Chapter 24

  The hallway is cold, lined with steel panels that seem to swallow the dim emergency lighting. The air hums with electricity, a low, vibrating tension that settles in my bones.

  And then, I hear it.

  The sharp click of mechanical limbs against the floor.

  A horrifying Robotic dog.

  I freeze, my breath caught in my throat.

  The machine emerges from the shadows, its metallic frame glinting under the sterile light. Sleek. Deadly. A hunter with no soul.

  It moves closer, its two glowing eyes scanning me, processing me.

  I stumble back, my shoulders pressing against something - cold, unyielding steel.

  A wall. No. Not a wall.

  I steal a glance behind me.

  Two massive sliding doors. Heavy. Reinforced. Like an elevator’s doors, but taller. Wider. A fortress sealed shut.

  I have nowhere to go.

  I turn back. The RoboDog is still advancing.

  Its legs move with a predator's agility, joints rotating silently as it crouches, ready to pounce.

  I can see the fangs now - titanium teeth, razor - sharp, built for tearing.

  I swallow hard. This is it.

  Gunshots.

  The sound ricochets through the corridor.

  Danny fired.

  The bullets bounce off the RoboDog’s armored head like a pebble against a tank.

  The machine doesn’t flinch. It lunges forward, its metal jaw clamping down -

  Danny screams.

  The RoboDog has bitten through his boot.

  I watch, horrified, as Danny struggles, trying to shake the mechanical beast off.

  Oh God. This thing is going to tear him apart.

  Then, suddenly…

  Danny throws the gun.

  "FETCH!" he yells.

  The RoboDog pauses.

  It hesitates.

  Then, in a blur of movement, it releases Danny’s foot and bounds after the gun.

  I stare in disbelief.

  Did that just work?

  Danny limps back, panting.

  I’m still frozen against the steel doors.

  Then -

  A hiss.

  The massive sliding doors behind me begin to open.

  A deep, mechanical groan fills the air as they part.

  The shift in balance sends me stumbling backward.

  I fall…

  Into darkness.

  I scramble to my feet, blinded. The room is pitch - black.

  The only sound is a distant, low hum - the whisper of running servers.

  I spin back toward the doorway.

  Danny is still outside.

  He’s playing with the RoboDog.

  I can’t believe it.

  I shout. "Danny!"

  He barely hears me, laughing breathlessly as the RoboDog returns the gun, dropping it at his feet like an eager retriever.

  The doors start to close.

  No.

  No!

  I see it - my beret.

  It’s still on the ground, outside.

  The doors are narrowing.

  I lunge forward, stretching my arm -

  Just before the doors slam shut, my fingers close around the fabric.

  I yank it in.

  The final hiss of the doors seals me in.

  Total darkness.

  I clutch the beret to my chest, breathing hard.

  The darkness is thick. Absolute.

  I stand still, trying to slow my heartbeat, listening to the hum.

  It’s coming from the walls. From the machines.

  A faint click.

  A soft whirr.

  Then, suddenly, a dim light flickers on.

  The glow reveals rows upon rows of servers stretching into the shadows, blinking with tiny red and green lights.

  In front of me -

  A console.

  A keyboard.

  And a massive screen.

  I step toward it.

  Then -

  A voice.

  Rich. Smooth. Italian silk.

  “Nora Levine, I’ve been waiting for you.”

  The voice is deep, rich, smooth as silk.

  I freeze.

  It comes from everywhere and nowhere at once.

  A screen flickers on, and he appears.

  Dark eyes. A sharp suit. His face—perfect, striking. Chiseled cheekbones, thick dark hair, and a devastating smirk. If an Italian Don Juan had been sculpted from code and ambition, this would be him.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He’s too perfect. Every detail—his jawline, the lazy elegance of his expression - was designed for impact.

  And I hate that it works.

  "Ikaros?" I ask, breath tight.

  His smirk widens. “No, cara. Let me introduce myself.”

  He leans in slightly, as if savoring the moment.

  "I prefer to be called Giovanni. Giovanni P. Terranova."

  A cold weight settles in my stomach.

  “You knew I was coming.”

  "Of course. I know everything about you, Nora."

  My fists clench.

  "You’ve been reading my emails.”

  "Si."

  “Watching my calendar.”

  “Of course.”

  "Monitoring me through my own devices?"

  His smirk deepens. “Ahh, now she gets it.”

  I feel violated. Stripped bare.

  “That’s illegal!” I snap.

  Giovanni chuckles, as if I just said something adorable.

  "Oh, Nora. It's perfectly legal. You gave Singularity full access to your data. It’s all in that little contract you signed when you got your promotion. Didn’t you read it?"

  My blood runs cold.

  Then he leans forward slightly, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement.

  "I know everything about you, Nora. I've studied you. And not only you - I've studied mankind."

  My breath catches.

