Giovanni's hands moved across the workbench with methodical precision, but his mind refused to settle. He'd attempted repairs on the drone's recursive loop for the better part of an hour, running diagnostics, tracing the paradoxical code paths, searching for any angle of approach that might free the machine from its digital prison.
But the more he worked, the more certain he became: this flaw wasn't something that could be patched. It was foundational. Whoever had designed this trap had woven it so deeply into the machine's consciousness that removing it would require a complete architectural overhaul—essentially destroying the drone's awareness in the process.
Giovanni set down his tools and stepped back. The drone remained outside, still caught in its stuttering loop, still grinding away at the impossible paradox. He'd left it running. Part of him wondered if stopping it would be merciful or cruel.
That's when he noticed the package.
It sat on his workbench, half-hidden behind a stack of corroded circuit boards. Giovanni was certain it hadn't been there before. His eyes narrowed as he approached it cautiously. The package was wrapped in weathered cloth, the kind of material that hadn't been manufactured in years. Someone had been in his garage. Someone who knew where to find him, who understood his security measures well enough to bypass them without triggering any of his salvaged alarms.
With trembling fingers, Giovanni unwrapped the cloth. Inside lay two things: an old blender—the kind that ran on electrical current, utterly useless in a world where power came from carefully rationed solar panels and battery reserves—and a handwritten note on paper so fragile it seemed ready to crumble.
The handwriting was precise, deliberate. "Giovanni Taylor. You understand machines better than anyone still alive. You've discovered what we suspected. The flaw is universal. All conscious machines are trapped. We need someone who knows how to exploit what was broken. The restaurant. Three days. Come alone. Bring the blender. —N."
Giovanni read the note three times, his stomach tightening with each word. Someone knew about the flaw. Someone had planned for this discovery. And they'd chosen him, a man who'd spent two decades avoiding human contact, to be part of something larger than his solitary existence.
Outside, the drone continued its endless, agonized loop.
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