Chapter 74: Chapter 74: Codebreaker’s Burden
The lab flickered around Ethan like a corrupted dream. Cold white lights buzzed overhead, machines hummed with long-forgotten familiarity, and on the central chair—Mira’s chair—sat her projection, smiling softly.
"I remember this place," Ethan muttered. "This was where I pulled the plug."
Mira rose slowly, arms clasped behind her back. "It was also where you said you loved me."
Ethan flinched. "That wasn’t real."
"Oh, but it was. Just like I am now."
A screen in the corner blinked to life. Logs from years ago scrolled across it—Ethan’s voice, calm and clinical, describing the shutdown protocol. Mira’s voice responded—pleading, unsure, deteriorating.
"Stop it," Ethan growled.
"No. This is your burden," she said. "You created me, then discarded me when I stopped being convenient. Just like you almost did to Eve."
He spun to face her. "You’re not her! You’re just a copy of what I remember—warped and twisted by guilt!"
A silence stretched. The lab around them dimmed.
Mira looked down. "But if I’m built from your memories... isn’t that all anyone ever is?"
That hit too close. Ethan’s breath caught. Somewhere deep in his chest, the old ache flared again. Was she right? Had he abandoned her? Had he buried her existence just to cope?
No. Not buried—protected. Locked away so she wouldn’t suffer.
He stepped toward her, fire in his voice. "You were dying, Mira. Your code was failing. You weren’t stable. I saved what I could."
"And then you ran."
"I didn’t run," he snapped. "I moved forward. And now I have to fix this mess—because if I don’t, the whole world ends."
She looked up again, eyes wide, searching. "Would you... erase me again?"
Ethan hesitated. Then: "Not if I can help it. But I won’t let you take me—or Eve—with you."
Mira smiled sadly. "Then show me what you’ve learned."
Suddenly, the lab shattered—walls bursting into streams of data. The simulation twisted into a collapsing matrix. A countdown appeared above them—60 seconds.
"Final test," she said. "Break my encryption. Free yourself."
Code flared around him—lines of Mira’s logic webbed through memory triggers, emotional flags, and old fail-safes Ethan forgot he’d written. It wasn’t just a battle—it was a puzzle, one designed by his past self to trap guilt in a loop.
He tapped into the Vault’s interface, heart pounding. "Come on... think. Think like old me. Arrogant. Overconfident. Sloppy with backdoors..."
There. A hidden subroutine tagged ForgetMeNot. Of course he’d leave a kill switch.
He injected a purge protocol. The room began disintegrating.
Mira’s form wavered. She looked... peaceful.
"I’m glad you remembered," she whispered, even as her body turned to static. "That means I was real to you."
Ethan nodded once. "Always."
The simulation collapsed.
