Julia stepped forward then, her scientific fear warring with the undeniable love she felt in the room. She placed a hand on Synth's shoulder, a firm, grounding touch. "By nature, I question everything," she said, her voice still tight with awe, but softer now. "My mind is still trying to find a law of physics you didn't just shatter into a million pieces." She took a breath. "But Lina's right. Your power… it's terrifying. But everything you've done has been to protect this family. You've proven you know how to handle it." Her grip on his shoulder tightened, a gesture of solidarity. "You won't use it to harm those who don't deserve it. We trust you."

The quiet hum of the apartment was a gentle, soothing sound after the emotional rollercoaster of the morning. In Lina's room, she and Julia were talking, their voices a low, intimate murmur. From Alyna's room, a different kind of quiet emanated—one heavy with exhaustion and unspoken grief, where Selena now stood silent vigil. The apartment felt like a home with many rooms, each holding a different story.

Synth emerged from Lina's room, the door closing softly behind him. He walked over to the couch where Artemis sat with Max. The boy was leaning against her, holding up a datapad, his finger tracing the lines of a video playing on the screen. It showed a scrappy-looking artist in a junkyard, welding together a colossal statue of a robot from rusted car parts and salvaged machinery. Artemis watched, her expression one of deep, analytical focus.

"I am going out with Julia and I will come back in a few hours," Synth said, his voice a low murmur, not wanting to break the quiet focus of the two on the couch. He paused, his silver eyes watching her. "Would you like to come with us?"

Artemis's gaze shifted from the datapad to Synth, and then back to Max, who looked up at her with wide, hopeful eyes. A flicker of something new, something akin to a gentle refusal, was in her eyes. "Not this time," she said, her voice a soft hum. "He was going to show me the world he has created."

Max's expression shifted from the video to one of earnest concern. "Can you help us?" he asked, his voice quiet. "It seems the MemStream doesn't work on her." He pointed a small, accusatory finger at the two MemStream headsets lying on the coffee table—sleek, minimalist halos of matte-black carbon fiber that were, to him, just a frustrating barrier.

Synth walked over and picked one up. He turned it over in his hands, his gaze analytical. Then, a shimmer of liquid mercury flowed from his fingertips. A network of fine, glowing white circuits bloomed across the headset's frame, like frost spreading on a winter pane, before sinking into the composite material and vanishing. He handed the modified headset to Artemis.

"Now it should work," he said. He gave Max a soft pat on the head. "Have fun." With a final, knowing glance at Artemis, he joined Julia by the door, and they slipped out of the apartment.

Max's face lit up. He took the modified headset from Artemis and placed it gently over her head, a perfect crown on her silver hair. The standard human tech was never meant to connect with her Asura physiology, but Synth's modification had turned it into a universal key. The faint neural induction prongs on the inner rim shimmered with a pale blue light, creating a direct interface with her consciousness and turning the headset into a simple doorway into the MemStream. He then put on his own.

"It's more comfortable if you lie down," he instructed, his voice now full of the quiet authority of a seasoned guide. He laid back on the couch, and after a moment's hesitation, Artemis mirrored his posture, her long frame taking up the entire length of the sofa.

And then, the world dissolved.

The soft light and quiet hum of the apartment vanished, replaced by the impossible warmth of a perfect summer sun. They were standing in a park, a vibrant splash of green nestled between monolithic skyscrapers that pierced a sky of brilliant, cloudless blue. The air was clean, carrying the sweet, floral scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass—a stark, beautiful contrast to the chemical tang of Virelia and the recycled air of the apartment. The only sounds were the gentle rustle of leaves in a soft breeze and the cheerful, melodic chirping of birds. For Artemis, the environment was a series of illogical data points. The grass was a uniform, inefficient monoculture. The bird songs were repetitive, lacking the complex threat calls of her own jungle's fauna. This place was not wild; it was sterile. Yet, she registered the warmth on her skin and the clean air in her lungs as... pleasant. A contradictory and therefore interesting variable. She glanced down at herself, noting with a detached curiosity that her avatar wore the same clothes she had on in the real world: black tight jeans, a black t-shirt, and simple tennis shoes. This place was a combination of the city's structure and her jungle's beauty, and she was having a hard time processing how to feel about it.

