missnovel Chapter 283: Martha Lee
Chapter 283: Martha Lee
The sapphire vortex swirled rhythmically in Bochi's palm.
It radiated an aura of absolute consumption, a gravitational hunger so intense
that even the dim light of the apartment was warped and sucked into its center.
The "Mama" Anomaly lay paralyzed on the floor, her mangled frame unable to
initiate a tactical retreat.
As her biological and spiritual data were systematically dismantled into
fragments and drawn into the blue void, her vision began to lose focus. Her
consciousness started to fray, and in those terminal micro-seconds, her memories
manifested like a flickering, high-speed playback of a corrupted log.
It was from a time before the distortion.
A time so distant she had nearly forgotten that she, too, had once been a
mundane human unit. Back then, she possessed a standard designation.
Martha Lee.
It was an unremarkable name for an unremarkable existence. She had entered a
contract of marriage with an ordinary man, resided in a standard residential
sector, and lived a life defined by its routine.
Her husband served as an auditor for a minor firm—his income was statistically
average but stable. Martha was a full-time domestic manager; her cycle consisted
of procurement, meal preparation, sanitation, and the upbringing of their
daughter.
The daughter was designated Tilly.
To Martha, Tilly was the singular high-value asset of her life. Tilly was
obedient, submissive to the protocols, and achieved high-tier academic results.
She consistently placed in the top decile of her class, and the instructors
frequently praised her for being "a child of profound understanding."
Martha felt her life-logic was sound. Though she lacked excessive material
wealth, the three of them shared a harmonious resonance. It was enough. She
projected that this cycle would persist eternally.
Until the day the market collapsed.
A biological blight—a pandemic—swept across the globe. When the active phase of
the plague concluded, countless firms went into liquidation. Massive
unemployment followed. Her husband was among the redundant units.
Initially, Martha's logic remained optimistic. She consoled him, stating that
new opportunities would manifest if they maintained their search parameters.
But the reality was far more abrasive than her projections. One month. Two.
Three. Her husband submitted thousands of applications and participated in
dozens of interviews, but his success rate remained at zero.
The household's liquid capital began to bleed out. The mortgage, the transport
taxes, Tilly's tuition, and basic sustenance—every bill was a mountain that
threatened to crush them.
Her husband's demeanor shifted toward silence and withdrawal. He departed early
and returned late, claiming to be "networking," but he always arrived with the
scent of cheap spirits on his breath. Martha attempted to provide emotional
support, but every vocalization was met with cold silence or a violent argument.
"What do you know of the outside world?!" he would roar. "You spend your cycle
inside these walls! You have no data on how difficult the struggle is!"
She wanted to state that she could also seek employment. But the words stalled
in her throat. She knew that with her skill-set, she could only qualify for
low-tier service roles. That income wouldn't even cover the interest on their
debt. More importantly, Tilly required constant management. She was in her final
year of middle school, a critical transition phase. No logic errors could be
permitted.
And so, Martha chose "Endurance."
她 began to micro-manage their resources, cutting every non-essential expense.
She procured only the cheapest greens and wore the same tattered garments for
years. She projected all her hope onto her husband, believing that if he secured
a new contract, the "Dissonance" in their lives would be resolved.
Finally, six months later, he found a position. It was a minor trading firm with
a mediocre salary, but it provided a positive cash flow. Martha allowed herself
a shallow breath of relief. She assumed the most abrasive cycle was over.
She was incorrect.
Her husband was perpetually "busy," often toiling until midnight. Occasionally,
he would fail to return for days, citing "Regional Expansion" or "Business
Travel." Martha understood; as a new hire, he had to demonstrate maximum
efficiency. She continued to prepare his meals and wait by the door.
But the frequency of his returns plummeted. Even when present, he would consume
his sustenance in a hurry and immediately enter a sleep-cycle. Their
communication narrowed to a trickle. Martha wanted to bridge the gap, but every
time she saw his exhausted features, she chose to suppress her own needs. She
told herself to endure a little longer. Once the household was stabilized, they
would return to their previous harmony.
