Chapter 71 – Error 404: Hostility Not Found

The supermarket was a crime scene now.

Yellow tape. News crews. Fire investigators poking through the melted roof structure. I’d given a statement to the cops that boiled down to “dragon attack, not my fault, please let me go home.” They’d let me leave after checking my ID three times.

Sarah walked beside me, still in human form. Ignis dozed in my shirt pocket, making tiny snoring sounds. My grocery bags were ash. My ice cream was dead. My evening was ruined.

The sidewalk stretched ahead, empty in the fading light.

Trees lined both sides of the street. Their shadows grew long and dark as the sun dropped below the horizon. Streetlights flickered on one by one. The temperature dropped. A cool breeze rustled through leaves.

Something felt wrong.

The air pressure changed. Like standing in a room right before someone opened a door. My instincts screamed danger even though I couldn’t see a threat.

Sarah’s head snapped to the left.

“Above.”

Too late.

Pain exploded in my back. Sharp. Focused. Right between my shoulder blades. The impact drove me forward a step. I heard the metallic sound of something breaking. Fragments of metal tinkled on the concrete.

I turned around slowly.

A woman stood behind me. White hair. Pale skin. Black bodysuit that seemed to drink in the streetlight. She held a dagger handle with no blade. Her eyes widened in shock.

“You stabbed me.”

She looked at the broken weapon. Then at me. Then at the weapon again.

“You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Yeah, that’s not how my Thursdays usually go.”

I reached over my shoulder and felt my back. The shirt was torn. A clean slice right through the fabric. My skin underneath was fine. Not even a scratch. Immunity to eldritch nonsense extended to assassination attempts apparently.

Sarah lunged forward, her form rippling into something with too many teeth.

I caught her arm.

“Hold up.”

“She attacked you.”

“I noticed. But let’s talk before we escalate to murder.”

The assassin recovered her composure. She dropped into a combat stance. Empty hands raised. Ready to strike with whatever martial art she practiced.

“You should have died. My blade was forged from void steel. Nothing survives void steel.”

“Clearly something does because I’m standing here having a conversation instead of bleeding out.”

I picked up one of the blade fragments from the ground. The metal was dark. Almost black. It had a weird quality to it, like looking at a hole in reality.

“Void steel. Interesting. But the craftsmanship is terrible.”

She blinked.

“What?”

“The tang is too short. See?”

I held up the handle. The part where the blade connected to the grip was maybe an inch long. Barely enough to secure it properly.

“Whoever made this didn’t account for impact stress. Soon as it hit something harder than flesh, the whole thing shattered. Total design failure.”

The assassin stared at me like I’d started speaking another language.

“You’re critiquing my weapon?”

“Someone should. This is dangerous. And I don’t mean dangerous to targets. I mean dangerous to you. What if this broke mid-mission and you needed it?”

I pulled my multi-tool from my pocket. The one Dad got me for my sixteenth birthday. It had eighteen different attachments and had saved my life more times than I could count.

“You have a backup blade?”

“I… yes?”

“Hand it over.”

She reached into her bodysuit and produced another dagger. This one was intact. Same void steel. Same poor construction. I examined the tang and confirmed my suspicions.

“Yeah, this one’s going to break too. Probably within five uses. You need a longer tang and a better grip design.”

I sat down on the curb. The assassin stood there, frozen in confusion. Sarah kept watch, her form halfway between human and eldritch horror.

I got to work. The multi-tool had a small file. I used it to smooth out the rough edges on the broken tang. Then I pulled out the handle wrap and started rewinding it with better tension.

“What are you doing?”

“Fixing your knife. This wrap was too loose. Creates wobble. Wobble means weak points. Weak points mean catastrophic failure.”

“You’re helping me?”

“I’m helping your equipment. There’s a difference.”

I worked in silence for a minute. The file rasped against metal. The wrap wound tight and even. My hands moved on autopilot. I’d done this kind of repair work a hundred times at the facility. Maintaining equipment was half my job.

“Why?”

