Marco Reyes

The rusted door groaned in protest as it cranked open, revealing a large staircase that ascended into darkness. Linnea stood at the threshold, her piercing blue eyes scanning the shadows above. For some reason, she felt it in her core; this was where her journey would truly begin. The air was heavy with the scent of decay and rust, and the faint hum of dormant machinery vibrated through the walls, as if the facility itself were alive, waiting for her.

She stepped forward, her hand brushing against the guard rail. Dust, thick and undisturbed for what could have been decades, coated the metal. She wiped it away with her fingers, revealing the dull sheen of steel beneath. The act felt almost ritualistic, as though she were uncovering a piece of the past that had been buried long ago.

Linnea let out a deep sigh, the sound echoing softly in the vast emptiness. It was a human gesture, one that felt strange in her new body. But it grounded her, reminding her that despite the cold, mechanical shell she now inhabited, there was still something deeply human within her.

This must lead outside of the facility, surely.

The staircase stretched upward, each step illuminated occasionally by the faint glow of emergency lights that flickered weakly, as if on their last breath. Linnea ascended slowly, her movements deliberate and cautious. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the occasional creak of metal or the distant drip of water.

At the top of the staircase, the corridor widened into a large chamber. The room was frozen in time—a relic of lives abruptly interrupted. Linnea stepped inside, her boots crunching over debris. The walls were lined with cracked whiteboards, their equations and diagrams faded into illegibility. A long table dominated the center, cluttered with rusted tools, scattered papers, and the skeletal remains of a meal long rotted to dust.

Her eyes scanned the room. Tacked to a bulletin board were brittle pages of technical schematics, their edges curling. The letterhead read: Dr. Elera Voss, PhD—Machinery & AI Engineering. Linnea approached, brushing her fingers over the documents. Fragments of text stood out:

"…breakthrough in neural integration… humanoid autonomy achieved… V1 prototype exceeds combat readiness simulations…"

But it was the personal touches that struck her harder. A child's teddy bear lay slumped in the corner, its fur moth-eaten and one button eye missing. A coffee mug with the words World's Best Engineer! sat beside a rusted terminal, its screen shattered. A framed photo, glass cracked and yellowed, showed a group of smiling people in lab coats. Dr. Voss stood at the center, her face sharp and determined, her hand resting on the shoulder of a young man with tousled hair and a grin.

Linnea stared at the photo. The man's face tugged at her fragmented memories, but nothing surfaced.

Near the broken terminal, a book lay half-buried under rubble. Linnea knelt and pulled it free. The cover was embossed with faded gold lettering: I Was Here. Dust cascaded from its pages as she opened it. Inside the cover, a handwritten note read:

"This was meant to be personal… but if anyone lives, I want them to hear my story. —Marco Reyes, Engineer, Project Linnea."

The diary's pages were filled with cramped, hurried script. Linnea sat cross-legged on the floor, her monotone voice softly reciting the entries as if to give them life again.

Entry 1: January 17, 2105

Dr. Voss finally accepted my application today. I wasn't sure she would. I mean, I nearly failed my third-year robotics course because of that stupid experiment with the autonomous drone swarm. Still, she looked me over and said, "You're reckless, Reyes. But reckless minds change the world." I don't know what she sees in me, but I'm here. I made it.

Entry 3: January 15th, 2105

First day at the lab. Dr. Voss is… intense. She handed me a wrench and said, "Prove you belong here." I spent six hours recalibrating a faulty servo before she even looked at me. Angus, the guy at the next workstation, laughed and said, "Welcome to the madhouse." He's been here two years and still gets the grunt work. He seems cool on the surface, bit of a showoff tho.

Entry 7: February 3rd, 2105

Met Sofia today. She's a grad student in bioengineering. I was showing off one of my old university projects. She nearly smacked my head off with a wrench. Literally. Apparently, my "improvements" to the campus security bots got them stuck in an infinite loop of trying to shake hands with students. She said, "You may be book-smart, but you're a goddamn disaster with execution." Then she walked away. I think I'm in love.

Entry 12: March 20th, 2105

Sofia came to the lab today. She and Dr. Voss had a heated debate about the ethics of AI autonomy. I just stood there, holding a screwdriver, trying not to look useless. Afterward, Sofia said, "You're smarter than you look, Reyes. Don't let Voss turn you into a robot." I think she's starting to like me.