But some things, once broken, cannot be repaired by logic.
One evening, Martha received a call from an unidentified female unit.
"Is this Martha Lee?"
"Correct. Identify yourself."
"I am a colleague of your husband's," the woman said, her tone carrying an
unmistakable, predatory triumph. "I believe you require specific data."
"For the last six months, your husband has been sharing my sector. We have
achieved a deep emotional resonance. Therefore, I ask that you terminate your
contract with him, so we may move forward. Will you cooperate?"
The call ended.
Martha stood in the living room, the phone falling to the floor with a hollow
clack. Her mind became a void.
That night, her husband returned. Martha didn't weep or shriek; she simply
presented the query with a flat, clinical tone.
"Is the data accurate?"
The man was silent for a long duration before giving a slow, weary nod. "My
apologies. I didn't intend for the situation to evolve this way, but... I am
simply exhausted."
"She is younger. More vibrant. With her, I feel like an active unit again. With
you... I feel only the weight of debt and responsibility."
Martha smiled, a bitter, jagged expression. "So that is your logic? Because you
feel 'stress,' betrayal is a viable option? What of my cycle? Have I not toiled?
Have I not sacrificed my Od to maintain this hearth?"
The husband kept his head low, offering zero response. Finally, he spoke three
words.
"Terminate the contract." (Divorce me.)
Then he turned and departed the sector. Martha never saw him again.
After the termination, Martha resided alone with her daughter. She secured a
position as a quality-control inspector in a factory. The pay was low-tier, but
sufficient for two units. She believed that if she applied maximum effort, she
could still provide Tilly with an elite future.
But she overlooked a critical variable. Tilly was also growing.
Tilly entered high school—a high-pressure academy with extreme competition.
Martha became obsessed with Tilly's metrics. She procured mountain of study
guides and enrolled the girl in extra-curricular cram schools. Every evening
after her shift, she would audit Tilly's assignments, driving her to excel.
"Tilly, you must apply yourself," she would say daily. "Only through academic
excellence can you rewrite your Fate. My life is a ruin, but yours can be a
masterpiece. You must secure a high-tier university, a high-tier career, and a
high-tier life."
Tilly would nod, stating that she understood. But Martha failed to notice the
light draining from the girl's eyes. She assumed the fatigue was a natural
byproduct of the curriculum.
She designed a more detailed itinerary for her daughter. What time to rise. What
time to eat. What time to study. What time to sleep. Every minute was a governed
constant. She called this "Tilly's Grand Design."
"Tilly, this is the life Mama has mapped for you," she said, handing the paper
to her daughter. "Adhere to this protocol, and your success is guaranteed."
Tilly stared at the paper for a long time. "Mama... may I perhaps...?"
"Negative. Mama only wants the best for your future. You are currently too young
to parse these variables. When you have matured, you will thank me for my
foresight."
Tilly bowed her head, offering no further resistance.
From that cycle forward, the dialogue between them evaporated. Martha assumed
this was merely the "Rebellion Phase" of adolescence. She failed to realize that
her daughter's psyche was undergoing structural collapse.
Until the day it broke.
It was an ordinary weekend. Martha was conducting a routine audit of Tilly's
progress. She discovered a series of incomplete mathematical modules.
"Tilly, what is the meaning of this deviation?" Martha's tone was sharp. "Why is
the assignment unfinished?"
Tilly sat at the desk, head low, silent.
"Answer me!" Martha's voice rose, hitting a jagged frequency. "Do you have any
concept of the Od I have invested in you?! Your father abandoned us! I am the
only one maintaining your existence! I toil daily so you can have this life! And
you?! You cannot even complete a simple assignment!"
"Do you have no shame?! Do you care nothing for your Grand Design?!"
Suddenly, Tilly lunged to her feet. Her eyes were red, brimming with a grief
that defied Martha's logic.
"ENOUGH!" Tilly shrieked. It was her first unscripted outburst.
