Anne's eyes opened to soft illumination filtering through her room's modest curtains. She lay still for a moment, orienting herself, then sat up with the mechanical precision of routine. Her gaze swept the small space—bed, desk, closet, bookshelf—searching for something.
The notebook. There, on her nightstand.
She retrieved it with careful hands, opening to the page marked with a ribbon. Her own handwriting stared back at her, instructions written in neat script:
*Today's Plan: Eat my favorite Hot Croquette at the café. Win the white cat doll from the crane game. Buy my favorite blue bookmark at the bookstore. Remember to set alarm before going out!*
Anne smiled at her own foresight. She must have written this yesterday to help herself remember. Good thinking!
Something caught her attention as she set the notebook down—a calico cat doll sitting on her pillow, and a pink bookmark protruding from a book on her shelf. Strange. She didn't remember those being her favorites. The notebook clearly said white cat and blue bookmark.
Anne frowned, turning the calico doll over in her hands. It was cute, certainly, but white cats were definitely her favorite. She must have accepted this from someone who didn't know her preferences. And the pink bookmark... well, pink was nice, but blue was obviously superior.
She placed the calico doll carefully on her shelf and tucked the pink bookmark into a drawer. Today she'd get the right ones. The ones she actually liked.
After dressing and checking her appearance in the mirror, Anne set her alarm as instructed and departed, notebook tucked safely in her pocket.
The Outpost's morning bustle enveloped her as she stepped into the residential district. Nikkes moved with purpose, heading to assignments or leisure activities. The freedom Commander Cousland granted them still felt miraculous, even if Anne couldn't quite remember when that freedom had begun.
She hummed to herself, consulting her notebook's crude map toward the café district.
"Anne!"
Someone called her name. Anne glanced around, uncertain of the source.
"Anne, good morning!"
A man approached—tall, handsome, with a commander's uniform and unusual prosthetic limbs that gleamed dully in the artificial light. His expression held warmth and something else... concern?
Anne smiled politely and continued walking. Probably just a friendly stranger.
"Anne, wait."
The man moved into her path, not threatening but persistent. Anne stopped, tilting her head questioningly.
"Yes? Can I help you, sir?"
Pain flashed across his face, quickly masked. "We met yesterday. I'm Arthur. Your teacher, remember?"
Anne consulted her internal sense of familiarity and found nothing. "I'm sorry, I don't think we've met. But it's nice to meet you now, Arthur!"
He studied her with an intensity that made her shift uncomfortably. "What are you doing today?"
"I'm going to get my favorite Hot Croquette," Anne said, brightening at the chance to share her plans. "Then the arcade, then the bookstore. I wrote it all down so I wouldn't forget." She produced her notebook proudly.
Arthur's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Mind if I join you?"
"Really? That would be wonderful!"
The café smelled of frying food and fresh bread. Anne ordered immediately, enthusiasm evident. "One Hot Croquette, please! Extra spicy!"
Arthur ordered a Mild Croquette, his expression thoughtful as he watched her.
When the food arrived, Anne attacked hers with gusto, took a large bite, and immediately regretted everything. Fire exploded across her tongue, burning down her throat. She coughed violently, eyes watering, face flushing.
"Too hot, too hot!" she gasped between coughs.
Arthur slid his plate across without hesitation. "Here, try mine."
Anne gratefully bit into the Mild Croquette, and the flavor—savory, perfectly seasoned, without the assault of excessive heat—made her moan with relief and pleasure.
"This is amazing!" she declared after swallowing. "This is definitely my favorite! I'm going to eat these every day from now on!" She paused, confused. "Why did I write that I liked Hot Croquettes? These are so much better."
"Maybe your tastes changed," Arthur suggested quietly, but his eyes held something dark and troubled.
At the arcade, Anne made straight for the crane game, pressing her face against the glass. "That one!" She pointed decisively. "The white cat! It's perfect!"
Arthur fed credits into the machine with mechanical efficiency. His first attempt positioned well but the grip failed. His second try compensated for the claw's drift but still missed. The third attempt—adjusted for every variable he'd observed—lifted the white cat doll smoothly and deposited it in the collection chute.
"You got it!" Anne clutched the prize with reverence, but something nagged at her memory. Not a memory exactly, more like an echo. Hadn't something like this happened before?
