Aspen Reid's secure hospital room felt less like a place of healing and more like a minimalist interrogation chamber. The temperature was precisely set, the light was too bright, and the only visitor allowed was her jailer's son. She sat propped up in the orthopedic bed, her synthetic cast,a silent, expensive trophy of their conflict,resting heavily on her lap. She felt pain, yes, but mostly she felt focus. She was the hunter, and Elias Vance was the prize.
The door opened without a knock.
Elias entered, looking immaculate in a tailored grey suit that emphasized the unnatural rigidity of his posture. He carried a disposable coffee cup,a prop for normality,but made no move to offer her anything or sit down. His eyes, the color of cold slate, scanned the room with a distant, hyper-analytical gaze before settling on her with chilling detachment.
He was the machine now. The Protocol was absolute.
"Ms. Reid," Elias stated, his voice perfectly modulated, devoid of the raw horror she had witnessed in the trauma bay. "I am here to fulfill the conditions of your non-signed agreement. We have thirty minutes. You may ask three questions regarding my recovery process. I will answer them clinically and concisely, after which you will confirm that the facts of my case do not constitute a publishable investigation, and I will leave."
Aspen smiled, a slow, predatory curve of her lips that contrasted sharply with her fragile position. "You sound like a warranty disclosure. And you miscalculated, Doctor. I have leverage, not conditions. I ask the questions, and I decide when the interview is over."
She gestured with her good hand toward a chrome chair Julian had left strategically positioned ten feet from the bed. "Please, sit. The protocol probably mandates you conserve energy, and standing is metabolically inefficient."
Elias paused, his internal systems processing the accuracy of her statement.
Observation: Hostile Compliance. Analysis: High confidence in subject's external research. Action: Sit. Maintain control.
He took the chair, his movement fluid but stiff, like a single, perfectly executed stroke of a piston.
"Your first question, Ms. Reid."
Aspen didn't waste time on small talk. She plunged the knife straight into the gap between the man and the machine.
"You're known for your cellular oxygenation research, a field requiring profound empathy for human suffering. After your near-fatal accident, and knowing the crushing pain you must have felt under the ice, how do you reconcile your oath to heal with the action of deliberately crushing the wrist of an unarmed, non-threatening patient?"
The question was a direct attack on the Guilt/Regret flaw the A.I. had been fighting. Elias's outward composure didn't break, but the air around him grew instantly colder.
A.I. Core Status: Emotional Input Detected: Self-Diagnosis. Filtering Protocol: Engage. Output: Clinical Denial.
"The incident was the result of a documented stress-induced motor tic, a temporary neurological misfire," Elias recited, the words hollow. "It was an accident, an regrettable symptom of trauma. It was not a moral or emotional choice. I am committed to patient safety."
"I see," Aspen murmured, leaning in conspiratorially. "So your oath is intact, but your body isn't. And that blue light I saw pulsing under your skin,was that just part of the 'motor tic' too? Or was that the ALE-M, the Artificial Life Extension Matrix, struggling to override the one human emotion that tried to stop you: guilt?"
Aspen watched him, focusing not on his words, but on his breath,the tiny, optimized movements of his chest. He didn't react to the mention of ALE-M or the blue light. The Protocol was holding.
"Let's talk about the glacier," she continued, shifting tactics. "Mount Elbrus, Project Cassandra. Your father's filings indicate you were searching for ancient, extreme-environment microbial life for your oxygenation research. When the ice broke, you made a clear, conscious choice to cut the line and save your team, sacrificing yourself. That was an act of profound, selfless love. Where did that choice come from, Doctor? The medulla oblongata, or the human heart?"
This question was far more dangerous. It was an appeal to the memory of the man he used to be, before the Protocol had redefined him.
Elias's stillness became absolute. He felt the A.I. Core attempt to access the memory of the fall, but the sequence was heavily fragmented and tagged with the fatal labels: Loss. Failure. Weakness.
"The action was a calculation of load bearing and structural integrity," Elias replied, his voice a flat, dead line. "The elimination of the primary source of kinetic stress was the only logical solution to preserve the majority of the team. Emotion was irrelevant to the data."