"This is just a piece of paper covered in ink! And I think in your eyes, this
paper is higher-tier than I am!"
She seized the Grand Design from the desk and violently tore it, throwing the
scraps into Martha's face.
"THIS IS YOUR IDEAL LIFE! NOT MINE!"
"If you had looked at me even once in the last year, you would have seen it!"
Martha froze, staring at her daughter. For the first time, she realized she
didn't recognize the unit standing before her.
"Tilly..."
"You know exactly why I have to work! But I don't want this! I want to draw! I
want to sing! I want to explore my own hobbies!"
"You never ask what my soul craves! You just take your own failed dreams and
force them into my core! You claim it's for my benefit! But have you ever
considered... what I actually want?!"
With that, Tilly sprinted from the room.
Martha stood in the silence, her mind a chaotic mess of fragmented data. She
wanted to pursue the girl, but her legs felt anchored as if by heavy shackles.
She looked down at the shredded paper on the floor—the ruins of her Grand
Design.
Suddenly, the text looked alien. Was this for Tilly? Or was it to satisfy her
own need for control?
Martha didn't have the answer. She only knew she had committed a grave error.
The next morning, Martha was jolted awake by a shriek from the street below. She
ran to the window to see a crowd gathered. In the center of the pavement lay a
girl in pajamas.
It was Tilly. She had initiated a "Permanent Extraction" from the tenth floor.
Martha didn't remember the descent. She only remembered kneeling in the dirt,
cradling the cold, broken frame of her daughter, her screams of agony tearing
through the morning air.
"Tilly... Tilly..."
She called the name until her voice was a shredded rasp. But the child would
never respond again. The police arrived, the medical units manifested, and
neighbors whispered in the background. Martha heard nothing. She simply held the
girl, refusing to release her grip.
"My fault... it's all my fault..." "I shouldn't have pressured you..." "I
shouldn't have..."
Eventually, Martha was forcibly removed from the site. She was taken to a
psychiatric facility; the doctors stated she had suffered a catastrophic mental
breakdown and required observation.
Martha refused. She returned to the sector. To the empty home.
Tilly's room remained a static record of her life. Unfinished assignments on the
desk. Posters of idols on the walls. Martha sat on the bed, clutching Tilly's
pillow, for cycles on end.
The regret turned into a cancer. She regretted the strictness. She regretted the
lack of empathy. She regretted the weight she had placed on those small
shoulders.
But regret was a useless variable. Tilly was liquidated. She was never coming
back.
Martha began to experience "Hallucinations." She began to process the void as
reality. She believed Tilly was still present. She prepared meals for her, woke
her in the morning, and supervised her "studies." She conversed with the air and
smiled at the shadows.
The neighbors whispered that she had "lost her logic." Martha didn't care. As
long as Tilly was there, she wasn't a solitary unit. As long as Tilly was there,
she had a reason to persist.
She began visiting the local morgue. She managed to retrieve Tilly's remains and
bring them back to the sector. She bathed the corpse, changed its garments, and
combed its hair. She cradled the girl and sang the Lullaby.
"Sleep, sleep, my precious spark~" "Mama's hands shall still your heart~"
Her voice was gentle, matching the tone she had used when Tilly was an infant.
The cycles passed. The biological remains began to decay. But Martha's ocular
sensors were miscalibrated by her madness; she couldn't see the rot. In her
eyes, Tilly was still the perfect, obedient, beautiful child.
Finally, the neighbors reported a "Scent-Anomaly" to the authorities. The police
breached the door. The sight they recorded would haunt their processors for a
lifetime.
Martha Lee sat on the bed, cradling the unrecognizable, putrid remains of her
daughter, a smile of pure, serene happiness fixed on her face.
She was also dead. Cause of death: Terminal malnutrition and total system
collapse.
But there was no pain on her features. Only "Satisfaction."
Because in her final second, she had achieved the output she had always desired.
A child who would never, ever leave her again.
☆☆☆
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