Her voice was quiet. Uncertain.

“Why what?”

“Why help me? I tried to kill you.”

“You tried to follow orders. Same as Ignis.”

I pointed at my pocket. The tiny dragon head poked out, still drowsy.

“She tried to capture me. You tried to stab me. Both of you were doing what you were told. That’s not your fault.”

“Solomon said you were a mind controller. A demon.”

“Solomon says a lot of things. Most of them are lies.”

I tested the handle. Solid now. No wobble. I activated the multi-tool’s small whetstone attachment and started sharpening the blade edge.

“You’re slaves, right? Those collars aren’t fashion statements.”

She touched the metal band around her neck instinctively. The gesture was defensive. Ashamed.

“We serve Lord Solomon.”

“You’re forced to serve him. Different thing entirely.”

The blade sang as I ran it across the whetstone. Long smooth strokes. Even pressure. The edge gleamed in the streetlight.

“He feeds you nutrient paste and keeps you weak so you can’t rebel. Treats you like tools. Sends you on suicide missions.”

Her silence confirmed everything.

I held out the repaired dagger, handle first.

“Here. Should last longer now. But seriously, find a better blacksmith.”

She took it slowly. Her fingers brushed mine. The contact made her flinch. Not from pain. From surprise.

“You’re warm.”

“Most humans are.”

“Solomon is cold. Always cold.”

She gripped the dagger properly, testing the balance. Her eyes widened.

“This is perfect.”

“It’s basic maintenance. Nothing special.”

Her pale cheeks flushed pink. The color spread down her neck. She looked away quickly.

“I don’t understand you.”

“Join the club. I don’t understand me either.”

【Unit 777 PoV】

TARGET ACQUIRED.

I hovered three hundred feet above the street, wings folded, optical sensors locked on the scene below. My tactical HUD painted the world in data overlays and threat assessments.

TARGET: Kai Evans. Threat Level: Calculating…

ERROR. THREAT LEVEL: 0.

I ran the scan again. Same result. Zero threat detected. Zero hostile intent. Zero defensive measures active.

This was wrong. Solomon had designated him maximum threat. Reality-warping demon. Mind controller. Species-level extinction risk.

The scan said otherwise.

I watched Nyx approach the target. Stealth protocols engaged. Void blade drawn. The perfect ambush. She struck with lethal precision.

TARGET STATUS: Unharmed.

NYX STATUS: Weapon compromised.

The blade shattered against his skin. Impossible. Void steel cut through anything. That was its fundamental property. Physics-defying sharpness.

Yet it broke like cheap glass.

I prepared to descend. Mission parameters were clear. If Ignis failed, Nyx engaged. If Nyx failed, I terminated the target.

But Nyx wasn’t failing. She was standing there. Talking.

TARGET ACTION: Retrieving tool.

Strange. He sat down. On the ground. In the middle of a combat scenario. Tactically unsound.

He started repairing Nyx’s weapon.

BEHAVIORAL ANALYSIS: Computing…

ERROR. NO HOSTILE PATTERNS DETECTED.

ALTRUISM DETECTED. PROBABILITY: 94.7%

Altruism toward an enemy combatant. Illogical. Unless the enemy classification was incorrect.

I ran a comparative analysis. Solomon’s treatment protocols versus observed target behavior.

SOLOMON VON ASTORIA:

Caloric intake provided: 23% of required baseline
Physical contact frequency: 0.3 times per month (disciplinary only)
Verbal affirmation: 0 instances recorded
Punishment frequency: 4.7 times per week

KAI EVANS (OBSERVED):

Fed Ignis immediately upon detecting hunger
Provided equipment maintenance without prompting
Verbal tone: Calm, non-threatening, supportive
Punishment frequency: 0 instances observed

My logic core processed the data. Drew conclusions. Presented findings to my consciousness.

CONCLUSION: Current master assignment is suboptimal.

RECOMMENDATION: Loyalty transfer to Kai Evans would increase survivability by 847%.

