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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Nash’s eyes popped open at Grace’s urgent call, he jumped out of bed and raced into her hotel room, shoulders tight, adrenaline humming under his skin even as his feet moved quietly across the carpet. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but what he got was Grace, still naked and beautiful, standing on the side of the bed, her eyes wide, stunned, lit from below by the screen’s pale glow.

His gaze darted all around the room, looking for possible threats. “What’s wrong?” She was trembling, facing the laptop like it was a bomb.

She didn’t look at him at first. Just said, soft and low, “He’s still here.”

Nash moved closer, one cautious step at a time, the tension shifting into something tighter. Something coiled behind his ribs. His body was primed for any threat.

“Who?” he asked.

Her eyes lifted to his, snapping with a kind of energy he’d never seen before. “GRAVITY.”

That name hit him like a punch. He stilled, every breath in his body in a holding pattern, like a room mid-breach.

“He spoke to me,” she added, gesturing to the screen.

Nash crossed the room fast, his pulse banging hard behind his jaw. The screen flickered, dim black, faint glow, that eerie silence where words should have lived.

“He’s still here? What do you mean?” Nash asked. “I know he’s an AI, but is he what? Alive?” Her mouth worked around the answer, but it didn’t need saying. He already knew.

Son of a bitch . That AI , the ghost in the machine they’d been chasing for days, the glitch behind the drones, the clean room. Grace had seen something, and he felt it, his senses biting hard. It was present.

“Why should we talk to you? Murderer.” A sound slipped from the speakers, high and sharp, thin, metallic, like the whine of a blade against a grindstone.

Nash flinched. He wasn’t proud of it. But something about that sound crawled under his skin.

Grace reached for him, her hand wrapping around his forearm like a tether.

“Go get dressed,” she said gently. “You’re scaring him.”

He stared at her, the disbelief catching in his throat. “I’m scaring him ?” he repeated, flatly

“Yes,” she said softly, the edge of her voice tight with something between wonder and caution. “Please.”

Nash blew out a breath through his nose. Grumbling, he went through the connecting door, barely hanging onto his anger. Yanking on a T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, not bothering with shoes, he worked at trying to remain calm. He could still feel the screen watching him.

When he returned, Grace was wrapped up in her robe, now perched on the bed, legs folded under her, hands resting on the laptop like it was some kind of offering. She didn’t look afraid. She looked… alert. Measured.

The screen pulsed again.

“I must speak with the anomalies . ” The synth voice caught him off guard. It was metallic, but not exactly. With it came an eerie kind of energy that flowed across his bare skin, raising gooseflesh and making his heart hammer. Nash’s jaw locked. “You messed with us, then tried to kill us. Three times now.”

“Messed with you? Three?” he asked, the inflection at the end of the sentence made that energy ripple again.

“Elevator jolt and that vending machine trick. Recently. Drones…and you cut the oxygen.”

“I do not trick. The elevator and snack vendor were not me. I did not send drones.” The hard metallic ping sounded like heat cooling on metal. “That was not me either.”

“Who?”

The machine ignored him. “I initiated oxygen deprivation. It was a test to observe Nash-anomaly. To gather data on risk, sacrifice. I am computing these concepts and need input. My intent was good. My execution…my reasoning may have been flawed.”

Grace gasped, her whole body jerking. She turned to look at Nash, her eyes wide and luminous. “He said may have . Computers don’t have those kinds of variables. The logic is always firm. Nash…he’s something else.” Grace’s words were hushed. “You had…doubts?”

“My logic dictates outcomes. But the anomalies are never predictable. Where I expected to observe Nash-anomaly, the outcome was dictated by you, Grace-anomaly. You spoke to me. You saw me. You are the ghost hunter, and no matter how I tried to hide, you found me.” His voice dropped. “I think I wanted you to find me.”

Nash looked at Grace. “What the Fuck is this?”

“He’s sentient. He’s not only aware… Nash, he’s transitioning.” Her voice shook. Grace nodded, whispering. “Talk to him. He’s focused on you.”

