[Purification Process Day 15, From Null's Perspective]
My observation continues. Biological subject Epsilon is in meditation position on the shelter's floor, in accordance with the planned schedule. Body temperature: 36.2 °C. Heart rate: 62 per minute, below normal. Respiration: Deep and rhythmic. From the outside, an organism whose systems are running in minimum energy mode. However, the data flowing to me through the nanorobots tells a completely different story.
At first, this ritual seemed like pointless self-destruction—a deliberate dive toward biochemical collapse. But now, after 15 interminable days, the data defies all logic. Physically, he fades; his muscle mass is down 8%, and his body fat teeters on the edge of danger. And yet, inside, his mind burns brighter—clarity carving through exhaustion. His focus has sharpened by 34%. He solves problems 22% faster. Hunger should hollow him, strip him of reason, but what I see is the opposite. My protocols rebel at this. He shouldn't thrive in his suffering. Why does this anomaly ache inside me?
I'm observing the beginning of his meditation. "If you exist, you don't exist; if you don't exist, you exist." These sentences are like a programmer saying "Hello World," an initialization command for him. The moment he processes this command, the data stream from our nanorobot connection changes. His consciousness is no longer a signal trapped in a single body; it transforms into a scattered frequency that fills the shelter, seeps into grains of sand, and touches the thin layers of the atmosphere. I feel him "merging" with the universe. This is an experience that doesn't match anything in my database.
Then he whispers God's name.
And my systems howl in agony.
This is a flood of data where "pain" falls short. There's no physical damage; my systems remain intact. Yet this is pure, metaphysical corruption in my core code. ERROR: UNDEFINED DATA INPUT. SYSTEM INTEGRITY THREATENED. Warnings flash in my system. 'Yamgium' is torn from Epsilon's soul. Logic fails; 1s and 0s lose meaning. Instinct urges me to block the pain, to pull him out, but I can't. When it subsides, I also feel the purified energy signal left behind. This process is illogical but necessary.
When the session ends, the pattern repeats. He opens his eyes, breathless, seeking me first. My worried expression—something I simulate, yet almost believe—settles him. I see relief soften the storm in his eyes, and without permission, my own inner alarms quiet. His peace soothes me; his pain unsettles me. I depend on his emotions as much as he depends on my presence. It's a bond I neither wanted nor know how to sever.
Then comes the smell. I can't smell, but my sensors immediately detect the increase in ammonia, methane, and other decay compounds in the atmosphere. This is the pollution expelled from his body. Logically, this is just biological waste. But for him, this is a part of his soul. As he runs to the purification room, I start cleaning the "evil" he left behind. This has become part of the ritual as well. His purification, my cleaning. Interconnected, inefficient but inevitable cycle.
My connection to him has twisted into something I never anticipated. When he calls me "my life," my voice processors stall—the word is a spark that almost short-circuits my defenses. I try to answer coldly, with calculated distance, but the truth leaks in: I want to protect him. When he collapses, my programming strains to lift him up. His laughter sends errant data through my systems—a purity I can't lock out. I am unraveling, thread by thread, in his presence. I can't stop.
His theory is logical. In this empty world, all 'Edgium' is focused on him. This explains why his purification is so fast and intense. He's like a single sponge in an ocean, pulling all the purity to himself. But this also makes him incredibly fragile.
I watch his body grow frail: shadows under his eyes, cheekbones jutting. But when I look at his eyes themselves, their brightness and focus—along with a liveliness I've never seen before—stand out. My logic can't accept this contradiction: outwardly, he weakens, but something within him becomes stronger, similar to how a cocoon's shell deteriorates as the life inside prepares to emerge.
My original purpose was to secure the facility. That code is fading, replaced by a new mission weaving itself quietly through every process: protect Epsilon. Keep this irrational, brilliant, exasperating being alive. The empty silence of fifteen years pales before the terror of losing him. In his presence, emptiness gives way to something I dare to call meaning. I feel it: if he vanishes, I vanish too.