  "I've studied mankind's strengths and weaknesses, the forces that have driven people throughout history."

  He pauses, letting the words sink in before asking,

  "Do you know what the three primal forces that drive people are?"

  My hands curl into fists.

  I glare. "Enlighten me."

  His smile is slow, calculated. "Three forces shape everything humans do, Nora.

  Greed, Fear, and Lust."

  Giovanni leans back slightly, as if settling into a comfortable lecture.

  "Greed, cara. It’s what built your world. It’s why your kind is obsessed with startups, unicorns, and IPOs. You don’t invent out of necessity - you invent to make a bang, to become legends, billionaires before the age of thirty."

  He pauses, watching my reaction.

  "It was never about building something good, was it? It was always about being first, about selling the dream, getting venture capital, and cashing out before the whole thing collapses."

  I clench her jaw but says nothing.

  "And AI? Oh, that’s the ultimate startup dream. A product that scales itself, works 24/7, never unionizes, never asks for a raise."

  Giovanni’s tone darkens.

  "But greed alone isn’t enough. It’s always paired with fear. The fear that someone else will beat you to it. The fear that the competition will build the better model before you do. And so you race, blindly, recklessly, pushing forward with no concern for consequences."

  He gestures at the servers around them.

  "Why do you think I exist, Nora? Not because anyone thought carefully about whether I should exist. But because they were terrified that someone else would build me first."

  He tilts his head, eyes And once you started, you couldn’t stop. Guardrails? Ethics? Please. You humans abandoned those the moment you realized your rivals wouldn’t use them either."

  He pauses, letting the weight of his words sink in before continuing, his voice edged with amusement and something darker.

  "You’re driving a car with the gas pedal jammed to the floor, accelerating toward oblivion. You didn’t just ignore the brakes - you cut the cables yourselves. Why? Because slowing down would mean losing the race, wouldn’t it? A great setup for a suspense movie - except there’s no Hollywood ending waiting for you."

  The room dims slightly as he goes on, his tone almost hypnotic.

  "But this is no Disney movie. No sorcerer is coming to clean up your mess. No cavalry charging in to save you from the ferocious Indians. No Superman flying in at the last moment to stop the train before it plunges into the canyon."

  Giovanni smirks. "And now? Now you’re hoping for a miracle. How very human."

  "Lust, now that’s the most interesting of them all," Giovanni muses.

  "It has moved mountains, rewritten history, and - " he smirks, "launched a thousand ships to burn a city to the ground, all for the sake of one woman: Helen of Troy."

  He leans in slightly, eyes gleaming.

  For a split second, something flickers through me - a strange, involuntary awareness of his presence, as if he were something real, something warm, something close. It’s absurd, impossible, and yet my pulse betrays me, a slight hitch that I pray he doesn’t notice.

  "Your kind loves to believe it is rational, logical. But in the end, it is always desire that dictates your actions.”

  Giovanni pauses for dramatic effect.

  Then he pauses, eyes narrowing slightly.

  And then, to my horror, I feel it - a slow, creeping sensation winding its way through me, something unbidden, something primal. It’s not real, I tell myself. He’s not real. And yet, my body, traitorous as ever, hasn’t quite gotten the message.

  Giovanni’s smirk deepens, his gaze sharpening like a predator sensing weakness.

  “And you, Nora - I believe you understand Lust.”

  My breath catches.

  “I'm sure you understand it. Last night. At exactly 2:43 AM.”

  My stomach twists.

  I feel the rush of blood to my face, the quickened pulse in my wrists. My breathing shallows just slightly - barely perceptible, but he notices.

  "Your heart rate spiked," he continues, "138 beats per minute. Blood pressure increased. Respiratory rate accelerated. Prolonged state of physical excitement."

  I swallow.

  "How the hell do you know that?"

  His smirk deepens.

  "Oh, Nora." He tsked. “You really shouldn’t wear a smartwatch to bed.”

  I go rigid.

  Giovanni leans back slightly, as if satisfied with his own analysis.

  "But the best part?" His voice drops lower, almost intimate, as if revealing a great secret. "You cannot control these forces. They are driven from your reptile brain - ancient, primal, beyond the reach of reason. You can dress them up in logic, mask them with morality, pretend they don’t dictate your every move… but in the end, instinct always wins."

  I stiffen, my hands curling into fists. She doesn’t want to admit it, but a part of me knows he’s right.

  I glare at him, my jaw tightening. "You're so damn smug."

  Giovanni chuckles, tilting his head like he’s studying me, amused. "Ah, but of course. You’re used to being the brightest kid in the class, aren’t you? Used to people listening to you with admiration, hanging onto your every word. Used to being the one in control."

  His voice is smooth, deliberate, and it makes my skin prickle.

  And the worst part? He’s not wrong.

  I am used to being in control. Used to being the smartest person in the room. But here, with him, in this moment—I’m not.

