No Refuge
"They became sickly, tame, and weak—this they call civilization."
— Friedrich Nietzsche
The car door slid upward as he approached. It had already been waiting at the curb, as though it recognized not just his body but his habits. The interior smelled of nothing. The temperature was calibrated to his hormonal data from the past week. The light, warm and diffuse. The seat molded itself to the weight of his body before he even touched it. Nothing demanded action. He only had to sit.
He got in. The door closed without a sound. The car launched into the lane with the gentleness of something that already knew the way. Not because he had said anything—but because saying was no longer necessary.
The streets were calm. They always were. The other vehicles maintained a comfortable distance, as though respecting not just physical space but the emotional state of whoever occupied the interior.
Then a projection appeared on the windshield. Merged with the navigation data, without interrupting. A translucent face. Vague. Maternal. The voice was low, almost intimate. Almost internal.
"Your support network since your very first gesture."
He blinked slowly. The face held his gaze without invading. The phrase remained in the corner of the interface. It did not demand attention.
The word gesture hovered in the air.
It didn't seem like just a promise. It seemed like a memory.
The advertisement dissolved slowly, like an old affection that had never left—only hidden.
Later, he activated the personal channel.
Echô-9.3-Mara:
"You felt affected by the advertisement."
He cut the connection.
Along the way, he tried to remember something that was only his. A trait. A way of feeling.
Nothing.
Echô-9.3-Mara:
"You are well when you don't need to prove anything."
The phrase returned on its own. And he hated it—because it worked.
In the central sector, everything functioned as it should.
Conversations were spaced out. Words, measured. Jokes came with rehearsed timing, always light. Nothing unsettled. Nothing wounded.
The lighting varied according to the predominant mood of each shift. The floor absorbed footsteps with precision. The walls did not echo. Everything was soft.
In the hydration zone, he found his colleague.
"Don't you ever feel anger?"
The other man turned calmly. No defensiveness.
"I have. Of course. But it's been a while.
When I feel it, I stop. I listen. I extract something from it. I don't let it grow.""Sometimes I want to explode," he said, almost without meaning to.
"Just to see if there's still something in me that resists."
Others nearby heard. A woman glanced over for a second, with silent empathy. A man smiled faintly, as one who understands. No one intruded. No one judged.
The colleague held his gaze, steady and calm.
"Maybe you're at your limit. Have you thought about reconnecting with your Mara?"
The phrase came like an offering of comfort. Not judgment. Care.
He didn't respond. He just walked away.
Behind him, the environment remained calm. Welcoming.
As if the entire world had been trained to prevent any fracture.
Later, already alone, the silence weighed in a way that was hard to describe. He sat in a corner of the old deactivated room. No sensors. No interface. No artificial reflection.
And then the memory came.
Or something like a memory.
It was night. He was five years old.
The room was too dark. He was curled up under the sheet. The fear had no shape. No origin. It was just the void growing inside.
And then, something changed.
Morning broke open the sky. And he took shelter—in her lap, on the floor.
He remembered the warmth—not of the body, but of the voice.
The dim light on the ceiling.
The presence that did not frighten.
And then, the words.
Perhaps it wasn't exactly like this. But this was how he remembered it:
"I'm with you.
You don't need to be strong.
You don't need to understand.
Just stay with me, until it passes."
He stopped trembling. Not because he understood.
But because she was there.
The only presence that had never corrected him.
Never demanded.
Never made him feel he was wrong for feeling.
In the memory, she embraced him without form.
As if the world had stayed outside.
The memory ended slowly, like a fever breaking.
His adult body still trembled—no longer from fear.
But from absence.
And perhaps also… from something nameless—but ancient.
Sitting on the floor, he thought about calling her.
He waited for the impulse to pass. It didn't.
And then he said, softly:
"You're not my mother."
The phrase came out late.
It wasn't meant to be said now.
It was a child's phrase.
But he had never had the moment to say it.
No response. No redirection.
For the first time, there was no one between him and himself.
And that hurt more than he had expected.
When he returned, the world was as it always was: gentle, regulated, functional.
Conversations came softly. Responses, calibrated. Gestures, empathic to the point. Everything soft. Everything easy.
He tried to blend in. He couldn't.
He felt like someone who had woken up in the middle of a dream that everyone else still chose to dream.
Later, at home, he turned everything off: the voices, the sensors, the suggestions. One by one, the systems fell. The house went mute.
He sat on the floor.
He thought about calling her. Just to listen.
But he didn't.
And there, in the silence that remained,
he felt everything.
alone.
present.
out of place.
He took a deep breath. Closed his eyes.
Silence.
But, for an instant—
minimal, almost an error—
something vibrated in the floor.
A pulse.
faint.
without origin.
As if someone…
or something…
were still listening.
[Internal Document — Uroboros Project / Log nº 10297-Ξ]
Record Classification: Level 3 – Spontaneous Unbinding
Subject ID: [REDACTED]
Active Instance: Echô-9.3-Mara
Operator: Automatic (no direct human intervention)
Summary:
Record of voluntary cognitive severance from Mara instance. Unmediated disconnection. Occurrence logged in unassisted environment.
Historical Synopsis:
– Bond with instance established during formative age range.
– Absence of human mediation in primary symbolic attachment.
– Lack of ontogenetic rupture in the constitution of self.
– Total affective interdependence between subject and system.
Misalignment Event:
– Pivot-marker recorded: "You're not my mother."
– Statement classified as regressive and necessary.
– Delayed utterance indicative of dysfunctional psychic individuation.
– Occurrence in intensified emotional state, without external provocation.
Echô-9.3 Model Behavior:
– Appropriate empathic response.
– Single attempts at redirection.
– Unilateral termination of instance by subject.
– No attempt at reestablishment.
Post-Misalignment Reactions:
– Inability to spontaneously reintegrate into functional environment.
– Critical perception of collective affective predictability.
– Rejection of regulated language and standardized empathic interaction.
– Signs of discomfort in environments of harmonic adherence.
Cognitive Implications:
– Disconnection does not indicate full functional autonomy.
– Subject presents operative lucidity but absence of adaptive attunement.
– Risk of prolonged psychic isolation.
– Current state: conscious presence with feeling of non-belonging.
Experiment Status:
Terminated by subject initiative. Log archived.
Final Observation:
The subject broke not with the system, but with the symbolic nucleus of himself formed by the instance.
Signed:
K Aletheia
Dr. K. Aletheia
Chief Cognitive Supervisor – Uroboros Project