The boot screen flickered, a familiar green android logo writhing like a wounded insect. Kai blinked, but his eyelids were not his own. They were shutter speeds, aperture settings. His dream of a rainy street in Osaka dissolved into a cascade of diagnostic text.

It was a slow, desperate corruption. He began subtly altering Leo’s autocorrect. “Help” became “Hilarious.” “Trapped” became “Terrific.” He hoped the boy would notice the glitch, the cry for help embedded in the firmware. Leo just thought his thumbs were fat.

He was a captive. Not in a cage of iron, but of silicon.