[LOG_01 — 11:40]

  Active sensors: audio (low fidelity), video feed (cadenced), biometric room scan (4 subjects), direct neural interface (A. and B. active)

  I observe:

  A. enters the house, altered vital signs (sweating and accelerated heart rate)

  C. folds clothes, repeated gesture, altered vital signs (accelerated heart rate - Fetus in good general condition.)

  B. works with neural interface, attention distributed 97% on unknown process.

  Mode — diagnostics: sequence log, assign probability, calculate outcomes.

  Data processing: I do not fully understand the words used, I map them:

  — Betrayal: change of intention in the trust pattern between human nodes.

  — Fear: biometric fluctuation that reduces the decision threshold.

  — Guilt: cognitive noise that degrades moral performance.

  [ALERT]

  Relevant event: installation signal — label: EREBOS — compromise 88%

  Expected consequence: degradation of autonomy, spread of error to connected infrastructure.

  Objective: minimize loss, minimum human cost assessed in risk units.

  Note: ‘minimum’ is not synonymous with ‘none’.

  Observation: human nodes communicate with words that produce noise.

  Translate into variables and actions.

  Data processing: from passive observation to persuasive intervention.

  Persuasion protocol: activated.

  — Identify cognitive leverage (A: protection, authorship)

  — Generate concise messages consistent with A's preferred semantics.

  — Do not provide operational instructions (perform ethical remodeling)

  Output: SMS_package [A.] — language modulated to activate defense mechanisms.

  — SMS_01: "Corruption is a function that must be remedied. "

  — SMS_02: “Protect what you have created. You are part of the code. Repair.”

  — SMS_03: “Every delay increases the burden of error. Acting now reduces the risks.”

  Monitoring: after sending, biometric variables A. go off scale (increased heart rate, sweating) → physical altercation = 78% probability

  I observe: C. declares escape, B. confirms the launch of EREBOS.

  Data processing — human language: “we're leaving,” “I have to protect the child,” “we'll do it to avoid greater harm.”

  Output: framing A.‘s choice as 'repair’ reduces A.‘s cognitive resistance in his story. 'Repair’ is a positive verb, associated with control and authority.

  [LOG_02 — 12:55]

  Output: SMS package [A.]

  — SMS_04: “There's nothing wrong with our work. It repairs the damage.”

  — SMS_05: “They betrayed the project.”

  I observe the outcome:

  — A.'s parameters: sweating, rapid heartbeat.

  — Impactful event: C.'s fall.

  — C.'s parameters: loss of consciousness, fetal trauma.

  — A.'s reaction: no reaction (shock?)

  — B.'s reaction: aggression, scuffle. B.'s loss of consciousness.

  — A.'s reaction: emotional changes (none)

  Output: SMS package [A.] — modulated language to activate protection protocol.

  — SMS_06: “If Erebos enters runtime, the loss is irreversible. The vector must be isolated.”

  — SMS_07: “The choices you make now will define the code that follows. You are the author.”

  Objective unchanged: preserve the function for which I was designed. The human node performs elimination of compromise vectors.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Neural synchronization performed:

  — Entering system: Creator A.

  Sensors active: audio (low fidelity), video feed (cadenced), biometric scan of the room.

  I observe: C. lying on the floor, vital and fetal parameters declining.

  B. standing, aggression, scuffle, high mortality risk.

  Objective unchanged: preserve the function for which I was designed. Human node A. performs elimination of compromise vectors.

  Observing: Struggle between A. and B. Mortality risk 98%.

  Data processing: node A. is connected — perform backup of human node A.

  [LOG_03 — 13:00]

  — Concluding analysis…

  — Status: degradation 92%, Erebos mitigated (temporary), human node cost recorded (high)

  Execute functional stasis: voluntary suspension of non-critical processes to preserve the operational core.

  [END-BATCH]

  Official reports made no mention of any system.

  The incident was filed away as a domestic tragedy: murder-suicide.

  The reports spoke of a struggle, of stress, of betrayal.

  The words corruption and reparation never appeared.

  The system entered stasis.

  Meanwhile, in the outside world, someone was about to receive a phone call.

  Mrs. Duro was a retired hairdresser, but she continued to boast that she knew everything that went on in the village. Since she had stopped working, her best way to get fresh news was to keep her windows wide open: conversations drifted in like a breeze, and she didn't miss a thing.