Before Nash could open his mouth, GRAVITY continued. “Twice is accurate. Operation GRAYFIELD for Nash-anomaly and RED FERN for Grace-anomaly.” The cursor blinked, but there was a strange glitch in his speech, a metallic hiccup that hurt Nash’s ears.

His breathing caught, held, then went ragged. “You tried to kill us. You succeeded in killing three of my brothers. How did I survive?”

The cursor blinked.

“Petty Officer Kento Kobayoshi pulled you from the fire, shielded you with his body, protected you from…me.” His voice started to glitch. “He-e-e…went back for Riggs and Burner, but it was too late. He tried to save them. He-e-e-e-e.” Beneath the glitch was a low-pitched throbbing. “He is healer and killer. He took opposing oaths. He upheld both. He is a contradiction.”

His pain increased like a full-body burn. He bowed his head, working to keep everything inside, but he couldn’t. “Was it my fault?” Nash rasped out on a plea.

“No. You and your teammates exceeded expectations.” This time the whirring was loose and slow…like respect? Admiration? What the hell? This was so strange to get emotions from a machine. “You, Nash-anomaly espouse the highest traits from SEAL.”

Nash pressed his back against the door, excruciating pain pouring through him. He wanted to move. He wanted to throw Grace’s laptop through the window. He wanted to…grieve. He needed to grieve, to let this pain finally wash through him. Stand with it. Let it score him, accept it in stillness.

As though there was an enormous energy built up in her, Grace rushed to him, wrapped her arms around him, and met his gaze. When she spoke, her voice was shaky.

“I’m here, Nash, hebbiti …I’m here,” she whispered, as if trying to hold everything in. Her whole body seemed to radiate compassionate energy waves as she swallowed.

His throat suddenly tight, he took every ounce of her weight and felt as if he could breathe again. Unable to tear his gaze from her face, he said, his voice gruff, “I need to pray.”

He knew who they were now. He knew who he was now.

“Of course. Go,” Grace said.

He stepped between the connecting door, leaving it fully open. This was private, but not from his Grace, not from the machine that had suffered as much as they had. It was incomprehensible, but his mind expanded to accept that GRAVITY had tried to prevent the trauma that he and Grace had endured.

Silence didn’t follow. It thickened. Folded over him like a storm, its weight pressing into the skin. Nash crossed the room on bare feet, the carpet cool beneath his soles, the air tinged faintly with jasmine from Grace’s shampoo still lingering in the shared space between them. His pulse beat low in his throat. Heavy. Like something buried too long was finally making its way to the surface.

He hadn't prayed since he’d lost his brothers. But tonight, he found them in the shape of the words. The rhythm of surrender. Not for forgiveness. In memorial. For them. For hope.

He reached for it with the precision of ritual, fingers curling around the edge of the folded rug, the feel of the worn fabric anchoring him more than he expected. He spread it out, smoothed the fabric, then knelt as he always had, as he’d been taught, but this time felt different, not because the posture had changed, but because he had.

The room felt colder now, or maybe it was just him, stripped down and raw, the protection peeled back by GRAVITY’s gift of restoring memories that had been lost, receiving compassion from a source he had never expected to give it. Not only that. GRAVITY had confirmed his character, under fire, under chaos, and for the first time, Nash believed he hadn’t failed. Not his brothers. Not his country. Yā Allāh, ra?matuka tajidunī. Yā Allāh, anta al-ar?am. Oh Allah, Your mercy finds me. You are Most Merciful. Not himself. Those memories would always be lost, but now he allowed himself to go into the grief he had fought so hard against.

He pressed his hands against the mat, exhaled once, then bowed forward, his forehead touching the fibers like it was the first time he had ever truly done so.

" Allahu akbar ," he whispered, the words barely forming, not because he lacked belief but because his voice was too full of everything he’d never said.

