Chapter 38: Quarantine Protocol

【Elizabeth PoV】

The soup was code I couldn’t crack.

I stared at the thermos sitting on Alfred’s desk, analyzing it like malware on a corrupted drive. Liquid contents, temperature approximately sixty degrees Celsius, herbal composition including ginger, ginseng, and something else I couldn’t identify from visual inspection alone. The steam rising from it moved in patterns that suggested careful preparation, time invested, personal attention given.​

That was the problem. Personal attention from an external source. From him.

Ryuuji Kanzaki had inserted himself into my system without permission. The heart sticker on that card wasn’t innocent decoration. It was a Trojan Horse, designed to bypass emotional firewalls through the universal vulnerability of human kindness. Clever. Insidious. Completely unacceptable.​

My fingers tightened around my phone, knuckles going white.

Seda glanced at me from across the room, reading my expression instantly. She knew that look. We’d coordinated enough operations together to communicate without words.​

I pulled up my private interface, the one Alfred never saw. Real-time biometric data scrolled across my screen. His heart rate was elevated, body temperature spiking, immune system compromised. The Hardware was breaking down and someone else had tried to fix it.​

That was my job. Mine and Seda’s. Not some wealthy rival with family soup recipes and innocent little sisters who made cards with stickers.

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch.

I stood smoothly, adjusting my blazer with mechanical precision. Seda mirrored the movement from her position. Students filed out toward their next classes, unaware that we were about to execute an emergency extraction in broad daylight.

Alfred remained at his desk, probably hoping we’d forget about him if he stayed still enough. Wishful thinking. The Asset didn’t get to make those calls.​

I moved through the emptying classroom with purpose, each step calculated. Elizabeth Ashford, daughter of connections that made principals nervous and teachers look the other way. I’d used those connections sparingly, saved them for moments that mattered.​

This moment mattered.

Seda reached him first, hand already on his arm. I approached from the opposite side, completing the containment.

“Up. Now.”

My voice came out flat, businesslike, the tone I used when negotiating wasn’t an option.

Alfred looked between us, confusion mixing with barely suppressed panic.

“Class starts in five minutes. I can’t just leave.”

“Your hardware is compromised. You’re coming with us.”

He blinked at the phrasing, trying to process what I meant. Poor Asset. Still thought he had a choice in this.​

I pulled out my phone, fingers moving across the screen with practiced efficiency. Three taps opened my contacts. Two more connected me to the main office. Principal Nakamura answered on the second ring, his voice cautious in that way people got when they recognized my number.

“Miss Ashford. How can I help you?”

“Alfred Yamada needs early dismissal. Family emergency. I’m facilitating his departure.”

Silence stretched for exactly three seconds. Long enough for him to consider pushing back. Short enough that he knew better.

“Of course. I’ll mark him excused for the rest of the day.”

I ended the call without thanking him. Gratitude implied the favor could be refused.

Alfred stared at me like I’d just performed a magic trick.

“How did you—”

“Connections. Move.”

Seda guided him toward the door, not rough but absolutely firm. He stumbled slightly, fever making him unsteady. The compromised state of the Hardware was worse than initial scans indicated. Whatever Ryuuji’s soup contained, it hadn’t fixed the underlying issue, just masked symptoms while introducing foreign variables into the system.​

We navigated the hallways in formation. Me leading, Alfred in the middle, Seda covering the rear. Students who saw us coming stepped aside instinctively. We projected authority, purpose, the kind of energy that said “don’t ask questions you don’t want answered.”

The black car waited in the pickup zone, engine running. My driver stood by the rear door, professional and discrete. He’d seen stranger things working for my family. This barely registered as unusual.​

I opened the door myself, gesturing for Alfred to enter.

“In.”

“Where are we going?”

“Your apartment. Get in or I’ll have you carried in.”

His eyes widened, trying to determine if I was bluffing. I wasn’t. I never bluffed when it came to Asset protection.​

He climbed in, movements sluggish and defeated. Seda slid in next to him, boxing him against the window. I took the seat across, maintaining visual contact, analyzing every micro-expression for signs of deterioration.

The thermos. I’d grabbed it from his desk, couldn’t leave evidence behind. It sat on the seat beside me now, silver and mocking and full of someone else’s care. My jaw clenched involuntarily.

Foreign substances. External kindness. Unauthorized emotional support. All of it represented system vulnerabilities I hadn’t accounted for in my programming.​

The car pulled smoothly into traffic, tinted windows blocking outside observation. Inside our mobile quarantine unit, Alfred looked small, sick, and thoroughly confused.

“This is insane. It was just soup.”

“Nothing is ‘just’ anything when it comes to the Admin. Everything gets screened. Everything gets analyzed. You violated protocol.”