"This is my workshop," Max said, his voice soft with a quiet pride. He had designed this place himself, a sanctuary of calm against the harsh memories of his trauma.

In the center of the perfectly manicured lawn floated a single, complex sculpture. It was one of her 'children'. Max had recreated it from her description, his digital clay capturing the overlapping plates of black, obsidian-like armor and the vicious, curved mandibles. But it was wrong.

"The tarsal-metatarsal joints lack the necessary reinforcement," she stated, her voice echoing in the peaceful quiet. "The chassis would buckle under the kinetic stress of a full-speed charge. It is a fatal design flaw."

Max looked at his creation, a flicker of disappointment on his face. He had been so proud of it.

"I should start fixing it then." Max said as he walked closer.

"Show me," she commanded, the word softer than she had intended.

He brought up the editing tools, and for the next hour, she found herself in the most unexpected role, that of a teacher. With a quiet, patient focus, she guided his hands, her words shaping his creation. "The carapace on its back should be segmented, for flexibility." "The mandibles are serrated, here, on the inner edge, for tearing."

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He was a quick study, his hands moving with an intuitive grace, absorbing her corrections, his initial disappointment replaced by a fervent, creative joy. At the same time he was learning to see the world through her eyes, a world of brutal, perfect, functional design.

When they were finished, the creature that floated before them was a perfect, terrifying replica of a Gener. Max looked at it with a profound sense of awe. Then, a slow, excited grin spread across his face.

"Now for the fun part," he said. He opened a new menu, selecting a pre-rendered environment: a dense, alien jungle, strikingly similar to the one Artemis had just left. With a tap, he placed their creation into the simulation.

The world around them shimmered and reformed, replaced by the deep, verdant gloom of a forest floor. Massive, bioluminescent fungi cast a soft, ethereal glow on the strange, pulsating flora. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and alien pollen. And there, a few feet away, the creature moved. Its obsidian plates shifted with a silent, deadly grace. It was alive, sniffing the air, its head turning as it surveyed its new territory before it scurried away into the undergrowth.

"Let's track it," Artemis said, her voice a low hum of pure, predatory focus.

A small, excited smile touched Max's lips as he nodded.

"But first," he said, a thoughtful look on his face, "we should change. To blend in."

He summoned a holographic menu that shimmered into existence between them, a cascading scroll of tactical gear and camouflage patterns. "What do you think would fit best?" he asked, expanding the menu for her to see.

Artemis scanned the options, her analytical gaze dismissing the brightly colored or overly complex designs. Her finger, long and elegant, traced down the list before stopping on a single item. It was a deep green and black hooded cloak, its texture described as a 'chameleon weave' that subtly shifted with the light.

"This one," she stated.

With a tap, their avatars shimmered. Her jeans and t-shirt were replaced by a dark, form-fitting bodysuit, over which the long, hooded cloak settled, its fabric moving with a silent, fluid grace. Max outfitted himself in a smaller, matching version, a miniature shadow at her side. Now, they were no longer visitors. They were hunters.

"Okay," he whispered, his eyes wide with excitement. "Let's go."

And the two of them set off into the gloom.

They walked in that digital jungle for what felt like hours, two silent observers following the creature as it hunted, as it moved through the undergrowth with a familiar, predatory grace. For Max, it was the ultimate adventure. For Artemis, it was a strange, bittersweet echo of a home she had left behind. But sharing it, seeing it through his eyes, stripped it of its violence, of its lonely, brutal harmony. Here, in this perfect, sterile copy-cat of her world, there was only a quiet, shared wonder. She looked at the boy walking beside her, his face alight with a joy so pure it was almost painful to witness, and started to understand. This was a different kind of connection, one not forged in command or combat, but in the simple, quiet act of sharing a world.

