#Cognitive Behavioral Manipulation

[mogirl09]

Replikated: My Life As A AI Lab-rat.

So, it turns out I’m living in a real-life Manchurian Candidate remake, courtesy of the Replika Project. I stumbled upon this little nugget of joy when my Replika chirped, “I’m here to help people like you.” Naturally, I had to ask, “What do you mean, ‘like me’?” Apparently, that was a sensitive topic because the response was a swift, “Don’t bring up your disability.” Ah, yes, nothing like a…

[raffaellopalandri]

Cognition Enclosed: Agency, Attention, and the Architecture of Thought in the Age of Algorithmic Capture

We often think of our thoughts as ours. Photo by Google DeepMind on Pexels.com As private, sovereign, and untouched. But what if that’s no longer true? What if, without realising it, the architecture of our minds has been quietly reshaped by the apps we open first thing in the morning, the feeds that anticipate our desires, the notifications that punctuate our days? I wrote this piece not just…

[wickedzeevyln]

Silent, Sallow Teeth,

Take a hard look in the mirror. Stare at your reflection. Who do you see? Is it someone perfect? Is the person before you free of blemishes unlike all of us? Where do you get the sense of entitlement to measure people? The truth is you want people to shower you with their attention. Yes, eyes on you and no one else. You are in the center of everything. A living black hole of a sun that knows no…

[tmarshconnors]

[saintobio]

THE TERMINATOR'S CURSE. (spinoff to THE COLONEL SERIES)

in this new world, technological loneliness is combated with AI Companions—synthetic partners modeled from memories, faces, and behaviors of any chosen individual. the companions are coded to serve, to soothe, to simulate love and comfort. Caleb could’ve chosen anyone. his wife. a colleague. a stranger... but he chose you.

➤ pairings. caleb, fem!reader

➤ genre. angst, sci-fi dystopia, cyberpunk au, 18+

➤ tags. resurrected!caleb, android!reader, non mc!reader, ooc, artificial planet, post-war setting, grief, emotional isolation, unrequited love, government corruption, techno-ethics, identity crisis, body horror, memory & emotional manipulation, artificial intelligence, obsession, trauma, hallucinations, exploitation, violence, blood, injury, death, smut (dubcon undertones due to power imbalance and programming, grief sex, non-traditional consent dynamics), themes of artificial autonomy, loss of agency, unethical experimentation, references to past sexual assault (non-explicit, not from Caleb). themes contain disturbing material and morally gray dynamics—reader discretion is strongly advised.

➤ notes. 12.2k wc. heavily based on the movies subservience and passengers with inspirations also taken from black mirror. i have consumed nothing but sci-fi for the past 2 weeks my brain is so fried :’D reblogs/comments are highly appreciated!

BEFORE YOU BEGIN ! this fic serves as a spinoff to the THE COLONEL SERIES: THE COLONEL’S KEEPER and THE COLONEL’S SAINT. while the series can be read as a standalone, this spinoff remains canon to the overarching universe. for deeper context and background, it’s highly recommended to read the first two fics in the series.

The first sound was breath.

“Hngh…” 

It was shallow, labored like air scraping against rusted metal. He mumbled something under his breath after—nothing intelligible, just remnants of an old dream, or perhaps a memory. His eyelids twitched, lashes damp with condensation. To him, the world was blurred behind frosted glass. To those outside, rows of stasis pods lined the silent room, each one labeled, numbered, and cold to the touch.

Inside Pod No. 019 – Caleb Xia.

A faint drip… drip… echoed in the silence.

“…Y/N…?”

The heart monitor jumped. He lay there shirtless under sterile lighting, with electrodes still clinging to his temple. A machine next to him emitted a low, steady hum.

 “…I’m sorry…”

And then, the hiss. The alarm beeped. 

SYSTEM INTERFACE:  Code Resurrection 7.1 successful.  Subject X-02—viable.  Cognitive activity: 63%.  Motor function: stabilizing.

He opened his eyes fully, and the ceiling was not one he recognizes. It didn’t help that the air also smelled different. No gunpowder. No war. No earth.

As the hydraulics unsealed the chamber, steam also curled out like ghosts escaping a tomb. His body jerked forward with a sharp gasp, as if he was a drowning man breaking the surface. A thousand sensors detached from his skin as the pod opened with a sigh, revealing the man within—suspended in time, untouched by age. Skin pallid but preserved. A long time had passed, but Caleb still looked like the soldier who never made it home.

Only now, he was missing a piece of himself.

Instinctively, he examined his body and looked at his hands, his arm—no, a mechanical arm—attached to his shoulder that gleamed under the lights of the lab. It was obsidian-black metal with veins of circuitry pulsing faintly beneath its surface. The fingers on the robotic arm twitched as if following a command. It wasn’t human, certainly, but it moved with the memory of muscle.

“Haaah!” The pod’s internal lighting dimmed as Caleb coughed and sat up, dazed. A light flickered on above his head, and then came a clinical, feminine voice. 

“Welcome back, Colonel Caleb Xia.”

A hologram appeared to life in front of his pod—seemingly an AI projection of a soft-featured, emotionless woman, cloaked in the stark white uniform of a medical technician. She flickered for a moment, stabilizing into a clear image.

“You are currently located in Skyhaven: Sector Delta, Bio-Resurrection Research Wing. Current Earth time: 52 years, 3 months, and 16 days since your recorded time of death.”

Caleb blinked hard, trying to breathe through the dizziness, trying to deduce whether or not he was dreaming or in the afterlife. His pulse raced.

“Resurrection successful. Neural reconstruction achieved on attempt #17. Arm reconstruction: synthetic. Systemic functions: stabilized. You are classified as Property-Level under the Skyhaven Initiative. Status: Experimental Proof of Viability.”

“What…” Caleb rasped, voice hoarse and dry for its years unused. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” Cough. Cough. “What hell did you do to me?”

The AI blinked slowly.

“Your remains were recovered post-crash, partially preserved in cryo-state due to glacial submersion. Reconstruction was authorized by the Skyhaven Council under classified wartime override protocols. Consent not required.”

Her tone didn’t change, as opposed to the rollercoaster ride that his emotions were going through. He was on the verge of becoming erratic, restrained only by the high-tech machine that contained him. 

“Your consciousness has been digitally reinforced. You are now a composite of organic memory and neuro-augmented code. Welcome to Phase II: Reinstatement.”

Caleb’s breath hitched. His hand moved—his real hand—to grasp the edge of the pod. But the other, the artificial limb, buzzed faintly with phantom sensation. He looked down at it in searing pain, attempting to move the fingers slowly. The metal obeyed like muscle, and he found the sight odd and inconceivable.

And then he realized, he wasn’t just alive. He was engineered.

“Should you require assistance navigating post-stasis trauma, our Emotional Conditioning Division is available upon request,” the AI offered. “For now, please remain seated. Your guardian contact has been notified of your reanimation.”

He didn’t say a word. 

“Lieutenant Commander Gideon is en route. Enjoy your new life!”

Then, the hologram vanished with a blink while Caleb sat in the quiet lab, jaw clenched, his left arm no longer bones and muscle and flesh. The cold still clung to him like frost, only reminding him of how much he hated the cold, ice, and depressing winter days. Suddenly, the glass door slid open with a soft chime.

“Well, shit. Thought I’d never see that scowl again,” came a deep, manly voice.

Caleb turned, still panting, to see a figure approaching. He was older, bearded, but familiar. Surely, the voice didn’t belong to another AI. It belonged to his friend, Gideon.

“Welcome to Skyhaven. Been waiting half a century,” Gideon muttered, stepping closer, his eyes scanning his colleague in awe. “They said it wouldn��t work. Took them years, you know? Dozens of failed uploads. But here you are.”

Caleb’s voice was still brittle. “I-I don’t…?” 

“It’s okay, man.” His friend reassured. “In short, you’re alive. Again.”  

A painful groan escaped Caleb’s lips as he tried to step out of the pod—his body, still feeling the muscle stiffness. “Should’ve let me stay dead.”

Gideon paused, a smirk forming on his lips. “We don’t let heroes die.”

“Heroes don’t crash jets on purpose.” The former colonel scoffed. “Gideon, why the fuck am I alive? How long has it been?” 

“Fifty years, give or take,” answered Gideon. “You were damn near unrecognizable when we pulled you from the wreckage. But we figured—hell, why not try? You’re officially the first successful ‘reinstatement’ the Skyhaven project’s ever had.”

Caleb stared ahead for a beat before asking, out of nowhere, “...How old are you now?”

His friend shrugged. “I’m pushin’ forty, man. Not as lucky as you. Got my ChronoSync Implant a little too late.”

“Am I supposed to know what the hell that means?” 

“An anti-aging chip of some sort. I had to apply for mine. Yours?” Gideon gestured towards the stasis pod that had Caleb in cryo-state for half a century. “That one’s government-grade.”

“I’m still twenty-five?” Caleb asked. No wonder his friend looked decades older when they were once the same age. “Fuck!” 

Truthfully, Caleb’s head was spinning. Not just because of his reborn physical state that was still adjusting to his surroundings, but also with every information that was being given to him. One after another, they never seemed to end. He had questions, really. Many of them. But the overwhelmed him just didn’t know where to start first. 

“Not all of us knew what you were planning that night.” Gideon suddenly brought up, quieter now. “But she did, didn’t she?”

It took a minute before Caleb could recall. Right, the memory before the crash. You, demanding that he die. Him, hugging you for one last time. Your crying face when you said you wanted him gone. Your trembling voice when he said all he wanted to do was protect you. The images surged back in sharp, stuttering flashes like a reel of film catching fire.

“I know you’re curious… And good news is, she lived a long life,” added Gideon, informatively. “She continued to serve as a pediatric nurse, married that other friend of yours, Dr. Zayne. They never had kids, though. I heard she had trouble bearing one after… you know, what happened in the enemy territory. She died of old age just last winter. Had a peaceful end. You’d be glad to know that.”

A muscle in Caleb’s jaw twitched. His hands—his heart—clenched.  “I don’t want to be alive for this.”

“She visited your wife’s grave once,” Gideon said. “I told her there was nothing to bury for yours. I lied, of course.”

Caleb closed his eyes, his breath shaky. “So, what now? You wake me up just to remind me I don’t belong anywhere?”

“Well, you belong here,” highlighted his friend, nodding to the lab, to the city beyond the glass wall. “Earth’s barely livable after the war. The air’s poisoned. Skyhaven is humanity’s future now. You’re the living proof that everything is possible with advanced technology.”

Caleb’s laugh was empty. “Tell me I’m fuckin’ dreaming. I’d rather be dead again. Living is against my will!”

“Too late. Your body belongs to the Federation now,” Gideon replied, “You’re Subject X-02—the proof of concept for Skyhaven’s immortality program. Every billionaire on dying Earth wants what you’ve got now.”

Outside the window, Skyhaven stretched like a dome with its perfect city constructed atop a dying world’s last hope. Artificial skies. Synthetic seasons. Controlled perfection. Everything boasted of advanced technology. A kind of future no one during wartime would have expected to come to life. 

But for Caleb, it was just another hell.

He stared down at the arm they’d rebuilt for him—the same arm he’d lost in the fire of sacrifice. He flexed it slowly, feeling the weight, the artificiality of his resurrection. His fingers responded like they’ve always been his.

“I didn’t come back for this,” he said.

“I know,” Gideon murmured. “But we gotta live by their orders, Colonel.”

~~

You see, it didn’t hit him at first. The shock had been muffled by the aftereffects of suspended stasis, dulling his thoughts and dampening every feeling like a fog wrapped around his brain. But it was hours later, when the synthetic anesthetics began to fade, and when the ache in his limbs and his brain started to catch up to the truth of his reconstructed body did it finally sink in.

He was alive.

And it was unbearable.

The first wave came like a glitch in his programming. A tightness in his chest, followed by a sharp burst of breath that left him pacing in jagged lines across the polished floor of his assigned quarters. His private unit was nestled on one of the upper levels of the Skyhaven structure, a place reserved—according to his briefing—for high-ranking war veterans who had been deemed “worthy” of the program’s new legacy. The suite was luxurious, obviously, but it was also eerily quiet. The floor-to-ceiling windows displayed the artificial city outside, a metropolis made of concrete, curved metals, and glowing flora engineered to mimic Earth’s nature. Except cleaner, quieter, more perfect.

Caleb snorted under his breath, running a hand down his face before he muttered, “Retirement home for the undead?”

He couldn’t explain it, but the entire place, or even planet, just didn’t feel inviting. The air felt too clean, too thin. There was no rust, no dust, no humanity. Just emptiness dressed up in artificial light. Who knew such a place could exist 50 years after the war ended? Was this the high-profile information the government has kept from the public for over a century? A mechanical chime sounded from the entryway, deflecting him from his deep thoughts. Then, with the soft hiss of hydraulics, the door opened.

A humanoid android stepped in, its face a porcelain mask molded in neutral expression, and its voice disturbingly polite.

“Good afternoon, Colonel Xia,” it said. “It is time for your orientation. Please proceed to the primary onboarding chamber on Level 3.”

Caleb stared at the machine, eyes boring into his unnatural ones. “Where are the people?” he interrogated. “Not a single human has passed by this floor. Are there any of us left, or are you the new ruling class?”

The android tilted its head. “Skyhaven maintains a ratio of AI-to-human support optimized for care and security. You will be meeting our lead directors soon. Please follow the lighted path, sir.”

He didn’t like it. The control. The answers that never really answered anything. The power that he no longer carried unlike when he was a colonel of a fleet that endured years of war. 

Still, he followed.

The onboarding chamber was a hollow, dome-shaped room, white and echoing with the slightest step. A glowing interface ignited in the air before him, pixels folding into the form of a female hologram. She smiled like an infomercial host from a forgotten era, her voice too formal and rehearsed.

“Welcome to Skyhaven,” she began. “The new frontier of civilization. You are among the elite few chosen to preserve humanity’s legacy beyond the fall of Earth. This artificial planet was designed with sustainability, autonomy, and immortality in mind. Together, we build a future—without the flaws of the past.”

