They Drained My Father Dry

I huddled beneath the hospital bed, the metallic tang of old floor cleaner stinging my nose. I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper, desperate to stifle the hitch in my breath.

Then, it happened. That cold, synthetic voice—the one that sounded like my father’s but lacked every ounce of his warmth—echoed in the hollows of my mind.

[System: Affection levels of target confirmed as irrecoverable. Application for "Death-Escape" protocol approved. Countdown to departure: Forty-eight hours.]

I knew exactly who the "target" was.