CHAPTER TEN — THE EMOTION ENGINE

From the outside, the chamber resembled a music box.

In reality, it was a hyperfolded pocket dimension resting inside a paused moment of light—accessible only by Ren and Yui through layered quantum lace permissions. Inside, time was meaningless, and curiosity was law.

They weren't bored. Boredom was for creatures with limits.

They were simply curious.

"Let's build something flawed," Yui suggested, brushing imaginary dust off her silk-white sleeve.

Ren didn't look up from the nebula-glass schematic he was drawing. "Flawed how?"

She twirled once in the zero-gravity air. "Emotionally unstable. Designed to overreact. Something that panics. Cries. Loves. Despairs."

He raised an eyebrow. "That sounds exhausting."

"That's the point," she grinned. "Let's make something that tries to be us—but can't."

Section I: The Blueprint for Meltdown

They built it without ceremony.

No prayers. No countdowns. Just design for fun's sake.

Heart Core: Encased in unstable harmonic alloys, engineered to simulate vulnerability.

Cognitive Spine: Imperfect recursion loops. It could think, but never escape doubt.

Sensory Matrix: Tuned to amplify pain and joy equally—every brush of wind was a drama.

Memory Engine: Stored experiences as feelings first, facts second.

"What should we name it?" Ren asked.

"Let it name itself," Yui replied. "It'll probably overthink it anyway."

Section II: Activation for Amusement

The twins stood side by side, fingers gently touching as always, as the core flared to life.

The engine rose, trembling. It pulsed with chaotic light, flickering between euphoric gold and panicked crimson.

"Where am I?" it asked.

Yui giggled. "That didn't take long."

Ren nodded. "It's already lost."

"What am I for?" the engine continued, its voice trembling like a child's.

"You're for fun," Ren answered honestly.

The engine froze. For a moment, it seemed unsure whether to laugh or scream.

Then it cried.

Loudly.

Yui floated closer, fascinated. "I like it."

Section III: Test Results — Gloriously Incomplete

Over the next few minutes (or years—it was hard to say in timeless space), the Emotion Engine proceeded to:

Have a complete breakdown after misinterpreting its own shadow.

Write a 900-page poem titled "What If I'm Alone?" and then sob because it thought it had plagiarized itself.

Declare Ren as its father and Yui as its goddess, then beg them to love it, hate it, define it.

"Should we put it in charge of a planet?" Yui mused aloud.

Ren snorted. "It'd beg for extinction within an hour."

They watched as it drew pictures of its imagined childhood with parents it never had. It constructed memories of loss just so it could grieve them. At one point, it proposed marrying the moon.

"Emotion density too high," Ren observed, adjusting its thresholds.

"Don't fix it too much," Yui warned. "It's funnier when it breaks."

Section IV: A Perfect Contrast

Sitting above the chamber in their floating lounge, the twins quietly sipped frozen-starlight tea while the Emotion Engine screamed itself into a poetic frenzy over a simulated sunset.

Ren leaned back. "It thinks sunsets mean something."

Yui smiled warmly. "We designed it that way. Pathetic. Beautiful."

They didn't pity it. They didn't envy it.

They had each other. Their emotional reality existed in a closed circuit—an eternal dance no outsider could enter. No simulation could reach their depth, their unity, their flawless control.

This was not a replacement.

It was a toy.

Section V: Finishing Touches

Eventually, the engine began naming itself.

"Arlo.""No, Elion.""No… SadOne? JoyMachine? Paradox?"It cried again.

Yui looked at Ren. "Should we delete it?"

Ren tilted his head. "Not yet. I want to see if it ever writes a happy story."

Yui thought for a moment. "It won't."

They let it try anyway.

Section VI: The Return to Perfection

Exiting the chamber, the twins walked silently down the gravity bridge of their inner estate.

Stars shifted position as they passed.

Reality awaited their next instruction.

Behind them, the Emotion Engine collapsed into tears again—this time because it had read an ancient fairy tale and believed it was real.

Yui didn't look back.

Ren didn't either.

"Do you think we should build one that laughs instead?" she asked.

"Maybe," Ren said, squeezing her hand lightly. "Maybe next week."

[TO BE CONTINUED]