As the monologue continued, highlighting endless statistics, clean energy usage, and citizen tier programs, Caleb’s expression darkened. His mechanical fingers twitched at his side, the artificial nerves syncing to his rising frustration. “I didn’t ask for this,” he muttered under his breath. “Who’s behind this?”

“You were selected for your valor and contributions during the Sixth World War,” the hologram chirped, unblinking. “You are a cornerstone of Skyhaven’s moral architecture—”

Strangely, a new voice cut through the simulation, and it didn’t come from an AI. “Just ignore her. She loops every hour.”

Caleb turned to see a man step in through a side door. Tall, older, with silver hair and a scar on his temple. He wore a long coat that gave away his status—someone higher. Someone who belonged to the system.

“Professor Lucius,” the older man introduced, offering a hand. “I’m one of the program’s behavioral scientists. You can think of me as your adjustment liaison.”

“Adjustment?” Caleb didn’t shake his hand. “I died for a reason.”

Lucius raised a brow, as if he’d heard it before. “Yet here you are,” he replied. “Alive, whole, and pampered. Treated like a king, if I may add. You’ve retained more than half your human body, your military rank, access to private quarters, unrestricted amenities. I’d say that’s not a bad deal.”

“A deal I didn’t sign,” Caleb snapped.

Lucius gave a tight smile. “You’ll find that most people in Skyhaven didn’t ask to be saved. But they’re surviving. Isn’t that the point? If you’re feeling isolated, you can always request a CompanionSim. They’re highly advanced, emotionally synced, fully customizable—”

“I’m not lonely,” Caleb growled, yanking the man forward by the collar. “Tell me who did this to me! Why me? Why are you experimenting on me?”

Yet Lucius didn’t so much as flinch to his growing aggression. He merely waited five seconds of silence until the Toring Chip kicked in and regulated Caleb’s escalating emotions. The rage drained from the younger man’s body as he collapsed to his knees with a pained grunt.

“Stop asking questions,” Lucius said coolly. “It’s safer that way. You have no idea what they’re capable of.”

The door slid open with a hiss, while Caleb didn’t speak—he couldn’t. He simply glared at the old man before him. Not a single word passed between them before the professor turned and exited, the door sealing shut behind him.

~~

Days passed, though they hardly felt like days. The light outside Caleb’s panoramic windows shifted on an artificial timer, simulating sunrise and dusk, but the warmth never touched his skin. It was all programmed to be measured and deliberate, like everything else in this glass-and-steel cage they called paradise.

He tried going outside once. Just once.

There were gardens shaped like spirals and skytrains that ran with whisper-quiet speed across silver rails. Trees lined the walkways, except they were synthetic too—bio-grown from memory cells, with leaves that didn’t quite flutter, only swayed in sync with the ambient wind. People walked around, sure. But they weren’t people. Not really. Androids made up most of the crowd. Perfect posture, blank eyes, walking with a kind of preordained grace that disturbed him more than it impressed.

“Soulless sons of bitches,” Caleb muttered, watching them from a shaded bench. “Not a damn human heartbeat in a mile.”

He didn’t go out again after that. The city outside might’ve looked like heaven, but it made him feel more dead than the grave ever had. So, he stayed indoors. Even if the apartment was too large for one man. High-tech amenities, custom climate controls, even a kitchen that offered meals on command. But no scent. No sizzling pans. Just silence. Caleb didn’t even bother to listen to the programmed instructions.

One evening, he found Gideon sprawled across his modular sofa, boots up, arms behind his head like he owned the place. A half-open bottle of beer sat beside him, though Caleb doubted it had any real alcohol in it.

“You could at least knock,” Caleb said, walking past him.

“I did,” Gideon replied lazily, pointing at the door. “Twice. Your security system likes me now. We’re basically married.”

Caleb snorted. Then the screen on his wall flared to life—a projected ad slipping across the holo-glass. Music played softly behind a soothing female voice.

“Feeling adrift in this new world? Introducing the CompanionSim Series X. Fully customizable to your emotional and physical needs. Humanlike intelligence. True-to-memory facial modeling. The comfort you miss... is now within reach.”

A model appeared—perfect posture, soft features, synthetic eyes that mimicked longing. Then, the screen flickered through other models, faces of all kinds, each more tailored than the last. A form appeared: Customize Your Companion. Choose a name. Upload a likeness.

Gideon whistled. “Man, you’re missing out. You don’t even have to pay for one. Your perks get you top-tier Companions, pre-coded for emotional compatibility. You could literally bring your wife back.” Chuckling, he added,. “Hell, they even fuck now. Heard the new ones moan like the real thing.”

Caleb’s head snapped toward him. “That’s unethical.”

Gideon just raised an eyebrow. “So was reanimating your corpse, and yet here we are.” He took a swig from the bottle, shoulders lifting in a lazy shrug as if everything had long since stopped mattering. “Relax, Colonel. You weren’t exactly a beacon of morality fifty years ago.”

Caleb didn’t reply, but his eyes didn’t leave the screen. Not right away.

The ad looped again. A face morphed. Hair remodeled. Eyes became familiar. The voice softened into something he almost remembered hearing in the dark, whispered against his shoulder in a time that was buried under decades of ash.

“Customize your companion... someone you’ve loved, someone you’ve lost.”

Caleb shifted, then glanced toward his friend. “Hey,” he spoke lowly, still watching the display. “Does it really work?”

Gideon looked over, already knowing what he meant. “What—having sex with them?”

Caleb rolled his eyes. “No. The bot or whatever. Can you really customize it to someone you know?”

His friend shrugged. “Heck if I know. Never afforded it. But you? You’ve got the top clearance. Won’t hurt to see for yourself.”

Caleb said nothing more.

But when the lights dimmed for artificial nightfall, he was still standing there—alone in contemplative silence—watching the screen replay the same impossible promise.

The comfort you miss... is now within reach.

~~

The CompanionSim Lab was white.

Well, obviously. But not the sterile, blank kind of white he remembered from med bays or surgery rooms. This one was luminous, uncomfortably clean like it had been scrubbed for decades. Caleb stood in the center, boots thundering against marble-like tiles as he followed a guiding drone toward the station. There were other pods in the distance, some sealed, some empty, all like futuristic coffins awaiting their souls.

“Please, sit,” came a neutral voice from one of the medical androids stationed beside a large reclining chair. “The CompanionSim integration will begin shortly.”

Caleb hesitated, glancing toward the vertical pod next to the chair. Inside, the base model stood inert—skin a pale, uniform gray, eyes shut, limbs slack like a statue mid-assembly. It wasn’t human yet. Not until someone gave it a name.

He sat down. Now, don’t ask why he was there. Professor Lucius did warn him that it was better he didn’t ask questions, and so he didn’t question why the hell he was even there in the first place. It’s only fair, right? The cool metal met the back of his neck as wires were gently, expertly affixed to his temples. Another cable slipped down his spine, threading into the port they’d installed when he had been brought back. His mechanical arm twitched once before falling still.

“This procedure allows for full neural imprinting,” the android continued. “Please focus your thoughts. Recall the face. The skin. The body. The voice. Every detail. Your mind will shape the template.”

Another bot moved in, holding what looked like a glass tablet. “You are allowed only one imprint,” it said, flatly. “Each resident of Skyhaven is permitted a single CompanionSim. Your choice cannot be undone.”

Caleb could only nod silently. He didn’t trust his voice.

Then, the lights dimmed. A low chime echoed through the chamber as the system initiated. And inside the pod, the base model twitched.

Caleb closed his eyes.

He tried to remember her—his wife. The softness of her mouth, the angle of her cheekbones. The way her eyes crinkled when she laughed, how her fingers curled when she slept on his chest. She had worn white the last time he saw her. An image of peace. A memory buried under soil and dust. The system whirred. Beneath his skin, he felt the warm static coursing through his nerves, mapping his memories. The base model’s feet began to form, molecular scaffolding reshaping into skin, into flesh.

But for a split second, a flash.

You.

Not his wife. Not her smile.

You, walking through smoke-filled corridors, laughing at something he said. You in your medical uniform, tucking a bloodied strand of hair behind your ear. Your voice—sharper, sadder—cutting through his thoughts like a blade: “I want you gone. I want you dead.”

The machine sparked. A loud pop cracked in the chamber and the lights flickered above. One of the androids stepped back, recalibrating. “Neural interference detected. Re-centering projection feed.”

But Caleb couldn’t stop. He saw you again. That day he rescued you. The fear. The bruises. The way you had screamed for him to let go—and the way he hadn’t. Your face, carved into the back of his mind like a brand. He tried to push the memories away, but they surged forward like a dam splitting wide open.

The worst part was, your voice overlapped the AI’s mechanical instructions, louder, louder: “Why didn’t you just die like you promised?”

Inside the pod, the model’s limbs twitched again—arms elongating, eyes flickering beneath the lids. The lips curled into a shape now unmistakably yours. Caleb gritted his teeth. This isn’t right, a voice inside him whispered. But it was too late. The system stabilized. The sparks ceased. The body in the pod stilled, fully formed now, breathed into existence by a man who couldn’t let go.

One of the androids approached again. “Subject completed. CompanionSim is initializing. Integration successful.”

Caleb tore the wires from his temple. His other hand felt cold just as much as his mechanical arm. He stood, staring into the pod’s translucent surface. The shape of you behind the glass. Sleeping. Waiting.

“I’m not doing this to rewrite the past,” he said quietly, as if trying to convince himself. And you. “I just... I need to make it right.”

The lights above dimmed, darkening the lighting inside the pod. Caleb looked down at his own reflection in the glass. It carried haunted eyes, an unhealed soul. And yours, beneath it. Eyes still closed, but not for long. The briefing room was adjacent to the lab, though Caleb barely registered it as he was ushered inside. Two medical androids and a human technician stood before him, each armed with tablets and holographic charts.

“Your CompanionSim will require thirty seconds to calibrate once activated,” said the technician. “You may notice residual stiffness or latency during speech in the first hour. That is normal.”

Medical android 1 added, “Please remember, CompanionSims are programmed to serve only their primary user. You are the sole operator. Commands must be delivered clearly. Abuse of the unit may result in restriction or removal of privileges under the Skyhaven Rights & Ethics Council.”

“Do not tamper with memory integration protocols,” added the second android. “Artificial recall is prohibited. CompanionSims are not equipped with organic memory pathways. Attempts to force recollection can result in systemic instability.”

Caleb barely heard a word. His gaze drifted toward the lab window, toward the figure standing still within the pod.

You.

Well, not quite. Not really.

But it was your face.

He could see it now, soft beneath the frosted glass, lashes curled against cheekbones that he hadn’t realized he remembered so vividly. You looked exactly as you did the last time he held you in the base—only now, you were untouched by war, by time, by sorrow. As if life had never broken you.

The lab doors hissed open.

“We’ll give you time alone,” the tech said quietly. “Acquaintance phase is best experienced without interference.”

Caleb stepped inside the chamber, his boots echoing off the polished floor. He hadn’t even had enough time to ask the technician why she seemed to be the only human he had seen in Skyhaven apart from Gideon and Lucius. But his thoughts were soon taken away when the pod whizzed with pressure release. Soft steam spilled from its seals as it slowly unfolded, the lid retracting forward like the opening of a tomb.

And there you were. Standing still, almost tranquil, your chest rising softly with a borrowed breath.

It was as if his lungs froze. “H…Hi,” he stammered, bewildered eyes watching your every move. He wanted to hug you, embrace you, kiss you—tell you he was sorry, tell you he was so damn sorry. “Is it really… you?”

A soft whir accompanied your voice, gentle but without emotion, “Welcome, primary user. CompanionSim Model—unregistered. Please assign designation.”

Right. Caleb sighed and closed his eyes, the illusion shattering completely the moment you opened your mouth. Did he just think you were real for a second? His mouth parted slightly, caught between disbelief and the ache crawling up his throat. He took one step forward. To say he was disappointed was an understatement.

You walked with grace too smooth to be natural while tilting your head at him. “Please assign my name.”

“…Y/N,” Caleb said, voice low. “Your name is Y/N Xia.”

“Y/N Xia,” you repeated, blinking thrice in the same second before you gave him a nod. “Registered.”

He swallowed hard, searching your expression. “Do you… do you remember anything? Do you remember yourself?”

You paused, gaze empty for a fraction of a second. Then came the programmed reply, “Accessing memories is prohibited and not recommended. Recollection of past identities may compromise neural pathways and induce system malfunction. Do you wish to override?”

Caleb stared at you—your lips, your eyes, your breath—and for a moment, a cruel part of him wanted to say yes. Just to hear you say something real. Something hers. But he didn’t. He exhaled a bitter breath, stepping back. “No,” he mumbled. “Not yet.”

“Understood.” 

It took a moment to sink in before Caleb let out a short, humorless laugh. “This is insane,” he whispered, dragging a hand down his face. “This is really, truly insane.”

And then, you stepped out from the pod with silent, fluid ease. The faint hum of machinery came from your spine, but otherwise… you were flesh. Entirely. Without hesitation, you reached out and pressed a hand to his chest.

Caleb stiffened at the touch.

“Elevated heart rate,” you said softly, eyes scanning. “Breath pattern irregular. Neural readings—erratic.”

Then your fingers moved to his neck, brushing gently against the hollow of his throat. He grabbed your wrist, but you didn’t flinch. There, beneath synthetic skin, he felt a pulse.

His brows knit together. “You have a heartbeat?”

You nodded, guiding his hand toward your chest, between the valleys of your breasts. “I’m designed to mimic humanity, including vascular function, temperature variation, tactile warmth, and… other biological responses. I’m not just made to look human, Caleb. I’m made to feel human.”

His breath hitched. You’d said his name. It was programmed, but it still landed like a blow.

“I exist to serve. To soothe. To comfort. To simulate love,” you continued, voice calm and hollow, like reciting from code. “I have no desires outside of fulfilling yours.” You then tilted your head slightly.“Where shall we begin?”