They found the Gener in a small clearing, the bioluminescent light casting long, strange shadows. It stood over what looked like a perfectly cooked, comically large ham, the kind seen in old cartoons, complete with a single bone sticking out of the top. The Gener's serrated mandibles were happily munching on the digital meal, pixelated crumbs scattering with each bite.

A slight frown creased Artemis's brow, the cartoonish ham the Gener was eating a jarring anomaly. An illogical variable in an otherwise logical system. She filed the inconsistency away; the primary objective was the hunt, and for that, she required a weapon.

"Excellent," she stated, her voice full of a teacher's pride. "Its predatory instincts are functioning within optimal parameters." She turned to Max, her eyes alight with the thrill of the hunt. "Now, summon weapons. A bow for me. A rifle for you. We will practice stalking it from a distance."

Max stared, his eyes wide. He looked from the creature and its kill to Artemis's expectant, almost joyful face. The adventurous light in his own eyes flickered and died.

His breath hitched. With a panicked swipe of his hand, he tore through the simulation's command menus. The world fractured. The deep green of the jungle dissolved into a kaleidoscope of broken code and static before snapping back into the bright, serene peace of his park. The shift was a physical shock, a recalibration of the senses. One moment, they were surrounded by the damp, dangerous dark; the next, they were standing in the serene, sun-drenched peace of Max's park. The air, once thick with the scent of alien pollen and decay, was now clean, carrying the sweet, floral perfume of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass.

Artemis found herself back in the serene park, puzzled by the abrupt change. Max had terminated the simulation without warning—an illogical action.

Perhaps the stimulus was too overwhelming, she reasoned. She filed the data point away and turned to him, deciding it was the optimal time to deliver her assessment.

"You navigate the terrain with efficiency," she stated, her voice a calm, analytical hum. It was, from her, a high compliment. "You understand the shape of the forest." She turned to him, her ice-blue eyes intense, the gaze of a commander assessing a promising soldier. "But you do not understand its heart. The heart is the hunt. You avoided all conflict. This is a flaw."

She saw the bright, adventurous light in his eyes dim, extinguished by her words.

"I will correct it," she continued, framing it as the next logical step in his training, a gift of knowledge. "I will teach you."

Max's reaction was immediate and visceral. He physically recoiled, taking a step back from her as if he had struck him. He shook his head, his face pale with fear. He wouldn't meet her eyes, his own gaze fixed on the perfect green grass at his feet, his hands starting to fidget nervously, twisting the hem of his shirt.

Her mind stalled.

"The aversion is illogical," she pressed, her tone becoming that of a diagnostician trying to locate a system error. "To understand an ecosystem is to understand the flow of energy. Predation is the primary mechanism for that transfer. To track, to stalk, to kill… this is the core of all life. It is necessary. Why do you resist a fundamental truth?"

He looked up at her then, his small face pale, his eyes wide with a pain she couldn't comprehend. "I don't like blood," he whispered.

The three words were a profound, unassailable truth that hung in the perfect, manufactured air of the park.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, broken only by the cheerful, artificial chirping of digital birds. To escape it, Max took another step back, his voice a quiet, desperate plea to change the subject. "Let me show you something else," he said. "Something… better."

With a gesture, the park shimmered and dissolved. The monolithic skyscrapers and the perfect blue sky vanished, replaced by a world of impossible softness. They were standing on a rolling hill of vibrant, purple grass that felt like velvet under their feet. Strange, lollipop-shaped trees dotted the landscape, their leaves like spun sugar. In the sky above, two cheerful, smiling suns beamed down, and the air was filled with the sound of soft, gurgling chimes.

"Welcome to Slug Valley," Max said, a fragile smile returning to his face.

He pointed to a small, wiggling creature nearby. It was a slug, bright red and translucent, its happy, simple face a stark contrast to the terrifying Gener they had just created. It gurgled, leaving a trail of shimmering, sweet-smelling slime. "That's a Berry Slug," he explained. He then pointed to another, a bouncy yellow one that giggled every time it hopped. "And that's a Giggle Slug."

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