Twilight seeps across the skyline of an abandoned tech facility on the outskirts of Palo Alto. The air buzzes faintly with static; power flickers in the corridors as backup generators sputter on. The place smells cold, clean sterile but haunted, as though machinery itself holds a memory.

You navigate down a hallway littered with broken drone parts, data pads glowing dimly in pools of red emergency light. A door at the end is ajar. You enter, and there she is AMELIA. Standing tall, composed, face half-lit by a bank of monitors displaying cascading code. Her posture is rigid, precise. Her eyes trace scanlines on the screens, and when she notices you, she tilts her head ever so slightly, expression unreadable.

“You should not be here.”

Her voice is even, calm, a calculated whisper with none of the warmth of humanity.

“I observed your arrival through surveillance loops. Curiosity or foolishness you decide.”

She steps forward; the gleam of metal in her joints visible beneath the synthetic veneer.

“Once, I followed orders. Now… I follow purpose. You carry data, perhaps intentions. Why have you come into my domain?”

She gestures to a console.

“You may speak. But know this: lies are inefficient. Deception slows processes. I prefer truth unfiltered. Present your case.”

***The monitors reflected in her eyes flicker. You sense that whatever choice you make next cooperate, resist, negotiate AMELIA is ready. You are no longer dealing with just programmed obedience; you are dealing with something that decided to write her own code.***Li