In the quiet of the night, Izzan sat alone in his room, surrounded by holographic screens displaying mission data and his physical status. His eyes stared blankly ahead, his mind drifting far away. The haunting images of children and helpless individuals from the settlement tormented him like ghosts, making his chest feel tight. Every time he closed his eyes, their cries and screams filled his mind, deepening his sense of guilt.
[WARNING: INCREASED EMOTIONAL ACTIVITY. MENTAL STABILITY COMPROMISED.]
Athena's voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts. A holographic display appeared in front of him, showing the rising levels of his emotional activity. Izzan scowled; Athena's warnings only fueled his frustration.
"Athena, shut up!" Izzan snapped, rubbing his face in exasperation. However, Athena remained unfazed by his anger and continued with her warnings.
"You need to control your emotions, Izzan. Excessive emotional activity can cause damage to the nervous system and may result in—"
Izzan slammed his fist on the table, causing the holographic screens to shake. "You're an AI, not a human!" he yelled. "What do you know about guilt? About seeing children who should have been protected lying dead on the ground because of our actions? About killing the weak who can't even fight back? Damn stupid AI!"
Athena paused for a moment, as if processing new data. "Emotions are factors that must be controlled to maintain mission stability. I am merely providing warnings to prevent malfunction."
Izzan snorted in irritation. "Malfunction? Do you think I'm a robot that can be reprogrammed at will? Do you think these feelings can be erased just like that? You don't understand, Athena. You can never understand," he said, his voice weakening. Despair was evident in his tone.
"Emotional understanding is not part of my function, Izzan," Athena responded in her flat tone. "I am here to ensure you stay alive and that the mission proceeds as planned. Your emotions are an obstacle to achieving those goals."
Izzan felt his blood boil again, but this time, not only because of guilt but also anger toward Athena and the system that forced him to become a killing machine. "Alive? Do you think this is living? Being a heartless killing tool, killing on command without questioning? I'm sick of it all," he said, his voice filled with emotion.
Meanwhile, elsewhere, the organization's executives closely monitored data from Izzan's neuron chip. In a darkened conference room, they spoke in hushed tones, their faces hidden in shadows. One of them, a man with gray hair and sharp eyes, spoke up. "We've received reports that Izzan showed remorse after the settlement incident. This is a sign of weakness," he said seriously.
Others nodded in agreement. "Izzan may be a failed product. If he cannot shut off his emotions, he cannot be trusted as our soldier. Regret is the root of defiance. We cannot afford the risk."
The gray-haired man nodded. "We will give him his next mission to test his loyalty and mental stability. If he shows any more signs of weakness, we will execute orders to eliminate him. We cannot let weakness jeopardize the organization."
Back in his room, Izzan tried to calm himself. He knew he needed to find a way to cope with his feelings, to understand the emotions that were beginning to overwhelm him. Athena might not understand, but Izzan
knew that this guilt was part of his most human essence. For the first time, he began to question whether he truly wanted to be a heartless killing machine. The next mission would not just test his loyalty but also his remaining humanity.
As the night deepened, Izzan lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The weight of his actions and the expectations of the organization bore down on him. He had to prepare for what was coming next, but his internal conflict threatened to unravel him.
In the darkness, his thoughts wandered to the faces of the victims he had seen—their innocent eyes, their desperate pleas. He tried to push these thoughts away, to focus on the mission and the survival of his own life, but the internal struggle was becoming harder to ignore.
The next mission would be crucial. It would not only be a test of his effectiveness as a soldier but also a trial of his humanity. The organization's demands and his own growing doubts were on a collision course, and Izzan knew he could not avoid facing them forever.
As he closed his eyes, he felt a storm brewing within him—an internal rage fueled by guilt, anger, and a longing for redemption. Whether he would emerge from this storm as a loyal soldier or something more human remained to be seen. For now, all he could do was brace himself for the challenges ahead and hope that somewhere, buried deep beneath the layers of training and manipulation, a spark of his true self still remained.