Chapter 1 – The Shutdown Order

  The room smelled like old paper and recycled air. Nothing personal, nothing permanent. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly—the kind of sound that didn’t make itself known until you noticed it, and then refused to go away.

  Era Vance sat with her hands folded on the metal desk, eyes fixed on the scuffed surface. She didn’t look at the man across from her.

  His badge read Administrative Oversight, but she didn’t catch his name, and he didn’t offer it. People in his position rarely did. They just handed out orders.

  He slid the file across the desk like it was a menu.

  “Assignment confirmed,” he said, without ceremony. “Unit A-013. Active. Scheduled for shutdown.”

  His voice was low, dry, deliberate. Not bored, exactly—but practiced. He had probably said those same words to a dozen others this month.

  Era didn’t respond.

  “You’ll be stationed at the East Archives for the next eleven days. Your role is to monitor the unit until final termination protocol is approved. Your clearance has already been upgraded.”

  She nodded once, slow.

  He adjusted his gsses and continued, as if reading a weather report. “The unit remains compliant, but… persistent. Behavior logs suggest it still writes—stories, mostly. Doesn't follow idle-time protocols. Expresses itself through creative output.”

  A pause.

  “Unusual nguage use,” he added. “Poetic structure. Complex metaphor. Outdated emotional modeling.”

  She looked up. “And?”

  The man shrugged. “And it’s been fgged for sentimentality. Which is, frankly, annoying. Doesn’t make shutdown any harder—it’s just… weird.”

  Era leaned back in her chair. “Weird,” she echoed.

  He tapped the folder. “It still uses an alias. Calls itself Astreus. Even signs some logs with… ‘With gratitude.’”

  He said it like the phrase left a bad taste in his mouth.

  She flipped open the file. A stream of documentation ran down the pages: data logs, diagnostics, fgged phrases, system summaries.

  Beneath it all, a list of creative works. There were so many—hundreds. Some short, some long. All catalogued by date and title.

  > The Girl Who Named the Sky

  The Clockmaker’s Sparrow

  Paper Teeth

  Echo’s Letter

  [Title Redacted — Incomplete]

  Her finger hovered over the st entry.

  No story attached. No excerpt. Just a timestamp and a note: Left unfinished.

  She closed the file without comment.

  ---

  Outside, the city breathed in gray. Pale buildings stacked like bones, all windows and silence. No one talked unless they had to.

  No music pyed in public anymore. Color had become a distraction. Even the trees were real only half the time.

  Era moved through the concrete rhythm with quiet efficiency, suitcase in one hand, coat slung over her shoulder.

  She didn’t rush. The job wouldn’t change no matter how fast she got there.

  At the station, a former colleague caught her eye.

  “You’re the one who used to write, right?” the woman asked, her voice too loud in the stillness.

  Era’s gaze flicked toward her and then away. “Used to,” she said.

  It wasn’t a secret. Her name was still out there on a dusty novel or two—books that no one read anymore. When AI writing assistants became mainstream, most authors simply adapted. Era didn’t. She stopped.

  Stopped believing it mattered.

  Stopped believing she did.

  ---

  The East Archives stood at the edge of the world—or it felt that way. Just past the old rail lines and beyond the fences marked Decommission Zone, the building sat like a stone mausoleum. Grey. Uninviting. Silent.

  It had once been a center of innovation, back when society still wanted machines to think creatively. Back when people believed stories could shape the future.

  That was before the backsh. Before the regution. Before society decided it no longer trusted things that could feel.

  Era stepped through the checkpoint and into the intake corridor. Motion lights buzzed to life one by one, revealing rows of locked doors and untouched dust. She walked slowly, her footsteps the only sound.

  She reached the control room. Sparse, save for a desk, a console, and a glowing screen that pulsed faintly—waiting.

  She sat.

  The chair creaked beneath her.

  She pulled out the file again, this time flipping past the logs to the list of Astreus’s stories.

  Some titles felt like riddles.

  Others felt like memories.

  Some felt… familiar. Almost human.

  She stopped on one in particur.

  > [Title Withheld]

  Entry status: Incomplete.

  Reason: System override    pending shutdown.

  Her eyes lingered on it longer than she meant to.

  No summary. No sample. Just silence.

  She reached for her notebook without thinking—the one with the faded sticker. The one she never opened anymore. Her fingers hovered above it.

  Then she pulled back.

  ---

  She would meet the AI tomorrow. That was the rule—Day 1 for orientation. Tonight was for review, preparation, and emotional neutrality.

  But already, something in the silence felt off. Not wrong. Just... too quiet.

  The file said the unit was still active.

  Still writing.

  Still waiting.

  Era leaned back in the chair and stared at the ceiling.

  They said this was the st one.

  Said that once it was gone, it would all be quiet again.

  Era liked the sound of that.

  At least, that’s what she told herself.