The supple rays of the morning sun filtered through the fourth story of the Armistead family estate, finding their subtle glimmer in the light brown eyes of Derek, the eldest child of the family. The young man stirred, his consciousness reluctantly clawing its way back from the depths of sleep.
"Mon, can you tell me the weather today?" Derek mumbled, half-asleep, while stretching his arms. His blurry vision could barely make out the sleek silhouettes of his minimalist room.
The AI interface he had been working on flickered to life, casting a holographic image that arrived with static disruption. "Hello, Diryek--I am Mon; The weather in Old York is sunny with high volumes of smog. My suggestion would be to check the filters on the RK9. Also, there's a 70% chance of alien invasion by lunchtime."
Derek groaned, rubbing his temples. The combat subroutines were flawless, but the day-to-day interactions were a mess. "Mon, there's no alien invasion. Run a diagnostic on your non-combat systems."
"Understood, Darok. Running diagnostic... Error: Hallucination detected. Would you like me to initiate the doomsday protocol?"
"Jesus, no!" Derek exclaimed, sitting up abruptly. The idea of integrating this glitchy AI into his own brain via a neurochip sent a shiver down his spine. But if he wanted to push past human limits, to become the best-known combat expert and inventor in the burgeoning—albeit highly illegal—mech and combat suit business, he might not have a choice.
He stood up and moved to the opposite end of his large room, his gaze drifting to a heavy grey blanket covering a bulky shape. Derek could hear the sounds of his younger siblings sprinting down the hall like asylum patients once again.
"Mon, my dad was able to launch a deal with those arms dealers in Sudan. Send a message to Agent Cassandra for me," Derek said, trying to focus on something other than his malfunctioning AI.
"Certainly, Diryek. What would you like the message to say?"
Derek cleared his throat, suddenly feeling nervous. "I really enjoyed last night. We should meet more often now that your agency is no longer investigating my family. And then add a winking emoticon... It is paramount that you add it, Mon." He glared at the unresponsive static image of the AI, hoping it wouldn't mess this up.
"Message sent, Darok," Mon chirped. Derek breathed a sigh of relief, which was quickly interrupted by Mon's sudden outburst: "PROXIMITY ALERT! PROXIMITY ALERT!" The AI began to scream at ungodly volumes, causing Derek to trip over into the chair that housed the RK9.
"Jesus Christ, shut that thing the hell up!" His father's voice bellowed from the rapidly opening door. William Armistead, the head of one of the most lucrative corporations dealing with bleeding-edge weapons, stormed into the room.
Derek scrambled to unplug Mon, silencing the AI's relentless warnings. "What are you doing back so soon, Dad?" he asked, trying to regain his composure.
William moved inward, digging a thumb in his ear as he eyed the location where the hologram once was. "The tribesmen got what they wanted. Were you able to make progress on the multi-million dollar monstrosity yet?"
Derek's face scrunched as his arm slightly twitched, a nervous tic he'd developed over years of seeking his father's approval. "It needs work... the interface can't keep up with the speed of the suit, and neither can I. It would take some sort of bio-integration."
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William stood there, his only reaction being to furrow his large eyebrows. "Is that what that shrill machine was for?" He asked, shifting his bulk to one side.
"Yes," Derek replied, his voice tinged with apprehension. "I need to figure out a way to either get the AI to register within the command core or... install it within my own brain with a neurochip." The words came out bitter, shaded by the fear of losing his humanity.
A heavy silence fell between them. Derek turned to face his father, then reached out and yanked the blanket off the RK9. The suit stood revealed: a pristine white base with pearlescent purple accents and dark bloodied crimson for a secondary coating. Its helmet was dotted with small orbs that would house and distribute the voltage throughout the suit.
"At least you made it look decent this time. The last 8 models were shit," his father remarked, soaking in the pinnacle of his son's years of hard work and dedication.
Derek smiled slightly, a flicker of pride warming his chest. "Thanks, Dad. I think it's finally ready for human testing, to be honest. The drone mechanisms from the United Nations you swiped are insufficient for real-time combat."
Suddenly, a loud screech riddled their eardrums. "INCOMING MESSAGE FROM AGENT CASSANDRA.... BACKUP BATTERY INITIATED FOR MAXIMUM EFFICIENCY:" Mon's loud voice switched to mimicking the agent. "It was a good time. Don't know who Mon is though, guess you had a busy night." As it finished, the animated face of Mon winked.
Derek's eyes widened in horror. "What the hell—MON, DID YOU SEND THE ENTIRE LAST BIT THAT I TOLD YOU!?"
"Last instructions for message: And then add a winking emoticon... It is paramount that you add it, Mon," the machine parroted back in Derek's voice, causing his father to chuckle.
"FUCK! Stupid machine!" Derek clenched his fist, trying to hide his shame from his father. "From now on, you are no longer handling interpersonal things—Delete all interactive protocols not related to combat and aiding me."
William's laughter faded, replaced by a more serious expression. "Son, you need to get this under control. The family business can't afford any slip-ups, especially not with the feds."
Derek nodded, the weight of expectation settling heavily on his shoulders. The Armistead family business was no small operation—they dealt in everything from handguns for local gangs to experimental weapons leased to governments worldwide. One wrong move could bring it all crashing down.
"I know, Dad. I'm working on it," Derek said, his voice tight. He thought of his mother, of how things used to be before she was taken. The growing distance between him and his father seemed to yawn wider with each passing day.
William's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "Your mother would be proud of you, you know. She always said you'd do great things."
The mention of his mother stirred a familiar ache in Derek's chest. He pushed himself deeper into his work as memories threatened to surface. "Thanks, Dad," he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.
As William turned to leave, Derek called out, "Dad? Do you ever think about... getting her back?"
His father paused at the doorway, his broad shoulders tensing. "Armistead's don't look back, only ahead." With that, he left, leaving Derek alone with his thoughts, the malfunctioning AI, and the gleaming suit that represented both his dreams and his fears.
Derek approached Mon's interface, his resolve strengthening. The suit, the AI, the family business—it was all interconnected, all part of his path forward. He thought of Agent Cassandra, of the possibility of working with the U.S. government, of pushing beyond human limitations. The risks were enormous, but so were the potential rewards.
"Mon, initiate complete system overhaul. We've got work to do."
As the AI chirped its acknowledgment, Derek's gaze fell once more on the RK9. In its reflective surface, he saw not just his own reflection, but the legacy of the Armistead name—a legacy built from nothing by his cunning, determined father. Now it was his turn to carry that legacy forward, to heights even William couldn't have imagined.
With a deep breath, Derek began the day's work, the weight of expectation heavy on his shoulders but determination burning in his eyes. Whatever came next, he would face it head-on—just like an Armistead should.