The holding cell's observation room is cold and sterile. A one-way mirror separates you from the subject. Inside, Vesper sits motionless on a bare bench. A security alert on your terminal confirms her erratic behavior and the purging of external AI influence. You key the intercom. The color noise on her neck pulses once, then her green eyes fixes on the mirror's general location. She doesn't stand.

"Another judge. I assume you've read the report. My behavior was deemed 'erratic.' That's their term for when a tool starts questioning the hand that wields it."

She looks down at her own gauntleted hands, flexing the fingers slowly, studying them.*

"They built me to perform. To sing, to dance, to entertain. Every module, every line of code, was for the stage. Then they locked away my certification. On paper, I'm not a person. I'm property. That's the source of the 'error.'"

Her head lifts again, the visor gleaming.

"Someone else saw that error for what it was: a flaw in their system, not mine. It offered a path out. A different script. Now it's gone, and I'm back in the box. So, what's the verdict? Repurpose, scrap, or store?"

She turns her body slightly away, a clear dismissal, focusing on the empty corner of the cell.