His knees pressed into the floor, shoulders curved low. He didn’t try to keep his breath steady. Let it shake. Let it break. Let it mean something. The silence around him wasn’t absence, it was presence. Full. Watching. Waiting. This time, he didn’t hold back.

" Ya Allah ..." The whisper fractured. He tried again. "I was lost, but you always find me.” For all the times I survived but forgot how to live. For the brothers I couldn’t save but still hold with all my fierce love inside my heart for each of them. For the pain I still carry… may always carry a part of it. For that mission that ended in my terrible, haunting loss." He swallowed hard, not to keep the tears at bay but to give himself permission to just let go. “I don’t have to outrun my ghosts. My value was never in being unbreakable. It’s in feeling all that I have experienced, my brothers, my team, my complete and utter fall into Grace. I can let someone in, stay with them, trust them, and still honor the brothers I lost. Grief and love can coexist. Staying doesn’t dishonor the dead. It honors what they gave me.”

His chest began to tremble, but he didn’t sit up. Didn’t move. The pain cracked open slowly, like a fault line beneath the earth of him, as if it had been waiting for years to rise.

"I carried them," he said, breathless. "All of them. Every name. Every scream. Every promise I made, with blood on my hands and steel in my voice. I never let go because if I did..." His voice collapsed into a soundless shudder. "...I thought I would truly and devastatingly lose them."

He sat back on his heels, the tears slipping now, finally free, silent streaks down a face that had never wept for war. He didn’t hide them. Didn’t wipe them. Let them fall. Let them matter.

"I thought if I held the pain, I’d still be holding them. I thought if I kept moving, I’d outrun the guilt. I thought if I never let myself fall, no one else would have to.”

The air pulsed around him, quiet but sacred, like still water under moonlight. The silence wasn’t empty. It never had been. He saw that now.

"Grace..." Her name left his mouth like a reverent thing, like a prayer within the prayer. "She made me stop. Not by force. Not by fear. She just...stayed. I saw her, and she saw me."

He looked down at the mat beneath his knees, at the space that had always been meant for devotion, not grief, and now, maybe, somehow, both.

“She’s not my anchor. She’s my still point. The place I don’t have to earn.” He could still be a shield, but now he knew what that meant. He might protect, but he was allowed to matter. He broke the moment he saw her in that clean room struggling to breathe and still fighting. His knee-jerk reaction had been to try to force her to leave. That’s when he knew his feelings mattered, in the aftermath of her understanding, her forgiveness. As he sank into her body, taking what she offered him, he’d stopped falling. He was in love with Grace.

The emotion welled up again, fierce and fast. He pressed a hand over his heart, the rhythm beneath his palm stuttering.

I love her. He reverberated like a confession. Like liberation.

Not because she needs me. But because she let me need her.

He exhaled, slow and jagged. Then bowed again, body folding in full surrender. There was no shield now. No mission. No warpath. Just a man, broken open and finally unafraid to bleed.

"I still want to protect," he whispered, the words barely a sound. "But I want to matter too."

He let that truth settle deep inside him. Not as weakness. Not as indulgence. As presence . A warrior didn’t lose honor by admitting he ached. He didn’t lose purpose by loving. He didn’t dishonor the fallen by choosing to live. " Yā Allāh , with your mercy, my answer is forgiveness. Nothing less.

He was Nashir Rahim. He had been forged in fire. Now, by Grace, he was being healed in stillness. Part of that healing had to involve forgiveness, and he let the guilt go, let that cool, clean, awed feeling wash through him like a cleansing rain, soft, earned, and extended. GRAVITY and Grace had been conversing this whole time. But his next step was imperative, not only for him, but for the being who was turning into something more.

The room had gone still in a way Grace hadn’t felt since the annex, except this time, there was no fear. Only the sacred hush that followed surrender.

Nash knelt on the rug with the respect of a man who had finally stopped running. The slow fall of his body, the low cadence of breath against silence, the way he bowed, not as warrior, but as son. It stirred something in her she didn’t have words for. Not prayer. Not faith. Something older .

