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“Not without risking the custom interface we built for the Johnsons,” Miles counters. “The Gordon Junior protocol is too integrated with their efficiency protocols now. We used the same adaptive core for both systems.”

“What about a parallel system?” Natalie pulls up our backup architecture. “We could — oh.” She stops, staring at her screen. “He’s added ducks to the login screen. With little animation sequences.”

I move to look over her shoulder. Sure enough, tiny rubber ducks now float across our enterprise software, complete with happiness ratings based on user productivity levels.

“This is classic emergence behavior in adaptive systems,” I explain, recognizing patterns from my research. “We designed the system to learn from the night supervisor’s habits—including his attachment to the lucky duck. The adaptive algorithm has prioritized those behavioral patterns and extended them across the interface.”

“Just to be clear,” Jenkins asks, “this isn’t an actual rubber duck controlling your system? It’s a virtual agent that’s been named after the duck and has developed... duck-like preferences?”

“Correct,” I nod. “Though at this point, the distinction is getting pretty blurry.”

“Well,” Lucas says after a moment, with that gleam in his eye, I’ve come to love. “I guess we know what we’re doing tonight.”

“Like I’d let you face a duck-related crisis alone?” I grin at him.

“Okay, team.” I pull up the system diagnostics, grateful for how Lucas’s presence beside me always steadies my focus. “We have eighteen hours to resurrect our demo data, rebuild the test environment, and convince a virtual duck agent that work-life balance doesn’t mean turning our database into a digital pond. Who’s in?”

Everyone’s hands go up, even though it’s already past normal hours. Even Jenkins, who stayed out of curiosity, rolls up his sleeves. “I may not understand half of what’s happening, but I want to see how this ends.”

“I’ll order dinner,” Natalie offers. “The usual for everyone? Though maybe we should order extra for Gordon Junior—he seems hangry.”

“Very funny,” Miles mutters, but he’s grinning. “Though speaking of Gordon Junior’s mood, you might want to see what he’s done to the project management interface.”

We crowd around his screen. Our typically professional dashboard now features a “duck happiness index” with little mood indicators. The sustainability metrics are arranged in what appears to be a pond-themed infographic.

“The adaptive engine is taking the night supervisor’s belief in duck-based luck and extrapolating it into a full-fledged philosophy,” I observe, professional fascination temporarily overriding my concern. “It’s reinterpreting our entire data structure through the lens of ‘duck wisdom.’”

“Which would be fascinating if we didn’t have a presentation tomorrow,” Lucas reminds me gently.

“Right,” I refocus. “Miles, can we isolate the adaptive learning module without compromising the core interface?”

“I can try, but we’d need to maintain the Gordon Junior override function for the Johnsons’ system. That was a key feature they loved.”

The next few hours blur into a marathon of debugging and increasingly creative solutions. Lucas stays beside me, alternating between offering genuine technical insight and making sure I actually eat dinner. The team spreads across the office, screens glowing in the dimness as we work.

“You know,” Mike calls out around ten, “some of these visualization changes are pretty intuitive. The water-ripple data clustering? It’s weirdly effective.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Miles groans. “He just added a ‘duck meditation timer’ to our workflow management system.”

I check the adaptive learning logs, trying to understand how our virtual duck agent evolved so dramatically. “Look at this,” I show Lucas. “The system observed how the night supervisor would consult Gordon Junior before making key decisions. It interpreted that as a leadership consultation pattern and expanded it across the entire protocol.”

“So essentially, we programmed an AI to believe in rubber duck debugging, and it took it literally?” Lucas asks, referring to the programming technique where developers explain problems to a rubber duck to find solutions.

“That’s... disturbingly accurate,” Miles admits.

Sophie checks in via video call around eleven. “Please tell me you two aren’t still at the office?”

“Slight crisis,” I explain, turning my laptop so she can see the duck-themed chaos on our screens. “Gordon Junior’s gotten... creative with our system.”

“The rubber duck from the manufacturing plant?” Sophie peers closer. “Did he just turn your quarterly projections into a water feature?”

“Not exactly the duck itself,” I clarify. “We created a virtual representation of the duck in the system as a user-friendly override button. But our adaptive learning algorithm has... expanded its role.”

“Complete with meditation timers,” Lucas adds dryly.

“Only you two would have a virtual duck staging a digital rebellion.” Sophie shakes her head, grinning. “Need me to bring coffee? Or maybe some rubber duck negotiation expertise?”

“We’ve got this,” Lucas assures her. “Though maybe a change of clothes?”