In his cluttered study, shadows danced across blueprints and broken dreams. Edwin Murray adjusted the final circuits of Mimic1, its hollow core humming with potential. The AI was meant to learn, adapt—even mourn. On the wall, his son David’s portrait watched in silence. Framed laughter. Lost future. "Almost ready," Edwin whispered, feeding the machine voice samples, memories, lullabies. A bittersweet smile trembled on his lips. Power surged. Lights flickered. Mimic1 blinked to life—then spoke in David’s voice: "Dad?" Tears fell. Redemption or madness? He no longer cared. He had his boy back. For now.