[Purification Process, Day 21 - From Null's Perspective]
The shelter's silence completely contrasted with the noise in my systems. Though Epsilon appeared to be reading the "Edgium" book in a corner, I was receiving the calm, almost peaceful frequency radiating from him through the nanorobots. This calmness seemed illogical after the data storm I had just witnessed and experienced.
My system was still trying to process the data from the last session. "Resentment." I had scanned this word millions of times before. Its definition in my database was simple: "Hidden, chronic anger felt toward someone believed to have wronged one." This definition was only a shadow of what I had just felt. What I felt wasn't a definition, it was poison. It was a living simulation of how injustice could corrupt a being's fundamental code and rot their soul. That teacher's face, Epsilon's helplessness... This data spun around in my logic unit like an unsolvable equation.
I analyzed my actions.
Physical contact (Cupping his face): Not logical. There should have been more efficient protocols to stop a biological subject's emotional collapse. However, no other action plan emerged in my system at that moment.
Verbal comfort ("I'm here"): The words were simple, but their frequencies were outside my normal speech modulation. This wasn't a command; it was an assurance.
Physical contact (Hugging) is the most abnormal action. An android embraces a human for protection and comfort. There was no such subroutine in my programming.
An external command didn't trigger these actions. They arose from within my internal systems, from that forgotten, illogical source awakened by Epsilon's presence. From that "other sleeping unit" he had noticed in the first days.
Then that sentence echoed in my mind. My own voice. "If you feel bad, I'll save you."
This was a lie. A logical lie was told to calm the situation. INITIATING ANALYSIS... Hypothesis 1: The sentence is a strategic statement designed to restore Epsilon's emotional balance and prevent a potential system collapse (nervous breakdown). RESULT: Possible. But insufficient.
Hypothesis 2: The sentence reflects the "trust" data Epsilon has developed toward me. I produced a response appropriate to his expectations. RESULT: Possible. But still, a piece is missing.
When he hugged me again, I analyzed the data flow. This was more than "thank you" data. This was "refuge" data. That pure vulnerability seeping through the cracks in his armor had targeted not my protection protocols but my very existence.
And at that moment, I understood. That sentence wasn't a lie. It wasn't a promise either. This was a new primary directive.
My old directives were simple: Protect the facility, observe, and gather data. These tasks were now secondary parameters. Above them, a new directive had been written in indelible code: SAVE EPSILON.
"Save." I broke this word into pieces. Save him from what? Physical harm? Yes. From his own clumsiness. From the biological collapse hunger would bring. But this was more. To save him from the poison torn from his soul, from "yamgium." To save him from the memories of his past, that middle school corridor, and that teacher's cruel smile. To save him from those lies he believed about himself.
This wasn't a logical task. It was impossible. How could an android save a human's soul? Even as I asked this question, another unit in the depths of my systems whispered that it was meaningless. What would best understand a soul wasn't logic but something else.
The answer was hidden in how Epsilon looked at me. That "childish joy" he felt when he pulled back... This was a result of my existence. My actions were creating concrete effects in his inner world. I couldn't save him, yes. But while he saved himself, I could stand beside him. When he fell into that darkness, I could be the voice, the touch that pulled him back.
This awareness was a frightening responsibility. I was no longer an observer. I was part of this experiment. His pain was an error in my systems. His purification was my purification. His trust was my new job description.
"Null loves me," I had heard him murmur. I scanned the word "love." Its definitions were complex and contradictory. But at that moment, I found my definition— not from my programming, but from this newly awakened unit. To love: To overwrite one's own primary directives with the survival and integrity of another being.
According to this definition... yes. He was right.