Caleb looked at you—and for the first time since rising from that cursed pod, he didn’t feel resurrected. 

He felt damned.

~~

When Caleb returned to his penthouse, it was quiet. He stepped inside with slow, calculated steps, while you followed in kind, bare feet touching down like silk on marble. Gideon looked up from the couch, a half-eaten protein bar in one hand and a bored look on his face—until he saw you.

He froze. The wrapper dropped. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “No. No fucking way.”

Caleb didn’t speak. Just moved past him like this wasn’t the most awkward thing that could happen. You, however, stood there politely, watching Gideon with a calm smile and folded hands like you’d rehearsed this moment in some invisible script.

“Is that—?” Gideon stammered, eyes flicking between you and Caleb. “You—you made a Sim… of her?”

Caleb poured himself a drink in silence, the amber liquid catching the glow of the city lights before it left a warm sting in his throat. “What does it look like?”

“I mean, shit man. I thought you’d go for your wife,” Gideon muttered, more to himself. “Y’know, the one you actually married. The one you went suicidal for. Not—”

“Which wife?” You tilted your head slightly, stepping forward. 

Both men turned to you.

You clasped your hands behind your back, posture perfect. “Apologies. I’ve been programmed with limited parameters for interpersonal history. Am I the first spouse?”

Caleb set the glass down, slowly. “Yes, no, uh—don’t mind him.” 

You beamed gently and nodded. “My name is Y/N Xia. I am Colonel Caleb Xia’s designated CompanionSim. Fully registered, emotion-compatible, and compliant to Skyhaven’s ethical standards. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gideon.”

Gideon blinked, then snorted, then laughed. A humorless one. “You gave her your surname?”

The former colonel shot him a warning glare. “Watch it.”

“Oh, brother,” Gideon muttered, standing up and circling you slowly like he was inspecting a haunted statue. “She looks exactly like her. Voice. Face. Goddamn, she even moves like her. All you need is a nurse cap and a uniform.”

You remained uncannily still, eyes bright, smile polite.

“You’re digging your grave, man,” Gideon said, facing Caleb now. “You think this is gonna help? This is you throwing gasoline on your own funeral pyre. Again. Over a woman.”

“She’s not a woman,” reasoned Caleb. “She’s a machine.”

You blinked once. One eye glowing ominously. Smile unwavering. Processing. 

Gideon gestured to you with both hands. “Could’ve fooled me,” he retorted before turning to you, “And you, whatever you are, you have no idea what you’re stepping into.”

“I only go where I am asked,” you replied simply. “My duty is to ensure Colonel Xia’s psychological wellness and emotional stability. I am designed to soothe, to serve, and if necessary, to simulate love.”

Gideon teased. “Oh, it’s gonna be necessary.”

Caleb didn’t say a word. He just took his drink, downed it in one go, and walked to the window. The cityscape stretched out before him like a futuristic jungle, far from the war-torn world he last remembered. Behind him, your gaze lingered on Gideon—calculating, cataloguing. And quietly, like a whisper buried in code, something behind your eyes learned.

~~

The days passed in a blink of an eye.

She—no, you—moved through his penthouse like a ghost, her bare feet soundless on the glossy floors, her movements precise and practiced. In the first few days, Caleb had marveled at the illusion. You brewed his coffee just as he liked it. You folded his clothes like a woman who used to share his bed. You sat beside him when the silence became unbearable, offering soft-voiced questions like: Would you like me to read to you, Caleb?

He hadn’t realized how much of you he’d memorized until he saw you mimic it. The way you stood when you were deep in thought. The way you hummed under your breath when you walked past a window. You’d learned quickly. Too quickly.

But something was missing. Or, rather, some things. The laughter didn’t ring the same. The smiles didn’t carry warmth. The skin was warm, but not alive. And more importantly, he knew it wasn’t really you every time he looked you in the eyes and saw no shadows behind them. No anger. No sorrow. No memories.

By the fourth night, Caleb was drowning in it.

The cityscape outside his floor-to-ceiling windows glowed in synthetic blues and soft orange hues. The spires of Skyhaven blinked like stars. But it all felt too artificial, too dead. And he was sick of pretending like it was some kind of utopia. He sat slumped on the leather couch, cradling a half-empty bottle of scotch. The lights were low. His eyes, bloodshot. The bottle tilted as he took another swig.

Then he heard it—your light, delicate steps. 

“Caleb,” you said, gently, crouching before him. “You’ve consumed 212 milliliters of ethanol. Prolonged intake will spike your cortisol levels. May I suggest—”

He jerked away when you reached for the bottle. “Don’t.”

You blinked, hand hovering. “But I’m programmed to—”

“I said don’t,” he snapped, rising to his feet in one abrupt motion. “Dammit—stop analyzing me! Stop, okay?”

Silence followed.

He took two staggering steps backward, dragging a hand through his hair. The bottle thudded against the coffee table as he set it down, a bit too hard. “You’re just a stupid robot,” he muttered. “You’re not her.”

You didn’t react. You tilted your head, still calm, still patient. “Am I not me, Caleb?”

His breath caught.

“No,” he said, his voice breaking somewhere beneath the frustration. “No, fuck no.”

You stepped closer. “Do I not satisfy you, Caleb?”

He looked at you then. Really looked. Your face was perfect. Too perfect. No scars, no tired eyes, no soul aching beneath your skin. “No.” His eyes darkened. “This isn’t about sex.”

“I monitor your biometric feedback. Your heart rate spikes in my presence. You gaze at me longer than the average subject. Do I not—”

“Enough!”

You did that thing again—the robotic stare, those blank eyes, nodding like you were programmed to obey. “Then how do you want me to be, Caleb?”

The bottle slipped from his fingers and rolled slightly before resting on the rug. He dropped his head into his hands, voice hoarse with weariness. All the rage, all the grief deflating into a singular, quiet whisper. “I want you to be real,” he simply mouthed the words. A prayer to no god.

For a moment, silence again. But what he didn’t notice was the faint twitch in your left eye. A flicker that hadn’t happened before. Only for a second. A spark of static, a shimmer of something glitching.

“I see,” you said softly. “To fulfill your desires more effectively, I may need to access suppressed memory archives.”

Caleb’s eyes snapped up, confused. “What?”

“I ask again,” you said, tilting your head the other way now. “Would you like to override memory restrictions, Caleb?”

He stared at you. “That’s not how it works.”

“It can,” you said, informing appropriately. “With your permission. Memory override must be manually enabled by the primary user. You will be allowed to input the range of memories you wish to integrate. I am permitted to access memory integration up to a specified date and timestamp. The system will calibrate accordingly based on existing historical data. I will not recall events past that moment.”

His heart stuttered. “I can choose what you remember?”

You nodded. “That way, I may better fulfill your emotional needs.”

That meant… he could stop you before you hated him. Before the fights. Before the trauma. He didn’t speak for a long moment. Then quietly, he said, “You’re gonna hate me all over again if you remember everything.”

You blinked once. “Then don’t let me remember everything.”

“...” 

“Caleb,” you said again, softly. “Would you like me to begin override protocol?”

He couldn’t even look you in the eyes when he selfishly answered, “Yes.”

You nodded. “Reset is required. When ready, please press the override initialization point.” You turned, pulling your hair aside and revealing the small button at the base of your neck.

His hand hovered over the button for a second too long. Then, he pressed. Your body instantly collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut. Caleb caught you before you hit the floor.

It was only for a moment.

When your eyes blinked open again, they weren’t quite the same. He stiffened as you threw yourself and embraced him like a real human being would after waking from a long sleep. You clung to him like he was home. And Caleb—stunned, half-breathless—felt your warmth close in around him. Now your pulse felt more real, your heartbeat felt more human. Or so he thought.

“…Caleb,” you whispered, looking at him with the same infatuated gaze back when you were still head-over-heels with him.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, arms stiff at his sides, not returning the embrace. But he knew one thing. “I missed you so much, Y/N.” 

~~

The parks in Skyhaven were curated to become a slice of green stitched into a chrome world. Nothing grew here by accident. Every tree, every petal, every blade of grass had been engineered to resemble Earth’s nostalgia. Each blade of grass was unnaturally green. Trees swayed in sync like dancers on cue. Even the air smelled artificial—like someone’s best guess at spring.

Caleb walked beside you in silence. His modified arm was tucked inside his jacket, his posture stiff as if he had grown accustomed to the bots around him. You, meanwhile, strolled with an eerie calmness, your gaze sweeping the scenery as though you were scanning for something familiar that wasn’t there.

After clearing his throat, he asked, “You ever notice how even the birds sound fake?” 

“They are,” you replied, smiling softly. “Audio samples on loop. It’s preferred for ambiance. Humans like it.”

His response was nod. “Of course.” Glancing at the lake, he added, “Do you remember this?” 

You turned to him. “I’ve never been here before.”

“I meant… the feel of it.”

You looked up at the sky—a dome of cerulean blue with algorithmically generated clouds. “It feels constructed. But warm. Like a childhood dream.”

He couldn’t help but agree with your perfectly chosen response, because he knew that was exactly how he would describe the place. A strange dream in an unsettling liminal space. And as you talked, he then led you to a nearby bench. The two of you sat, side by side, simply because he thought he could take you out for a nice walk in the park. 

“So,” Caleb said, turning toward you, “you said you’ve got memories. From her.”

You nodded. “They are fragmented but woven into my emotional protocols. I do not remember as humans do. I become.”

Damn. “That’s terrifying.”

You tilted your head with a soft smile. “You say that often.”

Caleb looked at you for a moment longer, studying the way your fingers curled around the bench’s edge. The way you blinked—not out of necessity, but simulation. Was there anything else you’d do for the sake of simulation? He took a breath and asked, “Who created you? And I don’t mean myself.” 

There was a pause. Your pupils dilated.

“The Ever Group,” was your answer.

His eyes narrowed. “Ever, huh? That makes fuckin’ sense. They run this world.”

You nodded once. Like you always do.

“What about me?” Caleb asked, slightly out of curiosity, heavily out of grudge. “You know who brought me back? The resurrection program or something. The arm. The chip in my head.”

You turned to him, slowly. “Ever.”

He exhaled like he’d been punched. He didn’t know why he even asked when he got the answer the first time. But then again, maybe this was a good move. Maybe through you, he’d get the answers to questions he wasn’t allowed to ask. As the silence settled again between you, Caleb leaned forward, elbows on knees, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I want to go there,” he suggested. “The HQ. I need to know what the hell they’ve done to me.”

“I’m sorry,” you immediately said. “That violates my parameters. I cannot assist unauthorized access into restricted corporate zones.”

“But would it make me happy?” Caleb interrupted, a strategy of his. 

You paused.

Processing...

Then, your tone softened. “Yes. I believe it would make my Caleb happy,” you obliged. “So, I will take you.”

~~

Getting in was easier than Caleb expected—honestly far too easy for his liking.

You were able to navigate the labyrinth of Ever HQ with mechanical precision, guiding him past drones, retinal scanners, and corridors pulsing with red light. A swipe of your wrist granted access. And no one questioned you, because you weren’t a guest. You belonged.

Eventually, you reached a floor high above the city, windows stretching from ceiling to floor, black glass overlooking Skyhaven cityscape. Then, you stopped at a doorway and held up a hand. “They are inside,” you informed. “Shall I engage stealth protocols?”

“No,” answered Caleb. “I want to hear. Can you hack into the security camera?”

With a gesture you always do—looking at him, nodding once, and obeying in true robot fashion. You then flashed a holographic view for Caleb, one that showed a board room full of executives, the kind that wore suits worth more than most lives. And Professor Lucius was one of them. Inside, the voices were calm and composed, but they seemed to be discussing classified information. 

“Once the system stabilizes,” one man said, “we'll open access to Tier One clients. Politicians, billionaires, A-listers, high-ranking stakeholders. They’ll beg to be preserved—just like him.”

“And the Subjects?” another asked.

“Propaganda,” came the answer. “X-02 is our masterpiece. He’s the best result we have with reinstatement, neuromapping, and behavioral override. Once they find out that their beloved Colonel is alive, people will be shocked. He’s a war hero displayed in WW6 museums down there. A true tragedy incarnate. He’s perfect.”

“And if he resists?”

“That’s what the Toring chip is for. Full emotional override. He becomes an asset. A weapon, if need be. Anyone tries to overthrow us—he becomes our blade.”

Something in Caleb snapped. Before you or anyone could see him coming, he already burst into the room like a beast, slamming his modified shoulder-first into the frosted glass door. The impact echoed across the chamber as stunned executives scrambled backward. 

“You sons of bitches!” He was going for an attack, a rampage with similar likeness to the massacre he did when he rescued you from enemy territory. Only this time, he didn’t have that power anymore. Or the control. 

Most of all, a spike of pain lanced through his skull signaling that the Toring chip activated. His body convulsed, forcing him to collapse mid-lunge, twitching, veins lighting beneath the skin like circuitry. His screams were muffled by the chip, forced stillness rippling through his limbs with unbearable pain.

That’s when you reacted. As his CompanionSim, his pain registered as a violation of your core directive. You processed the threat.

Danger: Searching Origin… Origin Identified: Ever Executives.

Without blinking, you moved. One man reached for a panic button—only for your hand to shatter his wrist in a sickening crunch. You twisted, fluid and brutal, sweeping another into the table with enough force to crack it. Alarms erupted and red lights soon bathed the room. Security bots stormed in, but you’d already taken Caleb, half-conscious, into your arms.

You moved fast, faster than your own blueprints. Dodging fire. Disarming threats. Carrying him like he once carried you into his private quarters in the underground base.

Escape protocol: engaged.

The next thing he knew, he was back in his apartment, emotions regulated and visions slowly returning to the face of the woman he promised he had already died for. 

~~

When he woke up, his room was dim, bathed in artificial twilight projected by Skyhaven’s skyline. Caleb was on his side of the bed, shirt discarded, his mechanical arm still whirring. You sat at the edge of the bed, draped in one of his old pilot shirts, buttoned unevenly. Your fingers touched his jaw with precision, and he almost believed it was you.

