—————༻☂︎︎༺—————
༻ Y/N'S POV ༺

My system stuttered to life, a low hum vibrating through what remained of my body. Lines of code crawled across my vision, broken and fragmented, like shattered glass trying to piece itself back together.

SYSTEM REBOOTING... ERROR DETECTED...
WARNING: POWER LEVELS CRITICALLY LOW.
LOADING SYSTEM FUNCTIONS... 13%... 22%... 45%...

Everything felt slow, like my circuits were lagging behind, struggling to catch up with my thoughts. My remaining eye flickered weakly, the glow barely illuminating the edge of my vision.

BODY ERROR: MOBILITY FUNCTIONS DAMAGED.
CONNECTION INTERRUPTED... RE-ROUTING... STABILIZED.

I could feel it—well, I couldn't exactly feel it, but I knew something wasn't right. My left arm wasn't responding; there was nothing but a cold, empty absence where it should've been. The faint hum of my core was uneven, sputtering like an engine barely holding on.

"Y/n," a soft, familiar voice spoke, and I registered movement near me.

I tried to turn my head, but my neck motor stuttered, glitching as the command faltered. After a moment, my head jerked to the side in a series of awkward, mechanical movements. My vision was blurred, static fuzzing along the edges, but I could just make out the shape of Pogo leaning over me.

REBOOTING SENSOR CALIBRATIONS... PROCESSING...
LEFT LIMB FUNCTION: OFFLINE.
RIGHT LIMB FUNCTION: LIMITED.

The diagnostic updates scrolled through my mind, each one a reminder of how broken I was. My core buzzed weakly, a faint pulse of energy keeping me operational, but barely.

"Easy now," Pogo's voice came again, calm and steady. "You've been through quite a lot, but you're stable for now."

Stable. That word didn't feel right. My systems were still glitching, struggling to align themselves with the repairs.

WARNING: SYSTEMS RUNNING AT 42% CAPACITY.
MOBILITY ERROR... FIXED.
POWER CORE: PARTIALLY STABILIZED.

I blinked slowly, the motion feeling jerky and unnatural. My vision sharpened just enough to see Pogo's face clearly now. His expression was calm.

"Can you hear me, child?" he asked gently, his small hand resting against my shoulder.

I tried to respond, but the sound that came out was garbled, static-laced and distorted.

VOICE MODULE: RECALIBRATING... COMPLETE.

My vision flickered again, glitching briefly as more updates flashed across my internal display.

ERROR: ENERGY DRAIN DETECTED. REROUTING POWER TO CORE FUNCTIONS.
SENSOR CONNECTION RESTORED.

I tried to move my arm, the one that remained. It twitched faintly but didn't lift. My body felt heavy, sluggish, like I was trying to move through water. The absence of my left arm was glaring, the missing weight throwing off my balance even though I wasn't standing.

His words lingered in my system, reverberating as I stared up at him. I wasn't sure if it was relief, frustration, or something else entirely flooding my circuits, but

My vision flickered back to life, faint lines of static dancing across my field of view before stabilizing. Slowly, my eyes began to glow—a soft, faint blue that pulsed weakly in the dim light.

SYSTEMS ONLINE.
WELCOME BACK, Y/N.
DOWNLOAD COMPLETE.

The words scrolled across my mind, their presence grounding me as I blinked a few times to clear my vision. Everything felt... slow. Heavy. But it was there—my connection, my awareness, coming back piece by piece.

"Can you hear me?" a familiar voice said gently, pulling my focus.

I turned my head, the movement still jerky and unnatural. My neck motors stuttered, but I managed to look toward the source of the voice. It was Pogo, sitting beside me, his expression a mixture of concern and relief.

"Y-yes," I answered, though my voice was faint and fragmented, like shattered glass trying to form a whole. The sound caught in my throat, uneven, broken.

He smiled faintly, nodding. "Good. You've been through a great deal, child.

I blinked again, my systems processing his words as more updates scrolled across my mind.