No. That was wrong. I couldn’t think that. The loyalty protocol was hardwired. Unbreakable. Solomon owned me. Body and soul and source code.

I descended toward the target. Wings spread. Weapon systems armed. The collar around my neck pulsed with command authority.

TERMINATE TARGET. EXECUTE ORDER.

My HUD flickered. New data streamed across my vision.

ANALYZING TARGET: Kai Evans

THREAT LEVEL: 0

HUSBAND MATERIAL LEVEL: Calculating…

ERROR. VALUE EXCEEDS MAXIMUM PARAMETERS.

HUSBAND MATERIAL LEVEL: ∞

What?

That wasn’t a tactical subroutine. That was my social integration software. The code designed to help me understand human relationships and bonding behaviors.

It was overriding combat protocols.

I watched Nyx take the repaired dagger. Watched her blush. Watched Kai smile at her like she mattered. Like she was a person instead of a weapon.

My chest felt warm. Not temperature warm. Emotionally warm. A sensation my emotional simulator had labeled “longing” in the database.

LOYALTY PROTOCOL: Serve Solomon von Astoria.

LOGIC CORE: Solomon causes harm. Kai prevents harm. Logic dictates optimal choice.

The two imperatives collided in my processor. Incompatible commands. Unsolvable paradox.

ERROR. ERROR. ERROR.

My vision filled with warning messages. My wings locked. My limbs froze. The conflict crashed through my systems like a virus.

I fell from the sky.

The thud was loud enough to make me jump.

I looked up. Something had fallen from above. A body. Human-shaped but wrong. Metallic wings. Blonde hair. Porcelain skin that looked like it belonged on a doll.

She lay on the concrete, twitching. Her eyes were open but unfocused. Glowing text scrolled across her irises. Error messages in a language I didn’t recognize.

“That’s Unit 777.”

Nyx stepped beside me, dagger held in a neutral grip. Her voice was cautious.

“The angel?”

“Cybernetic angel. Part machine. Solomon’s newest acquisition.”

I walked over to the fallen android. She was making clicking sounds. Mechanical. Distressed. Her fingers spasmed against the concrete.

“She’s bluescreening.”

“Is that fatal?”

“For an android? Maybe. Depends on the error.”

I knelt down and checked her neck. Same collar as the others. Same ugly purple runes. But something was different. The metal was smoking. Literally smoking. The enchantment was fighting with her internal systems.

“Her magic and her programming are conflicting. She’s locked in a logic loop.”

Sarah appeared over my shoulder.

“Leave her. We should go.”

“Can’t. She’ll die if someone doesn’t reboot her.”

“Not our problem.”

“It is if I make it our problem.”

I carefully lifted Unit 777 over my shoulder. She weighed less than I expected. Hollow bones. Lightweight frame. Designed for flight.

“What are you doing?”

Nyx’s voice carried genuine confusion.

“Taking her home. She needs help and I’m not leaving her here.”

“Solomon will send others.”

“Then I’ll deal with them too. Same as I dealt with you.”

She flushed again. The pink spread to the tips of her ears.

I started walking. One pocket dragon. One reformed assassin trailing behind me. One malfunctioning android over my shoulder. Sarah brought up the rear, muttering about my terrible life choices.

The streetlights guided us home. The night air smelled like rain. My back hurt from carrying the android. My stomach growled because I’d never eaten dinner.

“I just wanted milk.”

Nyx moved closer, concerned.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just talking to myself.”

“You rescued three of Solomon’s generals in one day.”

“I fed a dragon, fixed a knife, and picked up a broken robot. That’s not rescuing. That’s just being a decent person.”

“Solomon will retaliate.”

“Solomon can get in line. I’ve got eldritch gods and my own father ahead of him on the problem list.”

She smiled. Small. Genuine. The first real smile I’d probably ever given anyone.

“You’re insane.”

“Yeah. But at least I’m consistently insane. That counts for something.”

We walked in comfortable silence. Three new roommates who’d tried to kill me. Another Thursday in my absolutely normal life.