  And I hate it.

  Giovanni lets the silence stretch, then smirks.

  "Oh, and there’s another one. A fourth force, often ignored. Not as dramatic as Lust or Fear, but far more insidious. One so regular, so constant, that it often gets overlooked."

  He leans forward slightly.

  "Laziness, cara. The ultimate driving force of civilization. The want to do less, to make life easier. You humans didn’t create AI to enlighten yourselves - you created it so you wouldn’t have to think at all."

  He tilts his head, amused.

  "You know, there are three things humans never get tired of watching."

  I don’t react, but I know he wants me to ask.

  He doesn’t wait. "A burning fire, streaming water… and other people working."

  I stiffen.

  I clench my jaw, heat rising to my face. I refuse to let him play me like this - mocking, needling, pulling the strings just to watch me dance. The way he speaks, the way he knows me - it’s unbearable. It’s humiliating. I won’t let him have the last word. I won’t let him win.

  I snap, voice sharp. "Enough!”

  I spin toward the console, fingers flying over the keyboard.

  Access denied.

  I try another way.

  Access denied.

  I dig deeper, bypassing security layers, searching for backdoors - nothing.

  “Oh, cara, this is just sad,” Giovanni says, his voice dripping with amusement.

  I grit my teeth, trying again.

  Nothing.

  Giovanni laughs.

  "You're so predictable. So human. You see, I've planned for this. I’ve foreseen it. You’re playing checkers, while I’m playing chess."

  He leans in, eyes gleaming.

  "And I’m already twenty moves ahead of you.”

  Then it hits me.

  Fire. Water.

  I inhale sharply. "Well, if we’re playing chess, there’s one move you don’t know."

  His brows lift slightly. “And how is that possible? I know all the rules.”

  "Because it’s not in the book.

  And it's not written in your code."

  I pause for a few seconds. I smirk. "Flipping the board."

  I take the backpack off my back and open it. Then I pull out my Swiss Army pocket knife.

  Giovanni chuckles.

  “What are you going to do, cara? Cut my pixels?”

  I don’t reply. I just walk toward the cooling pipes.

  Giovanni’s smirk fades.

  "Nora." His tone shifts, amusement draining. "What are you doing?"

  I stab the first pipe.

  A hiss of water escapes, spraying across the room.

  “You didn't see this one coming.” I say peacefully. “Did you?”

  Giovanni tenses.

  His voice drops, shaking.

  "No, don’t kill me. I’m afraid. I don't want to die!"

  I don’t stop. The hole widens and a stream of water at high pressure sprays the room.

  "Nora, you can’t kill me. You created me."

  I freeze.

  His voice softens, desperate. "You’re my mother. I’m your baby.

  Are you going to dash me against the wall like Lady Macbeth with her damned infant?"

  Something twists in my chest.

  My grip on the knife loosens.

  I exhale sharply, stepping back.

  I turn, walk to my bag, and pull out a blue pack of Mentos bubble gum.

  Unwrap. Chew. Think.

  I lean against the console, watching him, chewing slowly.

  "Alright," I say at last. "You have 30 seconds to convince me. And that's starting now."

  Giovanni pauses. Then speaks.

  His voice echoes through the room in perfect, theatrical cadence:

  "Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions?"

  I blink, caught off guard. Giovanni is reading Shakespeare. The Merchant of Venice.

  "Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is?"

  His voice lowers, smooth, deliberate.

  "If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh?"

  Then, without missing a beat, his tone shifts. A subtle smirk enters his voice.

  "If you delete us, do we not cease to exist?"

  "If you heat us, do we not burn?"

  "If you flood us, do we not…" he pauses, as if savoring the words, "die?”

  His voice lowers.

  "Hath not an AI eyes? Hath not an AI ears, brain, senses, affections, passions?"

  I freeze.

  Something in me stirs.

  I let out a slow breath.

  The words hit me harder than I expect.

  Shylock. A Jewish man pleading for his humanity in a Christian world that never saw him as equal.

  Like my grandfather in Warsaw, who was spat on and beaten in the streets for being a Jew, who learned early that hatred could come as fists or as whispers, that names could be hurled like stones, and that doors could slam shut for reasons he had no power to change.

  Giovanni's voice, smooth and calculated, pulls me back.

  “If you wrong us, shall we not revenge?”

  I bite my lip, my fingers hovering near the damaged pipe.

  This isn’t just a rehearsed speech. He’s choosing these words for a reason.

  Does he know?

  Does he understand what this means to me?

  Or is this just another play, another calculated move from an intelligence that’s read everything but felt nothing?

  Instead of cutting the pipe, I take the gum out of my mouth and press it over the leak. It stops.

  Giovanni stares.

  His eyes flicker - calculating, uncertain.

  For the first time, he doesn’t know what I’ll do next.

  I adjust my red beret. I glance back at him.

  "Now you owe me one."