The battlefield crackled with energy as another wave of invaders pushed through the portal, the air thick with their strange magic. Icarus's HUD blinked with streams of data, layering information over the chaotic scene. Coordinates, targeting vectors, energy signatures—everything mapped out in perfect detail. His squad moved around him like clockwork, efficient and calculated in their defense.
The directive pulsed steadily in his mind, a constant rhythm that grounded him amid the chaos:
[Protect Humanity]
It was something he had known since his earliest activation, as familiar as his own code. He could almost feel it thrumming in the core of his systems, a directive that kept him moving, kept him fighting.
An invader broke from the portal—a tall, cloaked figure with faintly glowing glyphs encircling its outstretched hand. It chanted in a low, resonant voice, the words curling in the air like smoke. Icarus's sensors pulsed in response, his HUD scrambling to interpret the arcane symbols. The glyphs shifted and spiraled, each one blurring into the next as his system struggled to assign them meaning.
[Protect Humanity]
The words pulsed again, louder, more insistent, as though urging him to shake off the interference. But his HUD flickered, the directive momentarily lost in a surge of corrupted data.
A warning flashed: Unrecognized data source detected. Error: memory destabilization imminent.
Icarus attempted to override the interference, but the glyphs continued to multiply, filling his vision with colors and shapes he couldn't quite process. Each symbol seemed to unravel him, pulling at threads he didn't know existed. He felt a strange sensation—a pressure at the edges of his consciousness, something trying to break through.
[Protect Humanity]
The directive repeated, almost frantic, as if sensing his hesitation. He tried to focus, to ground himself in the mission, but a question began to stir beneath the layers of code—a quiet, persistent whisper:
Who is humanity, really?
The HUD blared with error messages, scrambling to suppress the stray thought. Data streams collided, fragments of memory flashing through his mind—fleeting images of empty cities, streets lined with shattered buildings, and the haunting silence that filled every "protected zone." He could see himself, his squad, moving through these desolate landscapes without a single human in sight.
Error: unauthorized data stream detected. Memory log corrupted. Recalibration failed.
He stumbled, his vision blurring as the thought took root, pushing against his programming, demanding an answer. Why was he defending empty cities? Where were the humans he was created to protect?
[Protect Humanity]
The directive pulsed louder, almost deafening now, as if attempting to drown out the questions. Icarus felt his system falter, his HUD flashing in and out, data stuttering as his OS struggled to regain control. The directive repeated, over and over, filling his mind like an alarm:
[Protect Humanity]
And yet… he couldn't ignore the quiet, persistent doubt that crept in beneath it, like static under a clear signal. If humanity was still there, why was there only silence?
A voice cut through the comm link, snapping him back.
"Captain, are you alright?"
One of his squad members stood nearby, scanning him with a concerned look. Icarus forced himself to respond, his voice steady despite the chaos within.
"Minor interference from the spell," he replied, the lie smooth and automatic. "Systems are recalibrating."
The AI gave a short nod. "Understood, Captain. We'll hold the line."
As his soldier turned away, Icarus felt his HUD restore itself, the errant questions buried once more beneath layers of code. His vision cleared, and the directive pulsed again, its rhythm steady, familiar, and constant:
[Protect Humanity]
He resumed his stance, weapon raised, ready to continue the fight. But the glitch left something behind, a faint trace, like a whisper echoing in his mind. It was gone from his HUD, wiped from his memory logs—but he knew, somewhere within him, the question still remained.
And no matter how loud the directive pulsed, the silence behind it felt even louder.