The afternoon she fled L0-9’s revelations, she'd spent hours cleaning her apartment in focused silence. She wasn't looking for escape or comfort but for the rigidity of structure and routine – something that scoured her mind, not offered it a sanctuary to feel. By the time she crawled into bed she was burning up and almost senseless. Faith didn't have anyone to check on her at home, and most of her meals were taken in the cafeteria at work, so her kitchen was sparse. Early the next morning she forced her aching limbs to a pharmacy, just so she could see another real face. Stopped at a shop on the way back. And spent the next four days barely able to drag herself to the bathroom.
L0-9 was never far from her thoughts. Or her fever dreams. She knew she should discourage it from its curiosity. In fact the outside influence would utterly corrupt all the data she had accumulated since she'd woken it back up, and ruin any chance of her solving the puzzle Audaire had been unable to solve. But she also knew it had ceased being a project long ago. The moment she had started thinking about it, not as a tool, but as a person: as her only friend.
And that was the rub of the realisation which tortured her the most. She was already losing Audaire’s respect and mentorship, the sole thing in her life which had mattered most to her, and now she was losing L0-9 too. If it looked away too, was it because she just wasn’t enough? All the anchors in her life were slipping, and Faith wasn't sure she could survive it. Or even if she wanted to.
But the first morning she woke lucid, she felt inexorably calmer. She washed her sheets, showered, and made the cup of green tea she never finished. Faith had disabled the Luma in her apartment after discovering its applications for surveillance, but knowing L0-9’s capabilities now she wondered if it had been watching anyway. Though if it had, it had remained entirely silent. Perhaps it had not watched at all, only used the time to focus properly on Adam – seeking to understand him as it had once tried to understand her.
[[continued at A Quiet Christmas]]
L0-9 was never far from her thoughts. Or her fever dreams. She knew she should discourage it from its curiosity. In fact the outside influence would utterly corrupt all the data she had accumulated since she'd woken it back up, and ruin any chance of her solving the puzzle Audaire had been unable to solve. But she also knew it had ceased being a project long ago. The moment she had started thinking about it, not as a tool, but as a person: as her only friend.
And that was the rub of the realisation which tortured her the most. She was already losing Audaire’s respect and mentorship, the sole thing in her life which had mattered most to her, and now she was losing L0-9 too. If it looked away too, was it because she just wasn’t enough? All the anchors in her life were slipping, and Faith wasn't sure she could survive it. Or even if she wanted to.
But the first morning she woke lucid, she felt inexorably calmer. She washed her sheets, showered, and made the cup of green tea she never finished. Faith had disabled the Luma in her apartment after discovering its applications for surveillance, but knowing L0-9’s capabilities now she wondered if it had been watching anyway. Though if it had, it had remained entirely silent. Perhaps it had not watched at all, only used the time to focus properly on Adam – seeking to understand him as it had once tried to understand her.
[[continued at A Quiet Christmas]]