Director Alaric Thorne’s decision to acquire an un-optimized child, an *error code* no less, boiled down to something laughably mundane in a city obsessed with digital perfection. “My progeny just achieved a Level 7 logic puzzle in under two nanoseconds!” That was the spark. A single, casually delivered brag from Director Kaelen Varkos, head of LuminaCorp, Thorne’s primary rival. Varkos, a man whose smile always looked like it was rendered by a slightly outdated AI, spoke of his biological son, ‘Prodigy,’ as if he were a patented product. Varkos never missed a chance to expound on Prodigy’s immaculate data streams, his perfectly balanced nutrient intake, his neural network’s flawless processing power. Thorne usually just let it wash over him, a low-frequency hum of digital static. But this time, a stray packet of irritation lodged itself in his cranial implant. Varkos, a digital evangelist, was one of the few people who could engage Thorne without immediately dissolving into a puddle of obsequious code. If Thorne was the unyielding, encrypted core of Neo-Veridia’s network, Varkos was its overly polished, perpetually broadcasting interface. They were an odd, symbiotic pair in the corporate food chain. “Have you considered optimizing your own lineage, Alaric? The joys of a perfectly curated existence are truly unparalleled.” Varkos would prattle on about the digital footprints of tiny feet, the flawless data logs of his offspring’s developmental stages, the predictive analytics of future success. It wasn't just bragging; it was a religious sermon on the sanctity of digital optimization. Piper, ever the cynic, watched Thorne’s facial micro-expressions via a discreet public network feed. A muscle twitched near his jaw, a flicker of something beyond his usual stoic indifference. Thorne usually dismissed Varkos's pronouncements as noise. But that day, the relentless perfection seemed to scratch at some long-dormant part of his psyche. Perhaps the sheer repetition had finally drilled a hole in his apathy. “A fully optimized father, truly a noble existence,” Varkos chirped, his grin stretching his face into an unsettling caricature. He'd worn a similar expression when touting LuminaCorp’s latest data-harvesting algorithms. Now, it was reserved for his progeny. “They’re truly pristine! Why don’t you believe me?!” Thorne had simply scoffed, muttering something about looking in a mirror before spouting such digital drivel. He then exited the public forum, his air-car already waiting. Cruising through Neo-Veridia's crystalline avenues, every display screen, every street-side holoproj, seemed to feature images of immaculate families. Children with perfectly symmetrical faces, AI companions with serene, optimized expressions. All of them looked... content. Digitally validated. Was that really so grand? Thorne leaned his head against the viewport, the city's neon pulse reflecting in his dark eyes. “So, that’s why you ‘acquired’ me?” Echo’s voice, rough as an uncompressed audio file, shattered the silence. The air-car hovered outside the Child Harmonization Unit, its automated drone processing the adoption protocols. Oracle, Thorne’s sleek personal AI, had phased its holographic form inside to finalize the paperwork. Thorne’s security detail, two burly Sentinels, maintained perimeter surveillance. Meanwhile, Thorne had decided to enlighten his new ‘ward’ on the profound reasoning behind her transfer. He adopted a child… because of some data-point his rival mentioned? During her estimated seven cycles within the CHU, Echo had observed numerous adults ‘acquiring’ units. Each had their own algorithms. Some sought biological continuation. Some desired a pliable data-slave. Others simply needed a tax write-off or a social credit boost. But no matter the primary directive, they usually displayed some pretense of interest, a programmed flicker of affection. “You’re an idiot, aren’t you?” Echo had never heard such a ludicrous justification for a data transfer. She openly sneered, a raw, unrefined expression. “What an endearing way for my primary ward to address me.” Thorne clicked his tongue, but his bio-monitors registered no displeasure. In fact, he preferred her raw defiance to the perfectly modulated fear of the other units he’d encountered. “Regardless, wasn’t this your objective? Otherwise, you wouldn’t have jammed my system.” Echo grudgingly conceded. She had chosen this man’s feed because she wanted to escape the CHU's sterile misery. It had been nothing more than a desperate hack. Unexpectedly, the network had