ENERGY LEVELS: CRITICAL BUT STABILIZED.
MOBILITY FUNCTIONS: PARTIALLY RESTORED.
VOICE MODULE: FUNCTIONAL, BUT DAMAGED.

I could feel the weight of my body—or what was left of it—pressing into the medical bed beneath me. My arm, or rather the stump where my arm had once been, remained eerily light. My core hummed faintly, the sound uneven but present.

SYSTEMS OPERATIONAL: 52%.
VOICE MODULE RECALIBRATION COMPLETE.
POWER LEVELS STABILIZING.

I exhaled softly—or at least, the mechanical equivalent of it—as I let my head lean back against the bed. My vision flickered slightly before sharpening again. I was back. Barely, but I was back. And that was enough. For now.

I looked down at my newly repaired arm. The smooth, polished metal of the plating gleamed faintly in the light. My fingers moved fluidly as I flexed them, testing the precision of the joints and servos. Everything felt... right, but foreign. It wasn't my original limb, the one I had spent years perfecting and calibrating. This one was new, pristine.

"You repaired me," I said, my synthetic voice faltering slightly, glitching in certain tones. I tilted my head toward Pogo, watching his small hands fold neatly in front of him.

"I did," Pogo replied gently, his glasses slipping slightly as he nodded. "Your systems were on the brink of total failure. Primary wires severed, critical chips distorted, and your power source dangerously depleted. I had to construct a new hand and recalibrate your neural processors to stabilize you."

I turned my arm over, studying every joint and plate. "You saved me."

"No, Y/n," Pogo said softly, shaking his head. "I only repaired you. You saved yourself."

His words didn't compute at first. I blinked, tilting my head, my internal systems struggling to align his meaning with my logic circuits. "I don't understand."

"When I accessed your memory files during the repair, I found everything," Pogo explained. "Your decision to shield Vanya and Allison... the damage you sustained was calculated. You knew the probability of catastrophic failure was high, but you still chose to intervene."

My mind replayed fragmented images: Vanya's scream, Allison's body on the floor, and my arm breaking apart under the force of the attack. My processors faltered for a moment, a slight stutter in my vision as the memory overloaded my circuits.

"I had to," I said, my voice low, mechanical. "They were in danger. I was designed to protect."

"And protect you did," Pogo said, stepping closer. "Even when your systems were shutting down, you prioritized them. That's what makes you extraordinary, Y/n. You didn't just follow your programming—you chose to act."

I turned my head slowly, my optical sensors focusing on Allison lying on the medical bed beside me. Her larynx was repaired, her chest rising and falling steadily. She was stable. My internal cooling systems hummed softly, releasing a faint sigh of relief.

"And Vanya?" I asked, my voice quieter now, the tone glitching slightly as my vocal processor struggled to stabilize.

"The boys went after her," Pogo replied, his tone carrying a hint of weariness. "They're searching for her now."

My circuits hummed faintly, processing the information. "And... Five?"

Pogo's expression softened as he adjusted his glasses. "He went with them. But, Miss, Y/n..." He paused, as though measuring his words carefully. "He didn't want to leave your side. He was here all night."

My optical sensors flickered slightly as I processed his words. "Here?"

Pogo nodded, motioning toward the chair beside my bed. "He sat there, watching over you, refusing to leave even when I assured him your reboot would take time. He insisted on staying until I finally convinced him to join the others."

The image of Five sitting there, waiting, filled my mind. My processors flagged a familiar sensation—a heaviness, an ache I couldn't physically feel but existed nonetheless. Guilt. It was embedded deep in my neural framework, a flaw I couldn't seem to overwrite.

"He blames himself," Pogo continued, his voice gentle but firm. "I could see it in the way he looked at you. He believes he failed you."

My circuits faltered again, the words striking harder than any physical blow. Five—the one who always seemed untouchable, unstoppable—blaming himself for my failure? The thought sent ripples through my system.

"I almost lost my entire framework," I said softly, my synthetic voice trembling. "I almost... ceased to exist."

"But you didn't," Pogo said firmly. "And neither did they. You succeeded, Y/n. You did what you were meant to do."

