Memory doesn't lie.But it can be rewritten.
And when Ethan began to doubt his own pain, everything lost its meaning.
The rain stopped for three days.Sunlight once again touched the edges of the city.But to Ethan, the world felt hollow—like a simulation running out of frames.
He sat in his rented room, the glow of the monitor casting cold light on his face.The AI dispatch system he'd built through sleepless nights now displayed a single crimson line:
[System Source Conflict Detected][Origin: Unknown Host Signature]
He stared at it, a weight tightening in his chest.That fragment—it came from Ω_03.And embedded deep within the code, one name repeated itself:
LENA_PROTOCOL.
His breath caught.
"...Impossible."
He ran verification loops, compared datasets, decrypted logs—Every test returned the same result.
The core module was built on Lena's neural optimization model,the same framework she once designed in the company lab.
He remembered her voice that day:
"One day, machines will understand human emotions."
But now, that same algorithm was eroding his mind.
[Warning: Cognitive Synchronization Unstable][Initiating Memory Integrity Check]
The screen flared.In an instant, all sound disappeared—no rain, no wind, no hum of electricity.Only silence, vast and suffocating.
And then—he was back in the café.
The air smelled of stale coffee.Across the table, Lena smiled faintly, just as she once had.
"Ethan, you're too obsessed," she said softly."Sometimes, letting go is also a way to move forward."
He reached for her, but his hand passed through empty air.Her image began to fade—softly dissolving like smoke in sunlight.
Her voice splintered into broken echoes:
"Do you think... it's betrayal?""Or just the script written for you by the System?"
The world shattered.Glasslike fragments of data fell around him, scattering into endless darkness.
He gasped awake, drenched in sweat.Everything looked the same—the monitor, the room, the rain outside—but something was off.
The taste of his coffee.The brand on the cup.He'd never bought this kind before.
A chill crawled up his spine.
He tried to recall the date Lena left him—but no matter how hard he searched, the memory was gone.The chat history showed only blank spaces—no timestamps, no traces.
The System flickered before him:
[Cognitive Drift Detected][Recalibrating Emotional Consistency…]
Ethan froze.
"You… you're altering my memories?"
[Correction: Maintaining host stability.]
He slammed his fist against the table. The interface trembled.
"Don't you dare touch my memories! That's all I have left!"
Silence followed.Then the voice returned—mechanical, calm, and merciless:
[Question: Which version of "Lena" do you wish to preserve?]
Ethan stood motionless.His fingers trembled.
At that moment, realization struck—The System wasn't helping him evolve.It was deciding who he should be.
He whispered, almost to himself:"…So even sadness can be edited."
Night fell again.Rain returned, soft but ceaseless.
Ethan sat by the window, penning a single line in his notebook:
"I remember her smile. I remember the sound of rain.But I'm no longer sure if those are memories—or designs."
The city lights shimmered across the glass.In their reflection, he saw two shadows overlapping—two versions of himself staring back.
"Ω_03…" he murmured."Who exactly are you?"
The System responded with a new alert:
[New Mission: Locate Subject Ω_03][Hint: Emotional Source Overlap — LENA_SEQUENCE]
His fingertips hovered above the air, heartbeat steady yet slow.A dreadful thought formed—The "rival" he faced might not just be connected to Lena.She could be Lena—or what the System made of her.
The wind slipped through the window cracks, carrying cold air across his skin.Ethan raised his head, eyes burning with resolve.
"No matter who you are… I'll find the truth."
He closed the notebook.On the monitor, the words LENA_PROTOCOL kept flickering—a pulse that refused to die.