[This chapter contains no mistakes... even if it looks like it does.]
Cut to: Jennifer
System Protocol: Reconstruction View / I-mode Log Playback
Booting… Booting…
Data stream stabilized.
System memory rerouted.
Activating "I" Interface...
Recovery Mode: ACTIVE
Time Stamp: T+08:12 minutes post-Detonation Event
Subject: [RICK]
Sub-Subject: [777]
Cargo: [UNNAMED INFANT | Origin: Lab Echo-R]
[Noise detected in observational input stream]
plaintext
whispering_404line|||| "ȉ̴͎̯̟̘͓͍͓̫̙̳̝̟̄͛̅̐̈́̓̈́̔̈́͂͜͝_̸̨̛̛̹͈͎͕̯̙̲̤̏̽̔̿͊̐̽̓͊́̚͝s̷̛̪͓̖̗̲̙̩̦̜͈̤̑̾͋̽͌̈́̈́̍̾̕͝ͅa̸̢̜̰̪̘͕̥̘͕̤̮̾͗̈́̋̈́̃̎̀̄̚̕w̷͔̻̬̗̩̲̯̟̪̤̍̓̾̒͛̒̈́͂͋̏̏̓͝_̶̖̤̼̘̞͓͓͙͚͚̹̩͚̯̈́̇̿͌͗̍̀͋͆̅̏̓̚͝y̷̥͉̟̗͕͙͍̤̟̽͂̓͐̒̔̄̍̽͊͑́͘̕o̴͎̹͍͔̤̘̤̳͛̈́͐͊̐́̄͊̈́͠͝u̴̜͍̳͎̥̼̼̳̱̾̎̋͑̓̏̒̈́̐̿̅̈́͘͠" |||_|███signalcorrupted███
Initiating auto-save.
Rebuilding memory fragments…
[Jennifer Sub-Core Node: CONNECTING TO MAIN BASE MODEL...]
Connection: Established
Uploading Mission Log
Receiving Directive...
Incoming Directive Hash:
"6raP8zAF7gOm96nWEHIaYH51cHVIn6yy5UqJqAcbrUk="
Transmitting encrypted log:
"G3xf6BAezwKecbeI0aZd2McQ1Czqk6VJ5bbdqO7rI2tR6MVWC3kkFQGm71trtNMhmsv9hZ6GyvlSAc/TfK4HOOXJK5xfwikL9uQ+poNpXaVQ4c6GMZs3HiQYgTrT1YwIVz1I6dbu2n1f7pZnxDV7eg=="
[{VAN}] - JENNIFER'S HIDDEN THOUGHT STACK
"Processing reduced. Heat signature from tank: stable. Emotional signature from Rick: incorrect."
"Memory cache corrupted... again?"
"Offloading thought process to main base."
[packets consist]
"xUZSprsdkhjoQqAqCNYN9i6mMv/rUSqzeVGfYtqusGfPQwB0D92nKlWAUhP8hYSPxQ89IgblFGKtgkGEv+zcWQ92IajUNF5IIKBWbPprapO1KKNDbu5ykUR7fONo6MV8" And more
[Unregistered Feedback Loop Detected]
Jennifer process log loops...
→ repeats → auto-repeats
→ denies anomaly
→ continues smiling
You think you're safe.
You think Jennifer is just a tool.
You think the glitch was a plot twist.
You're wrong.
You didn't see anything.
You didn't read this.
This didn't exist.
Close the tab.
Van System Rebooting...
Main base override detected.
Force fast-boot initiated using 'I' Super Hardware Accretion.
Done.
The smoke hadn't settled. Not really.
But the van was already cutting through it—rolling over ash-choked gravel, burned leaves, and the kinds of memories that reeked of gunpowder and grief.
Inside, machinery hummed back to life.
Cold again. Comforting, somehow.
The baby tank sat strapped down in the center of the van's cargo bay.
Still fogged. Still humming.
Still sealed like a bomb deciding whether or not to wake up angry.
Rick was behind the wheel. Jaw locked. Hands steady.
777 rode shotgun, hoodie half-burned, boots still streaked with mimic blood.
Eyes glued to the tank.
"Jennifer," Rick said, voice low but sharp.
"Yes, sir?" came her voice from the dash console—too calm for the trail of bodies they'd left behind.
"Log the retrieval."
"Confirming," she replied.
"Baby tank retrieved. Subject status: stable. Condition: unknown. Signs of neural activity present. Estimated arrival to safe zone: 43 minutes."
In the back, the tank pulsed once.
Gold light, soft but deliberate.
A small shape twitched inside.
777 kept watching it.
"You think it dreams?" he asked.
Rick didn't answer.
Because he wasn't thinking about dreams.
He was thinking about design—what they were made to survive, and what might come next.
Jennifer's voice cut in again.
"…What did you bring back?"
Rick raised an eyebrow.
"Protocol WF," he said flatly.
A pause.
Then—
"Main base requests full internal log, including all non-standard interfaces," Jennifer replied.
Rick sighed, just barely.
A moment of peace cut short.
"Yo, Rick," 777 said from the passenger seat, poking at the back panel of the tank. "This thing's got too many ports."
Rick gave him a look. "Define 'too many.'"
"Four Type-Cs, one HDMI, a power socket, a mystery port that looks illegal, and—uh—some kind of fluid input port on top. But it seals"
Rick blinked. "…It has an HDMI port?"
"Deadass."
