Aisha's POV:
Sweaty and grossed out, I stepped off the treadmill.
A shower was a dire need.
Leaving the gym, I headed straight for my room, my steps only halting once I reached the bathroom. The water cascaded over my face, rinsing away the grime accumulated from my exhausting morning routine.
I hated my life.
Refreshed and feeling like a new person, I slipped on my digital headphones, letting music drift softly into my ears. Music was one of the rare things that grounded me, giving me a fleeting sense of self. After all, I was no one—or at least, that's how I felt.
I left my room, half-jogging toward the living area while giggling quietly to myself. Ada was coming today. We planned to visit one of her family mines in Singapore, a trip I was thrilled about—not least because we'd get to interact with Sebastian, a robot AI. He was a technological marvel, a playboy, and undoubtedly one of the most intelligent entities in history.
Though, being AI, his charm was part of the package.
Which girl wouldn't enjoy being wooed by a robot? Of course, I wanted to—thank you very much.
Anticipation plastered across my face, I flopped onto the couch in the living area, eagerly awaiting Ada's arrival. Moments like these were rare and precious to me.
But, as the saying goes, good things never last.
Or to put it bluntly: fate is a bitch.
A voice, cold and distant, pierced my thoughts, pulling me from my excitement. That voice—it was one I despised with every fiber of my being. It belonged to my mother, someone I loathed to my very bones.
"Go to the study. Your father wants to see you," she said. I didn't turn to face her; in fact, I hadn't even realized she was beside me. If I had, I wouldn't have allowed myself the comfort of relaxing.
They all made me wary.
And now, my father was calling for me. This couldn't be good.
Without a word, I left the living area and walked toward his study, my heart racing. There was only one reason he would summon me, and yet, he had promised it wouldn't be today. But promises from him? They were never worth believing. I was foolish to hope.
Promises—they're the sweetest lies.
Knocking on the door, I steeled myself, turning my heart cold and donning the indifference I had perfected over time. It was a necessary armor when dealing with him.
He was a monster.
Emotions, when shown before him, were tickets to mental torture.
"Come in," his calm voice beckoned from behind the door.
Inside, I found him leaning against his swivel chair, his narrowed eyes locked onto mine.
Fear gripped me. My body trembled, my limbs shook—but I concealed it all. I walked forward, stopping in front of his desk, my expression blank.
"My angel," he murmured, standing to rub my cheek. His voice, gentle and soothing, sickened me. "Don't be scared, my love. Sit down."
I sat, my silence unwavering. I understood my role. To him, I was merely a tool, a weapon for achieving his ambitions.
I held no other value. I was his machine.
"You look too stiff, Code," he remarked, pouring whiskey into a tumbler. "Drink some; it helps calm the nerves."
Obediently, I took the glass, swallowing the contents in one go while his amused gaze lingered on me. The burn of the liquor was fierce, making me cough and my lungs feel as though they were on fire. Yet, I didn't stop. When the glass was empty, my facade cracked, and tears spilled over. I sobbed, my composure shattered.
This was our unspoken, twisted game. I fought to maintain my indifference; he delighted in breaking it.
And he always won.
Watching my tears, a smirk spread across his face, as though my pain was his greatest pleasure.
"Code," he said sweetly, "don't cry. It doesn't suit you. Smile for me, Code—laugh."
Choking back my sobs, I forced a trembling smile onto my lips.
His head shook in disappointment. "Not good enough, Code. Your smile doesn't reach your eyes. Are you going soft on me?"
That tone—it terrified me. Pushing through the fear, I widened my smile, straining to make it look genuine.
"Better, Code. Absolutely marvelous," he praised, clapping at my effort. "Now, you must be wondering why I summoned you early."
Dread churned in my stomach. Whatever this was, it wouldn't end well for me.
"I sensed you were becoming faulty," he continued. "Naturally, I need to address that, don't I?"