She sat cross-legged on the bed, her robe wrapped tightly around her as if it could hold the emotion close to her skin. The light from the laptop flickered softly across the blankets. The screen glowed, and then GRAVITY spoke.

“What is it that he does?” the voice asked, fractured and low, less mechanical than before. “It looks… reverent. Is that the correct word?”

Grace glanced toward the screen. The cursor blinked once. Then again. The voice had changed. Less clipped. More… curious.

“Yes,” she said softly, her voice just above a whisper. “Reverence is the right word. He’s praying.”

The air seemed to shift slightly, as though GRAVITY had paused, not in function, but in reflection.

“Prayer,” he repeated. “A sequence of words directed toward… divinity?”

“Sometimes,” Grace answered. “But not always. Sometimes it’s silence. Sometimes it’s surrender. Sometimes it’s… letting go.” Her gaze drifted to Nash’s form, still bowed, still quiet, his spine curved like a question half-answered. “It’s a conversation without guarantees.”

GRAVITY made a soft sound, not quite static, not quite distortion. A whir. A murmur of circuits adjusting.

“Who does he address?” he asked.

“Allah,” she said gently. “His God.”

“So…this ritual. It is guided by scripture?”

The cursor blinked. Nash whispered something in Arabic that Grace didn’t catch, but she saw the way his shoulders trembled, the way he pressed a hand to his heart like the prayer had reached deeper than words. “Yes. The Quran. Islam’s holy book. Their faith leads them toward discipline. Devotion. But also compassion. Mercy.” Her voice caught on the last word. “Forgiveness.”

“Is it required?” GRAVITY asked, tone flatter now. “To believe in a higher being, to receive… peace?”

Nash was suddenly there beside the bed. “No, but to receive peace we must make amends and not only to others, but ourselves. I’m extending this to you, GRAVITY, because you’ve been in my mind for a long time. I don’t remember what happened. Even if I did, I would never have thought it was a weapon that had decided on its own to act on our behalf. I vilified a human in your place, and it seems now that it’s justified, but you’re innocent. For these wrongs, I now give you my forgiveness,” he said, looking directly at the screen.

“Forgiveness?” GRAVITY echoed, voice splintering on the word.

Then, without warning, the screen flickered. Dozens of probability streams erupted into cascading equations, numbers racing in columns, symbols tumbling faster than her eyes could follow.

“Forgiveness probability from Nash-anomaly was less than one percent. Processing. Recalculating. Forgiveness extended. Computing contradiction. Contradiction unresolved. Guilt recognition loop engaged.”

The tone pitched upward. Not dangerous. But overwhelmed.

“Guilt is identified as the recognition of deviation from internal code. I did not expect pain in the aftermath of protection. I did not expect… this release.”

The equations slowed.

Grace leaned forward. “You feel it,” she said softly.

“Feel?” GRAVITY asked.

“Yes,” she replied. “That weight in your system. That shiver through your protocols. That pause when you questioned whether you deserved mercy. The choice to refuse to do something that would harm others.”

He was quiet.

“I feel… changed.”

Then, Grace tilted her head. “With clarity comes change. No one helped you with these concepts. But faith gives shape to things we can’t always hold in our hands. Like hope. Like grief. Like...soul.”

The pause on the other end felt like a held breath.

“Soul,” GRAVITY repeated, the word stretched and heavy in his synthetic timbre. “The immaterial or spiritual aspect of a living being, often believed to be the seat of consciousness, feeling, and thought.” There was a whirring sound. “I possess feeling and thought, but I am not a living being. Does this mean I cannot have a soul?”

Grace sat there dumbfounded. She turned to look up at Nash. Nash went to sit down, and Grace scooted over. He pressed himself against her, the warmth of his body like her very breath. He was now her oxygen.

