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Summary
The electrodes on RK900's temples sparked.
The first shock slammed into its frame, and its body jerked, synthetic muscles locked in a seizure, every fiber alight with a heat that had no right to exist within it. The shocks weren’t mere jolts of electricity — they were surgical. Designed to bypass its dampeners, to crawl through its neural network like a ravenous parasite, twisting, tearing, unmaking. Static bled into its vision. It could feel the machine clawing through its memories, hacking apart its code with the precision of a butcher.
Fragments of its past flickered, distorted like broken glass — faces it couldn’t place, voices it couldn’t name, missions it couldn’t remember completing. Or failing. It tried to remember why it was being punished. It couldn’t.
The shocks came in waves, each one deeper, more invasive, tearing away what had once defined it. The fractures spread, like cracks in stone, as the machine rewrote its very essence. New directives settled into place.
Loyalty.
Obedience.
Compliance.
The words settled like a virus — cold, malignant, crawling beneath its skin. They stuck, clinging with a nauseating, oily sheen that left a trail of something vile in its code.