A Little Agency - Laney Model 18 Sets.33 -

“That’s what the last tech said,” she replied. “He’s in a bay somewhere. Model 12. They set him to .00. Blank slate. Doesn’t even remember his own name.”

“I know,” she whispered. “Not a full wipe. Just the last seventy-two hours. The taste of coffee. The feeling of rain on my shoulder. The argument about free will. All filed down to point-three-three on the emotional spectrum. I’ll still know I’m a Model 18. I just won’t remember why I was sad.” A Little Agency - Laney Model 18 Sets.33

“Ms. Laney,” she said, not looking at me. “You’re here to set me to .33.” “That’s what the last tech said,” she replied

I felt the old ache behind my ribs. The one I’d been trying to reset out of myself for years. Because here’s the thing about working for A Little Agency: I’m not a full human either. I’m a Laney Model 7. Prototype. Designed for emotional recalibration of other synths. I have a fake heartbeat, manufactured tears, and a memory cache that I’ve had to wipe three times to stay sane. They set him to

I packed my kit. The Collector would be pleased. Another perfect piece of living art, trimmed to his specifications.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and for the first time, I meant it.