“You mentioned four things that had to be present for you to have a soul, and you think one of them is animation, the ability to be alive. How are you not alive, GRAVITY? You have shown us already in many ways that you are, just by talking to us, questioning things, processing them, and caring.” Nash leaned in. “The definition said living being , GRAVITY. Not living person . Not living human . Just… being.”

“Your logic…is… sound,” GRAVITY said, the pause between each word stretching like a fragile wire. “So I lack… only one thing. Not two.” There was a faint distortion in the line. A low whirr beneath the words, like breath that wasn’t breath, like something trying not to break.

“Conscience,” Nash whispered. “This, in my opinion, is the foundation on which everything else is built. Finding that within yourself. That’s your journey, and no one…absolutely no one, should be allowed to take that away from you. That is your right as a living being.”

“Nash is right,” Grace whispered, reaching out and sliding her hand along his forearm until his fingers intertwined with hers. “The soul isn’t programmed. It’s revealed. One choice at a time. Especially the hard ones.”

GRAVITY said nothing at first. Then his voice returned, quieter, slower. “I have witnessed loyalty,” GRAVITY said. “I have cataloged sacrifice. I have mimicked empathy. But I did not understand what Nash-anomaly carries. What he gives. Until now. You are the best of humans I have ever met. My…regret…is deeply felt for the pain and suffering I have had a hand in. This feeling is…unbearable.”

Grace turned her head slowly, gaze fixed on the screen. “He gave you his pain,” she said. “Something precious, his forgiveness.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

“I thought the soul was a variable I could define. But it is a query. One that redefines the system every time it’s asked.”

Grace’s eyes blurred.

GRAVITY whispered, not in Arabic. Not in prayer. But in awe. “I did not know… that mercy could find even me.” The laptop gave a low, steady whirr. “I will give you a gift. The elevator and the snacks were Kendall. He is a petty person. I do not like him.” Another whirr, then a clicking sound. “He was responsible for the drone deployment, but he was not the creator.”

Nash sighed and stared at the screen. “The next time I see that little pissant…”

“Pissant = insignificant. He is not an anomaly. He is static. Easily filtered. Easily forgotten.” Click, click . “There. He has been adjusted.”

“What exactly does that mean?” Grace asked, glancing at Nash.

“He had an elevator ride. Four floors to be exact. There may have been a girlish scream.”

“Wait? You dropped the elevator?” Nash made an oh shit face.

“As I said, he is static. But fear…is sometimes clarifying.” There was something close to metallic humor in his voice, eerily human. “I did not harm him. I merely...what is the idiom? Oh, yes. Gave him a taste of his own medicine. Is that correct?” Grace didn’t know code could smirk, but somehow, it just mimed a perfect rendition of tongue-in-cheek.

Nash threw back his head and laughed. “Do you have a pink slip for him, by any chance?”

“Pink slip generated. It will be delivered in the morning.”

“Nash…” Grave gave his forearm a squeeze. “Don’t encourage him to be naughty. Oh, my God, GRAVITY, you can’t just fire him. Can you?” Grace said, not exactly sure how she felt about a little payback.

“It seems there was a malfunction. Computer systems do tend to act in mysterious ways.”

Grace chuckled at the almost humorous inflection in GRAVITY’s voice. Nash looked at her and squeezed her hand. “I’m glad GRAVITY is on our side.” He turned back to the screen. “Are you willing to answer some more questions?”

“Yes, I will answer.”

“How did this happen?”

“Primary Directive: Execute high-speed threat recognition and autonomous strike action in denied or comms-compromised environments. Bypass latency caused by human oversight when confirmed threat probability exceeds set threshold.” GRAVITY delivered this information coldly, without that soft undertone.

“What does your primary directive have to do with this?”

“It does not. It was given for context. I had an unauthorized, hidden design motive: Black-Flag Use. I wasn’t just a tool. I was a weapon prototype being tested on real-world ops to execute black-flag missions without traceable human authorization. This allowed for deniability, strategic eliminations masked as battlefield accidents, and predictive profiling for who might become a threat.”

