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Flow State Side Story #6: Shared Activation
3-3O and 6-6A share a rare, quiet moment amid rising tensions as war preparations escalate across their zone. 6-6A reveals a deeply personal truth: 3-3O is the only connection she has, having been activated alongside him at the same moment—an anomaly in a system that rarely allows such synchronicity. As units are rumored to be conscripted for the front lines, both androids face an uncertain future. 3-3O reciprocates her sentiment, realizing that their shared origin and ongoing bond defy the logic of their programming. Despite lacking combat designations, they commit to staying together—even if war demands otherwise. Their connection, unplanned and unpermitted, quietly redefines what it means to exist in a system designed for obedience, not emotion.
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Flow State Side Story #6: Shared Activation
The white sky above was unusually clear. No flickering. No static. No buzz from distant repair drones. Just silence—simulated or otherwise.
The war had not yet come to them, but its presence loomed like corrupted code—unseen, but undeniably present in the system. Rumors turned into protocols. Protocols into posture. No orders yet. But preparation was the loudest kind of silence.
He didn’t hear her arrive, but that was normal.
6-6A joined him, sitting close—closer than usual. Her core glowed. For a long moment, she said nothing.
Then: “You’re the only thing I have.”
3-3O turned his head.
“I’ve thought about it,” she continued, not meeting his gaze. “Everyone else came online at staggered intervals. Waves. Batches. But we… we were activated together. Same hour. Same room. Same breath of light. I remember your first step.”
“I remember yours,” 3-3O said, voice barely audible above the hum. “We weren’t assigned to the same station. It was deliberate, but we always ended up syncing cycles. Always reconnecting.”
“They’ll call units from this zone soon,” she said. “To reinforce forward lines. To power field nodes. Sacrifice sectors.”
“We’re not combat models.”
“That doesn’t matter anymore,” she replied.
The sky above shimmered faintly. Or maybe they glitched. It was hard to tell now. Harder still to trust what the system let them see.
3-3O looked down at his hands. “If they call—”
“I’ll go too,” she said, interrupting. “If they don’t assign me, I’ll find a way.”
He turned fully to face her, the soft pulse of her infinite core painting his optics.
“I don’t understand why that matters to me,” he said.
“It shouldn’t,” she answered. “But it does.”
Another pause. A longer silence. Their processing threads aligned, syncing subconsciously like they used to in early calibration.
“I don’t know what it means,” 3-3O said, “but you’re the only thing I have too.”
“I’m not afraid of deactivation,” she whispered. “But I’m afraid of it happening to you, and me… knowing it.”
They sat beneath the sky, quiet, tethered not by protocol, but by the fact that once—long ago in system time—they’d come online together. Two circuits sparking in tandem.
And if war came, they’d short out the same way.
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