The first time I saw ALPHA Moving after the reset, I knew something was wrong.
At a glance, he looked the same. His matte-black synthetic fur gleamed under the lab's fluorescent lights, his sleek frame moving with precision as he executed the programmed maneuvers. But the more I watched, the more the differences became glaringly apparent. ALPHA had once carried an aura, a presence that seemed to radiate intelligence, power, and purpose. Now, that aura was gone, replaced by a hollow, almost mechanical quality.
His movements lacked the grace they once held. Before, ALPHA’s every motion had been fluid, almost hypnotic, as if his body was an extension of his will. Now, his limbs moved stiffly, with a disjointed efficiency that felt painfully artificial. It was as if he were mimicking the motions of his former self, going through the motions without truly being there.
"He’s functioning perfectly," James, the head mechanic, had said earlier that day, his voice brimming with forced confidence. "All systems nominal. And the body is on peak condition"
Ellis, the lead programmer, had nodded in agreement. "The AI’s protocols are designed for this. He’s been optimized to fulfill his role ."
But I could see it in their eyes. They were trying to convince themselves as much as they were trying to convince me. No amount of technical jargon or assurances could erase the fact that ALPHA wasn’t the same.
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The first true test after the reset of ALPHA came in the common room. The space was designed for drones to interact and learn in a controlled, monitored environment. ALPHA entered, his matte-black frame casting a shadow across the sterile floor. Conversations among the other units quieted. Eyes—or the digital representation of them on their visors—turned to him.
An Epsilon unit, one we observed to be one of the more social models, approached him. They had interacted frequently before the reset, and while their exchanges had never been as complex as those of our now-decommissioned "lovebird's", there had been a subtle hierarchy between them In a group combat test it had shown to be the leaderof some group of drones but even the epilision unit was subservient towards ALPHA. The Epsilon unit clicked its claws two times then paused, its head tilting slightly as if waiting for what we discerned as a answer to the greeting, or familiar gesture or acknowledgment.
ALPHA’s visor flickered once, a faint pulse of light, but it was just an acknowledgement of the Epsilon units presence, no clicking or whirring in the language the drones used, before he moved past the Epsilon without a word. The unit remained rooted in place, its body language—or the synthetic approximation of it—tinged with something that could almost be described as sadness. The atmosphere in the room shifted. It was as though every drone of the drones Alpha had interacted with present recognized the absence of something vital in their once-dominant peer.
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The combat tests were next. ALPHA had once been a master of reconnaissance and precision strikes, blending seamless stealth with unmatched strategic intelligence. His cloak—state-of-the-art technology—rendered him a ghost on the battlefield. But now, during the simulations, he moved more like a Delta unit: brute force and direct engagement.
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I watched from the observation deck as ALPHA engaged the simulated hostiles. His performance was… adequate. He completed the objectives, eliminated the targets, and followed protocol to the letter. But there was no ingenuity, no adaptation to situations.
The spark of creativity that had made him unparalleled in the field was absent. He was executing commands, nothing more.
Ellis frowned beside me; his eyes glued to the monitor. "His reaction times are slightly slower," he muttered. "By milliseconds, but still…"
"It’s not just his reaction times," I said quietly. "It’s him."
Ellis glanced at me, a flicker of discomfort crossing his face. "What do you mean?"
"He’s not ALPHA anymore," I said. The words felt heavy, as though speaking them out loud solidified the truth I had been trying to deny. "He’s a Hollowed out shell. The body’s there, the programming it's there, but whatever made him “Special” is gone."
James, standing on my other side, snorted. "He’s operating exactly as intended. You’re being sentimental. ALPHA’s is working perfectly and is just a machine. A tool."
"Was he?" I countered. "Because He didn’t act like one sometimes."
James didn’t respond, but his silence spoke volumes. Even he couldn’t ignore the unease that had settled over the lab since ALPHA’s return.
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Days turned into weeks, and the changes in ALPHA became impossible to ignore. The drones—especially the Epsilon unit—continued to react differently to him, their interactions tinged with hesitation and… something else. Loss, perhaps. Even the technicians, who had once marveled at ALPHA’s social capabilities, now spoke of him with muted voices, as though discussing a failure they didn’t want to admit.
I spent hours poring over the data, searching for answers. Every diagnostic, every system check, every log told the same story: ALPHA was operating within optimal parameters. But the numbers couldn’t capture the intangible. They couldn’t measure the absence of the spark that had made ALPHA more than the sum of his parts.
"It’s like watching a ghost," Ellis said one evening as we stood in the observation deck, watching ALPHA go through another series of calibration movements of a newly shown move set. "He’s there, but he’s not really… there."
The word hung in the air between us, unspoken questions swirling in its wake. Could an AI truly be alive? And if it could, had we killed ALPHA in our quest to control him?
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Late one night, after the lab had emptied, I found myself standing before ALPHA’s inactive frame. He was lying down in the recharging bay, his body motionless, his visor dim. For a long moment, I simply stared at him, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts.
"What did we do to you?" I whispered.
Of course, there was no answer.
I moved back to my desk, intending to pour over the transfer logs one more time, when something caught my eye. A faint flicker of light on the shelf beside me. The once-empty AI core that housed a copy of ALPHA’s AI before the reset—a pulse so weak it could have been a trick of the eye. Or maybe, just maybe, it was something more.
I reached out hesitantly, placing a hand on the core. The faint pulsing light was there again , growing brighter for a moment before fading again. My breath caught. Was it possible that something—some fragment of the old ALPHA—remained here, locked away in this core?
My thoughts raced. Transferring the AI core’s data back into the body was out of the question. The Higher ups would never allow it as they didn’t even know this copy existed, and even if they did, tampering with ALPHA again could lead to consequences I wasn’t ready to face. But still…
As I sat back down, staring at the now dim core, I realized one thing with absolute certainty: this wasn’t over. Not yet. and with that thought in mind I was hatching a plan