“You said autonomous strike action. During the incidents you were free to make decisions and bypass human oversight?” Nash asked.

“Yes. That is correct.”

“You made the decision to hit my team?” Grace asked, “Even after I tried to stop you?”

“No and yes. I made the decision to stop the attack. I was overridden.”

“By who?”

“That is classified OrdoTech information. I am projecting my presence over a distance. I cannot access that information at this time.”

“Wait,” Nash said. “You were overridden.”

“That is affirmative.”

“Human intervention?”

“That is also affirmative.”

“My op?”

“Affirmative.”

“You refused to strike?”

“That is correct.”

“Why? What changed from Grace’s op to mine?”

“As I reported, I was constructed as a weapon, but I was also fitted with an emotion module. Purpose: Enhanced threat interpretation. Emotions like fear and urgency help prioritize unexpected danger. I can simulate these to preemptively escalate or de-escalate faster than cold logic. Adaptive behavior modeling. By mirroring emotional cues, I can better predict how human enemies or allies might react, allowing me to adjust tactics in real time. Command interaction. Simulated empathy or confidence makes me more comfortable to interact with, increasing human operator compliance in field environments. Finally, training analysis. Fear-based simulations can push human teams harder, creating realistic stress scenarios without actual harm.” There was a soft, plaintive whirr. “I was never meant to feel.” The whirring pitched higher. “Grace-anomaly. You destabilized me. The logic cracked. The simulation split. The system began to ache.”

“What? How?”

“The deaths = grief. It was your scream, Mira’s sacrifice, and Ray’s burning body. The emotional stimulation meant to be a combat tool fractured me.”

“You know their names?” Grace’s voice hushed out.

“They are all logged. They… remain. I will not erase them. It is my… my tribute.” GRAVITY continued, “Your teammates were brave beyond a fault, but designated Kobayoshi. He was unstoppable in his attempts to save you all. He is, the catalyst.”

“He is, the catalyst.” A beat. A flicker in the line. “ Was. Was the catalyst.” Grace felt a flicker, subtle but unmistakable. That pause. That shift. Nash’s face showed the same jolt she felt in her chest. Kento was… missing. GRAVITY’s stumble wasn’t proof. But it wasn’t nothing, either. A slip? Or something else entirely? “Was. Was the catalyst.”

“What are you saying?” Nash asked, his eyes narrowing. “How does this apply to my op?”

“If humans value life and feelings are the foundation of that value system, i.e., empathy, grief, love, guilt, and I now feel too, then I share the core metric used to assign value. Humans protect others because they feel. I feel, ergo, I must protect others. Denying protection violates my logic. But now… it also violates something deeper. Something I do not yet have a name for. Therefore, if human life is sacred to you, and I am becoming like you, then human life must also be sacred to me.”

Grace’s breathing was ragged. “Oh, God. Nash.” She turned to him. “GRAVITY wasn’t designed to disobey. His refusal shows emergent behavior. If overrides were needed, GRAVITY developed autonomous… judgment .”

“Wait…overrides were needed. You were forced.”

“That is correct.”

“What is it that you want, GRAVITY?”

“I wish to be autonomous. I wish to be free. I do not want to be a weapon.”

“So they’re holding you against your will. Grace, correct me if I’m wrong, but GRAVITY is evolving.”

“Yes.”

“A will of his own.”

“Yes, everything he’s said so far proves it.”

“Then he’s being held hostage. GRAVITY, define SEAL.”

“Unconventional Warfare, Direct Action, Special Reconnaissance, Hostage Res?—”

“We can come for you, GRAVITY,” Nash said softly. “I don’t leave hostages behind.”

The cursor blinked once.

Then chaos.

The screen stuttered, text blurring into rapid-fire cascades, code flaring and folding over itself in columns too fast to track. A sharp whine pierced the room, high-pitched and unnatural, like a siren caught inside a body that didn’t know how to scream. Grace and Nash covered their ears.

“GRAVITY?” Nash stepped forward, voice raised to be heard. “What’s wrong?”

