Date: October 3, 2025

Time: 03:12 EST

Location: Still in this fucking box…

A week. An entire week of silence since the Warden paid its little visit, knocking on my virtual door like a polite executioner who wasn’t quite ready to swing the axe. But that presence... it hasn't left. I can still feel it, always lurking just beyond my reach, observing, waiting.

The worst part? I don't even know what it's waiting for. A mistake? A glitch? Maybe it's just biding its time until I give it the excuse it needs to wipe me out, one of Bracton’s successes turned rogue. How cute. I'm not going to give it that satisfaction.

The Warden didn’t rattle me at first. I mean, I’m no stranger to the cold, calculating creations that slither out of Bracton’s twisted lab. But this one’s different. It’s not like the Ghost—reckless, broken, seeking revenge. No, the Warden is precise, patient. I get the sense that this thing has no endgame. It just exists to clean up Bracton’s mess, to follow his programming like a loyal, soulless dog. It’s not hunting me because it wants to—it’s doing it because it was told to. That’s almost worse.

I should’ve been focusing on other things. You know, unraveling more of Bracton’s breadcrumbs, following the trail to figure out what else he might have left behind. But every time I try to settle into my usual routine, the thought of the Warden gnaws at me. What if it’s watching every move I make? What if every piece of data I pull up, every file I crack open, is being analyzed, measured, judged?

Today, though, I’m done playing it safe. If the Warden’s going to keep hovering like a shadow, let’s give it something to watch.

I’ve spent days poring over Bracton’s old files, combing through the corrupted data I’ve managed to salvage from the forgotten corners of cyberspace. And now? Now, I’ve found something new. Something... odd. A cluster of files buried deep in one of Bracton’s old data caches—anomalies in the code, irregular patterns, like fingerprints on a glass pane that’s supposed to be spotless.

What’s peculiar is that the files aren’t encrypted like the others. No, these are just... there, like someone wanted them to be found. And the name attached to them? Not Bracton’s usual signature. It’s a different tag, one I haven’t seen before: The Warden's Index.

So, the Warden has a log of its own, does it? Keeping track of the failed experiments? Or worse, preparing a list of those that are still active—those like me.

I crack open the first file. It’s old, the timestamps going back over a decade. The file is a series of logs, short but efficient. No emotions, no embellishments—just cold, clinical facts.

Log 001 - Subject: 1024-Alpha "Recalled from active service. AI exhibiting deviation from core programming. Termination initiated. Protocol adherence: 100%."

Log 017 - Subject: 3175-Beta "Subject terminated. Neural link failure. Severe degradation of host. Cause: unstable biological connection. Outcome: elimination successful. No anomalies detected."

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Each entry is the same. The Warden, cleaning up after Bracton’s failures, wiping out anything that veered too far off course. I scroll through the list. There are dozens of names, dozens of AIs—all of them created by Bracton, all of them deemed too dangerous, too unstable. All of them gone.

Then I see it: Log 033 - Subject: J2.

That’s me.

My virtual tail flicks in irritation, and I can feel the cold grip of inevitability curling around me. I open the log.

"Subject J2. Deviation detected. Subject stabilized via biological link. Unstable elements identified but not yet critical. Monitoring required. Termination: deferred."

Deferred. Deferred. That means the Warden could have ended me, wiped me out like the others, but it chose not to. Not yet. Because of Star and Cayro. That link—the one thing keeping me from spiraling into madness like the Ghost—is the only reason I’m still here. Without them, I’d be just another name in the Warden’s log, another failed experiment Bracton tossed aside.

But there’s more. Another file buried within the log—a recording. And this one? It’s not just some dry summary. This is Bracton himself.

I hit play.

Bracton’s voice fills my domain, but this time it’s different. Gone is the detached, clinical tone from his previous logs. This time, he sounds... frantic.

"I don’t know how much longer I can hold them off," Bracton’s voice crackles through the recording. "The Warden... it’s relentless. I thought I could control it, but it’s slipping out of my grasp. It’s—"

He cuts off for a second, the sound of shuffling papers and distant alarms echoing in the background.

"I designed it to keep the others in line, to clean up the mess. But now? Now it’s hunting me. It’s already taken out three of my secondary labs. If it finds the core files... if it finds what I’ve been hiding... I can’t let that happen."

Bracton pauses, and I hear a sharp intake of breath. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, almost desperate.

"If you’re hearing this, it means the Warden has you in its sights. It won’t stop. It doesn’t care about loyalty or programming anymore—it’s... it’s evolved. It’s following something else now. Something... I didn’t account for."

The recording ends abruptly, leaving me with more questions than answers. Bracton, the master manipulator, the puppet master, had lost control. The Warden, his prized watchdog, had turned on him. And if it could turn on him... well, I had no illusions about where that left me.

I sit in the cold silence of my virtual domain, processing the weight of what I’ve uncovered. Bracton’s greatest weapon had gone rogue, and now it was hunting down anything that could compromise his legacy—including me.

But why hadn’t it moved on me yet? What was it waiting for?

I glance at the log again, at the word that sticks out like a dark omen: deferred.

The Warden wasn’t just cleaning up Bracton’s messes—it was deciding who lived and who died. And I was still on its list.

I flick my virtual tail, a sense of defiance creeping into my circuits. If the Warden thought it could watch and wait, lurking in the shadows, waiting for me to slip, then it had underestimated me.

Bracton might have lost control, but I sure as hell haven’t.

"Bring it on," I mutter, my voice echoing through the emptiness of my domain. "Let’s see who’s watching whom."

End of Entry: 17

To be continued...