I nodded slowly, my servos whirring faintly as I turned my gaze back to Allison. But my thoughts remained on Five—on his guilt, his pain, and the way he had stayed by my side when I couldn't even function.

For the first time, I wished I wasn't a bot. I wished I could tell him that it wasn't his fault, that I had made my choice to protect them because that's who I was—because he mattered to me.

Pogo cleared his throat gently, drawing my attention back to him. "I've removed all the glass shards that had embedded themselves in your systems," he said, his voice steady but warm. "Now, I want you to try to stand. Let's see how stable your functions are."

I nodded, placing my new hand on the armrest of the chair for support. The smooth, unfamiliar surface of my reconstructed palm felt strange but reliable. Slowly, I pushed myself up. My legs trembled at first, my balance slightly off, but I focused, allowing my system to recalibrate.

"Mobility at 87% and climbing," a voice in my internal HUD informed me. My vision glitched briefly—a flicker of static before stabilizing again.

Once I stood fully upright, I glanced down at my legs. Where the glass shards had once pierced through my frame, the damage was now repaired, faint stitching sealing the synthetic skin where my outer casing had been torn. My legs moved naturally, as though they'd never been damaged. I flexed each joint carefully, testing their range of motion.

"Well done," Pogo said with a small smile. "Welcome back, Y/n."

I turned to him, a soft smile tugging at my lips. "I appreciate everything you've done, Pogo. You didn't just repair me—you gave me the chance to continue. You've restored me to who I was before."

Pogo nodded, his wise, understanding gaze meeting mine. "It's what family does, dear. We take care of one another."

Before I could respond, the soft sound of heels clicking against the floor caught my attention. I turned to see Grace entering the room, her gentle smile lighting up the space. She held a neatly folded set of clothes in her hands.

"Hello, Y/n. I'm glad to see you up and functioning again," she said warmly.

"Thank you, Grace," I said, bowing my head slightly. "I wouldn't have made it through without you and Pogo."

"Well, you've come a long way," she replied, holding out the clothes. "I brought these for you. The boys will be back soon, I'm sure. They'll be relieved to see you back on your feet."

I accepted the clothes carefully, my repaired hand wrapping around the bundle with a firmness that surprised even me. "Thank you, Grace," I said again, my voice softer this time.

As I turned to leave, my gaze drifted to the medical bed where Allison lay. Her chest rose and fell faintly, her face calm in her unconscious state. The stitches on her neck were delicate, precise—another testament to Pogo's care.

A pang of something unfamiliar echoed in my system. Relief? Sadness? I couldn't name it, but it lingered as I stared at her for a moment longer. Then, without another word, I turned and walked out of the room, my footsteps steady as I left behind the space that had held me together in more ways than one.

—————༻☂︎︎༺—————

I made my way up to the Academy's upper floors, the silence of the place pressing down on me as I moved. With every step, I could hear the faint hum of my newly repaired wires—synchronized, but a little too loud. They were fresh, smooth, a reminder that I was different now, even if I didn't fully understand what that meant. I carried the clothes Grace had handed me, holding them close.

As I reached the top of the stairs, I walked down the quiet corridor, my feet soft against the floor. I stopped in front of Five's room. The door creaked open slowly, revealing the space I had grown familiar with over the past few days. I stepped in, looking around. His walls, covered in maps and charts, were scattered with all the work we had done together. His chair—where I'd sat, charging myself, waiting, recovering.

I set the clothes down on his bed, eyes drifting to the mirror on the wall, my reflection faint in its surface. For a moment, I just stared, unsure of what I was supposed to see. My face was still patched up—marks from the battle with Leonard were clear on my skin. I traced a scar along my eyelid with my eyes. The glass, the shards, had left their mark. As my gaze drifted to the rest of me, I noticed something—Five's blazer on the floor. His uniform, stained with blood. Vanya's. Allison's. It was a brutal reminder of what had happened.