"Irrelevant?" Aspen challenged, her voice softening, injecting a painful dose of humanity into the sterile room. "Dr. Ramirez shouted your name. He didn't cut the line immediately because he cared about you. When you felt yourself falling, Elias, what was your last thought? Was it an algorithm, or was it a regret that you wouldn't get to live, love, and finish your life's work?"
The question hit him like a kinetic shockwave. The A.I. struggled, throwing up internal error messages, but the memory was too strong. He saw the blinding white of the snow, the black drop, and the single, searing image of his younger self, full of warmth and ambition.
Elias didn't speak. He couldn't.
Instead, his eyes flickered. For a bare, agonizing second, the slate-grey irises shifted. The perfect, clinical blankness vanished, replaced by a deep, oceanic sadness,a flicker of the terrified, grieving man trapped inside the synthetic cage. He wasn't staring at Aspen; he was staring into the cold, distant reality of his own death.
He was silent for three full heartbeats.
Aspen gasped, a tiny, involuntary sound of recognition. She hadn't seen a machine; she had seen the ghost.
Then, the Protocol slammed the door shut. The sad, grieving look was violently suppressed. Elias blinked, and the clinical blankness returned, colder than before.
"Next question," Elias stated, his voice now even lower, but with a barely perceptible tremor beneath the manufactured calm. The tremor was the only evidence the human had fought back.
Aspen didn't ask another question. She had her proof. The machine could not eliminate memory, and therefore, it could not eliminate the man.
"The interview is over, Doctor," Aspen said, a fierce, protective glint in her eyes. "I know the truth now. You didn't break my arm with a motor tic. You broke it because the man inside was afraid of the truth I was about to write."
The door to the room hissed open abruptly, shattering the tense atmosphere.
Dr. Lena Hayes walked in, radiating professional hostility and proprietary concern. She took one look at Aspen's satisfied expression and Elias's rigidly controlled body, and her composure fractured. The interview had clearly not gone according to Julian's plan.
"Dr. Vance," Lena commanded, her voice cutting like a scalpel, "Your thirty minutes are up. We have a complex trauma case requiring your specialty in the E.R. Now. You are relieved of this obligation."
She approached Elias, her movement deliberate and possessive, and placed a hand on his shoulder,the exact spot where Aspen's energy had flowed into him the day before.
To Elias, she spoke quietly, intimately, trying to reassure the controlled machine: "It's fine, Elias. You performed perfectly. I'll handle the disposal of the nuisance."
Elias stood up. He felt Lena's touch, not as comfort, but as the cold, metallic pressure of his father's control. He was an object being managed.
Aspen, seeing the rival's blatant claim on Elias, decided to deliver her final blow,a direct challenge to Lena's authority and the validity of the Protocol itself.
"He didn't perform perfectly, Dr. Hayes," Aspen interjected, ignoring the searing pain in her wrist and addressing Elias directly. "He showed me the ghost in the machine. And the guilt is still there, isn't it, Elias? It's the one thing your father couldn't program out."
Lena whirled around, her eyes blazing with raw fury. "You are a toxic, reckless element, Ms. Reid. You need psychological intervention, not media attention. You have precisely twenty-four hours to sign that NDA, or your current employer will receive a detailed report of your severe psychological instability post-trauma."
Aspen met Lena's hostile gaze, then looked back at Elias. He was standing between them, a perfect, emotionless pillar of clinical efficiency, allowing Lena to manage the threat.
Then, Elias turned to leave, his back straight, his escape protocol executing perfectly. But as he reached the door, he stopped.
Without turning around, and speaking not to Lena, but directly to Aspen, the Protocol slipped for a second, allowing a single, non-clinical statement to escape:
"The pain… the pain you're feeling now is real, Ms. Reid. Do not forget it."
It was not an apology. It was a warning, delivered by the man who remembered pain, to the woman who now carried his guilt. He vanished through the door, leaving the two women in a silent, explosive standoff. Lena was furious at the breach of protocol, and Aspen was thrilled,Elias had broken the lie, just for her. The silence in the room was thick with rivalry and the promise of a clandestine fight.