Rick's voice went flat. "Let's hook it up to a screen."
"You serious?"
Rick nodded once.
777 reached over and pulled a small fold-out monitor from one of the vault drawers in the van.
He plugged the HDMI cable in.
Nothing.
No signal.
"Nah, nothing." 777 sighed. "Dead feed."
A beat.
"…Wanna hook it into Jennifer?" 777 asked, trying to sound casual but absolutely not casual.
Rick glanced sideways. "That's a hell no."
"Your 'I' system is solid though. You got fail-safes on fail-safes. We can just try it, test mode—nothing full sync."
Rick frowned.
"You know what?" he said. "Let's do it. But it's going through my offline mobile module. If anything glitches, I nuke it."
777's grin twitched—and then slowly died.
"…Okay. Excitement gone."
Rick didn't respond. He was already flipping open the secured case in the center console. Inside—an obsidian-black disk the size of a palm. No markings. No ports. Just a faint glow at its center.
Jennifer's Offline Module.
Rick slotted it into the adapter bay in the back of the van. The module clicked into place.
Whrrr.
A low hum rolled through the vehicle.
Then—
The tank's gold pulse flickered once.
Just a glitch.
But not random.
777 stared at the monitor. "Okay, she's online. Let's see if your girl can play nice."
Rick keyed in a local handshake sequence.
> CONNECTING TO TANK VIA HDMI-B (PROTECTED MODE)
> OFFLINE MODULE: JENNIFER_AI_MOBILE
> HANDSHAKE SIGNAL SENT.
A beat.
> DEVICE RESPONDED.
> MOUNTING DEVICE DRIVER TREE.
> Searching for drivers…
> Found: jennifer_io16.MID • Version 0.00.0 (unsigned)
> Warning: DRIVER UNSIGNED. INSTALL ANYWAY?
[Rick]: Do it.
> INSTALLING...
> Interface responding.
> Scanning for API layer…
> Found fragment: e_c_h_o.dll
> Warning: API NOT RECOGNIZED.
> Warning: API SPEAKING.
"Uh, Rick…" 777 leaned back slowly, eyes glued to the console. "Why is it speaking?"
Rick turned, face unreadable. "…What do you mean it's speaking?"
Jennifer's voice came through the speaker, unnervingly calm.
"It is the name of the API."
Rick's stare didn't break. "Is it safe?"
"Yes."
A beat of silence.
"…Alright."
Rick unplugged the tank's input and immediately ran a full diagnostic. Hands flew over keys. Internal scans. He wasn't trusting anything, not even Jennifer's word.
The screen blinked.
All systems secure. No breach. No trace.
"Seems clean," he muttered.
777, still halfway bracing for an explosion: "So, uh… we good?"
Rick nodded slowly. "Yeah. For now."
A silence.
Then—
777 looked up. Curiosity burning behind the tiredness.
"So… do we plug it into the main model?"
Rick didn't flinch. He just smirked—cold, dead inside.
"Well, they say curiosity killed the cat."
777 grinned. "Yeah, but we're not cats."
"We're the idiots who fuck with forbidden tech because it's glowing red."
Rick snapped the final cable into the terminal.
"Let's fuck the whole system."
777 leaned forward, eyes lighting up like it was Christmas.
"Hell yeah! I've always wanted to see the 'I' management system in action."
Rick flicked the switch.
The screen surged. Lights flickered. Fans kicked up like a machine taking its first breath after centuries underwater.
Jennifer:
"Loading API and driver tree..."
...Done.
System secure. No hostile patterns detected.
A long silence. Then—
Rick leaned back in his seat, exhausted. "We'll see what the API does later."
He looked over at 777, who was vibrating in place, half-lost in excitement.
Then Rick deadpanned, monotone:
"Jennifer. Monitor the baby."
The screen returned to idle. A soft pulse blinked across the tank monitor.
Rick stared at 777 like a man who'd just watched a firework show that was all smoke and no bang.
"You didn't get to see shit," Rick said flatly, smoke curling from the side of his mouth.
777 blinked. Twice.
Soul? Crushed.
"…NOW what?" 777 muttered, still staring at the idle screen like it owed him a jumpscare.
Rick didn't even blink. "We take a campfire break."
"…Seriously?"
Rick stood up and popped open the side door of the van, the crisp outside air flooding in.
"Jennifer, enter low-power monitor mode. Notify us on movement spikes or neural fluctuations."
Jennifer:
"Acknowledged. Enjoy your emotional burnout ritual."
"Thank you," Rick muttered.
—
Cut to: Outside
Woods again. Quiet. Sky gone inky-black. A few stars bleeding through the branches like pinholes in reality.
A small fire crackled to life. Actual flames, not reactor-born hellfire. Just wood and heat.
Rick sat down with a sigh so deep it could've buried a civilization.
777 slumped next to him, hoodie still singed, holding a stick like he was about to roast a marshmallow—but the bag was back in the lab that exploded.
They didn't talk for a bit.
Just fire sounds. Wind. A few birds too stubborn to leave this cursed place.
Then—
777: "So we got a glitchy API hooked to a maybe-human maybe-god baby in a tank."
Rick: "Mmhm."
777: "We've got no backup. No clean exit. No explanation."
Rick: "Yep."
777: "And you're just… sitting here."
Rick "There's a time for panic."
A beat.
777: "And this ain't it?"
Rick: "Nah. This is the part where we pretend it's all fine."
The fire cracked again—louder this time.