly large and straining against the combat fabric like it was seconds from violating multiple design specs.
There was only one way I could describe her: Ammo Tits.
My body gave up—folding in on itself like a scared little kid.
The world tilted sideways, colors bleeding and warping until everything faded away.
Darkness swallowed me whole before I even hit the ground.
[ End of Chapter One — Part Three ]