His head tilted back against the seat, exhaustion winning over confusion.

“What protocol? I don’t remember agreeing to any protocols about accepting food from friends.”

Friends. The word struck wrong, foreign, like malware attempting to execute in my carefully ordered system.

“Ryuuji Kanzaki is a security risk. His proximity to you represents potential data breaches. His soup represents chemical manipulation of the Hardware’s base functions.”

Seda snorted softly beside him, amused by my terminology. She understood what I really meant. She always did.​

Alfred closed his eyes, either too tired to argue or finally accepting the futility of resistance. Probably both. The fever was doing most of my work for me, lowering his defenses, making him compliant.

Good. Compliant Assets were easier to process.

We arrived at his apartment complex in under fifteen minutes. The building was modest, middle-class, nothing like the estates I was used to. But it was his space, his territory, which meant it could be secured and controlled.​

I exited first, scanning the area out of habit. Clear. No witnesses. No complications.

Alfred stumbled getting out, legs unsteady. Seda caught him before he face-planted on the pavement, her strength surprising him like it always did. He really should have figured out by now that neither of us were normal.​

The climb to his apartment felt longer than it was. Three flights of stairs, each one harder for him to manage. By the time we reached his door, he was breathing hard, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool air.

He fumbled with his keys, hands shaking. I took them from him without asking, unlocking the door myself. Efficiency over pride.

The apartment interior was exactly what I expected. Small, cluttered in that way single guys lived, anime posters on walls, gaming console visible by the TV. Home base for the Asset, compromised and requiring immediate quarantine.​

I locked the door behind us, the deadbolt sliding home with satisfying finality.

Alfred collapsed onto his couch without being told, body giving up the fight to stay upright. His apartment, his rules normally. Not today. Today this space belonged to the emergency protocols I was implementing.

I pulled out my phone, opening the App’s admin interface. Real controls, not the fake ones Alfred saw. I scrolled through options until I found what I needed.

【QUARANTINE PROTOCOL INITIATED】
LOCATION: ASSET RESIDENCE】
DURATION: UNTIL CONTAMINATION CLEARED】
ASSIGNED ROLES:
NURSE MODULE: SEDA HARTLEY】
VITALS MONITORING: ELIZABETH ASHFORD】

Perfect. Clinical. Exactly what this situation required.

Seda moved through the apartment like she owned it, locating the bedroom, bathroom, kitchen with quick efficiency. She returned with a glass of water and an actual thermometer from his medicine cabinet.

“Mouth. Now.”

Alfred obeyed without argument, too exhausted for his usual deflections. The thermometer beeped after thirty seconds. Seda checked the reading, eyebrows rising slightly.

“Thirty-nine point one Celsius. He’s burning up.”

I made a note on my phone, documenting the data. Compromised Hardware required detailed logs for proper restoration.​

The thermos still sat on the small table where I’d placed it. Evidence. Contamination source. Symbol of external interference in my carefully constructed system.

I walked over to it, staring down at the silver container like it was an explosive device requiring disposal. In a way, it was. Emotional manipulation packaged as care, designed to create connection, to build bridges I hadn’t authorized.​

My possessive instincts screamed to throw it out the window. Watch it shatter on the pavement below. Eliminate the threat permanently.

But that would be emotional. Irrational. Everything I prided myself on not being.

I picked it up instead, carried it to the kitchen, poured the remaining soup down the drain. The liquid swirled away, taking the foreign variables with it. Problem solved through logical action, not emotional reaction.

Much better.

Back in the living room, Seda had already positioned herself for maximum efficiency. Blankets retrieved, pillows adjusted, glass of water within reach. The Nurse Module activating as programmed.​

Alfred watched us through half-closed eyes, probably wondering if this was fever-induced hallucination or actual reality. The line between the two had blurred significantly since the App entered his life.​

I pulled up the final interface screen, fingers moving with decisive purpose.

【STATUS UPDATE】
BIO-HAZARD ZONE ESTABLISHED】
EXTERNAL ACCESS: DENIED】
MONITORING: CONTINUOUS】
RECOVERY TIMELINE: 48-72 HOURS】

I hit confirm, watching the digital “Do Not Disturb” sign activate across every relevant platform. School would receive automated notifications. His phone would reject outside calls except from approved contacts. The apartment was now a sealed environment.​

Perfect containment. Perfect control. Exactly how systems should operate.

Seda caught my eye, a small smile playing at her lips. She knew what this really was. Not just quarantine protocols and security measures. This was me eliminating competition, removing threats, ensuring the Hardware remained exclusively ours.​

I returned her look with calculated neutrality, refusing to acknowledge the possessive satisfaction burning in my chest.

This was business. Asset protection. System maintenance. Nothing more.

The locked door behind me and the sleeping Asset on the couch said otherwise.