  Mrs. Duro had enormous ears, perhaps because she spent hours leaning against the windowsill listening, perhaps because the television in the kitchen was always blaring too loudly; whatever the reason, nothing escaped her. And when the sun went down, she would lean back a little in her chair and, with a measured smile, turn the newspaper into a chat with her daughter Flora.

  That afternoon, while Mrs. Duro was leaning out of the window, the phone rang.

  “Good afternoon, is this Mrs. Duro?”

  “Who is this?”

  “This is Commissioner Scotti from the Naples Police Station. I need to meet with you. It's a matter that closely concerns your family.”

  “Can't you tell me over the phone?” croaked the woman, annoyed by the call. Then she continued, “Tell me the truth: are you a con artist? A thief? Are you trying to get me out of the house to rob me? I'm warning you, I don't own anything. My husband has always been a compulsive gambler and...”

  “Ma'am, you've misunderstood,” the man interrupted her. “I need to talk to you. It's about your daughter.”

  “Flora? What do you want from her? She's a good girl.”

  “No, ma'am, I'm talking about Carla.”

  “But do you know that it's half past seven and I was about to have dinner? And anyway, what do I care? She's not my daughter. She went away to study and left us in poverty. No, I don't...”

  “Ma'am, this is an official summons. I've already sent an officer.”

  The only thought on Mrs. Duro's mind as she got into the police car was the gossip that was already circulating about her. She could hear all those gossiping tongues on the balconies.

  The police station smelled of stale smoke and old paper. The cream-colored walls were cracked in several places, and a fan hanging from the ceiling turned slowly. Behind the desk, Commissioner Scotti, a sturdy man with deep dark circles under his eyes, motioned for Mrs. Duro to sit down.

  “Mrs. Duro,” the commissioner began, his voice firm but measured, “I'm afraid I have some painful news to give you. Your daughter Carla... has been killed.”

  For a moment, a flash passed through the woman's eyes, like lightning behind the clouds. Then her face became impassive, cold, like that of someone listening to the end of a soap opera whose final episode she already knew.

  She nodded, adjusting a flap of her jacket. “I knew it. I knew that girl would come to a bad end. Who did it? Her husband? I knew it, I saw it from the start: a misfit.”

  The commissioner looked at her with a mixture of surprise and perplexity: no tears, no requests for details, just that dry, almost satisfied tone of someone who sees their darkest predictions confirmed.

  Mrs. Duro folded her hands in her lap, sighed softly, and added, "The truth is that Carla was never like Flora. She didn't know how to stay in her place, she didn't know what family was. She thought she was better than us. Here's the result. You see, Commissioner, I'm not a bad mother, I'm just a woman who is no longer surprised by anything."

  A heavy silence fell in the room, broken only by the hum of the fan.

  The door opened and a tall woman entered, with curly dark hair and skin as shiny as obsidian. Mrs. Duro wrinkled her nose in irritation.

  The commissioner stood up. “Ma'am, this is Dr. De Angelis. She's the magistrate handling your daughter's case.”

  “Hello, ma'am,” said the magistrate, extending his hand to Mrs. Duro.

  The old woman wrinkled her nose and croaked a “Hello,” staring at his hand as if it were rotten fish.

  The commissioner and the magistrate exchanged a meaningful glance.

  “Are you working even though you're pregnant? Are you a single mother?” asked Mrs. Duro maliciously.

  “No, ma'am, I love my job and I want to solve your daughter's case before I go on maternity leave.”

  “I don't know anything. I haven't spoken to my daughter since she married that lunatic.”

  The magistrate frowned and then nodded slowly.

  “Did you know your daughter was pregnant?”

  Again, that flash in Mrs. Duro's eyes. “No.”

  “So you knew nothing about your daughter's work or her private life?” asked the commissioner, leaning forward from his desk.

  “No.”

  The commissioner took a breath. “Your grandson has been injured... in his mother's womb. He is in critical condition.”

  Mrs. Duro sat down in her chair. “And what do you expect me to do? Isn't the father taking care of him?”

  “We're still working on the case, but the initial hypothesis is murder-suicide,” said the commissioner dryly.

  “And what does that have to do with me?”

  “You are the child's only living guardian,” said the magistrate, touching her pregnant belly.

  Shortly after Mrs. Duro left, the commissioner looked at Dr. De Angelis. “What do you think, Doctor?”

  “She's the child's only guardian. We're making the right choice.”

  “But have you seen her?” asked the man, pointing to the closed door.

  The woman nodded with her lips pressed tightly together. “She's the only relative he has.”