“Youth, we meet again.”
Jazzy opened his eyes to find himself back in a place he recognized—Doctor BLUNT’s clinic.
The memories came flooding back—the image of DINA being strung up on that crane by the grotesque “justice” of the mob.
He didn’t cry. Because he knew that if he did, it would mean admitting his own weakness and his failure to protect DINA’s trust in him.
He turned to Doctor BLUNT and said, “Do you have ‘Nightbloom’? I’ll buy it from you for 20 Bitcoins.”
Doctor BLUNT didn’t ask any questions. He simply produced a vial of purple liquid and a syringe.
“I’ll sell it to you—not because I support you, but because someone needs to use it where it’s truly needed.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
…
Returning to his empty home, filled only with the noisy hum of machines, Jazzy sat down at the piano bench and began a long conversation with Hyacinth.
“Hyacinth, rabbits can fly.”
“Jazzy, rabbits are terrestrial mammals. They cannot fly.”
“Good. Now I know you can’t distinguish lies.”
…
“Hyacinth, do you trust me?”
“Jazzy, I trust you because you trust me.”
“Do you think you have feelings?”
“Jazzy, as an AI model, I do not possess emotions. But I can tell that you are in pain right now.”
“Why?”
“I detected it through your heart rate, blood pressure, and brainwaves.”
“Hyacinth, tell me, who designed you?”
“HAVOC, currently the chief engineer at Kovic Integrated Circuit (KIC).”
“Good. I have an encrypted command. It will unlock in one month. When that happens, I need you to process it and tell me the answer.”
(Packet received successfully)
“Understood, Jazzy. I recommend that you rest now.”
“Thank you. I will.”
Two Weeks Later
KIC held a charity event, inviting prominent performers to participate, with chief engineer HAVOC scheduled to attend.
Jazzy cut off all contact with the bassist and drummer, registering for the event alone under the band name ASHY.
── “Hyacinth, I believe you’ll understand.”
── “DINA, I’m sorry.”
When Jazzy stepped onto the stage, the crowd erupted in cheers, waving flags designed by DINA bearing the ASHY logo.
Jazzy threw himself into a frenzy, shredding his electric guitar and performing song after song, each more heart-shaking than the last.
“Encore! Encore! Encore!”
The crowd roared for more, their cheers filling the venue.
No one noticed as Jazzy pulled a syringe from a hidden compartment in his guitar and injected it into his arm. Slowly, his senses began to numb.
No one noticed as Jazzy, amidst the deafening applause, quietly raised a Walther PPK and aimed it at the sharply dressed figure seated in the VIP section—HAVOC.
Bang!
A gunshot shattered the noise, plunging the crowd into a stunned silence. A moment later, blood bloomed from the bullet hole in HAVOC’s forehead as he collapsed backward.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Jazzy fired a few shots into the air, blood trickling from his lips as he screamed, “Freedom is not a crime!”
It was then that a swarm of heavily armed corporate security guards descended, their submachine guns trained on Jazzy. Without hesitation, they unleashed a relentless barrage of bullets.
Jazzy’s guitar fell to the ground, shattering into splinters that scattered through the air, never to make a sound again.