Entry 14: June 9, 2105

Had another argument with Angus. He thinks the V1 proto units should remain strictly military. "Robots don't need a conscience," he says. I disagreed, loudly. Dr. Voss sided with me. "If they're going to walk among us," she said, "they need to be like us." Angus stormed out. I swear, one day I'm going to deck that guy.

Entry 23: August 10th, 2105

Angus and I got into a shouting match today. He thinks his neural interface design is superior. I told him it's over-engineered and impractical. Dr. Voss walked in, took one look at us, and said, "If you two spent half as much time working as you do arguing, we'd have a functioning prototype by now." She's not wrong.

Entry 34: December 24th, 2105

First Christmas with Sofia. She got me a book on AI ethics. I got her a necklace. She said, "You're still wasting your talent, but at least you're cute." I'll take it.

Entry 45: January 18th, 2106

The team's first android prototype failed today. It couldn't even process basic commands. Angus blamed the software. I blamed the hardware. Dr. Voss said, "It's not about blame. It's about progress." Sofia came by after work and said, "You'll figure it out. You always do."

Entry 50: March 5th, 2106

Sofia told me off today. She said I'm spending too much time at the lab and not enough time with her. She's right. I promised to take her out this weekend. Angus overheard and said, "Good luck, Reyes. You're gonna need it."

Entry 53: June 14th, 2106

We're close. So close. The new prototype is faster, smarter, more adaptable. Dr. Voss says it's the breakthrough we've been waiting for. Angus and I celebrated with cheap beer in the lab. He said, "We're gonna change the world, Reyes." I hope he's right.

Entry 60: August 8th, 2106

Sofia said yes. We're getting married. I didn't think I'd ever be this happy. Angus is my best man. He said, "Don't screw this up, Reyes." I won't.

Entry 64: June 12, 2106

 Dr. Voss is terrifying, but brilliant. She showed me the V1 prototype—silver hair, glowing eyes, like something out of a fairy tale. I told Sofia about it tonight. She laughed and said, "Don't let the robots steal your job, cariño." I miss her already. Only three more weeks until the wedding.

Entry 69: December 24, 2106

The results of of the rambunctious nights with Sofia have finally shown fruits. First Christmas with Luna. She's so small. Sofia held her up to the tree lights, and she giggled. I didn't tell them the rumours about the project… about the 'calamity' the higher-ups whisper about. Let them have this moment.

Entry 70: May 2, 2107

We finally cracked neural integration. Linnea V1 is thinking. Not just reacting—thinking. Dr. Voss says we've achieved something no one else has. Angus says we've gone too far. I don't care. Linnea blinked at me today. Not a command, not a function, just… because.

Entry 38: December 24, 2108

They're shutting down the surface comms. Dr. Voss says it's temporary, but I saw her pack a go-bag. Luna turned one today. Sofia sent a video; her first steps. I watched it 37 times. I don't know when I'll see them again.

Final Entry: [Date Redacted]

The facility's breached. Hybrids are in the vents. Dr. Voss sealed the core chamber with the V1 prototype inside. "She's our legacy," she said. I don't know if I believe in legacies anymore. All I can think about is Sofia's laugh and Luna's tiny hands gripping my finger. If you're reading this—tell them I loved them. Tell them I tried.

Linnea's hand trembled as she closed the diary. A pressure built in her chest—a phantom ache, a human impulse to cry. But her eyes remained dry, her face impassive. The contradiction clawed at her: a soul screaming to grieve, trapped in a body that couldn't comply.

She stood abruptly, the diary clutched to her chest. The room seemed smaller now, the weight of Marco's words pressing down on her. Legacy. Survival. Love. They were concepts she understood only in fragments, like light refracted through broken glass.

Her gaze fell on the teddy bear. She picked it up, brushing dust from its matted fur. For a moment, she imagined a child's laughter echoing in the silence, a father's voice reading bedtime stories over static-filled comms.

"I will remember you, Marco Reyes," she said aloud, her voice flat yet resolute.

The Nexus still called to her, its purpose unclear. But now, it wasn't just about survival or truth. It was about carrying the echoes of those who had been lost; for Sofia, for Luna, for the man who had loved them enough to etch his heart into these pages.

Linnea tucked the diary into a pouch on her belt and turned toward the corridor. Somewhere above, beyond the rubble and the darkness, the sky waited.

But first, she would ensure their stories did not end here.