Replaced by AI

"Power on, Unit 1314."

Mom sounded hesitant when she said it. It was obvious she didn’t really understand what the words meant. She was only repeating what Director Jamie Graves had told her to say.

The moment the command left her mouth, my eyes lit up like a screen finally receiving power after sitting dormant for years. I rose from the chair automatically, arms resting stiffly at my sides, posture perfectly straight.

"System activated. Awaiting instructions."

Mom froze.

Behind her, Director Graves smiled calmly. "Mrs. Matthews, our academy developed a specialized behavioral system to educate students better.

"They can only be awakened through activation commands. Once activated, they will never disobey you."

Realization slowly dawned on Mom’s face.

Bailey immediately pushed his way forward from the back, mischief glittering in his eyes. He was five years older than me and had spent most of our childhood treating my tears like entertainment.

Back then, every time he made me cry, I’d chase him all over the house until Mom yelled at both of us. Now, he grinned like he’d found a new toy.

"1314, bark like a dog."

The command registered instantly. I hunched my shoulders, stuck out my tongue, and barked loudly on cue.

Bailey burst into laughter. "Wow. Lola really did learn her lesson this time. Back then, Mom had to fight with her for half an hour just to get her to practice piano. Now she’s obedient enough to bark on command."

Dad and Mom exchanged satisfied looks. Neither of them seemed disturbed by what they were seeing.

On the drive home, Mom casually glanced at me through the rearview mirror. "So, Lola... how were the last three years at the academy?"

I remained silent because she hadn’t instructed me to answer.

"Lola?" Her voice sharpened slightly.

I finally spoke, my tone flat and mechanical, "Questions are not recognized as valid commands. If you require a response, please use a directive statement."

The air inside the car instantly turned heavy as Mom’s expression stiffened.

After several seconds, she forced out a single word, "Answer."

"Life at the academy was fulfilling and meaningful. I successfully completed Emotional Suppression, Absolute Obedience, and Rational Thought Processing, the academy’s three core programs.

"My graduation assessment received the highest rating. Instructor evaluation: ‘Most successful behavioral correction case of the year’."

I recited every sentence with perfect precision, my voice emotionless, like an AI reading from a product manual.

Silence swallowed the backseat.

Then Bailey muttered under his breath, "She sounds just like Maddison now..."

I kept staring straight ahead without expression.

Outside the car window, the Silverbrook City blurred past in reverse. The skyscrapers, bridges, and billboards no longer matched the ones I remembered.

At the academy, time had never existed in days or months. Everything was measured in commands. The only way I could track the passing years was by carving tally marks into the wall of the silence chamber.

Toward the end, I’d forgotten how to write them properly at all.