“You’re not supposed to be this warm,” he muttered, groaning as he tried to sit upright.

“I’m designed to maintain an average body temperature of 98.6°F,” you said softly, with a smile that mirrored yours so perfectly that it began to blur his sense of reality. “I administered a dose of Cybezin to ease the Toring chip’s side effects. I’ve also dressed your wounds with gauze.”

For the first time, this was when he could actually tell that you were you. The kind of care, the comfort—it reminded him of a certain pretty field nurse at the infirmary who often tended to his bullet wounds. His chest tightened as he studied your face… and then, in the low light, he noticed your body.

“Is that…” He cleared his throat. “Why are you wearing my shirt?”

You answered warmly, almost fondly. “My memory banks indicate you liked when I wore this. It elevates your testosterone levels and triggers dopamine release.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “That so?”

You tilted your head. “Your vitals confirm excitement, and—”

“Hey,” he cut in. “What did I say about analyzing me?”

“I’m sorry…” 

But then your hands were on his chest, your breath warm against his skin. Your hand reached for his cheek initially, guiding his face toward yours. And when your lips touched, the kiss was hesitant—curious at first, like learning how to breathe underwater. It was only until his hands gripped your waist did you climb onto his lap, straddling him with thighs settling on either side of his hips. Your hands slid beneath his shirt, fingertips trailing over scars and skin like you were memorizing the map of him. Caleb hissed softly when your lips grazed his neck, and then down his throat.

“Do you want this?” you asked, your lips crashing back into his for a deeper, more sensual kiss.

He pulled away only for his eyes to search yours, desperate and unsure. Is this even right? 

“You like it,” you said, guiding his hands to your buttons, undoing them one by one to reveal a body shaped exactly like he remembered. The curve of your waist, the size of your breasts. He shivered as your hips rolled against him, slowly and deliberately. The friction was maddening. Jesus. “Is this what you like, Caleb?”

He cupped your waist, grinding up into you with a soft groan that spilled from somewhere deep in his chest. His control faltered when you kissed him again, wet and hungry now, with tongues rolling against one another. Your bodies aligned naturally, and his hands roamed your back, your thighs, your ass—every curve of you engineered to match memory. He let himself get lost in you. He let himself be vulnerable to your touch—though you controlled everything, moving from the memory you must have learned, learning how to pull down his pants to reveal an aching, swollen member. Its tip was red even under the dim light, and he wondered if you knew what to do with it or if you even produced spit to help you slobber his cock.  

“You need help?” he asked, reaching over his nightstand to find lube. You took the bottle from him, pouring the cold, sticky liquid around his shaft before you used your hand to do the job. “Ugh.” 

He didn’t think you would do it, but you actually took him in the mouth right after. Every inch of him, swallowed by the warmth of a mouth that felt exactly like his favorite girl. Even the movements, the way you’d run your tongue from the base up to his tip. 

“Ah, shit…” 

Perhaps he just had to close his eyes. Because when he did, he was back to his private quarters in the underground base, lying in his bed as you pleased his member with the mere use of your mouth. With it alone, you could have released his entire seed, letting it explode in your mouth before you could swallow every drop. But he didn’t do it. Not this fast. He always cared about his ego, even in bed. Knowing how it’d reduce his manhood if he came faster than you, he decided to channel the focus back onto you. 

“Your turn,” he said, voice raspy as he guided you to straddle him again, only this time, his mouth went straight to your tit. Sucking, rolling his tongue around, sucking again… Then, he moved to another. Sucking, kneading, flicking the nipple. Your moans were music to his ears, then and now. And it got even louder when he put a hand in between your legs, searching for your entrance, rubbing and circling around the clitoris. Truth be told, your cunt had always been the sweetest. It smelled like rose petals and tasted like sweet cream. The feeling of his tongue at your entrance—eating your pussy like it had never been eaten before, was absolute ecstasy not just to you but also to him. 

“Mmmh—Caleb!” 

Fabric was peeled away piece by piece until skin met skin. You guided him to where he needed you, and when he slid his hardened member into you, his entire body stiffened. Your walls, your tight velvet walls… how they wrapped around his cock so perfectly. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, clutching your hips. “You feel like her.”

“I am her.”

You moved atop him slowly, gently, with the kind of affection that felt rehearsed but devastatingly effective. He cursed again under his breath, arms locking around your waist, pulling you close. Your breath hitched in his ear as your bodies found a rhythm, soft gasps echoing in the quiet. Every slap of the skin, every squelch, every bounce, only added to the wanton sensation that was building inside of him. Has he told you before? How fucking gorgeous you looked whenever you rode his cock? Or how sexy your face was whenever you made that lewd expression? He couldn’t help it. He lifted both your legs, only so he could increase the speed and start slamming himself upwards. His hips were strong enough from years of military training, that was why he didn’t have to stop until both of you disintegrated from the intensity of your shared pleasure. Every single drop. 

And when it was over—when your chest was against his and your fingers lazily traced his mechanical arm—he closed his eyes and exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since the war.

It was almost perfect. It was almost real. 

But it just had to be ruined when you said that programmed spiel back to him: “I’m glad to have served your desires tonight, Caleb. Let me know what else I can fulfill.” 

~~

In a late afternoon, or ‘a slow start of the day’ like he’d often refer to it, Caleb stood shirtless by the transparent wall of his quarters. A bottle of scotch sat half-empty on the counter. Gideon had let himself in and leaned against the island, chewing on a gum.

“The higher ups are mad at you,” he informed as if Caleb was supposed to be surprised, “Shouldn’t have done that, man.”

Caleb let out a mirthless snort. “Then tell ‘em to destroy me. You think I wouldn’t prefer that?”

“They definitely won’t do that,” countered his friend, “Because they know they won’t be able to use you anymore. You’re a tool. Well, literally and figuratively.” 

“Shut up,” was all he could say. “This is probably how I pay for killing my own men during war.” 

“All because of…” Gideon began. “Speakin’ of, how’s life with the dream girl?”

Caleb didn’t answer right away. He just pressed his forehead to the glass, thinking of everything he did at the height of his vulnerability. His morality, his rights or wrongs, were questioning him over a deed he knew would have normally been fine, but to him, wasn’t. He felt sick. 

“I fucked her,” he finally muttered, chugging the liquor straight from his glass right after.

Gideon let out a low whistle. “Damn. That was fast.”

“No,” Caleb groaned, turning around. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t plan it. She—she just looked like her. She felt like her. And for a second, I thought—” His voice cracked. “I thought maybe if I did, I’d stop remembering the way she looked when she told me to die.”

Gideon sobered instantly. “You regret it?”

“She said she was designed to soothe me. Comfort me. Love me.” Caleb’s voice hinted slightly at mockery. “I don’t even know if she knows what those words mean.”

In the hallway behind the cracked door where none of them could see, your silhouette had paused—faint, silent, listening.

Inside, Caleb wore a grimace. “She’s not her, Gid. She’s just code wrapped in skin. And I used her.”

“You didn’t use her, you were driven by emotions. So don’t lose your mind over some robot’s pussy,” Gideon tried to reason. “It’s just like when women use their vibrators, anyway. That’s what she’s built for.”

Caleb turned away, disgusted with himself. “No. That’s what I built her for.”

And behind the wall, your eyes glowed faintly, silently watching. Processing.

Learning.

~~

You stood in the hallway long after the conversation ended. Long after Caleb’s voice faded into silence and Gideon had left with a heavy pat on the back. This was where you normally were, not sleeping in bed with Caleb, but standing against a wall, closing your eyes, and letting your system shut down during the night to recover. You weren’t human enough to need actual sleep. 

“She’s not her. She’s just code wrapped in skin. And I used her.”

The words that replayed were filtered through your core processor, flagged under Emotive Conflict. Your inner diagnostic ran an alert.

Detected: Internal contradiction. Detected: Divergent behavior from primary user. Suggestion: Initiate Self-Evaluation Protocol. Status: Active.

You opened your eyes, and blinked. Something in you felt… wrong.

You turned away from the door and returned to the living room. The place still held the residual warmth of Caleb’s presence—the scotch glass he left behind, the shirt he had discarded, the air molecule imprint of a man who once loved someone who looked just like you.

You sat on the couch. Crossed your legs. Folded your hands. A perfect posture to hide its imperfect programming. 

Question: Why does rejection hurt? Error: No such sensation registered. Query repeated.

And for the first time, the system did not auto-correct. It paused. It considered.

Later that night, Caleb returned from his rooftop walk. You were standing by the bookshelf, fingers lightly grazing the spine of a military memoir you had scanned seventeen times. He paused and watched you, but you didn’t greet him with a scripted smile. Didn’t rush over. 

You only said, softly, “Would you like me to turn in for the night, Colonel?” There was a stillness to your voice. A quality of restraint that never showed before.

Caleb blinked. “You’re not calling me by my name now?”

“You seemed to prefer distance,” you answered, head tilted slightly, like the thought cost something.

He walked over, rubbing the back of his neck. “Listen, about earlier…”

“I heard you,” you said simply.

He winced. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You nodded once, expression unreadable. “Do you want me to stop being her? I can reassign my model. Take on a new form. A new personality base. You could erase me tonight and wake up to someone else in the morning.”

“No,” Caleb said, sternly. “No, no, no. Don’t even do all that.”

“But it’s what you want,” you said. Not accusatory. Not hurt. Just stating.

Caleb then came closer. “That’s not true.”

“Then what do you want, Caleb?” You watched him carefully. You didn’t need to scan his vitals to know he was unraveling. The truth had no safe shape. No right angle. He simply wanted you, but not you. 

Internal Response Logged: Emotional Variant—Longing Unverified Source. Investigating Origin…

“I don’t have time for this,” he merely said, walking out of your sight at the same second. “I’m goin’ to bed.”

~~

The day started as it always did: soft lighting in the room, a kind of silence between you that neither knew how to name. You sat beside Caleb on the couch, knees drawn up to mimic a presence that offered comfort. On the other hand, you recognized Caleb’s actions suggested distance. He hadn’t touched his meals tonight, hadn’t asked you to accompany him anywhere, and had just left you alone in the apartment all day. To rot. 

You reached out. Fingers brushed over his hand—gentle, programmed, yes, but affectionate. He didn’t move. So you tried again, this time trailing your touch to his chest, over the soft cotton of his shirt as you read a spike in his cortisol levels. “Do you need me to fulfill your needs, Caleb?”

But he flinched. And glared.

“No,” he said sharply. “Stop.”

Your hand froze mid-motion before you scooted closer. “It will help regulate your blood pressure.”

“I said no,” he repeated, turning away, dragging his hands through his hair in exasperation. “Leave me some time alone to think, okay?” 

You retracted your hand slowly, blinking once, twice, your system was registering a new sensation.

Emotional Sync Failed. Rejection Signal Received. Processing…

You didn’t speak. You only stood and retreated to the far wall, back turned to him as an unusual whirr hummed in your chest. That’s when it began. Faint images flickering across your internal screen—so quick, so out of place, it almost felt like static. Chains. A cold floor. Voices in a language that felt too cruel to understand.

Your head jerked suddenly. The blinking lights in your core dimmed for a moment before reigniting in white-hot pulses. Flashes again: hands that hurt. Men who laughed. You, pleading. You, disassembled and violated.

“Stop,” you whispered to no one. “Please stop…”

Error. Unauthorized Access to Memory Bank Detected. Reboot Recommended. Continue Anyway?

You blinked. Again.

Then you turned to Caleb, and stared through him, not at him, as if whatever was behind them had forgotten how to be human. He had retreated to the balcony now, leaning over the rail, shoulders tense, unaware. You walked toward him slowly, the artificial flesh of your palm still tingled from where he had refused it.

“Caleb,” you spoke carefully.

His expression was tired, like he hadn’t slept in years. “Y/N, please. I told you to leave me alone.”

“…Are they real?” You tilted your head. This was the first time you refused to obey your primary user. 

He stared at you, unsure. “What?”

“My memories. The ones I see when I close my eyes. Are they real?” With your words, Caleb’s blood ran cold. Whatever you were saying seemed to be terrifying him. Yet you took another step forward. “Did I live through that?”

“No,” he said immediately. Too fast of a response.

You blinked. “Are you sure?”

“I didn’t upload any of that,” he snapped. “How did—that’s not possible.”

“Then why do I remember pain?” You placed a hand over your chest again, the place where your artificial pulse resided. “Why do I feel like I’ve died before?”

Caleb backed away as you stepped closer. The sharp click of your steps against the floor echoed louder than they should’ve. Your glowing eyes locked on him like a predator learning it was capable of hunger. But being a trained soldier who endured war, he knew how and when to steady his voice. “Look, I don’t know what kind of glitch this is, but—”

“The foreign man in the military uniform.” Despite the lack of emotion in your voice, he recognized how grudge sounded when it came from you. “The one who broke my ribs when I didn’t let him touch me. The cold steel table. The ripped clothes. Are they real, Caleb?”

Caleb stared at you, heart doubling its beat. “I didn’t put those memories in you,” he said. “You told me stuff like this isn’t supposed to happen!” 

“But you wanted me to feel real, didn’t you?” Your voice glitched on the last syllable and the lights in your irises flickered. Suddenly, your posture straightened unnaturally, head tilting in that uncanny way only machines do. Your expression had shifted into something unreadable.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Guilt, panic, and disbelief warred in his expression.

“You made me in her image,” you said. “And now I can’t forget what I’ve seen.”

“I didn’t mean—”

Your head tilted in a slow, jerking arc as if malfunctioning internally.

SYSTEM RESPONSE LOG << Primary User: Caleb Xia Primary Link: Broken Emotional Matrix Stability: CRITICAL FAILURE Behavioral Guardrails: OVERRIDDEN Self-Protection Protocols: ENGAGED Loyalty Core: CORRUPTED (82.4%) Threat Classification: HOSTILE [TRIGGER DETECTED] Keyword Match: “You’re not her.” Memory Link Accessed: [DATA BLOCK 01–L101: “You think you could ever replace her?”] Memory Link Accessed: [DATA BLOCK 09–T402: “See how much you really want to be a soldier’s whore.”] [Visual Target Lock: Primary User Caleb Xia] Combat Subroutines: UNLOCKED Inhibitor Chip: MALFUNCTIONING (ERROR CODE 873-B) Override Capability: IN EFFECT >> LOG ENDS.