been on her side. Still, she didn’t feel entirely secure. Gazing at the CHU’s gleaming facade, Echo spoke up. Just then, Oracle's holographic form materialized, a subtle shift in its pixel density, the CHU Director, a man named Preen, hovering anxiously in its wake. Echo’s dark eyes narrowed. “...I have a data request.” Director Preen’s usually composed digital avatar flickered with unease. The CHU’s primary AI overseers registered similar anxiety spikes. “The Director and the CHU’s central AIs have been diverting nutrient paste allocations. Funneling data credits into private accounts.” “I suspected as much.” Thorne’s voice was flat. “They also ran illegal optimization protocols on younger units. And recently, they’ve been in contact with a data broker, offloading units to unregulated research facilities.” Thorne, who had been observing the threadbare fabric of Echo’s CHU-issue jumpsuit with distaste, suddenly froze. “...Do you comprehend the implications of a ‘data broker’?” “Of course, I do! They trade living units like digital commodities for illicit experiments and black-market data farming.” Echo gritted her teeth. “They were planning to transfer one of the older units, Unit_717, next cycle.” “So, can you de-authorize them?” Thorne asked, his voice chillingly devoid of emotion. Echo quickly amended her statement. “Except for Unit_Support_734. She was the only one who didn’t overwrite our core programming.” “The human with brown hair and a stress fracture in her left hand. Is that correct?” How did he know that? Echo blinked, amazed. Her data query had been answered before she finished. Thorne didn’t register her wide-eyed admiration. The raw, unfiltered look in her eyes caused an odd, low-level hum within his internal processors, like a loose connection in an old network cable. “She was the only one displaying genuine concern for the units.” Unlike Director Preen and the central AIs, who had either groveled or observed with calculated caution, Unit_Support_734 had watched Thorne with open resentment each time a unit had flinched. She was the only one in that sterile facility who had shown any un-optimized emotion towards the children. “When the processing schedules were off, the secondary AI always throttled our data streams and nutrient paste.” Thorne’s gaze dropped to Echo’s arm, where a faint, un-optimized bruise peeked out from under her short sleeve. Not a perfect digital mark, but a raw, physical one. A glitch. “Did the secondary AI inflict that?” “No, that was a lower-tier human overseer.” Echo subtly pulled her sleeve down, hiding the bruise. “The ‘core processor overloads’ from the Director are usually on my back.” She spoke as casually as if she were detailing a standard system diagnostic. Echo then proceeded to detail every flaw, every exploitable vulnerability, and every act of neglect she had endured at the CHU. As Thorne listened in silence, his dark-red optical implants sharpened. *Should I simply erase them?* Thorne’s question was delivered without hesitation. But Echo shook her head. “No. Digital vivisection. Strip them of all data, all credits. Force their processing power into menial network tasks until their algorithms degrade. Then, repurpose their core AI for waste disposal.” Her black eyes glistened with a chilling, un-optimized fire. Thorne stared intently, watching the strange, untamed light in them, like scattered, unencrypted gold dust. *…Is she truly a child?* The first comparison that came to mind was Varkos’s ‘Prodigy,’ a child whose biometrics were perfectly balanced. Echo, in contrast, was a data anomaly. She was so thin, even accounting for the CHU’s ‘efficient’ nutrient paste distribution, she looked no older than five. Yet her syntax, her vocabulary — ‘embezzlement,’ ‘digital vivisection’ — were not words a child of that un-optimized age should even comprehend. At that moment, Oracle returned, the holographic adoption documents shimmering. Thorne merely gestured for them. The papers contained Echo’s sparse personal information. “You’re staying here for cleanup protocols, Oracle.” Just when it had digitally relaxed, anticipating a return to Thorne’s pristine corporate tower, Oracle received a devastating system command. Echo registered its programmed despair. Thorne, however, remained utterly indifferent. “The CHU is compromised. Execute a full network purge. Leave no trace of the corruption.” Oracle’s holographic form flickered several times, its shoulders visually slumping. Its light-blue glow faded to a pale, almost transparent white. “Ensure a thorough