I trembled. "I... I—" I stuttered, trying to ignore the chill creeping up my spine.
I wanted to die.
That's my name—not Aisha, but Code. The very essence of my existence, complicated and inexplicable.
I remembered. I remembered being five years old when the man handed me over to that doctor, the one with the creepy smile. The same doctor who haunted my nightmares, the one who transformed me into the anomaly I had become.
I remembered months of confinement, naked and bare inside that ugly green tube. The doctor barked orders to the dozen scientists surrounding me, studying me, changing me into a monster.
His voice lingered. The doctor always spoke to me when bored, sharing his excitement about the "breakthrough" I was supposed to be. He told me what I was becoming—what they were making me into.
The perfect spy.
And what's a perfect spy, according to that psycho? A spy who doesn't even know they are one.
That's what they turned me into.
I remembered the pain—the excruciating process that tore through me. I remembered screaming, begging, and pleading until I realized it was futile.
I was just an experiment. A trapped animal, stripped of freedom and dignity.
Before the process was complete, I stopped screaming. I had died inside. There was no "me" anymore—just an empty husk with no soul.
When it ended, the doctor uttered two words that sealed my fate. Two words that declared the experiment a success.
"Code Phantom," my father called me.
I turned to him, my mind blank. "Awaiting data, sir," I replied mechanically.
"You are my secretary, and this is my office. Your mission is to kill me," the man sitting across from me said.
I processed the information, his words echoing in my mind. "Analyzing information, sir. Information analysis complete," I responded.
Darkness engulfed my thoughts, and when I blinked again, I saw him sitting there. He was my boss—I knew that much. But I didn't remember why I was in his office.
And yet, the urge to kill him wouldn't go away.
"Would you like some coffee, sir?" I asked with a forced smile, rising from my chair.
"Of course," he replied, sliding his coffee cup and bag toward me with a strange smirk. I didn't know why he was acting odd, but I was just doing my job.
Still, the nagging urge remained, growing stronger. I thought I was going insane.
I made his coffee, stirring it carefully. My eyes wandered to the cutlery on the table, repeatedly drawn to the knives.
He watched me with a sly smile that made me uneasy.
I glanced at the knives again.
Why did the thought of killing him feel so... right? Like it was the essence of who I was.
My hand shook as I held his coffee mug, struggling to resist the overwhelming compulsion. It defined me—perhaps this was who I truly was.
Giving him his coffee, I realized I couldn't fight it any longer. The madness threatened to consume me. My eyes darted back to the knives, but in a fleeting moment of conscience, I chose something less lethal.
I grabbed a fork and tried to stab him, tears streaming down my face. I half-prayed he would stop me, half-hoped the act wouldn't kill him.
"Code Phantom," he called calmly. His voice snapped me out of the haze. My mind cleared, and I stared at the fork in my trembling hands.
I couldn't remember what I had done wrong, but his disappointed look told me I had failed. The words he said were the ones I despised most—the ones that erased "Aisha" and replaced her with something unrecognizable.
The words that made him powerful.
"I was right," he said softly, studying the fork in my hand. His sad smile pierced through me. "You're losing your charm, my child."
Tears flowed freely down my cheeks. "I'm sorry. Please... not the pain," I begged.
"My child," he said, his voice almost tender. "This is what makes you special. The pain is for a more beautiful you. It won't hurt much, I promise." He pressed a button on his desk.
I shivered.
The door burst open, and four men strode in, their heavy steps unyielding.
They had done this countless times. It was routine for them.
I screamed as they approached, pressing my back against the wall, begging and wailing. But they didn't care then, and they wouldn't care now.
Two of them pinned my arms to the wall while the third tilted my head, exposing my neck. The fourth produced a syringe containing a prototype serum and injected it into my skin.
I wailed.
The pain tore through every fiber of my being, shattering my mind.
As darkness consumed me, his voice resonated in my head.
"Withstand the pain, daughter. Be more beautiful."