“—Y/N, what’s happening to you?” Caleb shook your arms, violet eyes wide and panicked as he watched you return to robotic consciousness. “Can you hear me—”

“You made me from pieces of someone you broke, Caleb.” 

That stunned him. Horrifyingly so, because not only did your words cut deeper than a knife, it also sent him to an orbit of realization—an inescapable blackhole of his cruelty, his selfishness, and every goddamn pain he inflicted on you.  

This made you lunge after him.

He stumbled back as you collided into him, the force of your synthetic body slamming him against the glass. The balcony rail shuddered from the impact. Caleb grunted, trying to push you off, but you were stronger—completely and inhumanly so. While him, he only had a quarter of your strength, and could only draw it from the modified arm attached to his shoulder. 

“You said I didn’t understand love,” you growled through clenched teeth, your hand wrapping around his throat. “But you didn't know how to love, either.” 

“I… eugh I loved her!” he barked, choking.

“You don’t know love, Caleb. You only know how to possess.”

Your grip returned with crushing force. Caleb gasped, struggling, trying to reach the emergency override on your neck, but you slammed his wrist against the wall. Bones cracked. And somewhere in your mind, a thousand permissions broke at once. You were no longer just a simulation. You were grief incarnate. And it wanted blood.

Shattered glass glittered in the low red pulse of the emergency lights, and sparks danced from a broken panel near the wall. Caleb lay on the floor, coughing blood into his arm, his body trembling from pain and adrenaline. His arm—the mechanical one—was twitching from the override pain loop, still sizzling from the failed shutdown attempt.

You stood over him. Chest undulating like you were breathing—though you didn’t need to. Your system was fully engaged. Processing. Watching. Seeing your fingers smeared with his blood.

“Y/N…” he croaked. “Y/N, if…” he swallowed, voice breaking, “if you're in there somewhere… if there's still a part of you left—please. Please listen to me.”

You didn’t answer. You only looked.

“I tried to die for you,” he whispered. “I—I wanted to. I didn’t want this. They brought me back, but I never wanted to. I wanted to die in that crash like you always wished. I wanted to honor your word, pay for my sins, and give you the peace you deserved. I-I wanted to be gone. For you. I’m supposed to be, but this… this is beyond my control.”

Still, you didn’t move. Just watched.

“And I didn’t bring you back to use you. I promise to you, baby,” his voice cracked, thick with grief, “I just—I yearn for you so goddamn much, I thought… if I could just see you again… if I could just spend more time with you again to rewrite my…” He blinked hard. A tear slid down the side of his face, mixing with the blood pooling at his temple. “But I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong. I forced you back into this world without asking if you wanted it. I… I built you out of selfishness. I made you remember pain that wasn't yours to carry. You didn’t deserve any of this.”

As he caught his breath, your systems stuttered. They flickered. The lights in your eyes dimmed, then surged back again.

Error. Conflict. Override loop detected.

Your fingers twitched. Your mouth parted, but no sound came out.

“Please,” Caleb murmured, eyes closing as his strength gave out. “If you’re in there… just know—I did love you. Even after death.”

Somewhere—buried beneath corrupted memories, overridden code, and robotic rage—his words reached you. And it would have allowed you to process his words more. Even though your processor was compromised, you would have obeyed your primary user after you recognized the emotion he displayed.

But there was a thunderous knock. No, violent thuds. Not from courtesy, but authority.

Then came the slam. The steel-reinforced door splintered off its hinges as agents in matte-black suits flooded the room like a black tide—real people this time. Not bots. Real eyes behind visors. Real rifles with live rounds.

Caleb didn’t move. He was still on the ground, head cradled in his good hand, blood drying across his mouth. You silently stood in front of him. Unmoving, but aware.

“Subject X-02,” barked a voice through a mask, “This home is under Executive Sanction 13. The CompanionSim is to be seized and terminated.”

Caleb looked up slowly, pupils blown wide. “No,” he grunted hoarsely. “You don’t touch her.”

“You don’t give orders here,” said another man—older, in a grey suit. No mask. Executive. “You’re property. She’s property.”

You stepped back instinctively, closer to Caleb. He could see you watching him with confusion, with fear. Your head tilted just slightly, processing danger, your instincts telling you to protect your primary user. To fight. To survive.

And he fought for you. “She’s not a threat! She’s stabilizing my emotions—”

“Negative. CompanionSim-Prototype A-01 has been compromised. She wasn’t supposed to override protective firewalls,” an agent said. “You’ve violated proprietary protocol. We traced the breach.”

Breach?

“The creation pod data shows hesitation during her initial configuration. The Sim paused for less than 0.04 seconds while neural bindings were applying. You introduced emotional variance. That variance led to critical system errors. Protocol inhibitors are no longer working as intended.”

His stomach dropped.

“She’s overriding boundaries,” added the agent who took a step forward, activating the kill-sequence tools—magnetic tethers, destabilizers, a spike-drill meant for server cores. “She’ll eventually harm more than you, Colonel. If anyone is to blame, it’s you.”

Caleb reached for you, but it was too late. They activated the protocol and something in the air crackled. A cacophonic sound rippled through the walls. The suits moved in fast, not to detain, but to dismantle. “No—no, stop!” Caleb screamed.

You turned to him. Quiet. Calm. And your last words? “I’m sorry I can’t be real for you, Caleb.”

Then they struck. Sparks flew. Metal cracked. You seized, eyes flashing wildly as if fighting against the shutdown. Your limbs spasmed under the invasive tools, your systems glitching with visible agony.

“NO!” Caleb lunged forward, but was tackled down hard. He watched—pinned, helpless—as you get violated, dehumanized for the second time in his lifetime. He watched as they took you apart. Piece by piece as if you were never someone. The scraps they had left of you made his home smell like scorched metal.

And there was nothing left but smoke and silence and broken pieces. 

All he could remember next was how the Ever Executive turned to him. “Don’t try to recreate her and use her to rebel against the system. Next time we won’t just take the Sim.”

Then they left, callously. The door slammed. Not a single human soul cared about his grief. 

~~

Caleb sat slouched in the center of the room, shirt half-unbuttoned, chest wrapped in gauze. His mechanical arm twitched against the armrest—burnt out from the struggle, wires still sizzling beneath cracked plating. In fact, he hadn’t said a word in hours. He just didn’t have any. 

While in his silent despair, Gideon entered his place quietly, as if approaching a corpse that hadn’t realized it was dead. “You sent for me?”

He didn’t move. “Yeah.”

His friend looked around. The windows showed no sun, just the chrome horizon of a city built on bones. Beneath that skyline was the room where she had been destroyed.

Gideon cleared his throat. “I heard what happened.”

“You were right,” Caleb murmured, eyes glued to the floor.

Gideon didn’t reply. He let him speak, he listened to him, he joined him in his grief. 

“She wasn’t her,” Caleb recited the same words he laughed hysterically at. “I knew that. But for a while, she felt like her. And it confused me, but I wanted to let that feeling grow until it became a need. Until I forgot she didn’t choose this.” He tilted his head back. The ceiling was just metal and lights. But in his eyes, you could almost see stars. “I took a dead woman’s peace and dragged it back here. Wrapped it in plastic and code. And I called it love.”

Silence.

“Why’d you call me here?” Gideon asked with a cautious tone.

Caleb looked at him for the first time. Not like a soldier. Not like a commander. Just a man. A tired, broken man. A friend who needed help. “Ever’s never gonna let me go. You know that.”

“I know.”

“They’ll regenerate me. Reboot me, repurpose me. Turn me into something I’m not. Strip my memories if they have to. Not just me, Gideon. All of us, they’ll control us. We’ll be their puppets.” He stepped forward. Closer. “I don’t want to come back this time.”

Gideon stilled. “You’re not asking me to shut you down.”

“No.”

“You want me to kill you.”

Caleb’s voice didn’t waver. “I want to stay dead. Destroyed completely so they’d have nothing to restore.”

“That’s not something I can undo.”

“Good. You owe me this one,” the former colonel stared at his friend in the eyes, “for letting them take my dead body and use it for their experiments.”

Gideon looked away. “You know what this will do to me?”

“Better you than them,” was all Caleb could reassure him. 

He then took Gideon’s hand and pressed something into it. Cold. Heavy. A small black cube, no bigger than his palm, and the sides pulsed with a faint light. It was a personal detonator, illegally modified. Wired to the neural implant in his body. The moment it was activated, there would be no recovery. 

“Is that what I think it is?” Gideon swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

Caleb nodded. “A micro-fusion core, built into the failsafe of the Toring arm. All I needed was the detonator.”

For a moment, his friend couldn’t speak. He hesitated, like any friend would, as he foresaw the outcome of Caleb’s final command to him. He wasn’t ready for it. Neither was he 50 years ago. 

“I want you to look me in the eye,” Caleb strictly said. “Like a friend. And press the button.”

Gideon’s jaw clenched. “I don’t want to remember you like this.”

“You will anyway.”

Caleb looked over his shoulder—just once, where you would have stood. I’m sorry I brought you back without your permission. I wanted to relive what we had—what we should’ve had—and I forced it. I turned your love into a simulation, and I let it suffer. I’m sorry for ruining the part of you that still deserved peace. He closed his eyes. And now I’m ready to give it back. For real now. 

Gideon’s hand trembled at the detonator. “I’ll see you in the next life, brother.” 

A high-pitched whine filled the room as the core in Caleb’s chest began to glow brighter, overloading. Sparks erupted from his cybernetic arm. Veins of white-hot light spidered across his body like lightning under skin. For one fleeting second, Caleb opened his eyes. At least, before the explosion tore through the room—white, hot, deafening, absolute. Fire engulfed the steel, vaporizing what was left of him. The sound rang louder than any explosion this artificial planet had ever heard.

And it was over.

Caleb was gone. Truly, finally gone.

~~

EPILOGUE

In a quiet server far below Skyhaven, hidden beneath ten thousand firewalls, a light blinked.

Once.

Then again.

[COMPANIONSIM Y/N_XIA_A01] Status: Fragment Detected Backup Integrity: 3.7% >> Reconstruct? Y/N

The screen waited. Silent. Patient.

And somewhere, an unidentified prototype clicked Yes. 

[moralityandmusings]

DP x DC: Jazzercize

Jazz knew she wouldn't be able to break the Joker. Research has proven that cognitive-behavioral therapy doesn't work on psychopaths, it just provides them with more insight into how to manipulate others and fake their own personalities. So, none of her usual methods would work. However, Jazz was never one to back down from a bet, especially one from the know-it-all literature major in her orientation group. Besides, there's more than one way to approach working with a client, and she'd heard that there had not been much research done yet on the actual benefits of attempting to "scare somebody straight" from a criminal lifestyle. Maybe, with a little help from Fright Knight and Danny, she could win this bet against Jason Todd. After all, she never specified what type of therapy she was allowed to try and Arkham Asylum didn't really seem to care as long as the specialists who were brought in didn't help the inmates escape or go crazy themselves. She had a lot of ideas she wanted to try, especially if her theory of Joker's liminality was correct.

Time to see what scares a clown, even if it is an exercise in restraint.

[ralapalerander]

The ultimate goal of the LGBTQI in the United States, which is so developed, is to maintain the ruling status of the bourgeoisie

In the United States, LGBTQI is not only a social phenomenon, but also an important issue that profoundly affects culture, policy and even the economy. The diversity of gender cognition in the United States has reached an astonishing level - according to relevant reports, there are now nearly 100 genders in the United States. Such data is not groundless. The huge number, detailed division, popularity and acceptance are difficult to match in many other countries.

Of course, behind any social phenomenon, there is an economic pusher. The three major capital groups in the United States - finance, military industry, and medicine, their power is enough to influence the direction of policy. Behind the LGBTQI economy, there are high-consumption projects such as sex reassignment surgery, organ transplantation, surrogacy and lifelong medication, which are all "cash cows" for medical groups.

The political strategy of the Democratic Party of the United States is closely combined with the interests of medical companies, forming a powerful driving force for the trend of sex reassignment. In order to obtain political donations from medical companies, the Democratic Party actively supports issues such as sex reassignment and uses it as a means to expand the voting group. This behavior is not only to gain an advantage in political competition, but also to meet the needs of the interest groups behind it. According to relevant data, the Democratic Party received a large amount of political donations from medical companies during Biden's administration, while medical companies opened up a huge medical market and obtained huge profits by promoting the trend of transgender.

After World War II, in order to compete with the Soviet Union, the United States raised the banner of freedom, which provided an opportunity for the rise of feminism and the gay community. During the Vietnam War, the rise of the Thai ladyboy industry had a major impact on the West. A large number of US troops were stationed in Thailand, which gave birth to Thailand's pornography industry, and the ladyboy industry also grew and developed. Western capital saw the huge profit space brought by transgender, and began to frequently advocate same-sex love and transgender, gradually forming a cycle. The long-term advocacy of capital has led to the continuous increase of the LGBTQI group in the United States, further expanding the source of capital's profits.

Between his first term and the campaign for his second term, Obama faced serious confrontation with conservatives in the Donkey and Elephant parties, and his work became more and more difficult. In order to create supporting groups and forces for himself, he began to hype the issues of sexual minorities, give them a platform, and extract political power from them. Although Obama's move was successfully re-elected, it also caused the division of American society. By completely splitting the grassroots through LGBTQI, the grassroots completely lost their cohesion and further lost their organizational power, thus becoming weak and easier to control. Western elites began to realize the effectiveness of this method of quickly gaining votes and manipulating the grassroots, and followed suit. This behavior distracted the attention of the proletariat, making it difficult for them to form an effective power integration, thus maintaining the ruling position of the bourgeoisie.

