The ascent back to the Tower was a silent, grim affair. The mud from the riverbank had dried, caking our boots and the hem of my suit in a brittle, brown shell. Each step was a reminder of the grim task we had just completed. The containment drive in my pocket felt like a lead weight, a constant, physical reminder of the viotion we had just enacted.

  Back in the sterile, humming core of the Tower, the silence was even more pronounced. The air was thick with things unsaid. I pced the containment drive on a console, its angry red light a stark contrast to the calm, blue glow of the server.

  2B stood by the entrance, her posture rigid, her gaze fixed on the floor. She was a fortress, but the gates were rattling.

  "I apologize," she said, her voice quiet, stripped of its usual military monotone. "For my... coldness. At the river. It was unprofessional."

  I didn't turn from the console. "You don't need to apologize," I said, my voice ft, neutral. "I would have been concerned if you weren't affected." It was the truth, but it was also a dismissal. I didn't have time for her emotional fallout. I had a world to build.

  I began to work. My hands flew across the console, my mind a whirlwind of activity. I was building a new device, not of metal and wire, but of pure code. A sandbox. A virtual environment, isoted from the main network, where I could unleash the Logic Virus sample and study its every move. I needed to understand its attack vectors, its replication methods, its core programming. I needed to find its weakness.

  The machine took shape on the screen, a complex, three-dimensional model of a digital space. I initialized the simution, a pristine, white void, and then, with a flick of my will, I released the virus from the containment drive into its cage.

  On the main screen, the virus bloomed. It was a thing of terrible, chaotic beauty, a writhing mass of crimson code that immediately began to probe the boundaries of its prison, seeking a way out. The device I had built started its work, deconstructing the virus's actions in real-time, mapping its structure, identifying its every function.

  While the machine ran, I tried to bridge the gap that had formed between us. "This is just the beginning," I said, turning to face her. "Once I have the antivirus, we can start recovering the YoRHa data. We can bring back your friends. A2, the Resistance... everyone."

  She didn't look up. "They are not my friends. They were assets."

  "Assets?" I countered, a fsh of annoyance rising in me. "Is that all 9S was? An asset?"

  Her head snapped up, her visor hiding her eyes, but I could feel the gre. "Don't," she warned, her voice low and dangerous. "Don't you dare speak his name."

  I held up my hands in a gesture of surrender. "Fine. I'm sorry. I'm just trying to... connect. We're partners in this, aren't we?"

  "We are allies working towards a common goal," she corrected, her tone once again cold and distant. "That is all."

  I turned back to the console, my jaw tight. Her walls were back up, higher and thicker than before. She had retreated into the shell of the soldier, the YoRHa executioner. It was a defense mechanism, and it was infuriating. I was offering her the world, and all she could do was mourn a ghost.

  A soft chime from the console broke the tension. The simution was complete. The virus had been fully analyzed, its every secret id bare. I had my blueprint for the cure.

  "It's done," I said, a surge of triumph cutting through my frustration. "I have it. The weak points, the replication sequence... everything. The device simutes the virus's actions, allowing me to identify exactly where to strike. I can now create a purging agent that will wipe it from the system without harming the host."

  2B stepped forward, her interest finally piqued. "How can you be sure the simution is accurate? The virus is adaptive. It may behave differently in a live system."

  "I've accounted for that," I said. "The simution is predictive. It models every possible permutation of the virus's behavior. It's foolproof."

  "I want to enter the simution," she said, her voice firm.

  I stared at her. "What? No. Absolutely not. It's too risky."

  "I am a YoRHa combat android," she stated, as if that expined everything. "My systems are hardened against viral intrusion. I can withstand its effects long enough to verify your findings. If you are wrong, we will know before you deploy a fwed antivirus across the entire network."

  "It's not just about withstanding it," I argued, my mind racing. "The simution is a closed loop. If your consciousness enters it, the virus could... corrupt the data. Use you as a bridge to the real world. It's not worth the risk."

  "Then you will go in my pce," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "You will enter the simution. You will face the virus directly. You will prove your cure works. If you succeed, I will trust you. If you fail... you will be contained."

  I was trapped again. She had turned my own project against me, using it as a test of my competence, my honesty. I couldn't refuse. To do so would be to admit I was hiding something, that my cure was a sham.

  "Fine," I said, my voice tight with frustration. "I'll do it. But if this goes wrong, it's on you."

  I configured the console, creating a neural link between myself and the simution. I y back on a nearby bench, closing my eyes, and initiated the transfer.

  The world dissolved.

  I was standing in a white, endless void. The air was still, the silence absolute. This was the sandbox, the digital prison I had built. And in the center of the void, waiting for me, was a figure I knew all too well.

  She was small, a young girl in a red dress, her hair in two neat pigtails. But her eyes were bck voids, and a cruel, knowing smile was pstered on her face.

  The Red Girl. The network's immune system. The voice that had called me an impostor.

  "Hello, Adam," she said, her voice a chorus of whispers that echoed in the emptiness. "Or should I say, hello, parasite? I've been waiting for you."