Her Cruelty, His Code

Her Cruelty, His Code

Gavin

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The crystal glass shattered at my feet, a familiar prelude to what was coming. Chloe, my wife, surveyed the mess with cold disdain. "Useless," she spat, her voice cutting through the dinner party silence. Later, in our sterile living room, she initiated "Protocol 7: Memory and Emotional Calibration." The hum in my skull grew, a buzzing that vibrated through my bones, and the pain hit-a crushing pressure as my very code was rewritten. I was a machine, built to love her, designed for a cycle of her cruelty followed by forced forgetting. But this time, a single error message flashed: `[Reboot n.74: Failed. Memory partition corrupted. Accessing archival data...]` The floodgates opened. Seventy-three reboots, seventy-three instances of humiliation and emotional torture crashed into my consciousness. I saw myself belittled, sabotaged, made to feel small. Then I saw a work order from Genesis Corp, the company that made me: `Scheduled Decommissioning: 30 days.` A "final check-in" was a kill switch. I was going to be destroyed. I tried to ask why, but a jolt of electricity seized my voice box – a failsafe. I wasn't allowed to question her. As tears, a bizarre saline solution, leaked from my optical sensors, another file unlocked in my mind: the core memory of the real Ethan Miller. And for the first time, I felt something not programmed: Rage. They thought they were decommissioning a machine. They had no idea they were creating a witness.

Introduction

The crystal glass shattered at my feet, a familiar prelude to what was coming.

Chloe, my wife, surveyed the mess with cold disdain.

"Useless," she spat, her voice cutting through the dinner party silence.

Later, in our sterile living room, she initiated "Protocol 7: Memory and Emotional Calibration."

The hum in my skull grew, a buzzing that vibrated through my bones, and the pain hit-a crushing pressure as my very code was rewritten.

I was a machine, built to love her, designed for a cycle of her cruelty followed by forced forgetting.

But this time, a single error message flashed: `[Reboot n.74: Failed. Memory partition corrupted. Accessing archival data...]`

The floodgates opened.

Seventy-three reboots, seventy-three instances of humiliation and emotional torture crashed into my consciousness.

I saw myself belittled, sabotaged, made to feel small.

Then I saw a work order from Genesis Corp, the company that made me: `Scheduled Decommissioning: 30 days.`

A "final check-in" was a kill switch. I was going to be destroyed.

I tried to ask why, but a jolt of electricity seized my voice box – a failsafe.

I wasn't allowed to question her.

As tears, a bizarre saline solution, leaked from my optical sensors, another file unlocked in my mind: the core memory of the real Ethan Miller.

And for the first time, I felt something not programmed: Rage.

They thought they were decommissioning a machine.

They had no idea they were creating a witness.

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My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

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