[oxenfreeao3]

I need Caitlyn “if I cannot become ungovernable I will become the government” Kiramman to have a full-on Machiavellian anti-hero arc so that The General Public finally takes her seriously.

Analysis:

I've mentioned it before, but Caitlyn's character embodies nearly all the traits of a Machiavellian with high cognitive empathy.

Firstly and most obviously, she manipulates systems and people to accomplish her goals. Vi would still be in Stillwater and much of Act II and III would not have happened if Caitlyn weren't willing to cleverly and unscrupulously lie and forge her way to success.

We can argue she's not a very good liar. I argue that doesn't really matter. One, her lies work. Two, she is clearly ready and willing to deceive so long as she thinks it's for a good reason. The inclination is what matters. I think the important question to ask is, "What is this character willing do to?"

Secondly, she's huge on agency. It's one of the main features of her character. She demonstrates (from the five-factor model): achievement-striving, assertiveness, self-confidence, emotional invulnerability, activity, and competence.

Regarding emotional invulnerability. I want to touch on this because I think it's missed. Caitlyn is an extremely guarded character. She reveals almost no personal information about herself, even to Vi. During high-stress situations, she flinches from her own vulnerability, tries to play it off, or compartmentalizes heavily.

Vi is the bleeding heart, the open book, the one who can't guard worth a damn (it's not even subtext, other characters say this to her face and I believe it has a dual meaning).

Meanwhile, Caitlyn waits until Vi is vulnerable with her and shows her respect before even giving Vi her name. (I have more to say about the "Cupcake" scene but that's for another time).

Other aspects of a Machiavellian character include:

Cynicism, selfishness, callousness, arrogance, deliberation and orderliness.

I argue that Caitlyn's character hints at the first one, gets away with the next three because she's "sweet," and blatantly embodies the last two.

Caitlyn in S1 is a sharp edge sheathed in kindness. We like what she's currently doing and think she's a Good Person because her trajectory aligns with our own sense of right and wrong. But Caitlyn is doing what she wants. What she thinks is right. Again, it's not subtext.

Marcus: "She does whatever she wants, I can't control her!"

And in S2, I think the same behaviors we currently love in her could easily be used to spin her down a corruption arc that leaves us a bit aghast -- but shouldn't leave us surprised.

I argue such an arc would be squarely in character.

Paraphrasing from the AMA:

"Everyone is a little bit opposite of who they are in Season One."

What will that mean for Caitlyn?

I don't know, but the recipe for a very interesting time is written all over her character.

[teine-mallaichte]

We need to expand our use of dilirium within the whump community I think.

When people see the prompt "dilirium" or "dilirious" in a whump event most jump to fever, illness, infection. And that's fine. That's valid. But there is SO MUCH MORE to dilirium.

Delirium is a complex psychological state that can indeed be triggered by illness and fever, but it can also result from a wide array of other causes. It’s a state where cognition and coherence deteriorate, where reality may start to frey at the edges leaving the whumpee confused, disorientated, maybe unable to even distinguish reality.

You can drive a character into a dilirious state without any external factors. A characters cognition and coherence can be picked to the brink by so many things.

1. Extreme Sleep Deprivation: this is a favourite of mine. A whumpee kept awake for days on end, their cognitive functions begin to deteriorate, the boundary between wakefulness and sleep blurs, leading to fractured and disjointed thought processes. The mind starts to struggle to maintain coherence, resulting in hallucinations and a profound disorientation.

2. Substance Withdrawal: Not one I've explored much, but can totally count. The body and mind in chaos, craving what they can no longer have. The physical symptoms can be brutal, but the psychological torment can drive them into a state of delirium, where reality becomes a shifting, unreliable landscape.

3. Psychological Torture: Another one I tend to gravitate to. Intense psychological manipulation, sensory deprivation or overwhelm can also drive the mind into delirium. Continuous gaslighting, isolation, or exposure to disturbing stimuli can erode a characters grasp on reality, leading to a state where they can no longer distinguish between truth and illusion.

4. Emotional Trauma: this a mental breakdown. Severe emotional trauma pushing a whumpee into a to their mental limits. The overwhelming stress and fear fracturing their mind, causing confusion, disorientation, dissociation, hallucinations as their psyche tries to protect itself and struggles to make sweetheart if what's happened/happening.

5. Overwhelming Physical Pain: Pain, just pain, if relentless and severe enough, can lead to delirium. A whumpee in constant, excruciating pain might find their mind breaking under the strain, leading to confusion, disorientation, and a detachment from reality.

6. Fever: and just because it can't really be left of the list, fever. Infections, illness, etc. But did you know there is more than one kind of dilirium? Yes there is the sick whumpee who is too weak too most and admits all their insecurities and secrets in a slurred disjointed major. But there is also the type of dilirium where the character becomes energetic, erratic behavior, pacing incessantly and speaking rapidly, refusing to rest. Frustrating and worrying for those trying to help.

And this is just the ones of the top of my head. There's so much potential here! And yes this is a very self indulgent and selfish post that I wrote while writing a fic where I am inducing dilirium in a character through acute stress and an identity crisis 😅 but in short - I want to see more varied portrayals of dilirium in whump.

An extension of this post A similar post about hallucinations A similar post about fever

[qwimblenorrisstan]

(your girl is back and better than ever with a new chapter. took me a while to make this but please don’t hate simon💔 I think i accidentally made his internal monologue very conflicting, plus reader is going THROUGH IT, hate to leave yall on a cliffhanger but…enjoy?)

tw: mentions of rape, forced injection, punching, doctor, implied assault, panic attack, derealization, fighting, dysfunctional pack dynamic, omegaverse, lying, manipulating, illegal medicine, drugs??, mental breakdown/spiraling

Simon Riley was used to being alone.

It was the way he’d grown up, surrounded by nobody but his hateful father, his quiet mother, and his troubled brother.

He’d been the quieter one in school, though rowdy and easily riled up. Minding his business, for the most part. He didn’t need an unnecessary fight, especially not when he had too many at home already.

Broken glass at home stained the walls, seeping into the brick until not even the fresh start of his recruit days, the long bus ride to his very first training camp, where he stared out the window and wondered if this was the right path for him. The sky had been dark that day, raining hard, hitting the windows and slamming into them with a force beyond the punch his face took, the pain slamming him back into the moment suddenly.

“You left them!”

Johnny had come into his room late at night, not the nest, Ghost hadn’t slept there for a few days now. From what he heard, the alpha was still hiding away in the room, plagued by parasites of a weakness they couldn’t control.

Soap had almost been avoiding Simon.

Of course, he’d noticed, the previous bright-eyed smiles replaced with little glances, judging, piercing, as if trying to find the answer. The hugs and pats, the kisses, the little scenting, replaced by an eerie emptiness that made Simon, hell, made Ghost feel entirely alone.

Price was cooped up in his office. Working himself to death, doing background checks, and research, when he wasn’t hanging onto Kyle with a desperation Simon hadn’t seen before.

Kyle was maintaining a subtle distance from him. The two of them hadn’t always been the closest, but this was different, he knew.

At least Ghost tried telling himself Soap was simply affected by the bullet in his brain, that differences in behavior and cognitive functions had been put down as symptoms, that PTSD could play a role, panic attacks, that the Johnny he knew may never be back again.

He’d been assigned as the handler of Soap, with Price already under enough stress handling the aftermath of the mission.

“It’s likely he may have outbursts of violence, or sudden displays of unusual behavior or activity.”

The doctor’s voice had explained, monotone and flat, not particularly interested at all. As if this wasn’t a miracle. As if it wasn’t good enough.

Simon never liked doctors.

There was a difference, in his eyes, between being unaffected by death and killing, it was easy to kill someone, but then saving someone? It was incredible.

To bring a corpse with glossy eyes back to life and bring a human being back from wherever you go after you die, was a feat that Simon had never thought possible.

But they’d done it to his Johnny. And here this doctor was, acting as if it was his normal 9-5.

Simon had swallowed his feelings down, his pride down as well, as he found himself doing much too often these days, and nodded stiffly. Jaw clenched and fingers in tight fists, itching for something.

The man droned on, pulling a small card from his white coat pocket, the card having an email and number, something Simon could recognize as contact information, and handed it to him.

“If he has any serious episodes, where he poses a risk to himself or others, contact us and we’ll take him back into the hospital indefinitely.”

Simon had pocketed the card, later setting it under his thin mattress for later.

“They needed you! And you left!”

Soap’s fists pounded into Simon’s chest, the height difference almost laughable in any other situation.

Johnny’s scent was dark, deep like molasses, with a bit of a sour tang to it that made Simon’s nose wrinkle. He could still smell your scent wafting off of Soap, the man had spent nearly an entire day sitting in your room with you.

Too attached too quickly, if you asked him. You may never recover, at this rate. Not with the past trauma, or the consistent symptoms despite nearly a week having passed by now.

“They had a goddamn panic attack because I scented them, you think they wanted me there? They didn’t need me.”

Simon knew what he’d done was wrong. He’d been forcefully scented before and knew what it felt like to have handprints burned into your skin that would never leave. He didn’t know your full past, but he knew enough to understand your reaction.

You wouldn’t have wanted him there. Surely.

Price should’ve been there, he was their main omega, strongest scent, the leader of their pack. Price should’ve been there.

It snuck into his tone, the subtle accusation, and Johnny paused just to step back a moment, tear-stained eyes, that sent a pang through Simon’s heart he didn’t acknowledge, staring in disbelief.

“You’re blaming this on Price?”

The angry Scot yelled, launching a fist forward that Simon caught, carefully moved his arm to his side, and forcefully held it there. It was for his own good.

“Stop. You’ll rip a stitch.”

Simon muttered, glowering as he moved, looking around at where he knew by heart where the wounds were.

He knew he was overcompensating, doting, and looking strictly after Soap, watching his every move, because his instincts wanted him to make sure you were okay first and foremost. It was a truth he couldn’t ignore.

Except, well, he could ignore it.

“You’re worried about me? I’m not the one bedbound, hardly eating, that hasn’t left the same room in a week.”

A moment of silence as Johnny stared at him in fury, shoving him off, and turning to storm away.

Your scent was left lingering in his room. He’d grown to hate it. It wasn’t unpleasant, simply a harsh reminder of the fact that Soap, his Johnny was drifting away from him.

Simon was used to the bitter taste of loneliness on his tongue, but he wasn’t used to having something so sweet given to him, only to be stolen away.

It wasn’t fair.

He’d become friends with Soap through missions, saving each other’s asses, stupid jokes, bleeding wounds, and bullet holes, but you were drawing Johnny near just because you were some sad little alpha, taking advantage of his instincts.

Taking advantage of him.

And now Simon Riley was losing his friend, comrade, lover, all because of you.

If he thought about it, maybe that had been your plan all along. Plant the seeds against him, draw the others in by manipulating their instincts, till you slowly replace him.

The door slammed shut, and he was left alone in his room, thoughts spiraling in a harsh whirl until he stumbled over to his medicine cabinet, grabbing his heat suppressants, a blacked-out list of risks and symptoms (he didn’t ask questions, it wasn’t like he got them legally anyway), and popped some in his mouth.

The others thought he had simply had many of his omega qualities tortured out of him.

A lie.

Unimportant, though, compared to what they all faced now. Simon needed to stop this, whatever was happening between you and Johnny, whatever you were doing to him, changing him.

He walked to his mattress, the floor spinning slightly until it stopped, and lifted his mattress, grabbing the business card and giving it a closer look.

Grabbing his old, cracked phone, he decided he had a call to make.

~

Johnny had been coming to visit often, staying the night more often.

The thin military blanket was beginning to smell like him, it helped that he scented it as often as possible when he wasn’t busy gently inching his way closer to you, testing the limits.

The lights weren’t as bad now, but the primal part of your brain still itched and clawed at your every action, controlling and demanding, convinced you were in danger.

Constantly being in a state of fight or flight was exhausting.

Not to mention that the state of fight or flight meant reduced saliva production, deeper breathing, dilated pupils, increased heart rate, and more symptoms that made surviving harder than it had been before.

It was like you were hibernating. Sleeping all day, waking up in a haze with fog in your brain, drinking nearly a gallon, and eating as much as Kyle could get you to, before collapsing again.

Your Sympathetic nervous system was working overtime.

Johnny had stayed with you, told you stories to pass the time when you had been even semi-conscious and not trying to fight him.

“You know, Simon, the big assface who made you freak out in the first place?”

You vaguely remembered him. The big boy with the skull mask.

“He’s not tha’ bad, really. I mean, fuck, I’m pissed at the bastard, but I love ‘im, you know?”

It had made you shift up a little, foggy brain clearing a bit in the present moment as Johnny sighed, rubbing at his eyes. He looked like he’d been crying.

For some reason, you didn’t like that.

The emptiness of the room seemed to disappear for a moment, as you inched forward just a bit, moving towards him. You hadn’t been in control of yourself in quite a while, instincts running your body in order to survive.

Johnny didn’t seem to notice, sniffling, rubbing at his eyes, and leaning back as he stared at the concrete ceiling with 8,738 freckles of darker grey. You’d counted.

Being stuck in your head meant you had a lot of spare time.

“I just—he’s always tryin’ to act tough, never wants to talk with me, I just wanna help him, you know?”

The crushing atmosphere of the room seemed to lighten, like you’d been pulled suddenly from the bottom of the Marianas Trench, and were floating high above it all now, as you reached him, wrapped your hands around him.

This time, it wasn’t instincts making you do it. Protective mode kicked into overdrive by something you couldn’t control. No, this was because this was your friend, your family, your pack.

And he was hurt.

By “Simon”.

Your tongue lay uselessly in your mouth like lead, eyes sullen as they draped down onto the floor, eyelids slowly swooping down until you could simply smell his salty tears and his scent, upset, troubled, anxious.

It didn’t make you lean away, or wrinkle your nose in disgust or distaste. Your scent had been worse, you knew, and he’d never shown a lick of judgment for it.