She shook the feeling off. Impossible. This was her first time winning the white cat doll. Her favorite.
At the bookstore, Anne navigated directly to the bookmark display, selecting two identical blue bookmarks decorated with small stars. "Blue is definitely my favorite color," she announced. "We should get matching ones!"
"We should," Arthur agreed, but his voice carried a weight that confused her.
At the counter, Anne's alarm chimed softly. She checked the display and sighed. "I have to go home now. But thank you for today, Arthur! It was really fun!"
"Anne, wait." Arthur's hand on her shoulder was gentle but insistent. "Do you remember anything from yesterday?"
"Yesterday?" Anne considered. "I... I'm not sure. Why?"
"Never mind." His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Get home safe. I'll see you again soon."
"Okay! Bye!" Anne waved, clutching her white cat doll and blue bookmark, and departed with a spring in her step.
Arthur stood motionless for a long moment, then activated his communication interface.
"Rapi, I need information. Do you know anyone well-versed in Nikke memory systems?"
Rapi's response came quickly. "Exia. Protocol Squad, Tetra Line. She's a hacker and systems expert. Why?"
"I'll explain later. Can you arrange a meeting?"
"Give me thirty minutes."
Exia's workspace was exactly what Arthur expected—a dimly lit room filled with holographic displays, data streams cascading across multiple screens, and the soft hum of processing equipment. The woman herself was slight, almost fragile in appearance, with long black hair and dark circles under her eyes. She wore an oversized shirt and shorts, looking more like she'd just woken up than someone in the middle of analysis.
She glanced up as Arthur entered, her expression neutral, and immediately looked back at her screens.
"Rapi said you needed information on Nikke memory systems." Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. She pulled up a text interface and began typing as she spoke, as if verbal communication alone was insufficient. "What specifically?"
"A Nikke named Anne. Silver hair, cat-ear hood, appears to be a child. Her memory resets every twenty-four hours. I need to know why."
Exia's fingers paused on the keyboard. She turned to look at him fully for the first time, her eyes sharp despite their tired appearance.
"Anne from Recall and Release," she said, then typed the words on a screen for emphasis. "R&R. Research squad studying NIMPH, how the nanomachine programming affects memory formation and retention."
"Explain," Arthur said, his voice dangerously quiet.
Exia pulled up files, data streams, research documentation. "Every Nikke has NIMPH. Controls basic functions, provides combat coordination, maintains cognitive stability. But NIMPH can also influence memory encoding, preference formation, even personality traits." She paused, typing additional context. "R&R is testing those limits. With Anne."
"Testing how?"
"Memory wipes. Every twenty-four hours. Complete reset." Exia's expression remained neutral, but her typing became more aggressive. "Each day they modify her preference parameters. Yesterday she liked mild food, calico cats, pink bookmarks. Today it's spicy food, white cats, blue bookmarks. Tomorrow it'll be something else. They're studying how quickly manufactured preferences integrate into behavior patterns."
Arthur's hands clenched, goddesium fingers creating small stress fractures in the edge of Exia's desk. "They're experimenting on a child."
"Technically, experimenting on a Nikke who appears to be a child," Exia corrected clinically, then added via text: *But yes. A child.*
She pulled up additional documentation. "The research itself is fascinating from a technical perspective. Understanding NIMPH's neural integration could revolutionize Nikke development, potentially solve memory fragmentation issues like what your Lyra experiences." She looked at Arthur directly. "But even I think this crosses ethical lines. Anne isn't consenting. She can't consent. Every day she wakes up confused about why her belongings don't match her preferences, why people treat her like they know her, why the world feels simultaneously familiar and alien."
"Who authorized this?" Arthur's voice could have cut steel.
"Central Command Science Division. Multiple corporate sponsors. It's legal, technically. Anne is classified as military research equipment." Exia's typing became even more pointed. "Legally, she has no rights to refuse."
Later, Arthur walked through the Outpost's corridors with purpose, his mind calculating trajectories, resources, political capital. Anne's confused expression haunted him—the genuine joy at winning a white cat doll she'd been programmed to want, the delight in blue bookmarks that weren't actually her preference, the painful contrast between manufactured desires and authentic experience.
Somehow, he would give Anne memories that transcended their research protocols. Memories that burned bright enough to persist even through systematic erasure.
He didn't know how yet. But he would find a way.
He always did.