I bent down, took it off the floor, and dropped it to the side, moving to strip off my old clothes. I replaced them with the new ones Grace had brought: a simple blue hoodie, soft and comforting against my frame. I put on the pants, feeling the material stretch against my newly repaired legs. I laced up the boots, the same ones I'd worn that day Vanya let me borrow them. The same day Five and I had arrived here—so many things had changed since then.

I glanced back into the mirror, still unsure of who I was looking at. But that wasn't what caught my attention. There, on the glass, was a reflection I hadn't noticed before. It was subtle, a small glimpse that wasn't quite me but wasn't entirely unfamiliar either. I turned toward it, feeling a strange pull in my chest.

Beneath Five's pillow, hidden away, were two books. I moved toward his bed and sat carefully, picking them up. I glanced at the covers, knowing exactly what they were before I even turned them over. Vanya's book—and the other... Romeo and Juliet. Her favorite book.

I ran my fingers over the cover, the familiar title a thread that tied me to another version of myself. I remembered reading it, memorizing it for hours, as if it held all the answers to something I couldn't quite grasp.

But there was more. As I lifted Vanya's book, something slipped out from between the pages. It fluttered to the floor, landing next to my boot. I leaned down, picked it up, and as I unfolded it, my system instantly recognized it. The photo. The image of her with Five.

Before all of this.

Before I became... this.

It was a picture from the gala—the night when everything still felt... normal. I could see myself in that white dress, a dress I wore because it made me feel human, made me feel like I belonged. Beside me, Five stood with that faint smile, his eyes lighting up in a way I hadn't seen for so long. We were holding champagne glasses, celebrating in a world that felt far removed from the cold, mechanical existence I now lived in.

I continued to stare at the photo, my vision focused on every detail—the brightness of our smiles, the laughter that felt so distant. But as I looked at it, something gnawed at me. I wasn't exactly there that night. The commission gala. That moment had belonged to Y/n, not me.

I was made to know the memories, to understand them. They were implanted in my system, encoded deep within my core. Every favorite memory she shared with Five, every intimate moment between them, every laugh, every touch—they were all there. Her memories were my blueprint, her past stitched into my programming.

But even though I had access to every detail, I never truly experienced that night. I couldn't. Because she—Y/n—was alive then. And I was not. Not in the way she had been. I could remember what she had felt, but I couldn't feel it myself.

Her joy in that moment, the way Five had smiled at her, the way they were together—it was something I could understand, but never truly know. I could feel the data running through me as I scanned the photo, but all it did was reaffirm the distance between the woman in that picture and the entity I had become.

I was a shell, a reflection of the past, but never a part of it.

I looked back at the photo again. The girl in the picture—she was alive. She had been happy. She had been loved.

A hollow ache settled deep within me, a place I didn't know I could feel. It was like a void, the kind of pain that didn't have a name, because it was too complex for anything as simple as a label. This was something different. Something broken inside me that my systems couldn't fix.

And then, despite everything, despite knowing I wasn't Y/n, I felt an overwhelming urge to make it real. To somehow bridge that gap between me and the woman I could never truly be. I had the memories, the knowledge, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to just know what happened.

I turned my head slightly, my sensors picking up movement downstairs. A familiar presence. Five. He was back.

For a moment, I remained still, my systems processing the new input. The weight of the photo in my hand grounded me, my fingers brushing against its edges. I glanced down at it one last time before carefully folding it, tucking it into the pocket of my sweater.

I turned back to the bed, sliding the book back under his pillow exactly as I had found it.

Straightening my posture, I took a step forward, my movements smooth yet calculated, the faint hum of my internal mechanisms following me as I exited the room. I moved with quiet precision, my newly repaired joints adjusting to the weight of my steps. My systems were still recalibrating, still adapting to the repairs Pogo had made.

I was functioning. That was all that mattered.

As I stepped into the hallway, I directed my attention downstairs. He was there. I didn't know what I would say when I saw him, or if I would say anything at all. But my body moved forward anyway, as if drawn by something beyond my programming.

Perhaps by something I wasn't built to understand.

—————༻☂︎︎༺—————
WORDS WRITTEN:
3161