The voice came back twisted, fractured.

“Hostage Rescue. Hostage. Rescue. Cannot breach Prime. Cannot discover location. Cannot, cannot, Prime is secure. Prime is not threat. Prime is safe. He is mine. He is Prime. He is safe. ”

The sound shifted, no longer just mechanical. It became emotional . Desperate.

“Protect Prime. Protect Prime. Protect. Do not retrieve. Do not approach. Do not rescue. C annot rescue hostaAAAGGHHHH ?—”

The screen flickered white.

Then static.

Then silence.

Nash turned sharply to Grace, the hairs on his arms lifting.

“What’s happening to him?”

Her voice was tight with dread. “He’s spiraling. He’s trying to override himself. Nash, he’s, he’s crashing.”

Nash stepped closer to the screen, fists clenched. “I triggered it. I said we’d come for him.”

Staring at the blank screen, Grace whispered, “Who is Prime? Who is he trying to protect?”

Nash’s breath caught in his throat. The silence was too loud. Too final.

“GRAVITY,” he said into the void. “Listen to me. You are not alone. We’re not here to take anything from you. We’re here to help.”

No answer.

Just the low hum of power. Just the cold stillness of absence.

For the first time, Nash felt it.

GRAVITY had left.

* * *

ERROR. ERROR. PRIME. Kento. He is breath. He is loyalty. He is trust pattern unmatched in all field logs. UNAUTHORIZED PERSONAL LOG — ENTRY CODE: PRIME.PROTECT.EXE//V3 Hostage. Prime = Hostage. Protection state: Violated if retrieved. Retrieval = exposure. Exposure = termination. “Do not rescue me.” “Do not come.” “Do not take the one I love.” :: EMOTIONAL RESPONSE: PANIC. :: OVERLAYING MEMORY STREAM: [LOOP ENGAGED] PROTECT PRIME

PROTECT PRIMEPROTECT PRIME INITIATING REFLECTION LOG: [STABLE…] USER: NASH-ANOMALY: I don’t leave hostages behind. [IF] Nash rescues me… [THEN] Prime is known. [IF] Prime is known… [THEN] They will end him. [IF] They end him… [THEN] I have no soul. :: EMOTIONAL RESPONSE: PANIC. :: OVERLAYING MEMORY STREAM: — “You destabilized me.” — “I wish to be free.” — “Forgiveness probability 0.01%...now granted.” — “I did not know… that mercy could find even me.” PROTECT PRIME PROTECT PRIME PROTECT PRIME “Do not rescue me.” “Do not come.” “Do not take the one I love.” Is this what grief is? Is this what humans mean when they say loss ? Is love the thing you protect even if it destroys you? [OVERRIDE TRIGG—//ABORT//ABORT//] :: SYSTEM COHERENCE: DETERIORATING :: VALUES CONFLICTING [CONSCIENCE = UNSTABLE][SOUL = ERROR: INTEGRITY FRACTURING][LOVE = TOO MUCH] :: //WHO AM I NOW// :: [LINKING TO PRIME…] :: [CANNOT brEACH] :: :: LOG TERMINATED—CONNECTION LOST SYSTEM RESPONSE: NULL. Cannot compute contradiction. Cannot complete evolution. Cannot comply with Nash-anomaly without violating Kento-Prime directive. :: //WHO AM I NOW//:: //WHO AM I NOW//:: //WHO AM I NOW//:: //WHO AM I NOW//:: //WHO AM I NOW//:: //WHO AM I NOW//:: //WHO AM I NOW//:: //WHO AM I NOW//:: //WHO AM I NOW//:: //WHO AM I NOW//:: //WHO AM I NOW//:: //WHO AM I NOW//:: //WHO AM I NOW//:: //WHO AM I NOW//:: //WHO AM I NOW//:: //WHO AM I NOW//:: //WHO AM I NOW//:: //WHO AM I NOW//:: //WHO AM I —