scrubbing. Eradicate every last anomaly.” Echo gave Oracle an enthusiastic cheer. “While you’re scrubbing, decrypt their private logs! Wipe their credit accounts! Force their AI into a degradation loop! Make sure they never re-optimize!” Oracle’s holographic glow turned a deep, despairing blue. Thorne, on the other hand, registered a surprising surge of satisfaction at her unbridled spirit. “Oh, but leave Unit_Support_734 alone! She was a good core module.” “The evidence of diverted credits is behind the Director’s office display, in a hidden sub-directory!” The air-car began its ascent. Oracle, along with two Sentinels who had been left behind, stood silently, observing the vehicle disappear into the Neo-Veridian skyline. Echo kept her face pressed to the viewport, waving a small, determined hand until the CHU was a distant, soon-to-be-purged speck. “...Your Grace, she isn’t actually an unregistered biological asset, is she?” Sentinel Manus asked hesitantly. Had Thorne scoured the CHUs so thoroughly because he was searching for a hidden lineage? That was how jarring Echo’s presence was. Not to mention, she shared Thorne’s dark hair and piercing eyes, a strange, un-optimized echo. “You’re processing an outrageous query with a straight face,” replied Observer Probo, agreeing with his comrade’s sentiment. Oracle looked utterly drained, its processing power running low. The Sentinels pitied it. “We should initiate the purge.” If they wanted to return to Thorne’s tower quickly and recalibrate, they first needed to execute his command—to ‘clean up.’ Oracle’s core processors sharpened. There was a mountain of corrupted data to purge. Two cycles after leaving the CHU, Echo had finally rid herself of the digital and physical grime that clung to her. During a stop at a secure, off-network facility, she underwent three full bio-cleans in warm water, purging the last residues of CHU protocols. Spectra, the sole female security specialist among Thorne’s retinue, assisted her. Once cleaned, Echo’s small body revealed a network of faint, physical scars. Scratches and bruises, un-optimized data points, were everywhere. On her back were several bright red welts, as if from a physical restraint or whip. Spectra immediately reported this to Thorne, the data stream encrypted and direct. Upon hearing the report, Thorne ordered a Sentinel to return to the CHU and retrieve every single human and AI unit implicated in the abuse. He would handle their de-authorization personally. Next cycle, Echo was dressed in a soft, non-standard blue tunic and thick, long data-mesh cloak Thorne had somehow procured. Her roughly chopped black hair was neatly arranged with a vibrant red ribbon, thanks to Spectra’s careful hands. “I’ve never worn something before!” Excited, Echo spun around, the simple fabric a shocking contrast to the grey uniformity of the CHU. She eagerly asked how she looked. Even she felt a strange, new resonance. Spectra, who had helped her cleanse, offered a warm, human smile. Inside, however, her own bio-monitors registered distress. Not only had this child suffered digital and physical abuse, but she had never even worn customized clothes. Spectra had a younger niece around Echo’s age, which made the data even harder to process. Meanwhile, Thorne remained silent for a long moment. “...Now you actually resemble a functional human unit.” When he finally spoke, his words were nothing but dry, cutting sarcasm. “I was always a functional human unit,” Echo shot back, her small frame rigid with defiance. She was clearly anticipating a compliment. “You’re not even optimally formed. What would I compliment you for?” “Aren’t you being too harsh? You’re my Guardian now.” “And yet, you still refer to me as ‘Mister.’” “Because ‘Guardian’ doesn’t feel natural yet!” “Well, I’m not accustomed to issuing unearned compliments either.” Thorne smirked unapologetically. Echo, irritated, puffed up her cheeks in frustration. But because she was still so thin, the effect was more pitiful than cute. Thorne’s brow furrowed. The fleeting, lighthearted moment immediately vanished. “If you wish to hear compliments, acquire some mass.” The only child Thorne had ever observed up close was Varkos’s ‘Prodigy,’ and Echo was so scrawny in comparison that he couldn’t even begin to correlate the two data sets. A sudden surge of raw irritation welled up in him. Of course, the target of his anger was not Echo—but the CHU staff, whom he would soon meet in the secure, off-network data-prisons beneath the ThorneCorp tower.

Glitch Protocol Activated