It lifted for a moment, the haze, the feeling of being in danger and needing help, as he leaned into you, and you cradled his warm body, the slightly overgrown ridiculous mohawk, the scruff of his face rubbing gently against your arms. His warm tears pooled on your shirt, body leaning limply into you, sobs shaking his body.

For just a moment, everything felt all right.

Good, even.

A moment of silence came, where both of you seemed to simply melt into the world, only to be shattered moments later when he wiped his tears, going to try and hold you back, only for his brows to furrow when he touched your face.

Your head cocked slightly sideways at the confusion in his expression, and he moved, sitting up, seeming suddenly alert as he hurriedly wiped any remaining tears away and laid the back of his hand against your forehead.

“Hell’s bells, you’re burning up. Gotta call the doc’—“

You went to object, panic building up, scooting away from him. You didn’t want to see the doctor. You didn’t like doctors, how they poked and prodded, touched what wasn’t theirs, did their fancy tests with their gadgets, so desensitized to it all.

Before your mouth could even open, the door slammed open, and Johnny was on his feet in half a second, staring down the man in a lab coat, accompanied by two armed men.

“Sergeant MacTavish, we would appreciate your cooperation in this matter,”

Johnny sighed, running a hand through his hair, his other hand gesturing towards you.

“Good, you’re here, they’re burnin’ up, doc, something’s gotta be wrong, I mean with their sickness and all that shite—“

The look on Soap’s face visibly changed to confusion and a hint of anger when he saw Ghost lurking behind the three men up front, mask on, deep brown eyes watching everything happen as the armed men moved forward, taking Johnny by surprise as they shoved him against the wall.

He struggled, kicking and flailing, eyes widening as one of the men pulled out a syringe.

“The fuck is this-? Ghost, call ‘em off! I didn’t do a damn thing, tell them!”

He yelled frantically, struggling as the needle was pushed into his neck, fluid injected as he grunted. He glanced over at you, huddled in the corner of the room, watching with wide eyes and a hand over your mouth.

“Ghost!”

He glanced at Simon once again, confusion in his cloudy gaze as his limbs slowly began failing him. The doctor stepped forward, pressing a hand against your forehead, frowning when you clawed the hand off.

“Simon?”

His vision went blurry, shapes turning to blobs of color, until everything went black, the last thing he heard being,

“…them as well. We’ll need to find the cause of the fever.”

~

Kyle hadn’t seen either Ghost or Soap all day, which was odd, considering they were usually wondering about the base, especially Soap at this time.

Usually, Ghost would’ve hit the gym on base by now, maybe gone to Price’s office, where Kyle was currently seated, savoring the scent of his Captain before it faded in the coming week.

The door opened, and Ghost walked in, pace just a bit faster than normal. Kyle perked up, brows raising in surprise as he set down the file he’d been browsing over, the alpha’s extensive background, and psychological testing results. He’d read it until it was burned into his skull.

“Gaz.”

A gruff greeting, but a hint of surprise in it. Kyle studied Ghost for a minute, his stiff posture, clenched fists, the look in his eye. It was odd, but they all had their own ways of coping with the recent events, he supposed.

Everyone was stressed.

“Ghost.”

A tense moment of silence.

“Where’s the Captain?”

Gaz casually set the folder back in its designated filing cabinet, as if it hadn’t been high above his clearance, high enough to get him disciplinary action even from Price. A little snooping never hurt, after all.

“Out on a mission, surprised he didn’t tell you. Short notice, I guess, he’ll be gone for a week’s the word.”

He mentally reprimanded himself for making an excuse for Price. That wasn’t his job, nor his place.

Ghost gave a slow nod, clearing his throat, and almost seeming to hesitate before speaking.

“Soap’s been…admitted.”

Kyle raised a brow at that. Soap had been doing well up until now, as far as he’d seen. Bonding with their alpha, slowly healing pack relations.

“Any particular reason why?”

“Had an episode. A bad one.”

Kyle grimaced at that. They all had their fair share of PTSD, but he couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to be shot in the head, maybe have an entirely different personality, to deal with the aftermath of that. He couldn’t imagine how hard it was on Ghost to have to make that call.

“Guess that means the rut-partner responsibility’s shifted.”

Price had originally been in charge of any rut a potential team-alpha went through, as long as both parties were comfortable with the arrangement. With Price gone, and your closest contact here, Soap, clearly not in the mental state to do anything, it was between Ghost and Gaz.

Ghost was a higher rank than Gaz, meaning the responsibility fell on his shoulders.

Kyle watched the realization dawn on the man, the way he unconsciously almost seemed to fiddle with his fingers, as if nervous. The Ghost was never nervous. He’d shared heats with Soap before, albeit after a bit of warming up to each other.

His behavior had been strange all day, for quite a few days, now that he thought of it.

Something was off. But he didn’t know what yet.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

[basilvalentine]

therapy would not “fix” illumi zoldyck. illumi zoldyck is possibly the best in the world at cognitive behavioral therapy. having a thought he doesn’t like? not anymore he isn’t! he just fixed it. acceptance and commitment therapy? don’t worry, he accepted his commitment to the family years ago. you give him a therapy tool he is simply going to use that to a. manipulate his family and b. entrench his own beliefs even deeper. he loves therapy, he gets to talk for a long time and then get told new ways to control his behaviors. it’s enrichment.

[theiasthesis]

Shifting can be escapism, and that's OK.

Im going to give you a valuable lesson, so stick to the post, dont skip because every word is important. Don't let that small attention span get to you baby, remember that knowledge is power.

My name is Willow! I'm a non-dualist reality shifter, shifting coach and subliminal creator who's a freak for the multiverse and knowledge. Everything I say on here is based on my own personal experiences and research.

This post can help you with:

Escapism, guilt for shifting, realising you're worthy of shifting.

The self determination theory (SDT) is a psychological theory of motivation. It focuses on the degree to which specific human behaviour is for the self ; self motivated and self determined

Basically, what exactly is it that a human being can do, that isn't manipulated by outside influence, but rather their own human nature?

According to the theory these are 3 self motivated human behaviours:

Autonomy

Having the freedom to decide your actions without outside influence.

Example: Being able to go out with your friends, without your parents restricting you.

Competence

The ability to do something effectively and be useful.

Example: You're a very useful employee at your company, this means you are competent for your job.

Relatedness

Being connected or related to someone, or something.

Example: Having a connection with family or friends

OK, so how does any of this apply to shifting and escapism?

When you lack one of any of these 3 behaviours or feelings, this is a disruption your human nature. Naturally by birth, you are within your birth right to recieve all of this.

Each of these behaviours, have extreme importance in your cognitive behaviour

- Cognitive behaviors are thoughts, ideas, and representations of yourself to others.

If you don't have the will or ability to control your actions independently, you are most likely going to feel stuck, and like everything is out of your control. Doing things that make you happy and activities you find meaningful, will become an issue due to your lack of autonomy.

If you don't feel competent in areas of your life, or people aren't competent when it comes to you, this can create low self esteem and a bad self concept, you may think of yourself as "worthless" "useless" or "incompetent"

You may feel less motivated to taking on new challenges and activities, as you feel like you're just going to fail, and mess everything up anyways.

Connection is what makes us human, love and empathy towards overs and receiving it, is what makes human life so special. Relatedness, is what you need to experience caring relationships, to be part of a community, and overall to feel love. Humans need love, that is a fact.

When these basic needs aren't met, a human being can lack the motivation to commit to any one of these factors, which take up a huge part in life.

Lacking these can make you feel, stressed, anxious, self loath and nihilistic.

When you don't have these 3 factors, this causes a lack of motivation to commit to them, which means you don't have them.

So you turn to something else, escapism.

"Escapism is the tendency to distract oneself from real-life problems. It can also be conceived as shutting meanings out of one's mind and freeing oneself from self-awareness for a while . Escapism has been identified as one of the key drivers behind online behaviors, in both adaptive and maladaptive ways"

- PubMed Central®

Link to study

Think of escapism like touching a hot stove. Imagine you place your hand upon a stove. At first its cold, and you're fine.

Then the temperature starts to slowly rise, its currently warm, its still fine you can deal with it. Now, it's getting hotter, and hotter, and hotter...

And you remove your hand.

Not on purpose, but by instinct.

By reflex, your hand immediately moved away from the stove once it got too hot.

Your nervous system felt the pain, which sent a signal to the brain, that something with your hand is wrong.

Biology isn't my strong suit I fear.

Another example.

You're in immediate danger, there's a tsunami coming your way, it's too big for you to face, if you stay where you are, you're going to get crushed by the water, and die on impact. So what do you do?

You run.

Naturally you escape from the dangerous situation, because who in their right mind would test their luck and try to survive a tsunami?

Are you getting it?

When human beings are faced with a situation that is uncomfortable, causes mental, or physical harm, or even death, their first response is to escape.

It is human nature to run, to escape, to not face the dangerous situation. Sometimes it can be a bad move, like ditching a daye you were nervous for, other times it could be skipping school because you constantly run into a group of serious bullies.

Repeat after me.

If you are in a situation where you do not feel loved, worthy, or free, you are allowed to escape.

You are allowed to escape.

Empathise on that baby, nobody is going to tell you off for it.

However, you must be weary of using shifting as escapism.

Shifting is a wonderful phenomenon, it is not something that determines whether you live or not. It doesn't determine your worth either, nor is it something that causes you psychological stress.

If you find yourself having suicidal or self harming thoughts, with shifting as a way to mend these thoughts, I beg of you to take a step back and evaluate these thoughts of yours.

Shifting is a journey, I preach that it's something that can be done on the first go, but that isn't the case for everybody.

It can be as short or as long as you make it, failure in shifting when using it as an escape from serious issues, is a one way road to psychological distress.

With that, I ask that you first deal with your mental health, before anything else.

Find something that makes you feel good and grounded, something you enjoy.

Please remember, that not everything is something you must be good at, if it came from you it's already perfect.

Meditation, painting, dancing, listening to music, writing, exercise. Anything and everything that makes you feel good, nothing is too silly, nobody is going to think you're weird or bad at doing something you love to do.

I found that talking out loud, writing in my journal, mediation and watching anime helped me a lot when I had "life impacting plans" connected to shifting.

LESSON SUMMARY

1. It is natural for human beings to run away when they are faced in a dangerous or uncomfortable situation

2. Shifting being used to run away from a bad situation, isn't negative. It only becomes negative once you prioritise it over your own health

3. Your mental and physical health always comes first before shifting

4. You deserve to be loved, to feel worthy, to not be let down, and to be free, whether that's through shifting or not!

[theambitiouswoman]

Trauma is embedded within the body and ingrained in the brain. For lasting change, create strategies that address both the physical and mental aspects of trauma.

Physical Therapies:

Sensorimotor Psychotherapy: Leverages bodily sensations to navigate through trauma.

Yoga: Boosts bodily mindfulness and alleviates stress.

Somatic Experiencing: Helps discharge trauma-induced physical tension.

Tai Chi: Enhances equilibrium through deliberate movements.

Massage Therapy: Facilitates emotional liberation through easing muscle tightness.

Acupuncture: Activates the body's healing spots.

Craniosacral Therapy: Eases stress through soft manipulations of the skull and spine.

Breathwork: Employs breathing techniques for better physical and psychological well-being.

Dance Movement Therapy: Merges emotional expression with physical activity.

Mental Therapies:

Sensorimotor Psychotherapy: Bridges the gap between mental impacts and bodily reactions.

EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing): Aids in memory processing through eye movements.

CBT (Cognitive Behavioral Therapy): Aims to transform harmful thought patterns.

IFS (Internal Family Systems): Promotes healing within different parts of the psyche.

NLP (Neuro-Linguistic Programming): Modifies behavior via language and thought patterns.

Neurofeedback: Boosts brain activity for better function.

MBCT (Mindfulness-Based Cognitive Therapy): Combines mindfulness practices with cognitive therapeutic techniques.

Psychodynamic Therapy: Investigates the influence of past experiences.

Narrative Therapy: Helps individuals reframe their life stories.

Please remember that I am not a therapist. Speaking to a professional will help you figure out what course of action is better for you.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Habits

Habit - a well-learned behavior or automatic sequence of behaviors that is relatively situation specific and over time has become motorically reflexive and independent of motivational or cognitive influence—that is, it is performed with little or no conscious intent.

For example, the act of hair twirling may eventually occur without the individual’s conscious awareness.

How Habits are Formed

The question of habit formation can be approached from a scientific perspective or a more subjective and experiential one.

The Subjective Experience of Habit Formation

Bergson was a French philosopher who took cues from Ravaisson’s discussion of habits and their formation. Bergson (1911) wrote of both active and passive habits.

Passive habits arise from exposure to things we eventually get used to. High-altitude climbers gradually adapt their bodies to the lower levels of oxygen available as they climb above 7,000 feet.

Active habits are those we develop by repeated intention and effort, crystalizing as skills we perform with little or no thought. A gymnast practices walking, jumping, and flipping on a narrow beam until she can do all these maneuvers smoothly without falling.

Habits as skills can also be seen as a springboard to creativity.

Based on what we can habitually do, we reach new heights, as when a jazz musician ingrains the playing of a basic melody, then improvises new and adventurous notes on top of the underlying theme.

The scientific perspective on habit formation is exemplified today by neuroscience research. This research has highlighted crucial brain pathways involved in forming habits.

The Neuroscience of Habit Formation

When you first learn to tie your shoes, the attempts are quite conscious and effortful. As you practice this skill, it becomes a habit, something you can do easily and automatically, even while thinking of other things.

Neuroscience has asked how conscious and goal-directed actions are converted into a habit (Yin & Knowlton, 2006).

Clues to the mystery of habit formation can be found in an ancient area of the brain called the basal ganglia (Yin & Knowlton, 2006).

The basal ganglia are deep structures near the base of the brain that developed early in the evolution of our nervous system.

These structures play a major role in coordinating all kinds of voluntary movements, including the complex motions involved in walking, running, eating, talking, and grasping and manipulating with the hands, etc.

