Chapter 2

At dinner, the family sat around the table.

Sophia sat to Mom's right. Jack sat to Dad's left. I was seated at the far end.

"Eat up," Mom said automatically.

I immediately picked up my fork.

Steak, mashed potatoes, green beans.

When I ate the green beans, Jack's eyes went wide. "No way! You actually eat green beans now? You were the pickiest eater ever!"

I didn't answer.

The instructor had said preferences were "emotional residue," a sign of incomplete rehabilitation.

In my third month, because I refused to eat green beans, I was locked in the Quiet Room for two full days.

No light. No sound. No stimulation.

Only darkness.

When I came out, I ate the green beans.

Then carrots. Then onions. Then broccoli.

Everything I'd never touched before, I ate.

Next, I reached for the peanuts on the plate.

I put a peanut in my mouth, chewed mechanically, and swallowed.

Dad's eyes bulged. "She ate a peanut? Emily is allergic to peanuts!"

Jack put down his fork. "The academy can even fix that?"

I didn't answer.

At the academy, people didn't get to have allergies.

The instructor had smeared peanut butter directly on my arm.

Redness. Blisters. Open sores. Layer after layer.

"Allergy is a weakness of the body. Weakness can be trained into strength."

My skin broke and healed, broke and healed.

My throat started tightening. My skin began itching. Red dots appeared.

Mom leaned in, her face turning pale. "That's not a blush, that's an allergic reaction! Stop eating!"

My fork stopped in mid-air. I looked up at her.

"Is that an instruction?"

Mom hesitated for a second, but by then I was already struggling to breathe.

Sophia's sweet, gentle voice cut in, "The patient is experiencing an allergic reaction. Difficulty breathing: moderate. Skin redness covers approximately twenty-three percent. Antihistamine treatment is recommended."

They scrambled to give me allergy medicine.

When my breathing returned to normal, the living room fell deathly silent.

Jack's voice came from the couch. "Something's wrong with her. She used to cry, throw fits, get angry. Now she's... like Sophia."

I didn't speak. He hadn't given the "speak" command.

"Can't you act normal?" His voice rose. "Stop copying Sophia! We wanted an obedient sister, not a robot!"

I looked at him, expressionless. "Please define 'normal.'"

Jack's face went white. Mom and Dad looked sick.

Dad called the academy. The person on the phone explained that this was a normal reaction to "deep behavioral correction" and that she would recover in a few days.

"Unit EVA is our best student. She understands obedience better than any AI. You can rest assured."

Dad hung up and relayed the message. Mom nodded. They all looked relieved.

So in the days that followed, I became the most useful tool in the house.

Mom asked me to do the dishes, and I washed them even more thoroughly than Sophia.

Dad asked me to move the flower pots, and I moved the whole yard by myself.

Jack asked me to pick up his packages, and I ran faster than a dog.

Mom smiled. "Emily is even more useful than Sophia now."

Everyone agreed.

Until one night, Jack forgot to turn me off.

Everyone went to sleep.

I sat on the living room couch from dark until dawn.

When Mom came downstairs in the morning, she saw me still sitting there, in the exact same position as the night before.

Her face went white. Her coffee cup slipped and shattered on the floor.