I leaned against the workbench, feeling the cold, smooth metal against my back through the thin T-shirt I wore in the basement. The air down there was controlled, cool and dry thanks to the ventilation system I'd installed in the first few days after moving into the mansion—a necessary upgrade to keep moisture away from the delicate circuits and transmuted materials.
LED lights hanging from the high ceiling illuminated the robotics room with an impersonal white light, highlighting every detail: the 3D printers humming in the corner, spitting out parts layer by layer; the shelves full of components—wire spools, circuit boards, servomotors—all organized by size and function, bought with the first royalties that trickled into my account like a steady stream of digital gold. The entire basement was my domain now, an underground labyrinth I'd transformed into a high-tech forge, and that room was its beating heart. I was finishing Project B — the robot I had conceived as a family guardian, inspired by something from my past life that had always fascinated me with its ingenious simplicity.
As I adjusted the last optical lens in the robotic skeleton's skull—a piece of tempered glass with high-resolution sensors that I had transmuted to withstand impacts of up to 500 kg without cracking—I conversed with the AIs. They were my constant support network, designed to help me navigate not only technical projects but also the complexities of real life. "Artemis Protocol Update," I said, my voice low and echoing in the vast space. "How are we progressing?"
The screens around the counter flickered, and the avatars materialized: Natasha in the center, with her rectangular glasses and serene expression, like an imperturbable coordinator; Doc beside her, in an impeccable white lab coat, adjusting his round glasses with an analytical gesture; the Engineer with his thick beard and virtual Russian accent, grunting as if inspecting an unstable bridge; and Morgana, hooded and ethereal, with a mysterious smile that always made me wonder if she knew more than I did.
Natasha began, her voice smooth and precise like a well-optimized algorithm. "Artemis Protocol Phase 4: Emotional Consolidation. Analysis of recent encounters—including yesterday's patrol at the docks—shows a 28% increase in emotional reciprocity. The 'accidental' touches during training, the lingering glances after victories, and the post-mission conversations indicate that she sees you not only as a partner, but as someone trustworthy. The chemistry is at 72%—she reciprocates the flirtation, but subtly, as if testing deep waters."
Doc intervened, crossing his virtual arms. "Physiologically, the data we collected via sensors in her suit shows spikes in adrenaline and endorphins during interactions: a 15% increase in heart rate when you get close, pupil dilation during eye contact. It's reciprocal, Erick. But there's a barrier: she's emotionally closed off, probably due to family trauma. This creates insecurity—she waits for you to make the first move to reciprocate without risking rejection."
The engineer grunted, his beard trembling with excitement. "Pragmatically: she stimulates your growth. Training with her has improved your skill by 35% in the last few weeks. It's a viable partnership—strong, complementary. If that's what you want, go for it. Hesitation wastes resources."
Morgana chuckled softly, the sound echoing like a whisper of wind. "And the elemental senses the flame within. You burn together. Why wait? Fire asks no permission."
I paused adjusting the lens for a second, staring at the graphs Natasha was projecting: ascending curves of "mutual trust" and "physical attraction." They were right. Artemis wasn't just a patrol partner—she challenged me, improved me, and yes, I fucking liked her. Not just for her dangerous beauty, the athletic curves I saw in training, or the precise arrows that saved my skin. I saw a real person in her: someone who, like me, fought against the world to survive, with layers of pain and determination that I respected.
She inspired me—made me want to be stronger, smarter, to protect her as much as she protected me. "You're right," I admitted, snapping the lens into place with a final click. "She's closed off, but I feel like she's waiting for the first move. I like her—she sees me as an equal, not as the 'meta-assassin' from the media. Let's move forward. Natasha, update the protocol to phase 5: romantic initiative."
"Updated," she replied, the graph flashing green.
I stood up, feeling the elemental pulse of satisfaction in my chest, as if approving the plan. The robot—Project B—was ready. The metallic skeleton in the center of the room was imposing: 1.90 meters tall, its shell transmuted into E10, the strongest alloy I had ever created. An evolution of the previous ones—E7 in my old suit, E8 and E9 in failed tests—E10 was a masterpiece: the density of synthetic adamantium, but as light as aluminum, capable of withstanding 40 tons of pressure without deforming. Each piece—hydraulic joints, precision servomotors—was individually transmuted for delicate movements: it could lift a car or pick up an egg without breaking. I had been inspired by Baymax from a movie from a past life—a medical support and security robot that I thought was perfect for protecting my sister and family. Cute on the outside, lethal on the inside.
I activated the main switch on the panel in its chest. The robot began to inflate—the exterior, a layer of flexible white polymer that I had transmuted to be soft as foam but as tough as Kevlar, filled like a balloon, expanding the body into a rounded, welcoming shape, large enough to fill a room but with fluid mobility. The lenses in its eyes—high-resolution cameras with integrated AI—opened and closed, blinking as if tuning in to the world. The space was large enough to accommodate the process—15x10 meters, with 3D printers in the background spitting out spare parts.
"Hello," said the robot, its voice soft and calming, like a friendly doctor. "I'm Baymax. Your support robot for security, first aid, and assistance throughout the house."
I smiled, feeling genuine pride. "Welcome, Baymax. Systems testing."
He blinked his lenses. "Online systems. Scanning environment: temperature 21°C, humidity 45%, threat detection: negative. How can I help?"
Perfect. He was the ideal guardian for my sister—cute enough to play with, strong enough to protect. With E10 in his hull, he could withstand impacts that would take down a tank. "Good job," I told the AIs. "Project B complete. Let's field test it tomorrow."
The elemental pulsed, warm and approving. The day was ending, but the future was taking shape—with Artemis on the horizon, and Baymax as a new ally.
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