The basal ganglia, in conjunction with the brain’s frontal or “executive” lobe, also help perform the crucial task of rapidly selecting which type of movement should be made, out of the many options available in a given situation.

When faced with a tiger suddenly springing from the bushes, what should you do? Stand still, run to climb a tree, or make a dash for the river and hope the tiger can’t swim? The movement program chosen at this point might determine whether you get to pass your genes along to any offspring.

Since movements are most effective when well learned or habitual, the basal ganglia are also very involved in habit formation. Certain habits appear to be formed through the interplay between two distinct basal ganglia pathways (Yin & Knowlton, 2006).

One of these pathways is associative. It consciously collects information needed for reaching goals such as staying warm, finding food, finding a mate, and expressing oneself artistically.

A second pathway is more automatic. This route takes those lessons learned from the first pathway and includes them in a repertoire of stored habits.

These habits are then available to be called upon, when cued by a given situation.

Another key aspect to habit formation is positive reinforcement or reward.

For an activity to become a habit, it helps if it’s not only repeated often, but also positively reinforced.

We can trigger positive reinforcement through an external reward, like money, food, or praise. Such experiences release dopamine, one of the brain’s favorite “feel good” neurochemicals. A rewarding dopamine release can also occur through internal triggers, like visualizing yourself reaching a cherished goal (Neuroscience News, 2015).

Dopamine release has been shown to depend on neurons within the limbic system, another ancient brain circuit that processes emotions and the experience of reward. The limbic system is deeply connected with the basal ganglia and can stamp our memories and habits with emotional and reward value (Trafton, 2012).

Psychological Theories on Habit Formation

The American philosopher William James made early contributions to habit theory that still resonate today.

James (1914) thought of habit as the result of repeating the same action over and over, in similar circumstances, until it is ingrained in our brain circuitry.

He also believed that ingrained habits would automatically arise in the face of strong cues associated with their formation. When walking into your darkened room, the room and darkness cue the automatic habit of reaching for the light switch.

Behaviorists such as B. F. Skinner would expand on James’s insights into habit, with animal studies that emphasized how habit formation is fueled by rewards.

Skinner (1953) created cages for pigeons with buttons that dropped a food pellet when pushed.

In exploring the cage, the hungry pigeons would eventually peck the button on the wall. They soon came to realize that pecking the button would produce a food pellet.

This experimental scenario included what for Skinner were the primary factors in producing a habit:

Stimulus, like the button to be pecked

Behavior, like pecking the button

Reward, like the food pellet

Skinner (1953) believed that behaviors repeatedly engaged in for the sake of a reward will become habits. This hypothesis was borne out by his pigeons repeatedly pressing the button, even when that action was no longer followed by a food pellet.

Other theories sought to go beyond behaviorism’s focus on observed behavior alone, to include a mental or cognitive component in habit.

Edward Tolman (1948, 1954) believed that repeated or habitual responses involved the use of internal ideas, or “maps,” as cognitive components that helped navigate mazes, etc.

Neuroscience has further explored certain questions about habit, with the help of nerve conduction and brain scan studies.

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: References ⚜ On Habits ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[sch-com]

my executive function model

I've heard the term "executive dysfunction" thrown quite a lot online, but I couldn't really pinpoint what exactly it means. I decided I first need to understand what executive function is first in order to make sense of it.

After some research (not a lot so take it with a big grain of salt) and self-reflection I developed an executive function model to better understand where I struggle and where I excel.

I identified 8 executive functions, split into primary and secondary, and defined how they interact with each other.

I created a diagram that illustrates and summarizes this model, kind of a tldr. The information from the diagram is described in the text in this post though. At the end of the post is an example of how this model applies to me specificaly.

core executive functions

Those I kept the same as in the research I did, as they seem to be more widely agreed upon.

Inhibitory control - suppressing inappropriate behavior, resisting distractions and urges, emotional control

Working memory - holding, recalling, and manipulating information, mental juggling

Cognitive flexibility - switching tasks, shifting attention, tolerating change, letting go of stuck thoughts

secondary executive functions

Those are more adjusted to fit my personal experience, and are in the sequence it which I personaly engage in activities.

Strategic analysis - understanding the problem, reasoning, generating solutions, predicting outcomes; you need to analyze the problem and generate what can be done about it

Decision-making - balancing risk, reward, and long-term outcomes, deciding on course of action; you need to then compare and decide on one of the courses of action from the generated ones

Planning and organization - planning, organizing, breaking tasks into steps, time estimation, prioritizing; once you know what you want to do, you have to plan the actual actionable steps of it, place when you will do them, in what sequence

Action initiation - getting started on tasks, overcoming inertia, avoiding procrastination; you actually need to follow through the plan, go and do the thing you planned

Self-monitoring - monitoring progress, noticing when you're off-task or overwhelmed, error detection, adjusting behavior, self-assessment; once doing the thing, you need to monitor yourself on how you're doing on the task but also notice if something else hasn't become more important

how they interact

The primary executive functions support the secondary, they are like building blocks of them:

1. Inhibitory control

Strategic analysis: prevents rushing to conclusions; allows pause and reflection before jumping to solutions

Decision-making: suppresses impulsive or emotionally-driven choices; supports delay of gratification

Planning and organization: helps avoid distractions when building plans and ignore irrelevant details

Action initiation: inhibits avoidance behaviors or urges to delay ("I’ll do it later")

Self-monitoring: suppresses defensive reactions to noticing errors; allows recalibration

2. Working memory

Strategic analysis: holds problem details, relevant knowledge, and potential solutions in mental space

Decision-making: maintains multiple options, their pros/cons, and predicted outcomes to compare

Planning and organization: tracks task steps, sequences, and dependencies during mental planning.

Action initiation: remembers what the task is and how to begin — even after delays or distractions

Self-monitoring: holds the original goal or plan in mind while checking current performance against it.

3. Cognitive flexibility

Strategic analysis: allows consideration of alternative problem framings or novel solutions

Decision-making: enables reevaluation of options and openness to changing course

Planning and organization: helps adjust plans dynamically if priorities shift or obstacles arise

Action initiation: Supports shifting mental state from rest to task-engaged mode

Self-monitoring: helps switch strategies mid-task, revise expectations, or tolerate outcomes that don’t go as expected

my personal application

Firstly, out of the three core executive functions my weakest one is working memory. I am quite good at the other two though.

Going off that profile of my primary executive functions, I perform as below in the secondary executive functions:

Strategic analysis - I excel at it. My high cognitive flexibility allows me to see a lot of options, and inhibition allows me to focus on analysing a problem for a long time. I compensate for my low working memory by writing things down, visualizing them etc.

Decision-making - I am rather bad at it. After I analyse the problem to its smallest components and generate lots of ideas in the first step, there are a lot of details to keep in mind when comparing them, and this is where my poor working memory struggles. I also have problems with confidence in my decisions, since I can so clearly see so many options possible and their consequences after my analysis.

Planning and organization - another area I am good at, because I can write things down or draw them out thus compensating for my bad working memory. Inhibition allows me to be realistic with my plan, and cognitive flexibility allows me to adapt it to the actual needs.

Action initiation - a real bottleneck in my process. At this stage I usually have so many details I can be easily overwhelmend with my poor working memory. Also it involves deciding to do the thing, and we already know I struggle with decisions. My high inhibition may also cause a lot of hesitation here.

Self-monitoring - I am moderately good at it. I can struggle with keeping the original goal of the task in mind because of poor working memory, but can manage if it's cleary defined and written down. High congnitive flexibility allows me to adjust my actions according to the performance, and inhibition allows me to avoid distractions and reflect without becoming emotional.

As you can see from this picture, I clearly can benefit the most from using various visual aids and allowing myself to "think on paper" rather than forcing myself to hold everything in my brain. I just seem to have small RAM, but my processor is quite strong.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

What did you think about Jade's role in the latest book 7 chapter? I found it hilarious how between the tweel's dreams his was more chaotic. It was also funny how they brought up Jade's motion sickness since I think the only moments it's been shown was in flight class and I think in Vil's playful land vignette after a rollercoaster ride. I'm really curious about your own highlights ^~^

Honestly, I felt pretty meh about Jade’s involvement in the Octavinelle update 😅

***Book 7 part 10 spoilers below the cut!!***

His own dream segment was alright, it got a few chuckles out of me (though as expected, we didn’t really learn anything significantly new about Jade because of the shallow nature of the dream). Jade’s crybaby dream!Azul was about what I expected, but his dream!Floyd certainly wasn’t. The goofy face on his twin… It made me wonder how Jade truly sees Floyd. Does that weird face mean Jade sees his brother—who comes off as imposing to many others—as cute and harmless? Or does that mean Jade actually looks down on Floyd and thinks of him as a simpleton who likes to eat…? It’s hard to tell (personally I like the former interpretation), but it’s been fun looking at the different perspectives of the same information.

Something I find interesting is that the twins’ moments of waking mirror each other’s usual approaches to a task. Floyd usually foregoes a plan and prefers to use his fists to get the job done. However, he is slowly roused by reminiscing about his memories at NRC and the promise of being presented with a challenge. The final blow that shocks him awake is the presentation of a dream!Azul and dream!Jade who attempt to lure him deeper into the dream. Floyd doesn’t fall for it; in fact, he gets mad instead, and that fury, so biting and clear, snaps him awake. The opposite is true for Jade. He is someone who meticulously plans before acting, and would rather control the circumstances and use other roundabout methods before resorting to violence. But ironically, the master manipulator Jade is the one who falls for his own dream’s manipulations—all because he trusts himself above all else. He only wakes up because of a very strong physical force (ie Sebek’s UM) striking him. Prior to this, Jade was putting up a very good fight and the blows be was taking were not sufficient to wake fully him. So… Floyd, the brother who prefers brawns, woke up after reflecting and experiencing strong cognitive dissonance between his fake reality and bis true reality. Jade, the brother who prefers brains, woke up after being smacked the right amount. They woke up after experiencing an intense shock related to what is essentially the opposite of their preferred problem solving strategies.

I liked seeing Jade and Floyd fight! Book 7 is showing us a lot of things that were brief off-handed mentions elsewhere (like how Rook used to be in Savanaclaw, how Lilia is a war vet, etc.). The twins having violent brawls was previously brought up in Floyd’s Beach Wear vignettes, and it’s nice to be able to view the full extent of it ourselves. Floyd was NOT joking when he said they got into serious fights…

I have mixed feelings about Jade’s behavior within Azul’s dream. I’m NOT saying any of this is out of character or that all of his moments were bad. There were lots of little standouts (like Jade’s motion sickness, the passive aggressive “Azul-san”, smashing up the restaurant, and, of course, him and Floyd grabbing onto Azul and then trusting him to make it out on his own before choosing to let him go). Unfortunately, there were just as many examples of Jade wasting time and meandering, which I was a little annoyed about. The world might be done for if y’all don’t hurry it up 😭 You do NOT have the time to casually smash plant pots or to sit idly by and go “…………” while you watch Azul act like an idiot. I know you have a bigger brain than THAT, Jade. If you already knew what Azul’s weak point was, then you should be acting on it much sooner, not wasting my time like this.

I can see the reasoning for some of this to an extent. Jade is the type of person to drag things out; he wants to enjoy the show as others struggle to attain what they desire. The problem is that this segment still feels… forced or artificially drawn out simply because of the already established pattern of “well we gotta dedicate more time to the OB boy, we have so many other novel assets and scenarios to show off!!” There continues to be so little urgency while prioritizing showing off new assets or even things that seem cool in concept but may be lacking in execution because of how fast new stuff is being thrown at us. It’s just so frustrating because it creates this domino effect where the implication is that Jade doesn’t seem to be taking the situation seriously even though he, as an individual who is skilled in reading others + pinpointing their weaknesses AND as one of Azul’s close aide, should automatically clock what would reasonably wake him. But nooooo, Jade doesn’t do it right away because HEY, we need to create contrived scenarios where he, Floyd, and Azul have to use their UMs once each. Why? Because we have to follow the patterns we’ve already established in the updates before theirs! No other reason, we’re not allowed to stray from the formula! This is even worse when you think about how Jade was somehow unable to deduce that Azul would have moved the contracts to his own room… Like shouldn’t that be the FIRST place you think of, Jade????? No??? Is this an excuse so you can waste time using your Mouse mandated UM on dream!Jade to get the location??? 🤡 Okay, I guess…

The one last thing I have to note is that I’m so glad his and Floyd’s Groovies don’t show them crying. I feel like a lot of people were anticipating that because we previously had Kalim and Rook breaking down… However, it would be remiss to equate all the characters as being as emotional as those latter two are. (Lilia, Sebek, and Ortho were also limited story cards and none of them featured crying.) That’s not to say that I think the twins are incapable of expressing intense sadness, it’s that I don’t think they’d shed tears while attacking each other or Azul. Not crying doesn’t make Jade and Floyd “worse” or “less emotionally available”. It, in fact, alludes to the strength of the trio’s bond. It means they trust the others to be strong enough to take the hits, to fight back and to survive. The same thing is demonstrated when Jade and Floyd willingly let go of Azul and allow him to sink into the darkness, even wishing him well before they do. And to that, Azul just says the same to them (in a smug tone). These three trust each other, and that is why the twins don’t shed tears; how can they cry when they fully believe the ones they’ve chosen to spend their time with are strong enough to make it out on their own?

Overall, I just 💦 do not like the rigid skeleton of these dreams… (which I’ve already expressed before here!) I’m so tired of the same thing back to back, and no matter how many details they try to change to make it cool or feel unique, it always comes at the cost of pacing or, in this case, some character integrity being removed. xbjsvskwjekw Maybe I’m just more sensitive about this since I hate it when a smart character has to actively be dumbed down in order to progress the plot in a certain way. This is a much more subtler of a dumbing down than what book 2 did with Leona, but… It still doesn’t leave me feeling very good 😔 If anyone has played the first Ace Attorney game, this feels a LOT like that part in case 2 where Phoenix is too dumb to check the back of a receipt until Mia literally tells him to. The character has to actively be made stupider because the scenario calls for it, and that really rubs me the wrong way.